I was paid $100 to have my feet sniffed


“I slipped off my white strappy kitten heels and he gripped my icy feet between his chilled hands.”

It was a chilly winter’s night. My girlfriends and I were sitting in a dimly lit corner of a Naarm bar, discussing relationships, dating and our shared financial misfortunes. Glasses of wine in hand, we were squished side by side onto a sticky leather bench.

Crowded around my cracked phone screen, my friends, having long ago lost faith in my decision-making skills, were determined to find me a Tinder date. Their nails click-clacked on my phone screen as they sifted through the city’s dating pool when suddenly, they stopped.

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The profile they’d paused on showed a blank screen with the text “Will pay $100 to sniff your feet, and $100 to any friends you bring along”. Collectively, a breath was drawn. We turned to face each other, as I swiped right. After a match and some frantic discussion, we received a message. “Hello, did you see my bio? Is this something that interests you?”.

Communication and boundaries

The first piece of advice I’d give to anyone who’s been similarly intrigued by profiles and offers such as these is to prioritise communication and boundaries. We started off our discussion with some basic questions:

  • Will it be simply smelling, or will there be any touching involved?
  • How long will this take, individually and as a group?
  • Where would this take place?

We discussed our concerns and expectations. Photos of our feet and our prospective foot sniffer were exchanged. A deal was struck. $100 each, cash up front, 10 minutes each. By this time, it was about 2am and we began the location hunt.

Make sure you pick the location yourself

It’s important you feel safe and have an escape route planned if things don’t quite go to plan. This is by no means implying that those with a sexual interest in feet are deviants and should be feared. But we were meeting a stranger from the internet in a deserted park at 2am – I’ve seen enough episodes of Catfish and Law and Order to be cautious.

My friends found a bench near the park’s border, close enough to the road for us to feel safe, but further enough in to grant a degree of privacy. I was in my element at this point, feeling like a slightly tipsy Olivia Benson as I scoured the nearby streets and shops for emergency exits and security cameras.

With the location locked in, we messaged our match and the waiting game began. The three of us sat side by side, shivering on the damp park bench. Waiting, watching.

Check-in on yourself and your friends

The most important part of any sexual (and non-sexual) experience is that you feel comfortable and safe. Meeting someone in a random park at 2am is a daunting prospect, as is participating in forms of touching and intimacy you’re unfamiliar with.

While there is no shame in kinks and fetishes if engaged with in a respectful and consensual manner, there is also no shame in not feeling comfortable partaking.

In this instance, one of my friends decided she no longer felt comfortable. Instead, she bid us farewell and went to visit a booty call while we continued on our quest. We updated our match on the development and sat shivering.

One bench, two girls, four feet

In the distance a figure appeared, threading through the trees. My stomach fluttered and my feet tapped the ground anxiously as I firmly gripped the hand of my friend. He approached, we exchanged greetings and I stuffed the two crisp $50 notes he handed me into my purse hastily.

As I felt most comfortable, I offered to begin. I slipped off my white strappy kitten heels and he gripped my icy feet between his chilled hands. “I can tell you’ve been waiting a while, you’ve got very cold feet,” he remarked.

“Do you prefer silence or conversation?” I asked, as he leaned forward and began to sniff my feet, slowly massaging my arches. “Conversation’s fine,” he replied. We went through the basics:

  • How’s your night been?
  • Have you done this before?
  • Do you do this often?
  • Do you have an ideal foot size?

In response to the last question, he said “The smaller the better” while holding one of my feet in his right hand and one of my friends in his left. Apparently, size does matter. “Ahh, I can tell you’ve been wearing boots, these are much sweatier,” he gushed as he grasped my friend’s foot.

As I sat on the cold, mildewed park bench, holding the hand of my friend and having my feet massaged, I thought to myself, ‘Not a bad way to make a buck!’. As someone with admittedly strange-looking feet, it was honestly quite an ego boost.

At about the 15-minute mark, five short of our agreed time limit, our match stated he had gotten all he needed. We exchanged goodbyes and general pleasantries and went our separate ways. I slipped on my heels and tottered off, arm in arm with my friend.

As we wandered off down the streets of Naarm, booking an Uber to meet our friend, I reflected on the experience. Was it the most enjoyable way to spend 15 odd minutes? No. Would I do it again? Absolutely.

For more on foot fetishes, try this.

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