We Are Gay UK

THE UNDATEABLE GAY | The foot fetish

When it comes to sex, I’ve always found myself to be plain and simple. Not boring, I would like to point out immediately. But I’m not one for these chains and whips activities.

I mean, I’ve got nothing against anyone who chooses a slightly kinkier sex life than me. Each to their own, that’s what I always say. It’s just not my cup of tea. Or should I say a pot of freshly brewed coffee? I know it’s very unBritish of me, but I can’t stand tea.

I think my dislike for tea stems back to my childhood. At the risk of sounding Freudian, I blame my dad. Until I was seven, my mum would always serve me a bottle of tea every afternoon. Yes, I know. A bottle. At seven years of age. Perhaps that’s where my oral capabilities come from. Years of sucking on a bottle, drinking my brew.

But one day, my father got home from work and he demanded that my mother throw my bottle away. From that day in the early 1990s, I’ve never touched a drop of PG Tips again.

Anyway, back to my tale of the fetishes. I had a boyfriend once who used to demand I call him a slag whilst making love to him. Had me screaming, “you slag!”, he did. Little did I know that he was sleeping with half of London behind my back. Ironically, he was making me speak the truth. Maybe that was his way of absolution.

A few years later, I met a man who used to like to slap me during sex. Now before anyone becomes concerned for my safety and calls the police, it was only playful slaps across the boat race.

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It did very little for my sex drive but it seemed to turn him on no end.

I could cope with a little slap every now and then but one day he started to scratch my back in the heat of the moment. Now scratching was still fine with me. I mean, I’d be left with a few red lines down my back for a day or two but there was no lasting damage.

But then one day, the teeth came out to play. And I’m not just talking around the neck like most normal people. The biting got so bad that I had to take to wearing roll neck jumpers, long sleeve tops, and gloves to cover up the bite marks. So I made the suggestion that he find a fellow gay who enjoys Odaxelagnia.

For those who can’t be bothered to google that word:

Odaxelagnia is being sexually aroused through biting, or being bitten. It’s also considered a mild form of sadism.

Just when I thought I might find a man who enjoyed a plain and simple sex life, along came Jamie. Now Jamie wasn’t a fan of kissing on the lips very much. Oh no, he liked to rummage his face in my armpits and kiss those instead.

The day he text me and told me not to wear any deodorant that night was the day I feigned a migraine and never did he grace my armpits again.

And then there was Neil. He was a Scottish man so that should have sent alarm bells ringing immediately.

He arrived one night on my doorstep, carrying a bottle of Scotch. How romantic to be bearing gifts, I thought. Especially Scotch. I’m rather partial to a wee dram, truth be told.

After a wee dram or three, he started to kiss me. On the lips. RESULT. No armpits. I laid back and breathed a sigh of relief to be finally getting the plain and simple sex life I’d been craving.

“Let me suck you!” He demanded.

Who was I to say no? As he continued to kiss his way down my body, he got to my flies. Mini Mark was poised and ready for action.

But as I looked down, I found him at my knees. Maybe the scotch had clouded his judgment and as I tried to re-direct his head back up, his lips continued on their journey down my body.

Before I could say Loch Lomond, I felt my sock being ripped from my foot.

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And before I could say Reflexology, he was sucking my big toe.

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