Confessions of a Foot Fetishist

I've known people who claimed that their individual sexual tastes were the result of specific significant experiences, often in childhood or puberty, which caused them to associate certain behaviours or body parts with arousal. I've known others who claim no such explanation, and that even their first exploration of such behaviours was foregrounded by an innate fascination or fixation that they could not reasonably trace to any previous state of affairs; it just sort of happened.

I remember being 14 and going to a cool kids' party, in a big house, in a small village, just outside the small town where I grew up. We had Kerrang! TV and a bottle of sherry lifted from the host's parents' liquor cabinet. We mixed it with coke. There was a girl there who had recently broken up with her boyfriend and asked me if I wanted to make out with her, which I did. So we did, and afterwards, while she regaled me with details of how awful her ex was, I gave her a foot massage.

This was, in fact, my first kiss and the foot massage that followed it, thinking about it now, was no more than an awkward attempt to maintain a level of intimate physical contact without having to admit to myself or anyone else that I wanted to get my rocks off. I had no idea what I was doing.

Porn did not help with this. Masturbation is a right, but good porn is a rarity. And while almost all porn is in some sense caricatured, fetish porn, more often than not, is basically MTV in the 80s. I've watched a wide variety of fetish porn, but none have extended beyond that simulated sexual experience to any of my actual sexual experiences. Except feet.

And I honestly can't explain why. But then again I don't feel like an explanation is necessary either.