Month: June 2009 (Page 3 of 9)

In Salon, Liam Tell laments his foot fetish.

In short, I think there’s something wrong with me.

I would ask for help, but who can you talk to about such things? Shall I start sucking my wife’s toes after five years of happy marriage? She has deliciously formed feet — I wouldn’t have married her otherwise — but she wouldn’t understand; no, no, she still talks about the college twerp who tried to suck her lower digits, and the mouthful he got instead.

Oh, my lovely, caring wife knows I like female feet but denies I have a fetish. “You’re normal,” she says. Inside, I howl.

In the dim moonlight, beneath warm covers, she asks, “What do you want, what do you really, really want; anything, I will do anything to/for you.” But she has no idea what she’s asking. I’ve heard variations of this before. People think they might understand. They draw you in. Tell me, they say, I’d really like to know.

But a foot fetish is King Kong. People misunderstand it, run from it, try to kill it. A foot fetish is a scarlet letter that is but one better than the letter assigned to gerbils in the ass. Lives combust when secrets like this are divulged. The moment you tell them the truth — how when you see a female foot of the correct size, color, cleanliness and proportion, you feel a warm tug in places beneath your clothing, your breath escapes like the steam from that kettle, you want to caterwaul like John, Paul, George and Ringo at high harmony — they point and betray like zealots of Big Brother (not the TV show).

We think Liam needs to lighten up. Start by giving your wife foot messages. You don’t just announce that you have a foot fetish – show her how you can enjoy her feet, and how she can enjoy it as well. If she likes the message, she’ll like it if you escalate. Get to work!