January 8th-- The Podiatrist Love Slave with a Foot Fetish

January 8th-- The Podiatrist Love Slave with a Foot Fetish

 

 

All my life I had been pretending.   Pretending I was not where I was.  I am the daughter of immigrants. When we moved to New York from Taiwan, I pretended I was destined for better things.   I knew I was destined for better things.  I ignored the other immigrant children around me. Ignored the bully who pulled on my sweatshirt. Ignored my father when he yelled about the noodles being too soft. My father used to say I was living an imitation of life.  My mother always told me, “Ni yongyuan shi zhongguo ren.”  You will always be Chinese.  But they had never heard of fake it ‘til you make it. So, I now carry my designer pocket books, wear my heels high, and live like a socialite.  Well, sort of.

I am a single Asian woman in New York City. That means being an attractive target with men who have yellow fever. I took the online route of dating. I had many ads on the Internet, a profile here and there.  I regularly got emails from men who say they responded to my emails because they prefer Asian women. Why? I asked them. They simply responded—I prefer the look of black hair and light skin. Eventually I get the bull—I’m interested in Asian culture.

Weirdos and creepos were to be expected. Such was the strange case of the podiatrist. We went to the Water Club. The windows were really big, and you could see the East River with all the party boats cruising up and down, as well as a partial view of the tall buildings in Manhattan.  It is a very romantic place to go on a first date.

He fed me lobster and caviar on little blinis. Now, they say lobster isn’t a first date choice.  But you never dated the podiatrist. This guy liked and sought young women. Being that I’m the sweet age of twenty-five, he was definitely happy to see me.

I looked over at him.  He was handsome, tanned with muscular arms and a full head of red hair.  He looked a little older than I expected, round belly and a Van Dyke. He said he was forty but looked about fifty.

“So, Candy, do you like caviar?” the podiatrist asked, his blue eyes looking into mine.

“Yes.” I lied.

“Well please, have some. I paid enough for it.”

I tasted it, and it was actually the most delicious thing I tasted so far. The eggs were so creamy, nutty, and salty, perfected with a lightly sweet blinis with crème fraiche. If he weren’t a stranger, I could really pig out on the caviar. However, since this was our first date, I nibbled daintily like so.

“So what do you think of this place?” the podiatrist said.

“It’s beautiful,” I replied.

“Why is an attractive young woman like you single?”

“Well, I just got out of a relationship. His name was Hunter.  His claim to fame was that he was a blonde-haired blue-eyed baby who was so cute that someone tried to kidnap him at the supermarket.  We just broke up.”

“Why?”

“Hunter wasn’t romantic enough.”    

I didn’t want to say more than I needed to, but the podiatrist pressed me with those eyes.  “Well, we had been dating for years.  We didn’t even marry, nor come close to the thought of it.  So I decided to break it off with him. When I tried to end it, he said he couldn’t live without me. That we’d get married.”

“So the guy was willing to marry you. What’s the problem?”

“It was the way he said it. As if it’s a last resort. Like, he would do it if he had to, not because he wanted to. So unromantic of him.”

       “So isn’t this place romantic? I’m romantic. Look at the view, eh?”

“Ah, he was a cheater too. I found a purple bra in his bedroom.”

“What size was it?” he inquired.  I think I knew where this was heading.

“Um, I don’t know. 34D maybe?”

“Damn right that wasn’t your bra.” I caught him eyeing my b-cups.  Note that they’re perky and all natural. No complaints from anyone except those men who prefer the fake over the true beauty of female form.  “Shut up,” I chuckled.  I went along with it.  I looked at his man boobs.  I didn’t want to be mean, since he was kidding.  But he was making fun of my bra size?  He and his moobs could have used a bro… or a mansierre!

They brought our lobsters, now out of their shells. Then our podiatrist friend was about to reveal something interesting.

 “I was married once,” he said, taking a sip of his drink.

       “Really?” I said.  “Tell me more.”  At least I could get a grasp at why she left.

“Well, I went to Thailand off and on.  Finally, I met someone really hot I was attracted to.  I wanted to bring her to the US.  I would have bribed anyone a lot of money for that to happen.  So, I finally had my way and brought her back.  Exciting for a while.  But didn’t work out.”

 “Why not?” I asked curiously.

“Well, she didn’t speak English, and we had nothing in common.  She watched TV all day and I supported her.  She slept with a lot of teddy bears in our bed."

“Wait.” I dropped my fork. “How old was she?”

“Well.” He paused. “She’s eighteen. So there was an age difference. I’m forty-six.”

Okay. This was really weird. But I wanted to know more.

       “So what happened?” I asked.

“She stopped having sex with me and put a lot of teddy bears between us.  It turned out that she had another boyfriend, a man from the old country.  So after a while, she left.  Well, it was just as well, because she didn't speak English and we had nothing in common.  C'est la vie." He ended this tale with a quick laugh and a sip.

“Oh, my.”  I didn’t really know what to say to a blind date who just told you he imported a teen from a foreign country.  Then he complained they had nothing in common?   I had to switch the subject.

“So where is your practice?”

“Murray Hill. Just a few blocks away. Hey. Maybe you’d like to do something else tonight. Want to go to Atlantic City? I’ll call a limo.”

“No, I’m meeting a friend tomorrow.”

“Cancel.”

I chuckled. “No, I can’t. How would you like it if I did it to you?”

“I wouldn’t.”

After dinner, we got into his shiny red Ferrari convertible.  I noticed everyone driving by looking at us, probably thinking this was my knight in shining red armor.

"I really like you.  I would like to see you again. I'm making a lot of money now and I live in a dream apartment with a view of Central Park.  We'll have a good life.  How about if I buy you some jewelry?"

I didn't know what to say.

"Let's go back to my office, I want to show you my office and give you the best massage you’ve ever had." 

Who wouldn’t like a massage?  I also had the feeling that if we did go back to his office, something I was unprepared for would happen.

"Come on,” he persisted.  “Let's go to my office for just a minute.”

Couldn’t the guy just get a clue? Oh, what the hell? He took me to his office, and showed me his massage chairs and this water massage machine 

“Check out this massage chair,” he said.

I sat down in this super-duper massage chair with a leg and foot massager.  I still had my shoes on.

“You’re supposed to take off your shoes,” he said.

“Oh,” I said.

“Here let me help you,” he said as he kneeled at my feet.  He looked at my heels and then into my eyes as he said, “I do enjoy feet.”

The massage chair was very relaxing and soothing.  He watched me with lust in his eyes.

"Let me give you a massage, I’m much better than that chair," he said.

I shook my head and smiled.  I didn't want it to go any further.

"So give me a massage," he said, suddenly plopping himself down on a flat medical examining table.

That sounded harmless enough, so I massaged him with his clothes on.  Couldn’t tell if I was any good but his soft groaning made me think maybe I was.

“Tell you what,” he said. “Behind you on that shelf over there should be some massage lotions. Grab some.”

I stopped what I was doing and went over to the shelf.  Free lotions?  Why not.  Good label stuff too: Dr. Brenner’s RX Hydration Foot Cream and Exfoliating Foot Scrub.  Some probably more expensive than others.  Some brands I never even heard of.  But he is a podiatrist.  So who was I to argue? For all I knew, these were top notch products.

I turned around to thank him, but suddenly froze. There he was, clothes on the floor, and his giant ass staring right back at me.

“Spank me!” he yelled.  “I want to be your love slave. You’re in control. I’ll do anything you say!”

“You sick man!” I smacked him hard on the ass.

“Yeah, baby! Yeah!”

“Augh!”

I quickly grabbed my bag and stormed off.   And yes, I did take my lotions and a big tub of Dr. Brenner’s RX Foot Hydration cream.  I had to look back just before I closed the door, and lo and behold, he was jerking off.

“Show me a breast,” he begged, his face contorted with more pain than pleasure it seemed.  It was like agony of the feet!  He had gritted teeth and some drool sticking down.  “You’re my mistress! Oh, God! What am I doing with my life!?”

I fled the building, finally escaping to reality!           It was like one big giant bad dream.  I hurried up and found the nearest yellow taxi. Step on it!  I had a feeling the crazed podiatrist would come out chasing me down the street, kind of like the Texas Chainsaw Massacre ending, with his penis in the air.  But, I actually thought he was pretty harmless the more I thought about it.  I mean, it was he who wanted the beating!

I finally arrived to the Upper East Side apartment building where I lived.  I had been living with the family I worked for.  I was the Mandarin nanny to the kids, which meant my job was to converse Mandarin with the children. The family I worked for was so rich, they had three nannies for their three kids!  For my work, I received free room and board.  A small room, but a vast improvement over the dump I grew up in  Chinatown.

The next day, the podiatrist called.  He left a message saying he had a good time.  A good time?  I was getting my toenails painted a dragonlady red when I heard the message.  Picturing that painful look on his face as he was jerking off, I just didn’t want anything to do with him.  Not that I’m an angel or anything.   In fact, my mother is still having a cow about that dildo she found.

As for Mr. Podiatrist, I guess I’m just not ready to be a dominatrix yet.  I emailed my friend Dave about this. He emailed back:  “I am at a fleabag motel in Minnesota on business writing about some bearded bikers and you have your very own sex slave? Where is the justice in this world?!!!”

I guess I should confess.  I have a thing for doctors. A podiatrist is a doctor too.  A few years ago, I had to get my wisdom teeth pulled.  And the oral surgeon who did it was a young, handsome Jewish doctor.   He had on these very sexy green scrubs with the drawstring pants.  There’s just something about the drawstring pants, and the scent of the doctor’s skin when he’s leaning close during an examination drives me crazy.  From that day on, I often fantasized about having wild sex with a doctor, either on a dental chair or on an examining table. Then I met my ex-boyfriend, Hunter, who is an ER doctor. I lost my virginity to him.

 Of course, I’m still thankful to Mr. Podiatrist for the lotions.  Now let’s see what else I received from men I dated…

 There was the allergist who gave me a whole box of Claritin.  I was supposed to use one a day, but two was just fine for me.  “Doctor 4 Asian Girl" was the caption of his ad. He sent me a dozen long-stemmed roses for Valentine’s Day.  A month later he sent me another dozen roses for my birthday.  You should have heard everyone exclaim, “Look at this girl, receiving all those roses!”  Unfortunately, the allergist turned out to be addicted to prescription pills.  His license was revoked. There went my dreams of being a doctor’s wife.

Then there was the gentleman who took me to a sold-out contemporary dance show in Lincoln Center.  But, he fell asleep and snored throughout the entire performance.  Perhaps he was too tired making the big bucks as a vice president of a financial firm.

Then there were all the great free meals at the best restaurants in New York City.  In just the past month, I've been to some of the best restaurants in New York such as the Water Club, Nobu, Tribecca Grill, Bouley, Del Posto, Shun Lee, all on blind  dates  with men who I never saw again.  This is a phenomenon that took some getting used to—men taking out women they've never met before and spending hundreds of dollars on meals and never calling them again.  Which is fine with me.  I didn't feel any connection with  them. But ultimately, it is always the man's choice whether you two are going to see each other again.  Sure, some people say you can call the guy.  I don't. It's against The Rules.

Some people make fun of The Rules. Some are vehemently against it.  They say it's a lot of game playing.  I am proud to say I'm a Rules girl.  Like the authors of The Rules: Time-tested Secrets for Capturing the Heart of Mr. Right say, I am special and I let men chase after me.

But why should you not chase after men?  After all, it's the 2000s, they say.  The Rules say because men need to chase, they need to work hard for the little bit of attention and pleasure they get from a woman.  If men don't need to work hard to get you, they wonder what is wrong with you. It's psychological.  The more you spend on something, the more you value it.  Just in case anyone thinks The Rules are a lot of manipulation tricks made up by men-hating women, a lot of the principles in The Rules are backed up by things I’ve read in other books and by what my male friends have told me.

Take my friend Kevin for example.    He dated a woman who slept with him on the first date.  He didn't have to work hard to get her. There was no wondering whether she liked him, no anticipation, and no tension.  She kept on calling him, and he kept on taking her for granted, seeing her only when he didn't have anything  else to do and always at the last minute.  Was it any surprise that he would choose to spend New Year’s Eve with his friends instead of her?  She angrily went over to his place and said they needed to talk.  He told her they should stop seeing each other. She should have talked to me and read The Rules!

I should say that I'm a modified Rules girl because sometimes, I break them if the guy is hot.  Then, I let myself be vulnerable to rejection.   But in the game of love, those who reject must also take rejection.  So, I never obsess over a guy and always move forward.  Life is short.

Another book that I've read cover to cover three times is What Men Want, a book written by three professional men who tell you what men want.  Never, ever sleep with the guy on the first date, they insist.  Also, if the guy doesn't call you, well, there is a reason for that and it's called he just isn’t that into you.  It's true.  Never call the guy when you first start dating.  Guys don't want you to— they want to do the chasing.

The preceding has been an excerpt from Diary of a Single Asian Female: Dating Adventures in New York City by Candy Chan.  Now available on Amazon Kindle and Kindle Unlimited!