Thursday, March 29, 2007

Foot Fetish

It’s been a long time since I’ve shared one of my ‘scary’ doctor visits with you all. Being that I have OCD, among other anxiety-related manias, the mere thought of sitting at a doctor’s office is somewhat unnerving. Usually, it’s the issue of touching those magazines, which many sick people touch. Not only do they touch these magazines, but also, they feel the need to lick their finger upon opening each page. I look over, give a little curled up lip snarl, and look the other way. Never, will I touch one of these magazines ever!

It’s not the issue with this doc that I visited yesterday. You see, I’m a foot person. No, I don’t have a foot fetish, but I’m very into keeping my feet nice and well kept. I love pedicures and wearing sandals in the spring and summer. I love putting pretty toe rings on, just as I would with my fingers. When my manis and pedis are done, I feel dressed up even if I were to wear pajamas out in the public.

The doctor I visited yesterday is my podiatrist. Stop gasping, I go for cosmetic reasons. During the winter, my feet hibernate. From pounding the surface of the treadmill, (would sound much better saying pavement, but I’m a big sissy), my feet have developed a callus on each big toe, which ultimately needs to be filed down. They say I have an instep when I walk, which makes me put all my weight into my big toe. Don’t worry- no bunions or corns or fungus among us.

When March rolls around, it’s time to prepare for warmer weather. I head down to the podiatrist and get those puppies chiseled and ready for my first pedicure of the year. Now, some of you may not be aware, but during the course of the winter, your feet develops an extra layer of skin, which hardens a bit from the cold months and walking in boots and heavy footwear. After buzz sawing my precious feet, I realized that there was a huge mountain of skin piled up before him. I was even a bit perturbed by it all. Why do people decide to go into podiatry? I guess the same reason people become gynecologists—the money. I just never understood those occupations, but I am so unbelievably grateful for them.

Here’s what went through my mind though, as the podiatrist was buzzing off my calluses. See, a long time ago I knew this guy who liked me. He was a very good-looking wealthy man who kept asking me to date him. I tried to go on a few dates, but the bulk of his conversation was all ‘shop talk’. He was a stockbroker. There seemed to be no depth to him, other than the love for money. That’s fine. But, I needed more. Eventually, I got him to talk about himself some more. I wanted to see what he likes, beyond the stock market. I fed him a few glasses of wine and he opened up. I asked him to tell me something of a personal matter- a secret even!

“I have a foot fetish.”
“What?”
“A foot fetish.”
“What?”

I’ve always heard of some men having foot fetishes, but I didn’t know what went beyond the fetish. Okay, so he likes feet- big deal, right? This went beyond appreciating a woman’s feet. With lots of truth serum made with the finest grapes, he told me a bit too much of what I was trying to get out of him. He mentioned he’s been in love with my feet for some time now. He especially loves when I paint my toes red and garnish them with jewels. I still didn’t get it, I just thought it was cute and sincere. So, a ‘thank you’ followed after his statement, until I delved in deeper.

“I would absolutely love to tickle your feet.”
“What?"
“I would love to tickle them.”
“What?”

Okay, another thing I didn’t understand. I’m a slow learner, but pretty much open to other people’s enjoyment. He asked if he could massage my feet.

PLOP!!!

My feet fell down on his lap faster than you can say “Blahniks”! I was in heaven. Who wouldn’t want to get their feet rubbed by someone who appreciated them? I thought this was the perfect idea, until something ‘came up’. I felt uneasy and evinced the awkwardness that I felt. Then he started tickling my feet. I laughed and said, “Stop it!” But he kept on. It was like ‘foot rape’! I couldn’t get my feet out of his grips. He began to hold them down and tickle them.

This has reached its limit. “STOP!” I yelled, laughing and mad at the same time. I didn’t know what to do. It wasn’t as though he did something ‘perverted’…or did he? He stopped, and began to rub my feet again. Apparently, I fell asleep and by the time I woke up, it was 7am. He was rubbing my feet for over ten hours. His pants were still too short and the gleam in his eye looked as though there wasn’t something accomplished yet. I needed to end this morning glory and end this peculiar date.

So back to my podiatrist visit. The good-looking doctor was filing down my feet with this little saw, but it tickled. It felt awkwardly familiar to another place in time. I laughed. The doctor looked at me and smiled. I jolted. The doctor looked at my face again, tickling me in the same spot...followed by that weird smile.

Do foot fetish men become podiatrists?