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Foot Job? Rubbing Paws for Pubis & Bob Sagets' Amusement

Reason #79 for why I need an editor

The foot and ankle contain:
26 bones
33 joints
more than 100 muscles, tendons (fibrous tissues that connect muscles to bones) and ligaments (fibrous tissues connecting bones to other bones)
A vast network of blood vessels, nerves, skin and soft tissue
1 confused Cannibal

As mentioned in the comments section a few days back, I was propositioned by a potential gal pal for a foot massage because the towering heels she wore that day made her feet hurt. Well, fashion over function argument aside, I began to think that foot massages are way too serious a step in the relationship direction for this people eating person at this time so I waffled a bit, found it odd that I’d roll about in the sack with her but considered a tootsie touch to be almost like wearing white after Labor Day or lawn bowling with a Lepers’ skull. She said a few weeks back that the moment she knew she was comfortable enough with moi to allow safe passage through her panty portal was when we were sitting on the couch at her place and I played with her toe ring for a whopping 8 seconds (toe rodeo?). I was forced to examine my history of foot fondling and my place within its weird world.

Foot & Mouth Disease?

Some people are very strange about their feet and yet to others they’re practically an erogenous zone all on their own with each toe being a receptive (read clitoral) creature begging for attention. That said, when I was a teenager I was digging on a girl pretty bad (the girl next door in fact) and when I finally got her over to my parents basement I was trying my best to be the lay of her young life, write my own ticket to the Penthouse Forum hall of fame, cash in my cannibal chips and etch another portrait for my portfolio of perversion. I drew tongue glyphs detailing my sordid wants on her inner thigh like sexual scripture, kissed her well defined calves and then something strange happened; I ended up with her foot in my mouth. Now, as odd as that sounds, as soon as I rolled my tongue around her baby toe she lost her fucking mind. I stopped for a second and panned my eyes up her body to see her writhing about like a wounded ant under a midday magnifying glass. “What fresh hell is this?” I thought (or perhaps it was just simply “holy fawk!” at the time), was she getting off on this? No time for questions young grasshopper, just eat toe until your jaw locks up.” Other foot, other foot”, I thought. Grabbed her leg and licked the entire bottom of it. Hello heel, arch and Hallux. What’s this? Got something in my mouth, lint! Can’t stop now I got her right where I want her. Take one for the team, consume lint. I’m a cannibal in training dammit! I ingest her ill begotten fluff.

She continued to flip her lid and I figured that if I can’t mail this letter without licking the stamp I might as well spend the day down here until she grabbed my head, said that she’d had enough and asked me what I thought I was doing. I said “aren’t you having a good time, baby?” To which she replied “what’s with you and my feet?” My young brain began to swim, not enough life boats. “What?”

She was one of them. Hated to have her paws pawed, she was writhing out of anxiety or quite possibly embarrassment on my account and not from the erogenous tug of your clueless host (yes Pig, I said “tug” get over it). I had her foot in my mouth people! Had Bob Saget been presented with a video copy, I’d have surely won the grand prize that year.
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In fairness, I have rubbed the odd foot since then, but more out of courtesy or relationship reasoning, up until this last week of course, found myself at the Body Shop on Thursday buying peppermint cooling foot lotion for what equates to a kings’ ransom to dutifully fulfill said request.

She was on her way over to watch the latest and greatest addition to the horror movie collection, play bed bunny to my cannibal carrot and I hadn’t yet told her that oft requested foot massage was also in the meaty mix. After her arrival we talked a little about the topic du jour – “hand jobs” and she said she can’t remember ever giving one, she just “goes to town on it”. Can’t be all bad I think (which town does she go to so I can stop by?), so after a pint I said that I had something for her and passed her the bottle of million dollar foot sauce. Her face lit up like a drunk after a long luxurious piss in a dark alley.

I warmed the lotion between my palms and liberally applied it to her right foot, adding pressure with my thumbs, kneading with my palms and using my bass guitar playing fingers to spread out her lithe little toes - she began to moan a little, best proceed carefully I thought, Bob Saget might be watching. Her big blue eyes shut slowly and her hair washed over the side of the couch as her head rolled back. A sensuous smirk spread across her face like a splash of color on a white cotton sheet and then she began to squirm. My girl next door experience came back to me like a bad burrito, a pin prick in the dark, but it wasn’t like I was going to stick her foot in my mouth, not with all that peppermint lotion on it! Surely I’m doing every right, right?

No doubt about it, I hit a spot on her left foot a few minutes later that made her grab the remote, shut the movie off and drag me upstairs by the front of my jeans (poor me :)

Some say that a foot rub is like worshipping a woman like a goddess, others say that feet are filthy and only good beneath a Hobbit. Whatever theory you subscribe to, I have a feeling that this foot sauce will likely be the best million bucks I ever spent considering the treatment I got, which I think makes me a whore of some kind… and I think I’m OK with that.

Relationship question? What relationship question?

Whatever happened to the girl next door you ask, well later that summer she taught me how to drive stick in a parking lot, fortunately for me she knew way more about stick than I gave her credit for ;)

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