It started one afternoon, I was coming inside from playing and I saw her sitting in a chair, one leg crossed over the other leg. Her other leg and foot was firmly planted on this little black kids face and he was in hog heaven, simultaneously sucking on her feet and leaving slobber all over them. She motioned to me with her finger, I came over and she asked me if I wanted to “smell something good”. I looked at her pantyhosed foot that was crossed and saw that the other little kid had already slobbered all over that foot. I scrunched my nose up said “no way” and ran off, haha. I could smell her feet from there, she was about 4′ away from me. Deep damp peach is what her feet smelled like. This was south Texas in the 70’s, mind you and it was hot as shit in the summer. High humidity and sweat ruled the summers there.
Since that moment though, she would stick her feet under my blanket when it was nap time. I hated the way her feet smelled. She’d make make me look at her while I kissed her stinky pantyhosed feet with that exact same smile that you see. Eventually, over time, I wanted to smell her feet and play with them more and more. Looking back, she got me hooked on her pheromones. Slowly, methodically. I’ve often wondered how many foot/pantyhose fetishists she created in that time. I wonder if she ever thought about how many people she’s indirectly touched.. Look at what I’ve done. Over 4 million surfers a year visit my network. It’s just so crazy to me how that seed was planted and what became of that seed. How it grew and then started taking over.. well everything in my life.
I’m pretty particular, I love sheer pretty women with sweaty feet. If they are gorgeous and they are sweaty, I love them already. I like the “girlie girls”, you know, makeup, mani/pedi, innocence, all of that. Smelling pantyhosed feet, stockinged feet or nyloned feet is totally different than smelling womens feet after being in flats all day. There is always that Ammonia aspect..it’s always there. I love it, to be honest. To firmly be under a pretty women’s sheer hot, wet feet. The mother fucking epitome of servitude. Something real in an unreal world. A beautiful memory that I’ll jack off to, over and over and over. When I am worshipping, I am cataloging everything, especially how her feet smell. Toenail symmetry, the look on her face, her perfume, how heavy her legs are in my hands as I slowly mash my face into her filthy sheer leggings. I’ll make her spread her toes and curl them over my nose, unless she does it on her own. Delicious! Add to that, the modern world, because you know, I love a good party, party favors, some good wine, a pack of ciggies and a smoking hot babe wearing my favorite pantyhose, are all I fucking need to have a good night.
But that scene that I’m talking about was late 80’s – 90’s. The Sheer scene now, (at least here in the U.S.) is pretty freaking dismal. If you’ve never been to the U.S., it’s weird, but southern women will still wear pantyhose, as opposed to the central and northern U.S. Let me tell you, the sweat down south is so much more “gummy” than it is here where I am in Utah. Like down there, the humidity is just so fucking high, mid 90’s or something crazy like that so women are just drenched after working all day. That’s what I’m a slave to, the power, the femininity, the sweat..
I’m an intensity freak, rather than stabbing and choking myself to get that perfect nut, I replay moments in my life where the Goddess I worshipped at that time, was like.. “The Goddess” you know? I put women, like most sexual deviants, on an impossibly high pedestal. I don’t become a toilet for any one, but sometimes, you’re with a girl and just so much energy is between you to, and you acknowledge it, maybe she does too. And then before you know it, you’re eating her callouses, haha. With that understanding of us and the universe, I mean, just fucking her doesn’t really put the “cherry on top” like it should be. I look at who and what I am as a gift, as should you to be able to see the world with a completely different set of lenses. We aren’t just knowledgable about sensuality, we are sensuality.(to be continued)