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About me

I had almost forgotten about my friend. Until a year later, when a friend at work approached me, wanting to talk. I removed my Vibram-sole sandals and offered up my feet. Falling back into my seat, I thought about all the places my feet had been that day: walking up and down the stairs of the F train, across the marbled expanse of Grand Central, through Midtown where Dalmatian spots of gum dotted the sidewalks. The lights of the bridge streaked overhead, and Manhattan was a jeweled kingdom shrinking behind us in the darkness of the rearview mirror.

And yet I knew that if this were to be his final act, he would die happy. Now I can move to New York.

Even so, I wondered if my companion might contract some fatal foot-and-mouth disease from his impulsive actions. Well, I wish I could say it was the most erotic experience of my life. When I was 18, New York City was the one that got away. To live in New York was to travel the world while standing still.

What had brought me to this juncture? With each rejection letter I received during my academic job search, I felt a rising tide of relief. Angry that I had been duped?

‘toe sucking’ stories

She had an M. Another misfit, trying to figure out what she wanted to be when she grew up. New York is about yes! And catch up on all things Modern Love. He spoke of my toes in particular: their contours, shapeliness and perfection.

And yet, the straight and narrow had led to a dead end: joblessness and debt. It felt like time travel as we whipped down the F. He spoke of toes in general with reverence and earnest passion. Now I can do as I please, I thought. I looked forward to a life undisturbed by risk, rebellion or blinding passion.

As we sailed through the city streets making small talk, I complained about my sore feet, and he offered to give me a foot massage.

I thought of all the times in my life I had said no. Then he tended to my other foot, playing it as if it were a harmonica.

Sharing a cab, and my toes

As I walked through Union Square, a kaleidoscope of humanity tumbled around me: a woman walking six dogs, a man holding a steering wheel as if he were driving an invisible car, a group of muscular break dancers performing circus feats. I had moved to New York to fulfill my deepest dreams. Just as those who live to see their deepest dreams fulfilled die happy.

It was a sensual siren song to my soul. The wheels flew over the pavement, and my body whirred through space. I felt a faint thrill, not of physical arousal but a stirring of my spirit of adventure. Here was a man so focused on his dream that he had managed, through simple boldness — and a dash of deception — to make it come true again and again.

I wanted to express raw emotion in front of hundreds of people. Given all that, my feet looked remarkably clean. And so, the next day we pretended it had never happened. At that moment, time stood still. Just as I would die happy.

It was a true thing that I knew with the clarity of all true things. A blur of lights dotted the East River. He sucked on each toe as if it were the leg of a tiny crustacean and he was after the meat. Sprawled in an awkward position, I felt weirdly detached from my foot. And here was this young man, presenting me with his small dream. I thought. The cab turned onto my street, and the man released my foot. A cab was an unthinkable luxury for me in those days.

This is it! Visiting it for the first time, I knew I wanted to live here.

Yes, you can suck my toes.

A life shaped by safe choices. And thus I found myself in the back seat of a cab with my foot in the mouth of a near stranger. I had landed a job at a test-prep company, devising analogies, antonyms and sentence completions for standardized tests, my creative aspirations being spent on word play and vocabulary drills. I felt a tiny bud of admiration bloom in my heart. We employees were a collection of would-be artists working day jobs.

Toesucking stories

I hardly knew this guy — he worked in a whole different area — but, feeling weary and curious, I thought, Why not? All the ro I had never hitched, all the chances I had never taken, all the lips I had never kissed. And I thought: New York is not about no. After some time had passed, I almost wondered if it had. We worked long hours and retired to local bars to decompress and talk about our shadow lives.

As I rode in a cab across the Brooklyn Bridge, a man I barely knew was sucking my toes. The slurping sounds aroused the attention of our driver, and I leaned forward through the partition to block his view. Style Sharing a Cab, and My Toes. My life here has begun. But I could find no teaching job. I scoured the s of Backstage furtively, as if it were a pornographic pamphlet from the 18th century, but I never vocalized my desire. I had no game in hailing taxis, even sober as I was, but my co-worker finally managed to snag one. Well, not exactly nothing.

What did I feel in that moment? On one such night, I agreed to share a cab home with a drunken co-worker 10 years my junior. I gave up on the thing I most wanted without even really trying.

Toes confessions

I had acquired a Ph. I would marry a fellow professor, bear two handsome children and fall into the predictable rhythms of the school year. There was the doctor who secretly wanted to sing opera, the lawyer who had devoted a good part of his life to ultimate Frisbee, and the engineer who was into sound de.

I was thrilling to the magic carpet ride of the cab whisking us home in minutes as opposed to the forever it often seemed to take by subway.