Because feet can talk.

I know one of my friends might be offended if I name them, so I will leave names out until able to change:

I went to a concert Saturday. Great concert, great people, and, thankfully, a relatively small crowd. To be honest, I don't remember everyone that was in the room with us, but I had a general sense of who was. When it was over with, we ran out since nobody decided to put in windows where we were. Leaving to sit around the merch table and converse with the band, I saw a short, round black guy. Since I myself am of the darker race, I recoiled since the rules state that only one of us is to be at an event at one point in time. 2 or more is a catastrophic.

Excusing the self racist joke, I realized I hadn't seen him in the room where the band had played. Really, a small room like that lets you get acquainted with people easily. Sweaty jumping and pushing antics makes you get to know people well. For example, I found out what a wasted man's armpit taste like after not wearing any deodorant.

I ignored his existence until he appeared suddenly by the two friends involved in this incident. Shyly, he eventually asked the girls there if he could show them a trick. Neat!, I thought. He's going to flash us! I've never encountered a flasher before!

But alas, he merely stated he could talk to feet.

What? Ew, no. That's wrong. Feet are terrible. Possibly the worst part of the body, the malformed hands at the end of your legs. I once had a dream we only had stubs, and I was happy. Whatever. I knew this was trouble, for a man of feet is no friend of mine.
His pick up line was probably the worst I've heard. You never explain your fetish until they are drunk. Vile mistake in pimping 101. Wanting this to end quickly, I jabbed my foot forward and asked him to talk to it. I was shut down when he told me he can't talk to boy's feet.

He stared downward throughout his explanation of why and how he could talk to feet, but it wasn't out of shyness, or to look at the chest pillows of the girls around. It was for the feet. As if longing to be noticed by them, to tickle and caress. Maybe, if he was lucky, one of the ladies would release her bare kickers to him so that he may shower it with affection. He then, finally, dropped the megaton punchline of the night:

"Your feet say you are very cute." - (wait, what? What does that even mean?)

No foot job for you, buddy! His only gift ended up awkward glances and half hearted go-away-responses thinly veiled with kindness. He retreats, and we giggled about it. Some of the girls ask who that was, and nobody knew.

This wasn't the last of the foot fan. Oh no, people. He returned for another shot of glory. He was going to get him some tantalizing toes tonight. Somehow, he convinced two of my nicer friends for a picture without their shoes on. I was away during this glorious moment. Afterward, the girls told me what happened. I thought a bit, and then explained to them something horrific.

I explained to them why he wanted that picture. The disgusting truth:

The man has a problem. He probably does this to many girls. He has a foot fetish, and will probably hold many masturbating sessions to those pictures he took of them and those feet. He wasn't at the concert for the music, if you get my meaning. And no man looks at feet like that just wanting to take a friendly picture of them. He means to get to know them well.

Now, do note that as sick as that sounds, some people probably do this to your pictures already without you knowing it. This case just had an open field, is all.

One friend took it with stride. Meh, she responded. The other, not so much. She didn't want to think about it. I guess it wasn't too flattering. By that one, I was sent to find the friendly fetishist. But he vanished. I didn't see him at all after he took the pictures and split. Gone like Santa. If Santa had a feverish love for feet I gather.

Oh, and there was bread there too! Like, a box of it!