Confessions of a Heedless Sinner – Vol. 2

Foot job?  Footjob?  Foot-job?  I’ll go with, “foot job.”

I have a friend, well, an old friend now, since the events I am about to confess took place.   For the sake of anonymity, I will call him TW.  TW has a foot fetish.  He is very candid about this fetish, and has no qualms with openly discussing it with strangers or at the dinner table.  Somehow, because of his charm and sense of humor I suppose, no one is disturbed by this fetish or his recounts of correlating events (musicians can get away with anything).  I even participated in the lighthearted discussions, and on the night of December 23, 2010, at a Christmas party, all in good faith, I asked him how in the hell a foot job is done.  This my friends, was the first mistake of a very long night.

I went to the party with a girl who we will call, H.  Most of the time I am straight, but occasionally I stray and H was one of these victims.  At the time, her and I had neither acted on, nor spoke of any feelings between us, but as much as she may dispute this, we knew what was on each others minds.

Like many eventful nights, this one started with alcohol.  A few drinks in, and I ask TW the question that should have been accompanied by loud thunder and a lightning strike to foreshadow my approaching onslaught.  Obviously excited by my curiosity, TW brings me into the bathroom to perform a demonstration.  We were accompanied by H, and TW’s girlfriend, a free-spirit who is clearly damaged, like most beautiful girls are, but more lovable than anything else.  As the two girls giggle off to the side, TW sits me onto the toilet, gets down on his knees and extends his forearm with his hand fisted.  Yes, his forearm was a simulation of a penis.  Before my brain had caught up to what the hell was going on, he had already flung my shoes off and started his demo.  While this probably sounds like odd behavior, TW and I have known each other since we were fifteen, and our entire circle of friends are very close and very… candid with one another.  So my feet being cupped around TW’s pretend dick, was not as unforeseen as one may imagine.

I always assumed that a foot job would be done with one foot, rubbing it against the man’s body.  Nope.  To my surprise, during a foot job you use both feet, and cup them around the penis, simulating the shape of a vagina… I guess.  Talk about a foot cramp.  It was an enlightening demonstration, slightly embarrassing because of my gross dancer’s feet, but I figured he, of all people, would embrace such characteristics, and we all headed out of the bathroom.  What started as a night of innocent holiday fun however, did not end as such.

Skipping ahead to now several drinks later, H and I are in the bathroom, (classy, I know) mauling each other for a second time that night.  First base led to second base which led to a fucking knock on the door and TW’s voice.  Of course.  A man to ruin the mood.  He guessed what was going on,  “Come on girls… let me in.”

We laughed, quickly assembled ourselves and opened the door.  What was said is very foggy, but I know we were all mostly laughing… joking… then left the bathroom.  TW and his girlfriend obviously thought that they could witness some girl on girl action, but H and I were not interested in including anyone else in our affairs.  A couple more drinks after that, and it was time to leave.  TW offered to drive H and I back to my house because I had no business getting behind the wheel.  Accepting his offer was my second big mistake of a very long night.

H and I are in the backseat, completely unaware of our route.  The car stops, we exit, only to find that we are not at all at my house.  We are at TW’s girlfriend’s house, who we will now call, Sibyl.  Being the drunk retards that we were, H and I entered the house despite our internal creepy meters flashing red.  We discover that Sibyl’s room is a mattress on a floor, and a record player.  That’s it.  It screams sex pad… but we went in.  Third big mistake.  Next thing I remember is being on top of H mauling again, and then realizing that TW and Sibyl were only a foot away from us in the same bed, acting out their mutual lust for each other.  I knew it was time for an inner pep talk,

“Concentrate.  Just think sober for a second, Caitlin.  Think sober.” I thought to myself.

I did truly care for this girl and I did not want anyone taking advantage of her, including myself, so I backed off and whispered in her ear, “Do you want to go?”

She replied with a yes, so I helped her up and we told TW we were leaving.

“Oh yeah?  How are you getting home?”

Fuck!  Being the drunk retards that we were, we forgot that he drove us!  This is when things got uncomfortable.  TW was my friend, so I was completely taken off guard by his shortness and blatant disregard for my feelings.  If I was some bimbo he picked up at a bar, his behavior would be more understandable, but we had history.  His passive aggressive refusal to drive us back pissed me off, but finding my inner “girl power” proved to be difficult because the kind of confrontation it would have required to call him out on being such a douche bag, was not something I was prepared for.  Like I said, he was an old friend of mine and creating tension between us was not something I took lightly.  So what did I do?  I held her hand and called my 911, my best friend, Lance to pick us up.

No answer.  We sat back down.  While I was absolutely drunk, H was much more.  TW and Sibyl crawled over to her and together, with the grace of friggen Vicomte de Valmont, they started to undress her.  H, being almost catatonic, could not defend herself, and I had no idea if she wanted to be saved, or if it was even my place to “save her.”  But I did.  Somehow I was able to successfully switch the attention over to Sibyl, (do not ask how I managed this) whose shirt was now off, and TW and H were rubbing her breasts as if they were petting a cute puppy or on ecstasy or something.  Sibyl giggled and put her hands over her face as I sat there feeling like I was watching The Garden of Earthly Delights come to life.  Clearly, TW and Sibyl were looking for some kind of foursome, but I had no interest in such activities and was not willing to further corrupt H.

One pee break later, where Sibyl and I shared a toilet seat (why?), and two more grope-fests after that, I witnessed the foot job.  H and I were on the bed with our foreheads practically sewn together because we wanted our body language to clearly display our unwillingness to participate in “group activities.”  I heard some suspicious sounds, and an odd shape out of the corner of my eye, but I did not want to look.  I then felt H’s leg moving…  Oh no.  I took a deep breath and looked.  TW was lied out with his erect penis for all to see, and propping himself up on his elbows as he watched topless Sibyl give him a foot job and as he used H’s foot as a “helper.”  Not until the next day did I realize the severity of what he had done.  It was not okay and one of the reasons he is no longer a friend of mine. I quickly pulled her leg away and scolded her for letting it happen.  She was in no state to reason, and I was in no state to problem-solve.

Back to the foot job. The top half of Sibyl’s body was hanging off of the mattress as she moaned and moved her cupped feet up and down.  My thoughts were on the extensive amount of muscular exertion it took for her to perform such an act.  There is no position to be in other than awkwardly facing each other from several feet away, her legs spread making a diamond shape, and using abdominal muscles, inner and outer thigh muscles and gluteal muscles in order to move both legs, the heaviest part of your body, up and down.  It looked like she was doing a pilates exercise.

H and I continued to smash our foreheads together, pretending like we weren’t waiting anxiously for his climactic moment so that we could get the hell out of there…  and finally.

They walk out of the room to clean-up I imagine, and this ordinary action ended up being the most hilarious part of the night.  Sibyl was walking on the outer-part of her feet, as one might do if walking bare-foot on hot pavement.  Witnessing this hysterical attempt at not tracking boy juice through the room almost made the traumatizing events leading up to it worth it.

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One thought on “Confessions of a Heedless Sinner – Vol. 2

  1. I’m just goin to go ahead an skip commenting ont the sexual abuse part of that story – because it’s tragic enough already. The foot fetish part is a different story however…

    I have participated in a ‘foot job’ of sorts – but ended up in the situation unknowingly. I was hooking up with a guy in uni periodically and I noticed, sort of, that he would always find a way to hold onto my foot while we were hooking up. I just kinda ignored it, feet really aren’t my thing. Anywho, about the third time we hooked up everything was going smoothly until.. WTF what the hell is he doing with my foot!!!??!! Thankfully it wasn’t this ‘two cupped feet’ method you speak of (dear god), more of furiously rubbing my foot against himself. I was just trying to ignore it and pretend it wasn’t happening and then all of a sudden he said ‘you know I can’t finish like this right?’ – I was like guess who doesn’t give a fuck? Seriously? Did he think my mouth was going there after it was all covered in foot?

    We all have our unsettling experiences – seems as though we survive to make jokes about them though!

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