(A confession of a sexual preference and one I wrote a little while ago for the Malton Festival of Erotic Literature)

 

Pretty, painted, piggy toes Peep shyly through their shoe;

But, pretty lady, I must keep My secret stare from you.

So slyly with more subtlety, A better view to gain,

I turn to your reflection In the window pane.

 

This private peepshow I enjoy, New thoughts to feel and find

And taste them so indulgently, Fresh fetishes in mind.

Vicariously watching now, In anonymity,

Safe from your suspicion To run my fantasy.

 

Cinematic images About to be revealed;

Delicious feelings stir below, Though cross-legged and concealed.

Oh pretty lady’s piggies How slowly we could play

My touch on them, their touch on me The hours we’d while away.

 

We’d sit upon the sofa You’d give a playful slap

Then lean back on the armrest Your feet lie in my lap.

Am I meant to touch them now? Or am I trespassing?

Will this meet with bold rebuke Or intimacy bring?

 

I tentatively take them (Played so casually)

You smile – there’s no objection; We share the fantasy.

With movements much more measured We watch each other’s eyes

We know this isn’t playfulness; What follows, no surprise.

 

Beyond consensuality You’ve let me take control;

I press home this permission Massaging on your sole

Caressing soft yet firmly Feet squirming in my lap

No longer feigning innocence My manhood sweetly trapped.

 

So careful not to tickle I lightly tap and drum

Then trace along the instep Gently with my thumb.

I take my time; I linger; I savour, squeezing slow,

Easing through a finger Between each little toe.

Each piggy for the market Then kissed and tongued in turn

Persuading knees to fall apart My urgency more firm.

 

The rest is more predictable As naked we are free,

To trade and share our pleasure Which ends coitally.

 

Pretty, painted piggies peep So shyly through a shoe;

But pretty lady I must keep My secret stare from you.