Foot Fetish

Normally, a Saturday trip to Sofia isn't eventful enough to write about but yesterday's adventure is a whole different story. Well, at least what happened to me in the morning, at the train station, while I was eating a dooner, reading a book, and minding my own business...

It's early for a Saturday and, though the sun is out, it's still quite chilly so I plant myself right in the center of the sun's rays, at a cafe in front of the station, where I plan on meeting some friends in the next 30 minutes or so when up walks this guy. Now, the surprising thing about this guy is he's young (early 20's maybe) and he's reasonably good-looking and appears to be quite normal. A typical, Bulgarian dude. Um, no.

When he sits, I think, "OK. He wants to talk. Fine." So I introduce myself in Bulgarian and I explain that I don't know the language well. He doesn't say...anything. He's just looking at me. I think, "maybe he didn't realize I'm a foreigner and is now regretting his forwardness." Something I'm totally OK with. Eventually, when I can't get him to say anything and I'm not really sure what he's doing I say, "Um, OK, well, you're kinda weird and I'm going to go back to my book now."

But then he points at my foot. I think he's asking about my tattoos so I explain that they're in Spanish and Italian. He says, "no." I'm thinking, "He must think I'm asking him if he speaks Italian or Spanish." I consider trying to explain it again but I really don't care that much and he's starting to get on my nerves. It's at this point, when I'm trying to figure out how to get rid of him that he does the most unexpected thing...

He takes my foot out from under the table, holds it up a few inches off the ground, lowers his face towards the foot...and licks it! I cannot make this up! I was shocked! I could see the wet streak across my tattoos but I couldn't actually comprehend what had just happened.

I said, "That's disgusting! What the hell is wrong with you!" I start to get up to leave when he grabs my foot and won't let go. That's when I get angry. I said "stop" and "no" repeatedly until people waiting at the nearby bus stop began to look over at us and finally I yanked my foot out of his hands. I can't even remember the words for "stop" and "enough" in Bulgarian that we learned to use in situations such as these. I storm off thinking "What the F*" over and over, praying he is not following me. He wasn't.

I find sanctuary in the upper level of the bus station next door and imagine how I'm going to explain this particular situation which, now that I'm safe, is actually quite hilarious. I would shiver every five minutes or so just from the pure creepiness of the it all but I eventually just decided it was one of those crazy stories I get to take home from Bulgaria.

After my friends, Priscilla and Deanna arrived, I told them my story and they decided that he must have some sort of foot fetish. I said, "A public foot fetish with strangers! That's too weird. Not to mention, I'm wondering if he's done this before and how the girl's reacted. Not positively, I'm sure."

Then Priscilla says, "Maybe he just keeps trying until he finds that certain one, the girl of his dreams who doesn't cringe."

"That's true," I say, "I mean, might as well get it out there right in the beginning. Why bother beating around the bush. Just let the girl know, hey, this is what I'm into, you can't handle it, run away screaming, that's what all the other girls do."

Creepy punk.

-Age