I love to put my toes in people’s mouths. Generally, young, sexy, pretty, handsome people’s mouths. I love the feel of sensual full lips glowing red with lipstick and a bold lipliner enveloping my toes and of masculine chops and an assertive tongue between them. I love the feeling and the knowledge that a man or a woman is licking dirt, sweat, or even just soap after a shower, right off the soles of my feet and between my toes.
I also love using people as human area rugs. Stepping onto them, walking on them, digging my toes and heels into their flesh and bones…
Obviously I’m a sadist, sexually speaking. But it wasn’t until I was about 25 that I considered turning my appetite on man as well as women. I’d put up photo profile on a fetish personals site with pictures of myself very much like the one above, my feet always prominent. I would occasionally be contacted by a woman with a compliment or too, but generally they would soon beg off emailing extensively because either they lived too far away to do anything about their interest with me, or because they had liked something about my profile, but were only peripherally interested in feet.
Finally, men started sending me messages. I ignored them at first, until one man with particularly good writing told me how he was straight but had, since he was bullied at age 14, been enormously turned on by male feet. A bully had made him lick his feet in the changeroom after the other boys had left and gone home. Since then, he’d searched and searched for another man willing to reenact this, for him, bizarrely erotic scenario. He’d loved my pics and we began a pretty hot exchange–scenarios, thoughts on our fetish angles, you name it. He worked in my home town, Toronto, and I nerved up one night and agreed to meet him at his office building after hours. We’d discussed my laying him out on his office floor, masturbating while sitting in his chair while he licked my feet from the floor. I would bring myself off all over his face, and then trample his face to work the semen into his skin.
The idea was a hot one for me at the time, and I looked forward to meeting the man, though I was buzzing with nervous energy and more than a little uncomfortable.
When he met me in the lobby, he was disappointing. Forty or so, greying hair, plump, sheepish face and glasses, and a perfectly creepy deportment–excited in a childish, giddy way, like a teenage boy seeing his first playboy. He repeatedly asked if he could go down on my boots while the elevator went up to about the 30th floor. I was positively creeped out when I had to refuse him a second time before we reached our floor. Finally, something in me set, and I began to effect my escape. “Whoa,” I said, scanning the open concept office, “there’s so much open space, and I can hear cleaning staff… this isn’t what I’m going to be comfortable with. I’m so sorry to disappoint you, but I need to pass tonight and we can try to discuss a setting that might work better.”
He pleaded like a dog to go on with our plan, but finally I looked him dead in the eye and told him no.
It was a very heady experience, just going as far as I did to meet and accompany a man somewhere to engage in sexual anything with him. I can remember the needling doubts days before: was I bisexual if I wanted to have my feet licked by a man and then come on his face? I suppose I was, and in the final analysis, I didn’t much care. I wouldn’t tell a soul about the deviation from my usual hetero behavior, but I enjoyed feeling like a man with a secret self, another side that only male sexual partners would see, but which would be there underneath with all sexual partners.
I remember reflecting afterward that although I felt almost ready to indulge in letting the sheepish creep suck my toes, the idea of exposing my penis to him stifled any welling desire, never mind the idea of jerking off onto his face and kneading my sperm into it. And that’s how I feel, for the most part, to this day. I love having a man go down on my feet, I love sitting on his face, pulling it into my crotch and grinding it (clothed), but I lose interest immediately once my penis is freed and is bound for a man’s face or mouth. And if you’re wondering, yes I have since tried letting a man blow me. It just wasn’t that good without all of the various sexual and power dynamics that come into play with getting a woman to willingly wash your dick in her mouth. Then again, I haven’t yet had a very young, very effeminate man offer up his mouth. That would be worth an enthusiastic try, I’ll grant that. I’m certain that a passable transsexual would give me almost all the pleasure of having a woman suck me off and more besides–again, that sense of doing something profoundly degrading to another man. I can’t yet explain why I’m turned on by stepping all over a fat ugly mug, but disgusted by the idea of putting my dick inside it, but I think most people can meet me on common ground there on sheer intuition.
For now, I still identify myself as solidly straight, but I’m complex enough to be able to enjoy some homosexual acts. I remain ever evolving, and very committed to trying new things and new people.