|FOOT FETISHIST DAVE
"A woman who will let a man touch her feet will let him touch her anywhere." - Dave
There was a time when I loved having my feet massaged and it didn't especially bother me who massaged them. That was before I'd ever heard of such a thing as people with foot fetishes. I discovered this much to my deep surprise and embarrassment some years ago but the memory remains etched in my mind.
It was after a long day at work at the end of a long, tiring week. I'd gone to a neighborhood bar with several women I worked with and (long story short) we met up with the husband of one of those women and a friend of his who I'll call Dave. The husband was very nice but I immediately sensed something about Dave that made me feel uneasy in his company. The only way to describe him is to say he had shifty eyes and a big grin on his face every time he looked at me.
Now, it wasn't long before one of my work friends started to complain about how tired and sore her feet were. Dave immediately sprang into action and said he could make them feel better by massaging them. The suggestion wasn't nearly as unexpected as my friend (I'll call her Barbara) agreeing to this. Conversation around the table continued as if nothing was going on with Dave massaging Barbara's feet in his hands. I couldn't bear to watch but after several minutes, Barbara was clearly enjoying it and she wasn't quiet in telling everybody.
A little while later, Dave stopped massaging Barbara's feet and asked me if I'd like to have mine massaged. On the one hand, had it been anybody other than Dave, I'd have said yes immediately. On the insistence of Barbara, I agreed. Dave moved his chair around to face me and watched while I removed my shoes.
I have to confess that for those first couple of minutes, once I let myself relax and enjoy the soothing manipulations of his fingers on the arches, soles and heels of my feet, Dave really was doing a very good job. But then he whispered something, just loud enough for me to hear, that surprised me so much it made me speechless. He said, "A woman who will let a man touch her feet will let him touch her anywhere."
There was no doubt in my mind as to what he meant. I instantly tried to pull my feet out of his hands but he grabbed onto my toes and held them so I couldn't wriggle free. It was a strange and memorable moment in that the short struggle that followed combined with the sensation of feeling that he had me restrained caused me to feel that what he had just said was almost true. I say almost because the thought of Dave touching me anywhere ever again makes my skin crawl. But, in that brief moment, it really did feel like his hands were groping me all over: a feeling I distinctly recall and which makes me feel slightly hot and bothered whenever I think back to it.
I saw Dave at the bar periodically for about a year after that first encounter. Usually I had shoes on but occasionally I wore open-toed sandals. Now knowing of Dave's foot fetish, on the days I saw him and he could see my bare feet exposed, it felt like I was naked all because I just knew he was looking at my feet. I've often wondered whether foot fetishists remember feet like most people remember faces. That question could possibly be answered if I played this game.
It begins by emailing Dave a couple of photos that have been cropped to just reveal my feet. They'd be sent anonymously of course and with no explanation except the question, "Remember me?" To add to the perverse thrill, in case he does guess first time, the pictures reveal aspects of my love for bondage.
If he replies that he doesn't know but would like to find out, a couple more pictures are sent revealing slightly more than just my bare feet. This could be dragged out over several days until eventually, a picture revealing me completely; barefoot, bound and spread with the comment, "A woman who is completely bound and helpless has no choice be let a man touch her wherever he wants!"
Incidentally, I still do love having my feet massaged but it would interesting to revisit Dave.
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