The Cheeky Shag: A Fetish
by Celina Huynh
© Kirralea Birch
I’ve had this fixation ever since I could remember. I have very poor eyesight and got glasses when I was four years old. The lenses were thick and heavy, and because I didn’t have a very strong bridge on my nose, they would constantly slip down. I took taekwondo classes up until high school and had to remove my glasses because of the sweat that collected on my nose. I was basically a blind samurai, navigating my roundhouses with my other four senses. When I sat on the floor, I would identify people by their feet because I couldn’t see their faces clearly. Some people’s toes were curvier than others, and I was really fascinated as to how the girls’ feet managed to appear so soft after all that pad-kicking. This is how I knew I was heterosexual because I had no sense of arousal from the boys’ feet.
One of my favorite activities is going to stores and dragging my hands across the women’s socks. Luckily, my office is right across the Target in Tribeca. Every Wednesday and Friday after I clock out at 6pm, I have dinner at my favorite Indian food vendor on Greenwich and Chambers St. Raj makes the best chicken curry in the city because he uses whole cinnamon sticks. After I devour my chicken curry, I walk to Target and head straight to the women’s socks section. With a warm and satisfied belly, I feel up the rows of Hanes and Hue socks, the knit fabric feels so nice under my fingers. I only do this ritual twice a week because I made a New Year’s resolution to have more self control. I’m learning to curb my self-indulgences as an effort to become less selfish.
As a grown adult man, I acknowledge that my fixation is strange. Breasts are nice and I’m neutral to butts, but all I need is a sweet girl with a good sense of humor and soft, symmetrical feet. I get off on freshly manicured toes, and I don’t really mind a little fuzz on the big toe. My sex life is much more active in the spring and summer when ladies bring out their sandals. I love peering into the beautiful collective of feet in the humid New York subway. The last girl I dated lathered her body in coconut lotion everyday, and her feet smelled like a sweet paradise. I loved to press her feet against my hip bones and caress her smooth plastic nails against my erection. I loved waking up on Sunday mornings against her body, her head nuzzled against my shoulder. I look forward to recreating these moments of warmth with someone new. But until that someone appears out of the ethers of the universe, I will continue to fill the void of loneliness wit Raj’s curry and Target socks.
