A certain someone told me that she could turn me into a foot fetishist and within minutes seemed to have succeeded. Ahh, the mysterious joys of being a reprogrammable submissive! With all such things, I throw myself into them with gusto. So, I had to learn how to be a good foot fetishist.
This might include flash cards for pressure points and all the systems that can be touched through feet, hands, face, ears…and might also encompass some impact play if I can’t remember them.
So, not being very good with flash cards and always one for new therapeutic experiences, I booked myself in for a proper reflexology session to learn “everything”, experience “everything”—you know, the client from hell. I happened to find an educator. Just my luck, she is also stunning.
She is also popular. When she showed me her agenda, a Moleskine large-format diary, every square inch of space was written in with her appointments. Small, precise writing. Unbelievable. It was more intricate than a tattoo. “Now you know why it took so long to get an appointment,” she said at the end, and I was thinking, ‘oh my gosh, when can I book you again?’
I showed her my flash cards. She didn’t say they were all wrong, but she noted that they left out the nervous system, and anyway, what they teach you anywhere appears to be different form place to place. “Its not that its wrong…” She has a Masters degree in the topic of reflexology and has been practicing independently for a decade out of her own wellness space, shared with a group of other specialists. I will be making the rounds of her colleagues, and will be sure to share the joys experienced.
I am thinking post facto that this woman must be a foot fetishist herself, to get so personal with everyone’s feet. Can you do anything well without loving it? I had cleaned mine scrupulously before coming. Respect. Plus, I am big on ablutions.
She found the “woman” inside by touching my feet. Okay, my toenails were painted a lovely light pink. But she didn’t show the faintest sign of seeing that. She began to “work”, to “play” and to do her thing with my feet. She poked and pinched and dug and traced with her fingers in a very systematic fashion, starting with the tips of my toes, and then between, and then on and on. She was thorough and very diverse in the manner of touching. It was intriguing. But here is the interesting bit.
When something hurts or feels particularly good, it tells her a story. And the story shows up in other parts of the body, and consequently in the feet, hands, etc. She showed me the amount of pressure she was using by demonstrating on another part of my body, and it was amazing to me that such a light touch could actually cause pain. She explained it as a way of finding things that were wrong. One such discovery she made led her to test something else—and indeed it is like following “threads”.
“There is something going on with your endocrine system,” she said. Other than my nails, there were no real clues that this was the case. Okay, very faint ones. She did not know me as trans. It isn’t always obvious.
I told her at that point that I was trans. This started a very lively discussion about an area of research in her work that she is pursuing within the trans community where I live about how changes in the endocrine system affect the nervous system, stress response, etc. She had just lost her guinea pig (it’s a small community) as the transwoman in question had just moved to the US.
“I can be your guinea pig,” I offered. She liked that idea. So do I!
A few minutes later she was doing something to the top of my feet. And I said, “wow”.
“Does it hurt?” she asked.
“No, it feels really good,” I said
“That’s very interesting. That is your breasts. When I touch a man here, it is normally very painful for him. Fascinating.” She doubled down on the spot.
“My breast have just started growing,” I said, “they are very sensitive now.” She spent a lot of time on this part of my feet, and it was very pleasant. “That’s very interesting that you find pleasure in that,” she repeated. She lingered.
She then shifted to areas on my feet which she said had to do with my groin, sexual function, sexual identity, the muscles holding the pelvis, stretching down between the legs, etc, etc. I believe she uttered the word genitals amongst a series of others.
I learned that she could revisit the same areas of my body by touching different places on hands, feet, face, ears. She did explore all of it, and she taught me a number of things about how to relieve headaches and things like that (not for me, but for someone else). We discussed me apprenticing under her. You know how it is.
After, I felt so relaxed, and great. “You look it.” I looked in the mirror. I looked totally blissed out, as if I had just had an orgasm.
I booked her next available slot—in a few days’ time.
As I walked out, I realised I was wet. I think you know what I mean by that. This reflexologist just manipulated my hands, feet, ears, and face and produced sexual release. I felt it and I didn’t feel it…all part and parcel of the wild and wonderful things going on in my body.
It seems that I am not the only person that this has happened to. Here is an article which appeared in Cosmopolitan about Footgasms.
Beyond Non-Binary 
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