So I recently did my second “foot party” – this thing that’s kind of like a strip club except instead of naked or mostly-naked ladies who take you to the VIP room for private dances, it’s clothed ladies who take you to a private room for nonsexual foot play.
Both times, I made more money than I would have working my day job for the same amount of time, but I didn’t make big-time glamorous frivolous sexy money. And honestly I don’t think I’m going to. In fact, I’m gonna actually be even more bold in my blanket statements here and say that I think it would be damn near impossible for anyone to. The guys who go to this thing go there to experience a variety of women’s feet, which means a lot of the time I could be spending with my feet in someone’s mouth, I’m spending out on the floor hustling because the last guy only wanted one session. The way to make amazing money would be to find a guy who just wants to keep going with me again and again and again, but that hasn’t happened yet and I am given to understand it’s rare as hen’s teeth.
I wish to god I had the kind of effortlessly chatty personality that puts people at ease. I think you really need that in a situation like a foot party. Sadly, I am an awkward dork. I faked chattiness as best I could, although some people just didn’t give anything back and my act collapsed into a heavily weird silence. But I tried my best. I’m sensitive to the fact that a lot of these guys were there for the first time and/or had been made to feel like freaks for their innocuous fetish, so I considered it my job to be Supercool Easygoing Chick, helping them to feel accepted, open up, and have fun.
And the vast majority of the guys were totally sweet and nice. I mean even times that I couldn’t think how to get or keep a conversation going, it wasn’t because I hated the guy or anything. I’m just a dork. I’m actually eternally grateful to these guys for how sensitive they were – the whole time I was hustling, I never had a single guy reject me outright. I mean nobody was like “Ew no I only like petite women” or anything like that. It was always “Oh um I just got here so I think I’d like to take a bit to get settled in” or “I’m actually waiting for a friend.” Took me stupid-long to even realize that these were just excuses. Derp.
But yeah. The guys may have been made to feel freaky for their foot fetishes, but I’ve been made to feel freaky for my height and shoe size – so it was a relief that nobody there acted like I was huge and gross, and healing as all fuck when a guy who specifically liked big feet would play with me and tell me how gorgeous they are. Seriously, it’s like some of the old psychological scars from high school just vanished on the spot.
Weirdly, I had a couple of guys refuse to believe my stated height or shoe size (and I wasn’t exaggerating either number!), which filled me with rage. As did the guy who said I “don’t look dominant.” Dafuq does he think a dominant looks like? I mean the weird thing, to me, is that the kind of guy who thinks a woman can “look dominant” often has a simplistic, caricature-ish image in his head – usually, from what I can tell, someone very tall with an hourglass figure and red lipstick. I have all of that. That is what I looked like when I attended the parties. So all I can think is that dude believes dominant women wear a black latex catsuit literally every moment of their lives. Anyway despite me trying to be on my best behaviour because customer service position, rage welled up and I kind of argued with these guys a bit, albeit in a restrained sort of way. Just…for my entire adult life I’ve struggled with finding clothes and shoes that fit, and to have some guy who just met me casually go “Nah, you don’t look that tall to me” and even suggest at one point that I’d look great in a Catwoman costume and should go ahead and buy one from [local costume shop where everything is one-size-fits-all] is just…GRRRRRRR.
In other news, I genuinely like having attention paid to my feet, butttttt unfortunately what I like doesn’t align super well with what foot fetishists like. Almost everyone wanted to suck and lick my toes, and I like a little of that once in a while but not twenty straight minutes of marinating in someone’s saliva. I of course made a show of enjoying myself, anyway. My feet are at the whole other end of my body so it’s pretty easy to detach myself from what’s going on with them. And there were pleasurable sensations here and there. The big tease was when the occasional guy wanted to massage me (which I love) but didn’t do it the way I like. If someone squishes their thumb into the sole of my foot hard and pushes it slowly up the arch it will make me completely lose my goddamned mind. Minx has made me cry (the good kind of crying) by doing this. I have needed aftercare after a good foot massage. But these guys…what they did was perfectly pleasant, but nowhere near what would have taken me to my happy place. I made a point of telling them once, light and friendly-like, that I carry all my tension in the arch and love firm pressure there, and if they didn’t alter their technique I didn’t ask again. Most guys did not acknowledge my words whatsoever; one or two pressed almost imperceptibly harder but still nowhere near what I was craving, but that’s all fine. The bottom line is that I was there to please them, not vice-versa. It just would’ve been a nice perk if we’d both been getting physical pleasure out of the deal.
The best thing to come out of the foot parties (aside from men telling me that my feet are perfect and shapely and amazing) is that I met a guy who went on to book a private session with me (like on our own time, totally independent of the foot party). He is an absolutely delightful client. He respects boundaries, knows what he wants and isn’t afraid to say so but isn’t overbearing about it, and our chemistry is excellent – he brings out a playful spark in me that made our session fun.
I woke up the day after with sore thumb and forearm muscles and realized it was from pinching his nipples so hard, though! My problems are different from other people’s.
Oh also I was incredibly sore after both foot parties from holding my legs up in the air so guys could suck on my toes. Thank heaven I’m already in good shape from modelling or I wouldn’t have lasted the night – I would have just collapsed or my legs would have fallen off or something.