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'May I Kiss Your Feet?' (Part One)

First time foot cookie discovers the eroticism of feet.

By LP SteinbeckPublished 6 years ago 3 min read

Has anyone ever kissed your feet? I am not referring to a dry, perfunctory action that is done with a grimace before life continues on to the safe physical encounters of which we were taught to accept and anticipate...

Has anyone kissed your feet with passion rivaling any you've ever known, with eyes closed, mouth open, tongue deliberately caressing every sensitive place?

No? Yes?

Well, no one had kissed mine, and no one had really kissed me at all ANYWHERE for most of the 30 years I'd been alive. I was mostly shy, and my life was work, then go home to my Mom and younger brothers. Really, I was a bookworm, and a cat lady in training, but a few experiences raised my awareness of sensations worth repeating, including this one...

I worked for eight years in the same convenience store/fuel station, and late one evening, in my seventh year there, a young man came in that lived in the adjacent neighborhood. I had been acquainted with him my entire time there, so he was about 18 or 19 at the time. He came in, leaving a carload of his buddies in the convertible outside, all of them staring and laughing as he entered the building, which was empty except for me.

He peeked at me sideways, offering a small wave, and got a bottle of root beer from the cooler before approaching the counter. I told him the total, taking the money he held out at the same time, and handed him the change, which he squeezed into the pocket of his tight-fitting jeans. Then he just stood there, took a deep breath, and looked into my face. He asked, clearing his throat,

"May I kiss your feet?"

I thought I had not heard him correctly, and asked him to repeat it, which he did, and I saw him tremble slightly as his voice broke. I responded using his name.

"Marcus, why would you want to do that?... I don't think so."

"Please," he said, "I really like it. I thought you might let me... I can give you a hundred dollars."

He seemed to hold his breath as he waited, and then his friends suddenly burst into the store, laughing and hooting, jostling Marcus and mocking him. They asked me if he had told me he wanted to suck my toes, and Marcus broke in and told them I had said, "No." They laughed harder, asking if he had offered me the money, and he nodded, his gaze now on the floor.

One "friend" (who needs people in their life like these jerks?) looked at me and laughingly told me that Marcus would find someone tonight, even if he has to give her two hundred dollars.

"C'mon, man. C'mon, MAARRCUS!"

They taunted him as they laughed their way out the door, returning to the car, leaving the scent of beer in the air. Marcus seemed stone sober, shoulders slumped, head down. He softly said he was sorry and began to turn.

Despite every reason in the world there was to simply let him walk through that door, and go out into the night with his mean-spirited friends, and possibly, no, probably end up paying to kiss some random woman's feet... I could not let him go. My heart went out to him to see that he had a desire, a part of him that others didn't, wouldn't, couldn't understand, and he had risked comfort to ask me. I didn't understand it, but in my own closeted sexuality, I had deep empathy for him.

I in no way thought of kissing a person's feet as a sexual act. In my ignorance, it was like daring yourself to kiss a toad, and all I could come up with is that maybe there is a rush that you met your own dare to do this taboo thing.

I cared about Marcus, because I understood the basics of wanting something you couldn't have, and I had plenty of experiences with being bullied.

"I will let you do it, but not for money, okay?... When? When would you want to... kiss my feet?"

Continued in part two...


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