Everyone always wants to know how the hell I got where I am...
so here's the story.
A decade ago, I finished grad school with a Masters in Education, and proceeded to become a middle school English Language teacher in a Title I school. It was a hard job– especially since I started a month into the school year, so I had to hit the ground sprinting– but I was really happy with it for the first 3 years or so. I also decided to branch out and get my credentials to become a librarian. Then my building got a new administrator, who just so happened to also be one of the most toxic, stupid, shitty excuses for a leader I’ve ever had the misfortune to have to deal with directly. After they sabotaged me from getting the library job that I had been groomed for at my school, things just continued to get progressively more miserable every year after that.
It was like the whole ‘frog in a pot of water’ analogy, ya know? Things just sort of slowly came to boil around me while I went about my day to day, getting more stressed out and anxious with every new piece of bureaucratic bullshit that the district and overall public education system threw at us lowly educators. Eventually, at the start of my ninth year, I was offered an elementary library job, and, while I don’t care for working with littles, I took it out of sheer desperation to get away from my dysfunctional department and toxic administration. It was less than ideal- I was split between two schools over the course of each week, and so essentially had two full-time jobs that just had to get crammed into one. I did not thrive. I’m not sure I would have even survived, had I stayed.
Thankfully, after coming home and standing around the kitchen crying again one day, my husband sat me down. “I’ve known you for 22 years, and I’ve never seen you this stressed out,” he said. “This is not a sustainable state of being. You should…stop.” It took a fair amount of hemming and hawing, and pulling myself from the mire of guilt that the American public ed system is so good at heaping on their teachers, but after some discussion, I agreed. And I kid you not, within ten minutes of having conceded to the idea, my shoulders felt like they had dropped four inches.
New directions
I was encouraged to take a few months first and just decompress and bring myself back to a “functional human” state of being, but after a month or so, I got bored. *shrug*
I had had a couple of boyfriends in college who were very into my feet, so I was aware that I had nicer-than-average paws, and thought, well, maybe I could do something with that… My husband (You’ll notice he plays into this quite a bit. He’s pretty rad.) is a fairly skilled amateur photographer, among his other hobbies, so he took a bunch of feet pictures for me, and I decided to try to go the OnlyFans and FeetFinder route, knowing that it would be a slow trudge. I got connected to a Discord, and one day got into a conversation with a couple of other foot models about how inconsistent the income is for selling niche content. “Oh yeah,” they said, “this is just our side hustle. We make most of our living through phone sex.”
Like so many others to whom I have told this story, my initial reaction was “That’s still a thing?!” But once I was assured that yes, it is, in fact, very much still “a thing,” I was intrigued. You know, I thought, I bet I could do that… So I got myself started on NiteFlirt, brushed up on my HTML (yes, I know, as much as I love them, that site is very much stuck in the 90s. 🙄) to make myself a decent-looking profile, and soon discovered that, not only was it a whole lot of fun, I was really quite good at this whole phone sex thing. Over a hundred 5-star reviews later, and I’m still going strong on that front, but I’m jumping ahead with that thought.
How a librarian preps for phone sex
As soon as I got started on NiteFlirt, my librarian brain’s immediate thought was I need to research ALL THINGS KINK AND FETISH! I wanted to be informed and versatile, and while I was always open-minded and wasn’t exactly sheltered or naïve, I had been pretty vanilla up to that point. So research I did. I pored over websites, I found and joined FetLife, performed a wide variety of porn searches, including a deep dive into audio porn (🥰 shout-out to Gone Wild Audio), sifted through a pile of podcasts of varying degrees of repute, and–duh–checked out plenty of library books (most of which I proceeded to buy eventually, anyway– shout-out to my fellow book nerds out there! It’s not hoarding if it’s books, amiright?!). Obviously, I also looked around in my area for local dungeons and other kink organizations, which is when I found the CSPC.
The Center for Sex Positive Culture is a non-profit dedicated to kink education, workshops, events, etc. When I first decided to attend one of their Fresh Meet events (newbie-friendly night for kink tasting), along with my husband, who surprised me by wanting to tag along, I saw it as more of a recon mission. However, as soon as we arrived and things got rolling, I had the kid-in-a-candy-store reaction.
I. Love. ALL OF THIS!! I thought. And I do. I’m not even especially kinky when it comes to sex (good solid vanilla is not boring, in my not-so-humble opinion), I just love that kink exists.
I love that there’s literally something for everyone.
I love that the focus is all on informed negotiation and consent.
I love that it is literally play time and make-believe for grown ups.
And I believe that, as long as it’s all between consenting adults, you can be into whatever the fuck you want- get your freak on, and more power to you! I will die on this hill, and hope that someone sculpts something beautiful and bizarre for my tombstone here.
I might not be into it myself– in fact, I might need to be in another room so I don’t get squicked out for one or two kinks– but if you’re into it, I will fight for your right to hoist that freaky flag, my friend.
Anyway, I think I may be digressing…
"This is really quite lovely..."
That first night at CSPC, some random stranger asked if they could worship my feet. I don’t even think I was entirely clear on exactly what that meant, but I consented. When in Rome, right? I sat down and made myself comfortable, and he knelt at my feet. He gently wiped them down with a baby wipe, and reverently brought one foot up to rest on his chest, while taking the other foot in his hands and sort of appreciatively examining it for a moment, before he proceeded to lead my first foray into foot worship. He rubbed my sole tenderly on his face, kissed my toes, and at one point, while he had my toes in his mouth and was massaging my arch with his eyes closed, I looked up. I noticed the look of utter bliss on his face. He looked…passionate. Relieved. Like, coming-upon-an-oasis-in-the-Sahara-fulfilled. And I thought, This is really quite lovely! This dude is SO happy right now, and all I had to do was plop my feet in his lap and say, “Have fun!”
I really love making people happy. Not in a submissive sense, but in the sense that I believe the world would be a better place overall if more people got to actually do that whole “pursuit of happiness” thing successfully. And I’d love to live in a better world, so I do my part to make other folks’ days or lives just a little bit better. So when I saw this guy’s reaction to being able to interact with my feet, I thought I gotta make this a Thing. Why would I not strive to facilitate this all the time if I have the means for it?! So that’s when I decided that I needed to find a way to offer in-person sessions as a foot fetish service provider.
Challenges
Obviously neither my husband nor I was keen on the idea of giving out our home address to random horny guys, and I wasn’t terribly interested in the safety risks of doing outcalls (going to strangers’ houses), so then it became a matter of finding a place in which to host. I couldn’t afford to rent out a whole separate studio apartment (and frankly it didn’t offer significantly more security than an outcall), and an office space with shiny glass doors wasn’t especially conducive to my purposes. Renting out a hotel room or Airbnb every single time I got an inquiry would be both annoying and expensive, not to mention risky. Thankfully, kismet kinda stepped in here. I was introduced to a coworker of my husband’s who had a side hustle as a boudoir photographer. She was involved in the kink scene, was very sex-positive, and rented out her studio by the hour to other photographers. When I told her what I was looking for, she didn’t hesitate to offer her hourly studio rental to me, as well.
I couldn’t have asked for better, as far as the building itself goes. The lobby is busy, with a coffee shop and bar, and other businesses keeping a regular flow of traffic during the day, and offering me a nice, safe place in which to meet my clients while I get a feel for them and make sure I’ll be comfortable. The studio is cozy and comfortable, with plush furniture and gorgeous natural light. Its only downside is a fairly severe lack of sound proofing, but it’s not a deal-breaker.
After just a couple of hourly rentals, my photographer friend offered to split the lease with me, and I’ve been going strong ever since! Plus, it gives me a great place to shoot for the content side of the business. I’d say 75% of my photos are taken in that studio!
Happy endings
So there you have it! That’s how to go from wholesome, socially acceptable classroom educator, to scourge-of-respectable-society sex worker in just a few easy steps. 😂 And let me just say that, in choosing between happiness and respectability, I choose happiness ALWAYS. Is everything coming up roses? Of course not. Frankly, I would find that terribly disconcerting. But overall, I’m the happiest I’ve been in my adult life right now, and I really love liking my life. Cheers, my friends.