I plop my feet in your lap because I know you want them. I look to see your face light up with delight and ecstasy immediately. I feel the scratch of your beard and warmth of your lips brush the top of my feet. The combination of rough and soft sends delicious shivers up my legs. Next, I feel your hands, soft and warm, enveloping my feet. Moving slowly and deliberately across my arches, heels, and then lightly over my toes. You take your time, exploring every single inch of my tootsies, admiring whatever nail polish I have on or the curve of my arches. You are generous with your affection. Your hands are strong but gentle and soft. It is the same with the rest of you, which is such an interesting dichotomy about you to process. It is one thing I appreciate most about you; your complexity and duality.
You’ve told me you need my toes in your life. You’ve told me how much you love them. I see it, I see it all over your face. I sincerely do not understand the fascination but enjoy giving something that elicits such pleasure. And I am surprised by my own reaction too. Even though I do not share the same love of my feet, I appreciate your appreciation of them. This simple, tender act brings me such unexpected pure joy. I am grateful for these small moments, as I let out a sigh of happiness.