Dear Worried,

What is it about the British and their attraction to the more redolent regions? I had your letter in mind earlier this week while in post-workoutular relaxation in the steam-room at the gym. With eyes closed, my thoughts were turned to real estate matters, travel plans and an odd recipe sent to me by a friend involving much butter and something called Jiffy Corn. I was startled by the touch of someone's hand on the back of my right calf. I looked through the mist, down to the lower bench, at a man who looked up at me serenely while proceeding to stroke that same calf, its ankle and eventually its foot. I think he had somehow interpreted my shut-eyed pacificity as license to approach these extremities of mine. The skillful foot massage that ensued was not unpleasant, so I re-shut my eyes and ignored the process until I was again startled by the unmistakable sensation of a mouth having swallowed a few of the attendant toes. I looked down at him and watched as he opened his mouth (like a snake unhinging its jaw) wide enough to intake a good portion of my entire foot while flickering his tongue along the sole.

As fetishes go, my encounter was rather pedestrian. What I could not escape, however, was an aversion to the fact that I had just walked barefoot over the floor of the locker room, stood at a urinal below which is a crescent of tile glazed yellow with the careless aim of membership, and walked through a shower room mossy with the build-up of soap, fallen hair, sloughed-off skin and evilly microscopic wet kingdoms of contagious intent. He took my foot out of his mouth only to sneeze, releasing into the mist a microbial aspiration that made me run for the door while holding my breath.

Even this old warhorse-of-many-gutters says "Yuck".

You, however, do not seem to have an aversion to your fellow's predilection. And yet, with his blinders firmly cemented, you really cannot expect him to suddenly see the light at the end of the tunnel despite your shining of it. I would say that before you marry him, you ought to remind him that if all anyone has ever had is chocolate, he'll never know whether or not he likes vanilla. Have you made it clear to him what it is that you would like to do with him? That would be step one. The next step will involve some artistry on your part. Have you ever paper-trained a puppy? You have to keep moving the newspaper closer to the backdoor until finally Spot realizes that relief occurs outside it. In this case, you've got to keep moving the paper away from your back door by letting him have his way with you only after he has spent some time doing what you like. He gets no treats until he performs. (How old is he? You know what they say about old dogs not learning new tricks.)

Over the years, I've pushed myself into trying things that other men find delightful. Once, in a bathhouse in DC, I licked a man's boot at his request for exactly one second while he unleashed a torrent of verbal degradation. I promptly stood up, adjusted my towel and said over my shoulder "Thanks. I'll add that to the list of things I'm not into." On the other hand, I have learned so skillfully to twist a man's nipples that, if he is wearing metal eyeglasses, my fine-tuning will actually result in clear shortwave reception of the BBC.
Finally, you may want to see the time spent while he is "out of sight" as an opportunity to get stuff done. While you are sitting on his face, consider doing your taxes, watching reruns of Golden Girls, or knitting. Or, let your idle mind be the devil's workshop and attack whatever parts of him are within your reach.

Seriously, I don't think we ever really conquer that which we fetishize. The only way to do that would be to change the earliest developmental influences that molded us into the adults we are. If today a man craves your bubble butt, chances are he will always watch it lustfully as you walk it across the room. The test of love is that it won't much notice when that bubble begins to deflate over the years. (That is why, incidentally, fetishizing big balls is a much better marital investment: gravity only exaggerates them as a man ages.)

Have I answered your question? I do so get lost in these things. Oh yes, the matter of your fondness for his poetry recitation. I assume he doesn't recite while spelunking although your intimate acoustics might be suitable for Milton's cadences in Paradise Lost. Build on this mutually satisfying pastime. Make him whisper those verses into your ear while you bring yourself (and him, if possible) to climax. See what I mean by being creative? The idea is to surprise him with something unexpectedly pleasant by working off what you already share.

And, if he is not responsive to any of your suggestions or ploys, ditch him.
PS: Thank you very much for sending me your pics. If you're ever in my neighborhood, I'd be willing to take a closer look at your dilemma.