steps, opened the unlocked front door, and headed up the wide stairs to change out of my church clothes. I wanted to put as much distance as possible between them and me. As I climbed the stairs, my head pounded, and I gingerly touched the side of my eardrum, feeling the crust of dried blood.
My grandparents delivered the news to me after the policemen left, sitting me down in their formal living room, their voices shaking and eyes weeping. I had no reaction; I said nothing when they told me. My grandfather repeated the news, looking into my eyes to be sure I understood. I sat there in silence for a full minute, then a wail bubbled up in me, and once I started sobbing, I couldn’t get myself to stop.
I stayed at my grandparents’ until I graduated from high school, then I moved out. That was when I enrolled in community college, using the small amount that remained from my parents’ life insurance. There wasn’t much left after paying for four burials.
CHAPTER 18
PODOPHILIA : Commonly called foot fetishism, “podophilia is a pronounced sexual interest in feet” or footwear. 3 It is one of the more common fetishes, affecting at least 70 percent of men. 4 For a foot fetishist, their attraction can focus on the shape and size of the foot and toes, jewelry, treatments, state of dress, and odor, as well as sensory interaction—such as smelling the foot, licking, kissing, tickling, etc. 5 Even a preference for women with nice feet or who wear heels can be defined as podophilia.
I HEAR A knock at my door at nine a.m. and pause my cam, interrupting a bald Asian man who is asking to see my feet. I jog across the linoleum till I can see through the peephole. It is UPS Jeremy, holding a big box. “Leave it. Thank you,” I call loudly, then watch him set down the package, scrawl something on his pad, wave to me, and walk away. I hold my ear to the door, waiting for the sound of the elevator, then jerk open the door, grab the huge cardboard box, and slam it shut again. I don’t lock it. I never lock my door. I figure if someone is stupid enough to come inside, they have ill motives and deserve to die at my hands. It’s one of my favorite fantasies, because it is one of the ones most likely to occur. I drop the heavy box on the floor and bound back to my pink bed, where the patient Asian waits. I apologize to him and hold up my feet close to the cam so he can see them better.
Foot fetishists make up a large part of my clientele. My feet were ignored for the first eighteen years of my life—the ends of limbs that slid into fashionable shoes before leaving the house. But in the webcam world, my feet are my bread and butter. The fact that this client is Asian has nothing to do with his fetish: it is a worldwide turn-on and more common than I ever imagined. Most men have a slight fetish—like a leg man—they enjoy seeing nicely shaped feet, either bare or in four-inch heels. Other men focus solely on feet as their erotica; they do nothing but stare at my toes, soles, and arches and jack off while doing so. It is my favorite type of clientele, in that all I have to do is wiggle my toes and rub my feet together seductively. The feet that I had abused for years—carelessly stubbing on doorjambs and stuffing barefoot into old sneakers—possess a high arch, symmetrical toes, and narrow ankles. I rock bare feet like Pamela Anderson filled that red swimsuit two decades ago.
The Asian is getting close, his face tight in concentration, his eyes glued to my feet. I lie back and slowly run my left arch over the top of my right foot, letting out a soft moan as my feet take him over the arc of ecstasy.
I take a fifteen-minute break at noon, cutting open the box and unpacking its contents. It’s my food: two weeks’ worth of Jenny Craig meals. Jenny is my current meal plan. I use diet plans because they make my life easier—shipping me a complete breakfast-lunch-dinner combination, two weeks of tasteless meat at a time. The fact
My grandparents delivered the news to me after the policemen left, sitting me down in their formal living room, their voices shaking and eyes weeping. I had no reaction; I said nothing when they told me. My grandfather repeated the news, looking into my eyes to be sure I understood. I sat there in silence for a full minute, then a wail bubbled up in me, and once I started sobbing, I couldn’t get myself to stop.
I stayed at my grandparents’ until I graduated from high school, then I moved out. That was when I enrolled in community college, using the small amount that remained from my parents’ life insurance. There wasn’t much left after paying for four burials.
CHAPTER 18
PODOPHILIA : Commonly called foot fetishism, “podophilia is a pronounced sexual interest in feet” or footwear. 3 It is one of the more common fetishes, affecting at least 70 percent of men. 4 For a foot fetishist, their attraction can focus on the shape and size of the foot and toes, jewelry, treatments, state of dress, and odor, as well as sensory interaction—such as smelling the foot, licking, kissing, tickling, etc. 5 Even a preference for women with nice feet or who wear heels can be defined as podophilia.
I HEAR A knock at my door at nine a.m. and pause my cam, interrupting a bald Asian man who is asking to see my feet. I jog across the linoleum till I can see through the peephole. It is UPS Jeremy, holding a big box. “Leave it. Thank you,” I call loudly, then watch him set down the package, scrawl something on his pad, wave to me, and walk away. I hold my ear to the door, waiting for the sound of the elevator, then jerk open the door, grab the huge cardboard box, and slam it shut again. I don’t lock it. I never lock my door. I figure if someone is stupid enough to come inside, they have ill motives and deserve to die at my hands. It’s one of my favorite fantasies, because it is one of the ones most likely to occur. I drop the heavy box on the floor and bound back to my pink bed, where the patient Asian waits. I apologize to him and hold up my feet close to the cam so he can see them better.
Foot fetishists make up a large part of my clientele. My feet were ignored for the first eighteen years of my life—the ends of limbs that slid into fashionable shoes before leaving the house. But in the webcam world, my feet are my bread and butter. The fact that this client is Asian has nothing to do with his fetish: it is a worldwide turn-on and more common than I ever imagined. Most men have a slight fetish—like a leg man—they enjoy seeing nicely shaped feet, either bare or in four-inch heels. Other men focus solely on feet as their erotica; they do nothing but stare at my toes, soles, and arches and jack off while doing so. It is my favorite type of clientele, in that all I have to do is wiggle my toes and rub my feet together seductively. The feet that I had abused for years—carelessly stubbing on doorjambs and stuffing barefoot into old sneakers—possess a high arch, symmetrical toes, and narrow ankles. I rock bare feet like Pamela Anderson filled that red swimsuit two decades ago.
The Asian is getting close, his face tight in concentration, his eyes glued to my feet. I lie back and slowly run my left arch over the top of my right foot, letting out a soft moan as my feet take him over the arc of ecstasy.
I take a fifteen-minute break at noon, cutting open the box and unpacking its contents. It’s my food: two weeks’ worth of Jenny Craig meals. Jenny is my current meal plan. I use diet plans because they make my life easier—shipping me a complete breakfast-lunch-dinner combination, two weeks of tasteless meat at a time. The fact
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