I don’t think they are. I was basically just bitching that our fetish lacks a certain social cachet. Our most prominent public representatives are a craven toady (Dick Morris) and an annoying nerd (Quentin Tarantino).
That would describe me also. Friends think im kidding when i say i don’t find most models attractive in the least, but its because of their fucked up feet from being in high heels for so long.
Somehow this is reminding me of that Eddie Murphy movie “Boomerang”.
I however, think that the human foot is about as unattractive piece of meat that the body has to offer.
Now, getting foot rubs and having toes popped is certainly pleasurable, but I just don’t get the sexual connotation.
If getting your feet massaged is a part of foreplay, I understand. I don’t want to have my cock “foot fucked”, though. It doesn’t do anything for me. I’d rather your mouth or vagina, thanks. You know, orifices intended for insertion of my penis.
To each his own though, but it doesn’t mean that I understand the attraction.
How is the mouth any more intended for a penis than the foot? you don’t eat with your feet, theres no teeth on your feet.
OK, you’re right, it isn’t. But to me, rubbing my dick with a pair of feet is far less pleasurable than wrapping your mouth around it.
Let’s just say that TO ME, it’s not only a more enjoyable option, it’s a better fit forthe penis.
Again, if you’re into feet, great. I just don’t get the attraction.
Today at work I overheard one coworker ask another if her boyfriend had a foot fetish. The asked person responded, “yep.” with a smile, then proceeded to let us all know that part of the fun of the relationship was that every night she got a “complete” foot massage.
We all work at Walmart, and we all work 8-9 hour shifts, on our feet. At the end of the day, a relationship like my coworker’s starts to sound nice. I’ll consider the sex part later, but a foot massage every night? No wonder my coworker smiles.
Love, Phil
Ahh, the female foot.
The female form, all in all, is a work of art. Starting with the hair, moving to the face, the grace of the shoulders, the supple slope of the breast, the curves of the stomach and hips, the mysteries of the naughty bits, around back to the often glorious, always squeezable ass, down the thighs (be they milky or be they dun, there’s something there for everyone) and to the calves, there is truly beauty to behold. But my friends, for one to realize the heights of the female body, one must descend to the lowest part.
Ahh, the female foot.
What a glorious, perfectly glorious creation! Where, where I ask, could I possibly begin in order to do it justice? Perhaps the toes. Yes, the toes, the wiggling little critters, the beautiful things! Not all toes are created equal, however. There are long, monkey toes – not my type, personally. No no, I prefer a good stocky set of toes, chubby little piggies who know their role in life. Ones that, when you wear open-toed shoes, you can see dig in ever so slightly in order to achieve purchase. Little, stubby toes that wiggle just a little whenever she laughs at a funny bit in a movie.
Then to the tops of the feet, more elegantly shaped in many cases than even the thighs (dare I say it? Yes! Sometimes, even more than the breasts themselves!). Gently sloping forward from the legs, marvelously tying together the ankles (which we will address in turn) and the toes, oh the toes, the toes! The tops of the feet may be smooth and soft, or ever so lined with the tendons underneath which bely the subtle movement of (those glorious!) toes.
The ankles are such an enigmatic point of articulation. Able to slip and slide, flex the feet in a multitude of directions, while still maintaining a look of grace and quiet strength. Their praises are not sung nearly heartily enough! Without them, feet are just feet – the ankles bring life.
The heels are magnificent in their own right, be they tough and hard from months and years of hiking through the Piedmont or soft and delicate from furious applications of pumice stone. To squeeze the heel of a woman’s foot is to know God. Trace your finger, trace it my friends, from the ball of the foot to the heel, veering slightly to the outside so that at the end you are cupping the heel in your hand. Now give it a squeeze, and then slowly move that squeeze back up to the ball. Did you see? Oh my, the toes, they curled under, then stretched, then finally splayed out in delight. The heel, and it’s cousin the ball, are where it’s at. Yes, yes, the toes are the best part, but one can only squeeze and tug and suckle at them for so long. For best results, utilize the traveling squeeze (patent pending, get your own) described above. That final moment when the toes begin to splay – that is, unquestionably, ecstasy.
Phew. I need a shower.
Wow, your response had Soul– or should I have written “Sole”!
Stop it man! For Og’s sake STOP!! YER KILLIN’ ME!!!11!!1111!!!1
I really have to take exception to this. Being gay was ***never ***a fault, regardless of political, social and academic clout. And the same is true for people of other minorities, sexual or otherwise. Including people with foot “fetishes.”
Hey now sunshine, I never thought anybody was “faulty.” I was just pointing up the common wisdom, hopefully to cast it in a doubtful light.
Jeez, who killed subtlety? And how come I never got the memo?
Sort of on topic: A friend of mine is a very well paid “foot fetish” model in San Francisco. She gets paid several hundred dollars to show up at parties. At the parties she wears nice heals and stands on a pedestal. Men mostly, but a few women, stand around and look at her. She’ll point to them one by one where they tip her $1 to touch her foot for a few seconds and $5 to kiss it.
Sometimes she’ll let some one hire her. She gets up to $1000 for an hour or two. They give her a complete foot massage and then she finishes by giving them an “fj.”
Damn, Soul, that was HAWT!!
I’m so ashamed of my ugly feet right now. 
That’s really interesting. Sounds plausible enough, though I haven’t got the faintest understanding of how the brain really works.
Are you kidding? For one it’s a clearly defined orifice…
I’m going to ask for a pedicure for my birthday.
Just cause theres a hole in it doesnt mean you should put your penis in there 
Oh freek, I bet you have lovely feet!
Words to live by. God, I limped for a week.
I don’t have a foot fetish… I really don’t. But I love the glassy-eyed look my wife gets when I spend a half hour or so rubbing the aches out of the arches and heels of her feet. In college, two intramural seminar teachers both said I had the ‘gift’ for massage. Maybe I won over my wife with it.
As for me, I like the light tickle/rub she gives my back as I do it… before she fades off into a smiling mumuring sleep.
Somehow it makes my waking her up in the wee hours before the alarm goes off for occasional nooky more acceptable.
PS- Feet during sex? Sure… one in each hand for balance.
Okay, I wouldn’t say I have a foot fetish (because I don’t actually find feet attractive - cue me fast forwarding the bits of porn where guys start sucking on toes etc). BUT I really really REALLY dig footwear and (please don’t judge me) socks.
Seriously, I can sit and look at a guy’s footwear and socks and get vaguely aroused by it, even though there’s nothing in the least sexy about them. I’ve even properly perved on a guy’s footwear whilst knowing that it’s attached to someone not all that attractive - bizarre huh? I’m not even going to pretend that I understand what that’s about.
If I weren’t at work I would go find Dan Savage’s hilarious column where he tells a woman off for being upset that her boyfriend has a foot fetish (her boyfriend had been giving her great foot massages, and when he finally confessed that it was a fetish she felt deceived and used).
This is, of course, a very mild fetish in Savage’s view. He alludes to karma and says something along the lines of: “The person who rejects the honest foot-fetishist will end up marrying the dishonest necrophiliac”.