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I love wiggling my toes and referring to them as “piggies”. I love how animated toes are, how plump and scrumptious they look, like the perfect finger food, like giant fat pale maggots roasted and eaten with relish by jungle tribesmen, their greases dripping down the feasting men’s chins. Toes often look like they’re stupidly straining towards survival, low-i.q. little beings struggling to escape their human attachments.

I’m not sure if I have more interest in playing with other people’s feet or with having my own feet stimulated and worshipped. I don’t find my own feet particularly pretty, so I’m more interested in other people’s feet aesthetically, both men’s and women’s. Still, I have always intuitively reached out to people with my feet (which freaked out a couple of guys who were NOT footlovers and didn’t appreciate having my feet thrust in their laps and faces). I like the distance my legs provide between me and another person; I enjoy sitting back and watching my playmate while I prod him with my feet and caress him with my toes. It’s like two people facing each other to watch a movie projected into a space between each other, feet in hands or on genitals. The distance offers the intimacy of eye contact and a much wider, deeper visual playground.

As a kid I loved sucking my own toes . . . something about the salty flavor, I think. And as a preteen I was obsessed with trying to get my dad to kiss my toes. I know, that sounds kind of weird now, but at the time it didn’t seem at all sexual to me (at least, not that I was aware of on a conscious level), although my dad must have thought it sexual because for some reason that mystified me, he vehemently refused to kiss my toes. His refusal only stiffened my resolve to force him to kiss my toes, and I would shove my bare feet in his face. “WHY, Daddy, WHY won’t you kiss my toes??? Just do it ONCE and I’ll stop bugging you!!” He would never explain why this simple act of affection was totally out of bounds and it drove me fucking MAD with an obnoxious combination of annoyance, confusion, and stubbornness. Daddy was easily manipulated so I was certain he’d fold under my screeching pressure, nearly kicking him in the face while I’d stick my feet in between his face and the T.V. guide or Jane’s Tanks and Combat Vehicles Recognition Guide or whatever else he was trying to read.

Because Daddy almost *always* gave me my way, it’s possible his refusal to kiss my feet (though he would tickle them for me, if I asked) made me want them kissed much much more than if he’d just done it. Why would he deny this simple request? It didn’t make any sense, especially since he was normally so totally under my thumb.

Poor Daddy.

Anyway, for those of you who have been begging for footjob action, the chocolate covered cherries shoot yielded some HOT and extra gooey video footage once Tucker got involved. I’ll be posting all of the videos to TastyTrixie.com eventually, but right now Part I of the gallery is there, and the videos with Tucker are on TrixiesHouseboy.com, so if you don’t want to wait another second to see that, join his site or SpyOnUs.com to get all of our sites, including Delia’s.

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