This time the prompt was a series of postcard images, and one was of a pair of beautiful men’s feet.
What I wrote is below. 
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I’m not sure where it began and I have no idea where it will end, but I’m going to come right out of another closet and just say it: I like feet. Men’s feet, especially. But you can catch me checking out women’s feet, too, especially some nicely polished toes. But just like beautiful women’s faces and bodies, I admire their feet, but don’t want to do anything with them. Men’s feet? Different story.
Should I say right here that I do not have a foot fetish? Would you even believe me, or would you cluck Shakespearean, claiming, “Methinks thou doth protest too much”? Well, think what you want. And I suppose if there’s a spectrum for foot fetish, I could be found (possibly) somewhere on the lower end.
I’ve met men who’ve wanted to do all kinds of activities with feet: some involved keeping your socks on, others bordered on the search for toe jam. I assure you, I am not one of those men (not that there’s anything wrong with any of that). And I have made love to men who have sucked on my toes and slid their tongues seductively between them. It’s pretty good. (Don’t knock it ’til you’ve tried it.) I have never sucked on another man’s toes, but I have wanted to, and most likely, I will someday (as long as they are freshly washed).
The truth is, I look at men’s feet. A lot. Their feet are often like their hands, and those are a turn-on, too. I apply the same criteria I have for men’s hands to men’s feet: they need to be impeccably clean, they need to have nicely trimmed nails, they need to be well moisturized, and they need to be free of funk.
I once fell in love with a man in college who had cute little Fred Flintstone feet, though his were caramel brown with soft fur at the base of each toe. I could see those perfect feet in the tiny gap between the shower stall and the floor in our shared dorm bathroom. His handsome hands and furry feet were a source of admiration and arousal then, too. I was in love with him AND his feet.
We had a reunion recently: it had been 20 years. Our faces had grown older, and he was thinner and greying, but I found him as handsome as ever. His feet, unfortunately, were covered up in clunky black shoes the entire time. It was great to see him again, but those shoes never came off, and I have to admit, I left feeling quite disappointed.
The Catalyst 