Zitiert
Hallo!Im Internet kursieren zu einigen Themen - wie z.B. zu Schokolade oder zum allgemeinen Verhältnis zwischen Mann und Frau - ja ellenlange Listen mit denkwürdigen Aussprüchen berühmter Persönlichkeiten.
Über die schöne Vorliebe, die uns hier eint, wird sich in der Öffentlichkeit, was nicht überraschend ist, deutlich weniger ausgelassen. Das ist ganz ok so, schließlich macht für einige vielleicht auch gerade das Geheimnis, die "Aura des Unaussprechlichen", den Reiz daran aus.
Trotzdem - sind wir nicht allein! Und deswegen habe ich ein paar Textstellen zusammengetragen, in denen die Erotik der Füße thematisiert oder zumindest angeschnitten wird.
Ich fände es schön, wenn diese Liste erweitert werden würde (falls es denn überhaupt noch so viele andere Zitate bzw. Textstellen gibt).
Grüße,
H.
Sehr bekannt ist dies hier:
Füße und Unterarme einer Frau müssen von exhibitionistischer Schönheit sein
• Salvador Dalí
Ebenso das:
Sie hatte Rasse - gar keine Frage.
Ich lutschte an ihren Zehen,
Und ich war wirklich nicht in der Lage,
Ihr aus dem Wege zu geh´n.
• M. Müller-Westernhagen, "Willenlos"
Dass Quentin Tarantino eine "foot fondness" hegt, ist auch nichts neues mehr:
You’re saying a foot massage don’t mean nothing, and I’m saying it does. And look, I’ve given a million ladies a million foot massages, and they all meant something. We act like they don’t, but they do, and that’s what’s so fucking cool about it. There’s a sensuous thing going on, but you know you don’t talk about it, but you know it, she knows it…
• Vincent Vega in "Pulp Fiction" (Quentin Tarantino)
In sehr schönen Worten (wie ich finde) bringt die Japanerin "Midori" ihren Fetisch zum Ausdruck:
Yes, I love feet, shoes and boots. They occupy a special place in my sex life. They're also a lovely part of the overall sensual pleasures I take from life. I luxuriate in my fetishistic pleasures. I consume them in their singular, rarefied and focused joy like a sip of the rarest cognac. Or I'll lavish them in layers with other erotic activities, adding them to the rope bondage, extended oral sex, and the many other pleasures that I partake in. It's like pouring velvety warm chocolate sauce over the already-yummiest ice cream and strawberries.
• Midori, "The Toybag Guide to Foot and Shoe Worship"
Don DeLillo beschreibt in seinem Roman "Underworld" (dt. "Unterwelt") einen Spaziergang durch ein außergewöhnliches Stadtviertel und philosophiert über sexuelle Fetische:
All right. Marvin was not a night person but he knew one place he might take her, one street really, that's all it was, called the Float, out near the old hippie district, shops that came and went overnight, buildings without house numbers, an area catering to very select desires that changed with the phases of the moon. ...
Eleanor was delighted by the ambiance, a word she pronounced a little French. Bare-board floors and stained walls. She took Marvin's arm and they went down the street, spotting a sign in a first-floor window, Foot Fetish Cruise of Spanish Ports.
Floating zones of desire. It was the what, the dismantling of desire into a thousand subspecialties, into spin-offs and narrowings, edge-wise whispers of self. ... If you were open to suggestion you could float through the zone, finding out who you were by your attachments, slice by slice, tasting the deli specials of the street. You were defined by your fixation.
• Don DeLillo, "Underworld"
In Jonathan Franzens "The Corrections" (dt. "Die Korrekturen") weiß eine Studentin ganz genau Bescheid über die Wirkung ihrer Füße:
He was still grading papers five weeks later, ten or fifteen thousand student errors later, on a windy night just after Halloween, when he heard a scrabbling outside his office door. Opening the door, he found a dime-store trick-or-treat bag hanging from the hall-side doorknob. The leaver of this gift, Melissa Paquette, was backpedaling up the hall.
“What are you doing?” he said.
“Just trying to be friends,” she said.
“Well, thanks,” he said. “I don’t get it.”
Melissa came back down the hall. She was wearing white painter’s overalls, a long-sleeve thermal undershirt, and hot-pink socks. “I went trick-or-treating,” she said. “This was like one-fifth of my haul.”
…
“See, my mom and dad split up in April.” Melissa flung herself down on Chip’s college-issue leather sofa and assumed the full therapeutic position. … “On the whole I’m doing brilliantly, except for having been rude to you in class that time.” Melissa hooked her heels on the arm of the sofa, pried her shoes off, and let them drop to the floor. Soft curves in thermal knitwear spilled out to either side of her overall’s bib, Chip noticed. …
“How’s Chad?” Chip said.
“A sweet boy. Good for about three weekends.” Melissa swung a leg off the sofa and planted a stockinged foot on Chip’s leg, close to his hip. “It’s hard to imagine two people less long-term compatible than him and me.”
Through his jeans Chip could feel the deliberate flexing of her toes. He was trapped against his desk, and so, to escape, he had to take hold of her ankle and swing her leg back onto the sofa. Her pink feet immediately grasped his wrist and pulled him toward her. It was all very playful, but his door was open, and his lights were on, and his blinds were raised, and somebody was in the hall. “Code,” he said, pulling free. “There’s a code.”
Melissa rolled off the sofa, stood up, and came closer. “It’s a stupid code,” she said. “If you care about somebody.”
Chip retreated to the doorway. Up the hall, by the department office, a tiny blue-uniformed woman with a Toltec face was vacuuming. “There are good reasons to have it,” he said.
“So I can’t even give you a hug now.”
“That’s right.”
“It’s stupid.” Melissa stepped into her shoes and joined Chip in the doorway. She kissed him on the cheek, near his ear. “So there.”
He watched her slide-step and pirouette down the hall and out of sight. He heard a fire-door bang shut. He carefully examined every word he’d said, and gave himself an A for correctness. But when he returned to Tilton Ledge, where the last of the utility lights had burned out, he was swamped by loneliness. To erase the tactile memory of Melissa’s kiss, and her lively warm feet, he phoned an old college friend in New York and made a date for lunch the next day.
• Jonathan Franzen, "The Corrections"
