Footing a First Date

I am unsure whether or not I want to actually meet Ethan. Our online chatting was consistent and fun, but I was still hesitant. That was until he told me he was on a gay soccer team, which I thought was really hot. We agreed to meet at Starbucks on Church Street. My first impression of Ethan was good: he was fit and muscular, with a square, manly face and light green eyes. The only downside was that, at 5’9″, a little short for me.

We decide to go to the movies. After we settle into our seats, he leans in and whispers in my ear, “You’re really cute.”

“Aw, thanks,” I whispered back.

Later on, during a funny part in the movie, I laughed out loud. He leaned in again and whispered, “I like your laugh.”

I’m diggin’ his sweet nothings. This guy is great, maybe there is something real here.

Then Ethan leans in again, and I await his next compliment. 

“Take off your shoe and give me your foot,” he whispers.

 What the fuck?!

I am not into feet at all, so I am confused and turned off. Was he going to whip my sock off and suck my toes?

“Don’t worry, I just want to rub your foot.”

“I am really not big on people touching my feet.”

I’d been walking around all day, so I didn’t know what my feet would even smell like. Plus there is an elderly couple sitting just three seats away! Ethan is looking at me waiting, so I put my foot in his lap, which was hard to do because I’m pretty tall. I had to cross my leg over and hold it up

He was pretty good at the foot massage, I have to say, but I couldn’t pay attention to the movie anymore. I started imagining what the relationship would be like: “Honey, Glee is on, take your socks off.”

After about five minutes I sort of took my foot back. For the rest of the movie, I thought about it. Maybe I could deal with a foot fetish if it meant bagging a great guy? I decided to stick around a bit longer and find out.

Late that night, he messaged me to say he had a great time. I said that I had, too. Then he said he had to tell me something.

“Feet are just the tip of my freaky iceberg,” he typed. I typed back: “Sorry, this isn’t going to work,” and then I logged the hell off!

He was attractive, attentive and sweet, but I’ll never see him again. May he find a fellow footie.

**with files from Kate Carraway