When I wrote a short story about a guy with a foot fetish, I had no idea I would be getting the responses I’ve been getting. I had a feeling there were more people out there who are interested in this topic, so to speak, but never expected to hear from so many…and so soon after the story was released.
Evidently, at least from the feedback I’m getting, this fetish involving feet doesn’t have any restrictions either. I’ve received e-mails from men and women, gay and straight. And almost all reply with the same tone: discretion. And I appreciate that as an author who writes erotic fiction. Discretion is probably more important to the readers of erotica of any kind than any book review ever posted online. We still live in a society where things like foot fetishes, no matter how harmless they are, aren’t taken seriously in public. In private, however, I’m learning this goes far deeper than I ever thought it would.
I honestly can’t say when I’m going to write another story or book that focuses on foot fetish. I also know that a lot of people don’t like it…I’m finding it’s one of those things that people either love or hate. And, I don’t want to get locked into one particular theme, ever. But I will continue to add this into other books I write. Even though the book won’t revolve around a foot fetish I see no reason why it can’t be explored in one or two scenes in a book. And I promise I won’t make a joke out of it.
Here’s a link where you can read more about the book.
And here’s an unpublished excerpt.
When I walked into the gym, I saw these two
guys I didn’t know very well. Though I didn’t
know them by name, I’d seen them around
campus a lot. They were shooting hoops at the
other end of the gym. They were the only guys in
there, and when I opened the door, the clank from
the metal handle echoed so much, they both
stopped shooting and glanced in my direction. I
nodded and continued to the locker room, feeling
awkward and out of place. I’ve always found it
interesting that I often feel as if I’m intruding on
people because I’m gay. It shouldn’t define me;
yet it does.
The one guy shooting hoops was about six
feet tall, with long, lanky arms and legs. His head
wasn’t completely shaved, but his hair was so
short, all it would have taken was a few swipes
from a sharp razor to make him bald. He had a
dark olive complexion and a dark, well-trimmed
goatee that framed his lips. His legs were hairy.
He wore navy blue basketball shorts that sagged
below his knees, a white T-shirt that coveredmost of his crotch, and white Adidas basketball
shoes with those sexy little white ankle socks.
The other guy bouncing the ball was a little
shorter, closer to my height. He had dark curly
hair but not as short as the taller guy’s. He didn’t
have any facial hair, but he had the same olive
complexion. His baggy basketball shorts were
bright, school bus yellow and his T-shirt burnt
orange. From what I could see at that distance,
he wore bright green Adidas basketball shoes
with black ankle socks.
I’d seen both of these guys walking around on
campus more than once. They were always
together; they always kept to themselves. If I’d
run into them on a dark street, they would have
intimidated me. They looked like trouble. I’d
heard other people talking about them in the
student union and no one seemed to know what
their deal was.