Foot Fetish 

 

I had a baby toe verruca and by that I mean it was actually becoming my whole toe it was so big. I was living in Spain without any Spanish because I’m clever like that. He was a podiatrist, the only one in the little town I lived in so I paid him a visit hoping that pointing to my foot would assist with the language barrier. 

Some men don’t need to be attractive, namely dentists, doctors and podiatrists. There’s something unnerving about someone very attractive professionally examining any part of you, especially one’s unpleasantries. But, yes of course mr foot fetish had to be a hunk and trust me, in that little village in Spain I was living – this was like the excitement you have when finding out you had a chip left in a bag when you thought they were all gone. 

He immediately spoke in broken English. I was tempted to pretend I was in the wrong place but he noticed my slight limp. Hoping I didnt have smelly feet and wondering if I had matching socks, I stared longingly at foot fetish (it had been a very long time since my last *cough*). I’m on the chair he’s working on my foot and I’m somewhat distracted by the dilemma of deciding what celebrity the top of his head resembled. Suddenly, he looks at me worried and says “it’s very big” which sends me into an uncontrollable fit of giggles. 

30 minutes later our session is over and foot fetish looks a little addled and sweaty and tells me I’ll have to come back next week. I sarcastically say “I bet you can’t wait” he tells me I’m right and we arrange to meet for coffee on Thursday. 

I go back to my housemate and we look at my foot, unmatching socks, never been manicured nails and open the vodka, debating whether or not my foul foot could be the start of something good. 

Thursday comes and I’m now in a panic. My foot is swollen and I can’t fit into heels. It’s my time of the month and the hormones have decided to let me ask myself questions like “do you think he will want you to wear socks in bed” but my fab roomie tells me I’m being ridiculous and all he will remember is my pretty face.

I ask the venue, he asked the time. I say looking forward to it in google translated Spanish and he replies “how’s the foot”. I quickly crawled back under the duvet and never text back. And yes, those are my actual feet in the picture, still gross 5 years later. 

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