I haven’t posted in a couple of weeks, because life kind of got in the way (too busy with work during the week and too hungover on the weekends, I totally suck.) Anyhow to make it up to you, I have a very special treat. I almost never post entries by other people (this is MY BLOG), but my dear friend Lusty Lady Cycle has agreed to share with you this excellent (and true) story about her experience with Craigslist from a few years ago. This story is racy and I love it!
Oh ya, probably not safe for work!
Enjoy!!!
A few years ago I had plans to quit my job, pack my things and leave my beloved city for an undetermined amount of time.
At some point, I realized what I wanted to experience before leaving was a clandestine love affair with a woman.
I had accepted I didn’t have enough time for this to happen organically so I did what other sexually curious twenty-somethings do. I posted an ad on craigslist.
Online, I met many women.
The process was exciting.
I felt myself opening up to possibilities I had never imagined. In this process, amongst those messages from gay women, women and their boyfriends and straight women looking for another soft skinned woman to cuddle and explore with, I met Mr. Foot.
Mr.Foot lured me with a simple message outlining his love of feet. He acknowledged he wasn’t a woman and couldn’t offer me what I was looking for – but what he could do, was offer endless foot massages and pedicures with nothing asked of me in return.
As someone who suffers from chronic joint pain in my feet, I was in.
And so started the emails and the text messages, the long phone calls and requests for photos of my shoes. I participated willingly as we laid out the rules, boundaries and expectations.
At no point was I expected to reciprocate sexually or physically. He wanted my feet to be as beat up, rough and unkempt as possible. He wanted to worship them.
In return, he would bring me shoes. Size 9.
We figured each encounter had a price tag, which equaled a pair of shoes or vintage dress (that I would buy myself and he would reimburse me for).
We made plans to meet at my loft.
After several unsuccessful meet up attempts I was ready to throw in the towel, but he was persistent.
Finally, we set a date.
Mr Foot arrived 30 mins late at my run down loft apartment in the seedy part of the city. I sat in my hammock chair that swung from the beams, with him underneath me, eating my toes.
I was a little weirded out so I made him put a towel over his eyes. When it slipped off and I caught him watching me, I slapped him. These tiny dominations seemed to arouse him more.
Slowly, he started to masturbate.
If he lost any connection with my feet, I slapped him again.
I watched him.
I stared at the ceiling.
I picked my nails.
I acted bored but inside, I was freaking out.
The less I paid attention to him and my feet, the more excited he got. Suddenly he stopped. He shyly asked me to get a spoon.
Indifferent, I walked to the kitchen, dragging my feet and returned with a spoon. He pulled up his shirt and continued to jerk off.
What the hell am I doing with this spoon? I wondered.
So I rubbed it on his exposed stomach and tapped his balls with it. Eventually, with enough feet sucking and ball tapping, he came. All over himself, spoon cupping balls, feet in mouth. And then he asked him to feed him his cum.
What the wha? Fine.
I scooped it up with the spoon and I put it in his mouth.
I wasn’t grossed out. Mostly, I was perplexed. Where was my foot rub? Where was my pedicure? WHERE in the hell were my shoes?!? Where were my vintage dresses?!!?!?
He explained his wife had found the shoes and in an effort not to get caught, he gave them to her. He didn’t have the cash on him to pay me for the dresses but he’d bring everything next time.
Mr.Foot left. I went about my night knowing I would never see him again.
Mr. Foot had come to my house, French kissed my feet, jerked off, had me feed him and offered me nothing of the promised things we had agreed to. He continued to message me for weeks after and wanted to meet up but I refused.
Even though I didn’t have to ‘do’ anything, he hadn’t honoured his part of the deal. I also didn’t have time to wait around for someone who may or may not show up. So, I declined his future requests.
Two days before I departed for my adventure, Mr.Foot called. He apologized and offered to pay me what he owed me. Touched, I agreed and said he could meet me at the corner of A and B to hand it over. Mr.Foot requested me meet at my apartment for one last session.
I hung up.
Recently, after many years away adventuring, I’ve returned to my beloved city to settle down with a partner I love, an amazing job, friends and family I missed dearly.
What I didn’t miss or expect, was to see Mr.Foot on the metro platform. With his wife. I couldn’t stop staring. I dared him with my glare, challenging him to look back. I knew he’d seen me.
While Mr.Foot taught me a few valuable lessons about sexual encounters, what I realized truly, is the importance of communication and honesty in all relationships.
And, I love a good foot massage more than French toe kissing.