We focused pretty hard on my fantastical fantasy about being captured and teased in the recent role-play I shared, so I wanted to shift gears and talk about the opposite.
Reality.
That is, my (our), Foot Fetish in reality. Because make no mistake about it (as I'm sure you found out the hard 🍆 way pretty early), there are A LOT of real-life applications to having a foot fetish, and what we happily and horny-ly endure because of it is... Well, real.
As with you, I have plenty of real life memories and experiences/situations at my disposal to pull from to have this conversation. No fantasy or imagination needed.
Simple. Everyday. Unassuming. And all sharing one delicious thing in common: They were all heavenly hell. Perfect but awful at the same time. Wonderful yet genuinely, deliciously debilitating!
Growing up (high school & Uni days) I had a friend I liked to secretly consider my best friend with benefits. Not because we had a friends with benefits thing going on - That wasn't it at all - but because his dad with basically a foot fetish national treasure. 🤤
Words can't really describe his soles, so I'm not gonna bother trying too hard to do that, but think "dream dad soles" Stupidly, STUPIDLY soft and plump for a man, and detailed to the point that seeing them candidly was actually excruciating. The shows I managed to get were great, but the pain of not getting to worship was agonizing.
I really love having soles as sexy as mine when it comes to chats like this, because they can actually do some justice in recreating some of the completely effortless and completely oblivious experiences, of the utterly incredible hell he accidentally put me through with his soles.
I will admit, I will be adding a slight air of whimsical to these real life experiences, but it's not much. The situations happened and my eyes got sole-wrecked... I just figured that just because I couldn't get my face nice and close to his works of art, doesn't mean you have to suffer the same fate.
He was a really cool dad and most of us thought it. Not because he tried to hard to be friends with us or fit in with us or anything, but because he was seriously down to earth and genuine. He actually cared about our lives.
And if any house was gonna host a group of us for a night on the weekend or a little pre-party get together, it was almost always unanimous it was gonna be his house.
Pool table and bar in the basement...
He loved throwing on old rock records for us...
And he didn't mind having a few drinks with us!
(We even taught him how to shotgun a beer one night, which was one of the most hilarious and epic fails I've ever seen. Almost 20 years later I still crack a huge, genuine smile and laugh when I think about it.)
He wouldn't always hang out and chat, and the times he did, some times were shorter than others, but my time in his house accumulated into an impressive spank bank of what I can only term as a sole lovers dream show.
I saw him at the kitchen table pretty much exactly like this. Obviously my house is different, so it's not exact, but this angle (both with regard to a kitchen table and where he was in relation to me) is pretty much bang on.
And he was just chatting with us...
And he had his fucking feet kicked up mindlessly on a chair...
And he was wearing thick socks fresh from his work boots...
And most importantly, he decided he'd get more comfortable, and apparently that also meant getting barefoot 🙌🏻
(This is where I make it a teeny whimsical. Not the barefoot part. He got barefoot, and his "fresh out of thick socks and work boots soles looked like a wet dream's wet dream... It's just he didn't go peeling his socks off right there at the table.)
He got up and left for a bit to change out of his work cloths and do whatever else while we were just having beers and mingling in the kitchen... But then he came back after a bit, joining us for a couple beer and picking up right were he left off!
Only this time? Yea... Fucking barefoot.
Sole orgasm jack-pot 🎤🫳🏻👀