Yesterday, I had the opportunity to learn how to care for Sir’s boots. The path to this point is a bit of a convoluted one, but bears writing about so that I can process in my head all that has occurred in regards to his boots.
When we were first talking about actually coming together in a relationship, he explained to me some of the things that were non-negotiable to him. One of them was foot worship. I have always had a sort of squick thing going on where feet are concerned, even my own. They have not only not been of interest to me, but with my OCD nature, have been sort of a turn off for me. I told him then that I didn’t know if I would ever truly be able to participate in that because of my aversion to feet in general. We talked, he decided that I absolutely would participate in it, and that I would learn to if not love it, then look like I did.
At first, this only meant that I was to put his shoes on and take them off every time he needed them on or off. It even included doing so in public, but that ended up being by my just doing it rather than him telling me to do it. Quite by accident, we went bowling with a small group of kinksters, and when we sat to put on bowling shoes, I just automatically sat on the floor and took care of his shoe exchange. It didn’t dawn on me that maybe that wasn’t appropriate until later. Then it just became the norm anytime he tries on shoes or we go bowling.
Fast forward a bit to months after we moved in together. The time has come for me to experience his feet. He begins by having me take care of them without any actual worship going on. He is a type 1 diabetic, and so foot care is important. I buy the necessary items, and start taking care of them by having him soak in an Epsom/water bath and work on the calluses and nails, and then lotion them up. I do this sporadically and begin to look forward to it.
Once I become comfortable and even interested in doing this, he moves things forward a bit more to actual ‘worship’, which entails things like kissing, licking, sucking, and generally just having them all over my face. This is a slower process, as I’m hesitant. To alleviate my OCDness, he only demands this after showering or soaking his feet so that I know they are clean.
As time progressed, I began to enjoy this act of service. I looked forward to having his feet on me. To being his footrest and worshipping his feet. To caring for them.
I’ve never had any desire to bootblack. It just has never been something that called to me or interested me in any way. However, I suddenly began to have urges to take care of his boots. I would go into the closet and see them sitting there looking so horrible because they hadn’t been taken care of in literally years. And the desire took hold. I would read about bootblacking. What’s involved in it. I would see bootblacks doing their thing and think, I don’t really want to do all that for other people. And so I waffled. But even as I stepped away from it because it didn’t appeal to me as a kink, the desire to serve Sir by taking care of HIS boots had taken hold and wouldn’t let go.
Then my friend posted about getting ready to compete at SWLC for bootblack, and I thought, ‘I’ll have her do Sir’s boots and jacket because they are in terrible shape and we want to help her out.’ It was hard to actually give them over to her. It didn’t feel right. Like I should be doing this, but I know nothing about it. But I did it and she brought them back to life.
Then she posted about having a weekend bootblack intensive. I saw it and was interested. Then I wasn’t. Then I was again. I waffled. Even up until Saturday morning before I was to go. In fact, I may have backed out even as late as Saturday morning had his boots not been waiting for me at her house, as she had taken them again last week to strip them so I could work on them myself. See, I had to go in order to get the boots back. That was the universe plotting against me and laughing.
At first, I approached it as I do any learning experience – with my mind open but my spirit not really engaged. I was the brain in the room, asking questions, touching and smelling things, and making intelligent connections in my brain the way I always learn new material. I stripped his boots mechanically. I mixed the water and saddlesoap and began testing the consistency and applying it to the first boot. I was working quickly and efficiently. And as I worked that first boot, I felt myself slowing. Taking greater care. Feeling the boot. And my spirit began to awaken and connect. Small at first, but present. It became more present as I wiped the soap away, making sure not to leave any in the crevasses or hidden areas under the harnesses. Then came dying the leather. I became so focused on what I was doing that I tipped over the bottle of black liquid dye and spilled it everywhere. What a mess. And after the dye was applied, we broke for lunch. Good thing since I felt a bit disconnected after the spill.
Now, it’s important to understand that I’m a bit of a girly girl and very OCD. I don’t like being dirty, unless it involves digging in the dirt for gardening. I wash my hands a dozen times a day, keep wet wipes in my car, and hand sanitizer in my office. So when she pulled out the Black Gold, I had a moment of thinking, ‘oh no, now we get dirty.’ But from the moment I put the grease on my hands and rubbed them together, my mind quieted and a calm settled over me. When I put my hands on the first boot and began to rub in the grease, my mind was both empty and full. My focus was on this boot that is a part of my Sir. I was talking and interacting with the others in the room, but my energy and my spirit were one with the boots. It was….odd…in a pleasing, comfortable way. And it surprised me.
I knew that I had had this drive for over a year now, but figured that this would just be another form of service that I could do to please him. It didn’t occur to me, even though the urge to do this had been there in the background for so long, that it would both bring me pleasure and put me in what I can only describe as a very interesting headspace. It
brought…calm…peace…balance…a sense of rightness…purpose. Almost spiritually, like something one is called to do. It’s very hard to describe using words.
Do I want to become a bootblack? Hardly. When I think of that it just doesn’t feel right. But when I look over into the living room at his boots that I cared for and the small kit I’m putting together to continue caring for them properly, I feel both a sense of pride and a feeling of just … rightness.