Observantly oblivious

I know it when I see it, but not when it's aimed at me.

No, I'm not talking about pornography, nor about art. I'm talking about attraction. About crushes.

I'm very good at spotting relationships before they quite start to bud. I can see the way people look at each other, that little bit of nonverbal communication as they test out one another's waters, and I can spot who will become a couple and who won't with reasonable accuracy. Friends have been known to ask me whether or not someone likes them, or for my take on the reactions or what someone was really thinking.

I'm good at it. From posture to half shrugs to wrinkles to furrows and pursed lips, I can spot a lot with nonverbal communication. Chances are, if you like someone nearby, I'll be able to spot it, and even be able to tell you who it is you fancy, and whether or not they fancy you back.

Unless, that is, I am the one you fancy. If I am the target of your desire, you're going to have to hire a skywriter to tell me that you like me. And yes, in that way. And yes, me.

I've lived my life through a series of crushes. Some of them have turned out to be reciprocal. One or two have even blossomed into relationships. But far more often, I've been bemoaning the fact that I can't find someone who likes me while talking to someone who does (and I'm too stupid to see it).

There was a girl in high school who had a huge crush on me. I liked talking to her, liked hanging out with her, even found her attractive. But I never thought she liked me. By the time I figured it out, she'd moved on.

That story can be repeated over and over; the only thing you'd need to change would be 'in high school,' and sometimes 'a girl.'  There have been people that I have talked to long after the fact, admitted that I had a crush on them, and found out that they had one on me at the same time.

Somehow, I can spot it across a room, across a field, even on television. But not when it's right in front of me.

It's because I'm stupid.

Competition is stupid

People who know me, but don't know me well, are probably surprised to find out that I'm a competitive person. I prefer activities that allow a group to work together. I game so that we're ALL the good guys (or, as the case may be, the bad guys). I don't like playing against people, I don't do online gaming; for the most part, the only kind of direct competition I like is chess. I like playing chess.

But it's all a lie. It's not that I don't like competition. I love it. I thrive on it. But what I don't like is playing by the rules. I don't like being the one you see coming. And maybe, just maybe, there's a little bit of not respecting other people as opponents. If you're not smart enough to give me a challenge, why should I even play? I wouldn't expect a professional basketball player to want to go one on one with me. Not that I'd win - there's about zero chance of that. They wouldn't want to play because I don't represent a challenge. I'm barely harder to beat than no one at all, and possibly easier (since competition tends to make people perform better).

Mostly, though, it's the desire to play outside the rules. Not breaking them. Just playing around them, playing with them. Using them to find the loop holes, to do the things no one has considered doing before. I don't want to slyly take one of your pieces off the board in a chess game. But I don't mind doing things like telling you which square your king will be on when I checkmate you - before the game starts. Can I do that? Well, sometimes. I have to be REALLY ahead to do it. But it's usually intimidating as hell to have someone tell you that. I want to play you, your mind, your paranoia, and not just the pieces you're moving around the board.

Of course, I won't TELL you that. I'll tell you that I am only interested in playing myself. All I really care about is feeling like I played a good game. Winning and losing isn't really relevant. Quality of play is all that matters.

Bullshit.

It's what I wish was true. If I weren't such a moron, it might be true. But at the end of the day, I want to win. I want to win everything. I just don't want you to know that I want to win. And I don't want you to know how important it was that I DID win.

It isn't that I'm not competitive.

It's that I don't want my enemies to know that I am.

You asked for it.

Well, I certainly set the bar high for myself. Nothing held back, nothing left behind. That's a lot to ask for. I really AM a moron.

But I promised a million non-existent people that I would do it, so I will. You can't break promises to non-existent people. Some would argue that's because you can't MAKE promises to non-existent people, but we're not here for an argument in semantics.

We're here to talk about sex. More specifically, to talk about fetishes. More specifically still, to talk about MY fetishes. Well, one of them anyway.

I noticed this fetish first in high school. It took a while to figure out, but I found that I thought girls were more attractive if they were wearing boots. Particularly if they were wearing doc martens. I thought at first that this was just an extension of my interest in bdsm. I thought I was just convincing myself that the girl with the badass boots, the girl who looked like she was the most powerful, would be that much more likely to be dominant in the bedroom.

But over time, I realized it's more than just the boots being a sign of dominance. It's actually the boots themselves. Sex when she's wearing boots is somehow better. A girl walking down the street with tight boots that have nice straps and good leather is hotter than the same girl walking with uggs or flip flops on.

Let me say that again. The SAME GIRL is hotter with boots. Hell, the same guys are hotter with boots.

So what is it about them? Part of it is the bdsm masochistic side of me: boots are made for kicking. And for walking. Yes, those boots are made for walking, and hopefully, someday, they'll walk all over me. Part of it is the power trip thing I initially thought it might be. But part of it is just the boots themselves.

You see, people with boots are more attractive than people without boots. But at the same time, boots by themselves are sometimes sexy.

I'm not your normal shoe fetishist. I have no desire to rub myself against the boots, or to use them as receptacles for my genetic material (that's about the least gross way I can think to say it). They turn me on, but I don't want to do anything sexual with them.

Unless you count using my tongue to clean them. I DO want to do that. So that's kind of sexual. But I prefer them to be worn at the time. Apparently, it feels like a very gentle foot massage. I like it when the people I play with enjoy the things I enjoy. I hate the idea of someone doing something just because I like it. Sex is supposed to be mutually enjoyable.

I only like it on the right kind of boots, though. The leather, not the fabric. Vinyl is okay, I guess. So is latex. But leather or synthetic leather are best. The tongue slides over those very well. And they taste good.

So yeah, I love everything about boots: the look, the feel, the effect on someone's walk, the smell, and the taste. Especially the taste, and the power exchange that comes with knowing what boots taste like.

I don't think I'm bisexual. Well, I think I might be. But I know one thing for absolute certain: it would be much, much easier for me to be with a man if he was wearing boots. And if he made me clean them before we did anything else. In fact, I'm not sure I COULD be with a man outside of a bdsm context, and part of that, to me, is the boots.

So there we go. That's about as direct as I can think to get with this.

An experiment in audience

Hi everyone. Glad to have you back. As you know, we've moved to this new space once we hit one million readers.

Do we write a blog with an actual audience in mind, or just one we'd like to pretend we have? This is the latter.

For those of you who are new, let me lay out what you're reading: this is my blog, the innermost thoughts of a brilliant moron. What that means is that I will be completely honest, without humility and hopefully without unwarranted arrogance. I will admit that I am stupid, but will also assert that I'm smart. If this seems weird to you, go back and read the original post; that'll make it easier to understand.

This is the original post. There is no real audience here, and certainly not one with a million members. 

Essentially, I'm too smart for my own good. And too educated for my own safety. I second guess myself until I make stupid decisions, and I am curious enough to seem like a moron. I have stupid thoughts inhabit me, just like all of you. But I entertain those thoughts, analyze them and try to decide if they mean anything; I may be a genius, but I'm too much of an idiot to dismiss stupid thoughts.

I really am going to be brutally honest here. If you somehow know who I really am, understand that before you read further. I'm not leaving anything off the table; no taboo subjects, no denials, no limits.

I hope we can continue having a good time together, sharing and laughing. Feel free to comment; remember that your comments are part of what keeps me going through this. You are the reason I'm still writing after all this time; you're the reason this blog is still here.

You may not even exist. But that paragraph is still true.