The feet of small children...

When I was little, I had an aversion to feet that was nearly pathological. I didn't like seeing people's feet or even thinking about them even. I didn't want people studying my feet. I would not go into the homes of folks who were on the "take your shoes off before you come in" shit. We did a class project in second grade whereby the teacher procured a big ass sheet of construction paper, and each child was let to step in paint and make a footprint on the paper. I remember being furious that people were in the classroom with no shoes on. I'm like, what is this perverse shit? This is supposed to be a goddam school! The poster was hung in the hall afterward. I hated walking past it and wouldn't look at it. Then I met my little friend Dante. He was four, and I was eighteen. He was really my first YF. Oh he was precious! He was my best friend's baby brother. (We were housemates.) Adorable, rambunctious little guy. Dante was of mixed race- b&w. His skin was only slightly dusky, however, and he had his mother's soft, straight platinum blonde hair. He was very unique in appearance; I've never seen another person who had similar characteristics. I'm an early bird. Always have been. So was Dante. As soon as he heard me filling the coffee maker, he'd come out and hug me good morning. Usually stark naked. I'd have to tell him to go put his underpants on. I didn't want to, but you know what it is. Propriety and all. I will say that he was unmodified. I'd never seen one like that before. He was also quite blessed for a boy of four. It was my habit to hang out and quietly listen to music before going to work or school. Dante would follow me to my room and cuddle with me on the couch until he had to start getting ready for daycare. I lived for this. It was his habit to press the soles of his feet against the front of my thighs to warm them. I found this to be very nice. I was inspired to start loving on his little feet when it was feasible- I'd put them in my lap and massage them. Dante liked this and began making his feet available to me. I've been crazy for boys' feet since. I find myself thinking back to that poster in elementary school and wishing I had paid more attention to the exposed feet of my fellow boy classmates. (Especially my friend Gaspin. He was a ginger.) I may as well finish the story: I had Dante until he was six. My life was heaven for the entire two years. I had to reign myself in from completely commandeering the tasks associated with his care and feeding, whereby his mom and sister could raise him some. Dante decided I was his idol. (I was upwardly mobile in those days, and I felt I was in a position to be in that position.) Dante wanted to be a punk, too. I started gradually incorporating some punk rock elements into his wardrobe. I even found a tiny pair of combat boots for him. His mom acted like she wasn't crazy about it, yet she couldn't deny that he was very cute. Every Saturday, I'd take Dante on the bus with me and we'd go downtown. The pretense was that I was giving his mom and sister a break. But I really just wanted him all to myself. I'd let him chase the birds on the waterfront, play in the fountains, we'd explore the hundreds of cool shops, and finish with lunch at our favorite pizzaria before jumping the sixty bus to go home. People would coo over how cute he was. More often than not, they'd ask if he was my son. I always wished I could have answered with the affirmative. I eventually had to move north to help mitigate a family disaster. I had to go. I should have bucked. Children are plastic and heal from loosing people- the littlest children are very adaptable. I know Dante missed me, but being absent from him killed me. We talked on the phone and I sent him cards and presents weekly. By the time I returned home, though, the world had moved on as it is wont to do. Time and space affect us all, but it tends to leave childlovers scorched and bleeding more than the rest I think. I would trade anything to have Dante's small, soft feet pressed against my thighs once more. This is why I place such a high value on the feet of boys. Holding them and loving on them is my way of saying "I love you and will do anything for you. The bottom of you is worth the very best of me."