Feet

I found personal ads in the newspaper as a kid—older guys advertising for young girls, offering money to lick their feet. Reading through those words did something to me. My eyes got wider, my stomach tighter. Where I guess some people were turned on, I just felt queasy. Threw the paper across the room and walked out.

That’s how I thought about feet for a long time. Disgusting. Off-limits. Then I learned that feet are one of the oldest turn-ons we have. King Ludwig was famously obsessed with them. Tarantino built films around them. Entire civilizations structured themselves around foot aesthetics—Chinese foot binding wasn’t just a beauty standard, it was a whole fantasy committed in blood, the idea that the perfect woman was one who’d broken her own feet to fit an image.

These days, I get it. There’s something about the right shoes, the right angle, the right moment—clean Chucks, white socks at the wrong time, a fresh pair of sneakers—that genuinely gets to me. Not like those ads. Not predatory or wrong. Just part of how attraction actually works for me. How your brain sometimes decides what it wants.

I’m not sure if everyone’s wired this way or if it’s all different. I’ve never figured out if there’s a line that shouldn’t be crossed or if that’s even the right thing to ask. What I know is when the circumstances are right, yeah—I’m into it.