Awakenings

I remember the first time Harlequin kissed my feet.

It was also the first time ever we had some kind of physical intimacy, at the very brand new beginning of our relationship, we could say.

We were staying at a friend's house over Christmas, and I snuck into the living room where he was sleeping, to bid him goodnight. Yes, *that* is what the kids are calling it these days.

We started kissing. Serious kissing. That wasn't our first serious kiss, however. That had happened a few hours earlier in the car, when our friends made the mistake (or had the wisdom, I guess we'll never know) to leave us alone in the car for, oh, I don't know, two minutes. And in those two minutes we locked lips and barely came out for air and there was this voice at the back of my head chanting "Must... have... him".

But I digress. There were we, on a couch, kissing each other very sweetly, and urgently at the same time (I had always wanted to kiss someone *urgently*). My clothes came off a lot faster than I had anticipated, but I didn't regret seeing them go. There was the urgent need to touch, to smell, to taste, to feel (I had always wanted to feel an urgent need to all that), and a lot of things happened, I don't remember exactly because I was on a high of urgency, but I do remember thinking "I had never felt this good. I had never felt this attractive.", because, the way Harlequin was looking at my naked self, a self that I violently struggle with (more on that at another time, perhaps) like I was the most gorgeous, attractive and delicious woman ever to walk this earth, and everything about him told me that he wanted me, and that was intoxicating.

At some point, though, I was sort of lying upside down on my back on top of him, and his hand went down my leg from the knee, went past my ankle, held my left foot, and then, looking me in the eyes, he politely asked:

"May I kiss your feet?"

I was startled by the request. I had had my feet kissed in the past, but nobody had ever asked for permission to do so. (Not that I minded. I *love* having my feet played with. Hell, I was *happy* that my feet were a free-for-all buffet).

I was wholly unprepared for the delicate, passionate way in which Harlequin brought my foot to his lips and started to worship it. How he reveled in it, how sincerely he told me I had the most beautiful feet he had ever seen, or kissed, thus making me blush ("He thinks my feet are beautiful!"). I think it was that, the foot-kissing, that forged our physical intimacy on that first night.

I know that for Harlequin, foot worship is an inherently submissive act, as is for most people who are in the BDSM scene. But because of that first time, where he kissed my feet as a way to know me, as a way to love me, in such a sweet, sweet manner, I will never be able to see it that way. To me, kissing, licking, nibbling the feet of someone you love is an act of trust, a display of love, a way to shower them with affection. Maybe it is because I have a very unorthodox and unprejudiced approach to the whole kinky scene, but to me, nothing says "I love you" like showing love and respect to the part of someone's body responsible for holding up their entire bodyweight for most of the day. I don't see it as a kinky or submissive act, to me, it's just love.

Which is probably why I LOVE doing it to Harlequin and I LOVE having him do it to me.

And yes, I had my feet kissed practically right under a Christmas tree. Colour me profane.