THE LOVE OF FEET: MENTAL HEALTH PROBLEM OR NOT?

Does Such a Proclivity for this Part of the Female Body Indicate a Brain Mush or a Nice Clean Shot at a Utopian Gift Other Non-Foot Aficionados have the Misfortune not to Possess?

$2.00 Bob adds his 2 cents

Since I have an extreme openness about my fetish, many people ask me about it. I remember one doctor acquaintance telling me I can be cured through electric shock and pictures, similar to the therapy tried by some wanna-be-cured gays during that period of the current waning sexual revolution. My answer to him: “What? Are you crazy?”

So, one may ask, “What do I do about my supposed perversion?” Other than visually absorbing the lower extremes of passing girls, enjoying some excellent foot-fetish DVDs and including some cuddling of feet when I visit the hookers to gather stories, I test my mettle by attending foot parties, like the one delineate here in this report.

In this electronic age of sex, many “go-tech foot-fetish” parties compliment the bits and the bytes used for communicating the information on these feisty foot fiestas. Across the nation (and around the globe) such close encounter parties offer multi-city opportunities for men to lightly bite the bits on the toes of fair young maidens. Each hot get-together, at each different sponsored and each different managed gala, has its own distinct flavor and overall attitude. This remains as true even when a girl met at one earlier party and now met attending a current party presents herself. The cost, the dress code, the general types of foot wear and the degree of erotic action vary with the different venues.

I love all of the erotic feasts and I enjoy the differences at the different types. Sometimes I feel like a butt; sometimes I don’t. Sometimes I want to meet girls for later liaisons; sometimes I won’t. Sometimes I want a BDSM Mistress; sometimes I shun. And, there come those times when I attend a foot-party mostly, but never totally, looking for a new. fuck-buddy. I can find all of these possibilities, and more, at all of the parties, but some parties have more of a proclivity toward a certain bounty, which betters my odds on the success in fulfilling my desires for that outing.

Truly, I do not expect to reach the finality of my goals at any single party. For the party I want to meet someone for a later tryst, session or interlude. I never try to persuade a girl to leave the premises. The reason she makes the scene probably mirrors my own reasons. One girl may be adding to her client base, while another may be seeking an anonymous occasional fuck and another may be there to earn a few extra bucks to spend on her coming clubby weekend. The party gives me license to meet girls, elicit their disposition in tying up with me at a later date and to exchange numbers if chemistry and compatibility exists. To me, a foot-party parallels a dating-service, with a healthy heaping of short term erotica, rather than a pile of bull for a long term relationship

The models at some of the groupings have a youthfulness that can be very enjoyable, but these fall short of making my day. I find them too chatty, surprised at what they see and somewhat uninterested in making session money on the outside of the party. Surely they can be fun and some parties specialize in these girls who are actual aspiring models and actresses. Some of their feet do smell sweet and I do find them cute for a session or two for any particular evening. I do not like it when eighty-five to ninety percent of the females come from this genre. The following report deals with an enterprise whereby about ten percent of the girls fall into this category. That’s the right ratio of youngsters for me.

I, personally, do have a complaint about the foot-parties. “Where are the socks?”

This discrepancy affects mainly me. In my discussions with the other male participants I find about 20% agree with me. At some parties I have noticed two or three (many more in LA) of the girls wearing sox and they remain busy non-stop through the night. For some guys, the girls’ socks surpass the importance of feet. Sneakers, loafers or boots, with sox, can send us into an Eros orbit, causing a need for ejaculation.

Unfortunately, for us misfits, socks offer problems. During the warmer months, few girls wear sox. During the cooler months, when the girls do wear sox, they remove them at the beginning of the party, then they wash their feet and then they place their sox into their sneakers and then into their lockers. Only a few of the girls solidly understand the role of nylons, pantyhose and socks for the foot sessions. Also, the girls find the sox somewhat unwieldy because they require constant removal and replacement. The sox get quite slobbered up from the sessions and during the post session clean up. The very bright girls know they can rake in extra cash through multiple continuous sessions with one of us sox suckers. As one can see, later during this report, I have a way of getting around this second inconvenience.

So, now that I have finished giving the basic thoughts on foot-sex parties, I can start the actual true report. Oh yes! One more word: Do not assume that all the male attendees have only feet on their minds. I always speak with a few who hold no obsession for the lower extremities of the girls; these guys prowl the area for her whole enchilada.

THE INVITATION

After signing up with a number of foot-fetish parties, including a few on the West Coast, I receive the E-mail invitations generally in the format below. Merely clicking on the hypertext indicator permits the organizers to know of my intentions to attend and an Email confirmation returns to me before the end of the day.

From: Leg Party <footparty@app.topica.com>

Reply-To: <footparty2002@yahoo.com>

To: Bob@Qlimax.com

Subject: Leg & Feet Playground - Wednesday Brooklyn Party

Date: Fri, 11:00:00 -0700

The last party was really good and the new club is the best place we have ever used.

The private spaces were totally huge.

This coming Wednesday party will be even better with many more new gals -

One Block from the Subway Station -

Mail back for Train and Driving Directions -

DATE: Wednesday (Date)

TIME: 7PM - 1AM

LOCATION: Reply back for party location.

PARTY DETAILS:

Chose from many young and beautiful foot & leg models. All are between 18-25 years old

All sessions guaranteed totally private (no one will see you during any session).

$60 admission: a small price to pay for all those feet & legs.

Each totally private foot & leg session (10 minutes) is just $20.

Our guarantee: Stop by and you can check out the girls before you pay.

If you don’t agree that this is the hottest foot & leg scene around,

You can leave and you owe nothing. For more info visit:

http://footparty.c.topica.com/maaeS1vabrclkckmdjbbafpPrI/

My confirmation, as do all the confirmations for everyone intending to attend the festivities, includes detailed instructions on reaching the party by automobile, bus or train. On arrival (by car) I find easy and plenty of parking only steps from the entrance door and I stop for awhile to talk to a few smokers (no smoking inside) preparing to pay their $60 fee at the said entrance. By 7:00 PM I find myself roaming the vast space behind the steel, black gateway to the anticipatory libido satisfying night ahead.

THE PREMISES

Since my entrance takes place on this night at 7:00 PM, a relatively early hour for most participants, I have an opportunity to explore the physical space. After passing the entrance area where the girls stow their street cloths, I pass by a small administration office with a little “studio” level over it. Behind the administration office, and on the upper small level, large and comfortable bathrooms offer their availability throughout the party. The girls first meet together and prep themselves in this upper carpeted open room. Once I pass by this area, I see the space opening huge with a dance floor beside a bar. This party uses the BYOB system for drinks and a friendly bar tender can take the bottle and also offers soft drinks and bottled water. Pizzas fill the table toward the rear at around 10:30 PM.

I find the private rooms, in a partitioned section across from the bar, offering non-paralleled seclusion for such a party. The two entrances into this joyful erotic cauldron open into an atrium affair and the cubicles open off of the atria. The cubicles, all of different sizes, have different furniture configurations including chairs, tables and thick mats. I guess that about 20 of these private cubicles, draped in black curtains, house the individual couple and three-way action.

THE MALE ATTENDEES

I speak with guys who come from all sections of life and have, for the most part, one common ideal: The handling, kissing, worshipping and involvement with female feet, shoes and nylons and socks. I find most of the men friendly and talkative once conversation starts. Two guys speaking together, after about five minutes, usually clue the girls to break in to the discussion in order to schmooze the talkers into private sessions, and I like this very much. Still, a break every now and then certainly helps the party to reach a more enjoyable level, and saves a few shekels. Also, the talking-breaks allow a sharing of notes on the girls with other guys. Usually, about 30 guys circulate within the party at any one time. Some come early and leave and others come later and stay to the end. Then, some come like me: arrive early and stay until the end.

THE GIRLS OF THIS EVENING

This evening I count about 30 girls. From different sources I learn that sometimes more or less show up, and this reflects as the same thing for the number of guys. Like Mike, the organizer, says, “Sometimes too many people show up and sometimes not enough. One never knows. It’s a party like any other.” Fortunately, I (me the writer) personally have always thoroughly enjoyed every party, and the numbers always appeared to be an adequate quantity of both genders. I attend about 3 of Mike’s parties each year.

Before I select a couple of the girls for individual reporting, I can list the ones I remember, with some scattered observations. Suzanne: First time attendee ever; blonde, in jeans and sandals. Shannon: Red skirt, white top and wedgie sandals. Michelle: American-Chinese about five feet two inches with soft pouty lips, very cute lap dancer who does do private sessions. Cynthia: Mistress over 6' in heels with a Gothic look, lean body and black dress, having her own Manhattan BDSM business. Andrea: Jewish girl of Prospect Park working at a day school. Has short cut dark hair and wearing extra long earrings, along with skirt, blouse and heeled sandals. Julian: from Vienna Austria.

Some more: Kimberly: American-Asian with cowgirl boots, bare feet and legs. (These bare appendages show when the boots get peeled off by me.) Tiny and easily moved aside abbreviated panties. She does private sessions. Katti: Tall and slim, sporting long black hair with long black stockings on her legs. Expensive heels on her slim feet and long toes. Jaine: Ultra cute blonde working as a fact checker at a well-known men’s magazine. She’s the girl-next-door and has a graduate degree. Her legs stand out framed in white stockings and open-toed heels.

A COUPLE OF PERSONAL EXAMPLES

For this attempt to permit me to win a Pulitzer Prize in this journalistic endeavor, I include two of the seven sessions engaged by me during this evening. Some of my other one-on-one contact sessions include two or three contiguous sessions at $20 per session, however, I select these two for my report for no special reason but to offer the new reader a glimpse as to how a session might be enjoyed. So, here I begin.

CATALINA: The first of my more detailed description picks: Catalina. This beautiful Barbie Doll with lightly dark skin comes from Grenada. She stands five feet and eleven inches in strappy heels. Her creamy skin possesses nary a blemish anywhere I can see, and her classic Egyptian face, neck and shoulders stuns my libido. Catalina has extra long legs supporting her 120lb frame, small hips and reasonably sized tits shaped like perky tear-drops; the way I like ‘em. I watch her arrive at the club wearing a naval-like pants-suit with a cute Navy blouse, navy-blue socks and black squared toed loafers, with a slight heel. By the time she reaches the bar for contact, I see she has changed into a skimpy smart top, a cute navy blue mini-skirt and a white naval maritime blouse. The very strappy heels, noted above, decorate and frame her sculptured high-arched feet, from toe nails to heels. These captivated my attention as my eyes slid over the perfect toes and arches.

Catalina, a student majoring in psych at a Manhattan college, has a terrific personality based in a somewhat gruff reality. I ask her to share a session with me and we saunter into the private room area, where we pick out a private cubicle that houses a mattress. I pass her the $20 bill and we lie opposite one another with my head at the end of the pad in the direction of her feet. Naturally, I remove her shoes and pay homage to her tremendously beautiful feet and legs. But, this enjoyable action certainly is not my primary goal in “courting” Catalina. I want more.

After sufficient leg and foot licking and rubbing, I move to the top of the mattress and look into her deep and dark eyes. I hold her, suck her fingers and nuzzle her long neck. I ask her, “What did you wear when you came here this evening,” knowing exactly what she wore.

Catalina responds and when she finishes, I ask, “Would you mind if later on we have a double session and you wear the shoes and socks you wore into the party earlier this evening?”

“Of course I wouldn’t mind,” she replies. “Do you want me to get them now?”

“Yes. That’s great.” I asked further, “Can we do three continuous sessions? Would you mind if I get off during them?”

“How do you want to get off?” Catalina smiled.

“Well, we don’t want to get the placed closed. Maybe I can rub up against you leg while I work on your feet?”

“At the least: Now, let’s go do it and see what happens.”

I pay for the three sessions ($20 times 3 for $60) and immerge myself into 30 minutes of abandon foot adoration. When in the room I start by kissing her fore-head, face and neck. I sniff and lick her wrists, and bury my face, after pushing aside her mini, into her crotch which remains coved by her perfumed cotton panties. Then, I slip of her leather shoes and lick her feet through her dark socks. The aroma hurtles me into a sensual whirl and I press my penis against her hip and I begin the hump of ages.

I use the time by inhaling and exhaling through her toes, still covered with the dark socks. The smell of her feet, totally intoxicating, drives me so wild that I have to back off from the humping every now and then. During one of the lulls, I reach down and take out my penis. I reach and place Catalina’s hand over it.

“I have to turn the other way,” she says, “because if I see it you’re supposed to pay more.”

“How much more?” I ask in surprise.

“I don’t know. Someone told me that. Don’t worry. I don’t care. But still, I should face the wall so you can get the full benefit of the bottoms of my feet. I bet the smell on my soles, arches and heels is great. After all, I wore the shoes and socks for over eight hours today. You wanna?”

“I wanna,” I answer.

“You can keep my hand,” Catalina offers as her face turns to the wall and as her mildly scented soles smother my face. “Tell me what’s happening as you get their. I want to know what power I have over you.”

I go crazy sniffing and licking the crease under her socks and dividing her soles. I use her hand as a prop on my dick as I furiously stroke myself. Then I start: “Oh god Catalina. I feel my balls building up. I feel the explosion starting. I want to be your foot-slave. I want to eat your toes for hours on end. I want all your sneakers and shoes to drink from. It’s cummin… it’s cummin… ahhhhh.”

And so, after my finish I lie still while my nervous system ratchets down. This one of the two trips to heaven I make this evening has me in shudders. Catalina and I make an appointment for the end of the party so I can give her a ride home.

NATALIE: Between girls and sessions I keep spotting Natalie. The reason she stands out so much in my mind happens because I keep doing a double take when I eyeball her. She looks like that Debbie Majors actress who plays the stereotypical Brooklyn girl in so many TV shows and movies. Long black hair, wide set brown eyes and an ultra-cute Brooklyn accent, with a smidgeon of Spanish icing, personify Natalie. On her eight and a half feet rest black strappy heels. Navy blue panties, under a dark corset like bodice, become diminished by her wide smile. The twenty-five year old displays plenty of artistic tattoos.

“What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?” I jokingly ask.

“Waiting for a nice guy like you to rub my feet,” she smilingly answers.

“I want to rub more than your feet,” I go on.

“Hmmm. Tell me more. Anything’s possible, ya know? Go ahead. What’s up?

“I want you to wear the shoes and socks that you wore in coming to the party tonight. I want to jerk off while I worship you from your thighs to you soles. I want you to hold my dick when I cum,” I whispered into her ear.

“Well, we have a few problems. The shoes you see on my feet are the shoes I wore on my way into here tonight. I like to get them a little moist for the party. If you want to jerk off we need at least a thirty minute minimum session. I’d love to hold your dick, but we don’t want the place closed, that wouldn’t be fair to Mike. We can always meet on another day and go way beyond that if you want. Also, I want complete control on everything you do throughout the time we spend together. OK?”

“OK,” I reply.

We enter a room and she motions for me to kneel beside her. Natalie leads me to a cuddling, nibbling and tonguing program and I suck in the perfume from her wrists and hands. Eventually, I finish soaking her legs with my saliva and get ready to remove her shoes. “Don’t forget here,” she says, pointing to the thin cloth covering her crotch.

After I sniff her sweet panties, I take my lips and tongue down her legs unto the roofs of her feet. “Take off my shoes,” she says, and I do so.

I kneel at the bottom of the pad and fumble with the tiny buckles connecting the thin straps on the little leather bands going around her ankles. I always find this a tough chore and an impossible one when I attempt to put the heels back on the girls after the sessions. Once the shoes get ritualistically placed next to her legs, where I can fantasize about them as the session progresses, Natalie tells me to massage her feet. She asks me to place my lips, then my tongue, in different places, paying special attention to the spaces between her toes. Her introductory comments about the moisture of her feet have merit and the aromatic aphrodisiac ensures my lack of erectile dysfunction. “Lie next to me while you do my feet,” she says.

With Natalie on her back and I on my left side, I reach for my zipper and pull it down. “OK?” I ask.

“OK,” she says. I’ll face the other wall so you can have the soles of my feet. With our positions assumed, I bring myself relief.

I spend the end of our session cleaning her feet and exchanging numbers.

I return to the bar and have conversation with some of the guys resting between and awaiting for their next round. In one strappy heel live those men totally obsessed with the female foot to the exclusion of the rest of a girl’s body, while in the other strappy heel live men who consider the foot an enjoyable art form and a source of foreplay before the real action unfolds. I love feet, but not at the exclusion of the rest of the succulent body. I speak only of a visual sexual focus here and not the attitudes, personalities and nuances manifested by the girl owning the body and the feet.

Living foot loose and fancy free throughout a party like this permits me all the feet I need and, as can easily be seen, there’s more to a foot-fetish party than the pitter & patter of little feet.

Note: I’ve written this report for readers like myself. I am not an actuarial. I am not a statistician. I cannot look into the minds of my readers. If you find this report too long, too wrong, too short or too superfluous, let me know. Maybe too much coverage is included, or not enough. Maybe too much of my opinion is included, or maybe not. Let me know. Email me: Bob@Qlimax.com. I’ll add some received comments (minus names and contacts) as the month goes by.