I was laying on his couch, watching a chick flick he’d put on to entertain me while he studied Spanish. He wasn’t studying Spanish, though. He’d set his book aside, ready to get fresh.
He sat down with me, and I draped my legs over his lap, immersed in the movie. It starred Jennifer Aniston, which meant that (a) it wasn’t a good movie and (b) I was loving it.
He leaned down and, with zero warning, put my big toe in his mouth and sucked.
So, two things:
First, when I started dating this guy I decided I wasn’t going to tell him about all my weird ‘things’. I wanted to see if I could manage to have a relationship that evolved organically, discovering each other without an initial manifesto of every little thing I can think of to warn a guy off (or, in ideal cases, turn a guy on).
Second, one of the things I typically warn guys is: I DO NOT WANT MY FEET TOUCHED. Especially without warning. With warning, sure, I can take a deep breath and deal with it. It can even be kind of hot, because it freaks me out but isn’t actually scary.
A millisecond after my toe entered his mouth, I kicked him in the face. One hundred percent reflex, zero percent thought, and he sat up, shocked.
“What the hell, Sadey?!”
“Oh. Um, I don’t like it when people touch my feet.”
Beautiful, organic discovery.