headonist

We start the story at her feet, of course.

But why? What do you like?

I was in an exceptionally unusual (for me) posture: prayerfully kneeling, very naked, at the foot of the chair, at the foot of her bare feet. She had her camera in one hand and a cigarette in the other. I think she knew that my next dare for her would involve the camera. Anyhow, I was masturbating lazily, but it wasnt a particularly sexy moment; in fact, just then I thought of going for another glass of wine. Down in the plush chair, I believe she still retained her panties, but who knew. Her toes wiggled at me.

Seriously. Whats the turn-on?

Well, I bashfulled, II dont know, I mean

And I really didnt know. Only thanks to the drink and the late hour and the red glow and the relatively unthreatening woman here in my chair could I even bring myself to whisper the fearful truth:

I justkinda likefeet

Oh, was I in fact one of those squirming gross hollow-eyed critters? Just below pedophile (but just above cosplayer), the foot fetishist is a shunned worm in hells hierarchy. And I was such a one!

No, but, see, I just wasnt: I mean, I like a nice foot, sure, and I do get special kicks from seeing pretty girls dangle flip-flips from sparkly toes and all that, but I dont have any interesting whatsoever in the vast nonsense of the FFs stinky world: the boot biting or stocking choking or whatever silliness they get up to. This woman here, in the chair, I didnt want anything to do with her (very close) foot. No no, I liked my feet from afar. I was a footaficionado. Or I was a Platonic foot fetishist: somewhere there was a Dream Foot, before whom (whom!) I could prostrate myself unworthy self

But cripes, its not my only fetish, or even a dominant one. Theres also of course freckles, and bisexual women, and games playing, and short hair, and silliness, and middle-of-the-night-sex, and women with very small breasts, and women with reasonably large breasts, and going down on women in a variety of creative ways, and that includes sometimes going UP on women, and group sex, and group masturbation, oh and of course the usual kind of masturbation, and voyeurism --

Ah, voyeurism! The missing link between camera and alley! Just now, writing this, I look across the nighttime street at the opposite apartments. My lights are off; theirs are too. Wait -- a glow in the basement, a curtain corner pulled to the side --

Yelp! I jump back. Their front storm door had blown open with the wind. Gahd, Im not cut out for the life of the voyeur.

* * *

Of course, a fetish might be an object or action or some combination. An ex-girlfriend and I milled this over some time ago, when wed gotten to the absolutely charming well-never-see-each-other-again-but-howabout-we-talk-dirty stage of our maturing relationship. Lets call herMiss Kitty Fantastico. Or, hey, lets call her Shiela von Pantyspanker! No no, Im getting distracted.

The point is, she and I started a Tumblr blog for the cataloguing of our fetishes. As happens with such things, she lost interest, and I nudged the blog away from its mission statement and into anything that happens to give me an erection. Which, ahem.

Her fetishes were so dramatic, I thought: sex in a dive bar bathroom, this thing involving bicycles and cigarettes or something, and a succession of hipstery wan fellows with insistent hip bones. In comparison (and given my otherwise intimidating blazingly brilliant genius archangel etc etc personality) my fetishes seemed like something shipped to me by the Three Stooges Fan Club. Young and tiny women? Maybe sort of feet? Truth and Freaking Dare? Oh yawwwwwwn.

How do we even know our fetishes? Historically, youd have to be driven by a quiet persistent desire until opportunity or mad passion drove you to that wildly cathartic binge! Now, instead, you just choose your flavor from the porn menu.

I *lurve* the concept of the porn menu on any competent bulk porn site. Good evening, maam, are you here for teens or MILFS? Amateur? Can I interest you in some hentai tentacle anal? Ah, sir, you look like a cuckolding creampie sort of fellow with a recent BBW fixation! Right this way

But the real thrill for me is of course the taxonomy and cross-referencing. For example, honest-like, lets say my dream involves a number of lithe young redheaded amateur girls, nude but for their Converse or flip-flops, talking about their fantasies while masturbating in a delicious heap? I mean, lets just say. So is that to be filed under Amateur, Redhead, Feet, Group, Masturbation, Teen, or Lesbian? If Porn Librarian were a career, my guidance counselor and I wouldve had words.

But after all this sorting and specifying, what do my fetishes say about me? Where do they come from, and am I more or less an individual for them? In some ways, fetishes illustrate our lack of free will: were shot into this world with the marks of the gunbarrel engraved on us, and we continue along a trajectory until we land where we always had to. Just as a panoply of world religions seems a good argument that none has any privileged leg to stand on, the diversity of fetishes seems to invalidate all of them.

For me, the real concern is the mundanity of the motivation in relation to the passion. Yes, I fiercely crave those lithe redheads -- but why? I dunno, maybe when I was a child a neighbor girl was redheaded. Or maybe the girl who sat in front of me in geometry. Whatever it was, it was incidental, and earthly. So doesnt it seem silly for me to stay up to 3am pursuing JUST the right video of freckly redheads cavorting under waterfalls or some crazy crap like that?

This driving fetishized passion is neither disembodied love nor animal rutting, but a third thing. A dream of the egress. The fetish is the courtyard dream of the monastery mind.

* * *

In the end, we were all there, in the dark, on the bed. All evening the four of us had been sneaking off throughout the house to hook up with each other in various combinations, so it seemed natural that wed end up all together in the bed.

I loved the idea of group sexbut I dont know that I was particularly attracted to any of these folks.

Two of them paired off. There wasnt much conversation.

The dog came in, whinnied, and shat on the floor.

The reality still pursues the dream.