I had just graduated high school and was a pothead. I didn't weigh more than 160 lbs. and was/am 5'10”.
I was regarded as a rather good-looking feller with (dyed to be brighter than natural) blond hair and big blue eyes. I lived in a relatively safe suburb of Los Angeles but often journeyed into areas like Inglewood to buy weed with my friends. One day I was rather desperate for a hook up on some pot but couldn't find one. A neighbor of mine who was a crack-addict (kept to himself, looked exactly like a bony Santa Claus) told me his dealer also sold pot. I rode out with him. When we got there this crack dealer told me he didn't have any REGULAR pot on him, but he could pick some up when he was done making his rounds.
I got into his car and went with him and his friend to sell the kind of weed now known as Delta-8 THC. I watched him sell this stuff to at least 20 different people that night, some of whom were rather rough looking, and one of whom threatened to beat my ass after asking for a cigarette. He was a black guy who was around six four and weighted about 250. He was there to purchase the product, but apparently didn’t smoke the stuff himself. He had an addiction to feet, not the herb.
Wait, let me back up a minute.
While waiting to get some blunts of REGULAR weed, I was stopped by this big black guy because he wanted a cigarette. To me, at the time, he looked like an ex-con with his shaved head and tattoos everywhere and with scars as a nasty bonus. He said, "Got a smoke, man?" and I replied "Sorry, nah, man…” I wasn’t old enough to smoke yet, but did anyone ever really adhere to that law?
Anyhoo, he looked at me funny for a second and I kept on walking. He put his big hand in front of my chest gently to stop me and said, "What the fuck did you say to me, Ricky Schroder?" I had no idea who this Schroder person was, but apparently, I resembled him. Or maybe not. I mean, this guy’s cousin would later only refer to me as ‘Ralphie’ because he said (when I wore my glasses) I looked like that kid from ‘A Christmas Story’.
But I digress.
When this guy yelled violently at me, I looked surprised for a second, because his response was entirely out of context. I was already a little frightened so I could barely make out any words.
He then got impatient and grabbed my shirt and said, "Tell ME to fuck off, faggot, and I’ll crack your teeth!” He was outraged and seemed to be getting angrier each second, “I’m tired of this shit! Even when I try to be polite as fuck, some surfer dude from the cocksuck suburbs thinks his bitch-ass can talk—"
I was panicking a lot now and was saved by a friend of his who said, "He said he didn't have any smokes, fool!"
The guy holding my shirt let go and laughed it off, actually apologizing to me and telling me that since he lost his hearing in one ear (presumably from a fight) he had trouble understanding what people said. He was too dark-skinned to blush, but I knew he was really embarrassed.
Oddly enough, this was the beginning of an unusual friendship.
I found out Devontez (that’s his name – Dev-AWN-tez) was my age. And he was a nice guy, though he could turn on a dime, apparently, if he believes you’re talking shit about him or something. He, his friends and I were later talking, and I smoked some Delta-8 for the first time. It didn’t really agree with me. I had to puke. I warned everyone near me as I fell to my knees and jettisoned the contents of my stomach like a Yellowstone geyser. I blew chunks so ferociously that one of my flip flops came off.
When I recovered, Devontez handed me my flip-flop. And as he did so I caught him looking at my bare feet. Well, I didn’t really catch him doing it, because he wasn’t hiding what he was doing at all. He scrutinized my feet as calmly and openly as if he were looking at someone’s new tattoo or something. The only person who ever paid attention to my feet was my middle school coach. You see I’d often wear my cleats sockless during practice and occasionally games. They just felt more comfortable that way. The problem was we would often go without cleats or shoes when we were inside watching films, so I was left barefoot. Coach threatened to bench me unless I wore socks, but at the time I was one the two best players on the team, so he had to deal with it.
But I’m digressing again.
I knew then and there that Devontez had a thing for feet, and my size 11.5 feet especially. I was flattered but didn’t let on. His two friends didn’t even seem to notice the weird exchange between us. Dev and I would later talk off and on and got to know each other bit by bit as the weeks rolled by.
Then I did the cheesiest thing.
I knew his birthday was coming up and I handmade him a pop up card with a cut-out photo of my feet that said: “CONFUCIUS SAY 'MAN WITH FEET FIRMLY PLANTED ON THE GROUND HAVE TROUBLE PUTTING PANTS ON. '.” I actually gave this giant brother from Inglewood a handmade birthday present! I have to say, the balls on me…
I thought he would ignore it or simply laugh, but he actually became very shocked and I could tell he actually dug it. Keep in mind I didn't write a long embarrassing letter professing my feelings. I just did something to make his day. He later sent me a card that said, “CONFUCIUS SAY, 'PARENTS AFRAID TO PUT FOOT DOWN USUALLY HAVE CHILDREN WHO STEP ON THEIR TOES.'”
It was all pretty silly and goofy I know, but we got a kick out of it. I had learned quite a bit about his foot fetish by then.
For Devontez, male feet had their own characteristics, just like how breast and butt have theirs. For feet sometimes it’s the soles, toenails, how big/small the toes/feet are, veins or not, and how they smell of course. Those were some reasons he liked feet, and he felt that feet didn’t receive a lot of attention in the “hood”. One of the reasons he liked my feet had to do with the fact that the soles were almost the same pale rosy-white color as the tops (this would change as the summer wore on though). He was attracted that day he first really saw them. You know…that day I mentioned a few paragraphs ago where I puked and lost one of my flops. I was the type to usually wear kicks or other sneakers, but this was the summer and on that particular sunny day I was wearing a T-shirt (Megadeth), Bermuda shorts and flip flops.
But Devontez had only admired feet from a distance before. He’d never done anything to fully satisfy his fetish. This was about to change.
Hidden in this secluded little area behind his Mom’s house, I sat on the grass and put both bare feet in front of him, showing them. We were high and we laughed and he told me to do several things with my feet: Move them, wiggle my toes, rub one foot with the other, spread my toes and interlock them... At the end, he even decided to kiss each toe! It was such a tender gesture from a guy who looked like he’d just come off the set of a gangsta rap video. He leaned down and, taking one foot in his hands, he began to individually kiss each toe. The sensation was a little strange for me, but pleasant at the same time, I must say, because each one of his kisses to my toes was slow, soft and very passionate. I must have blushed like crazy, but I couldn’t see myself. I was, however, very aware that I was beginning to giggle along with some moans from the kisses… something that Devontez really seemed to like. Then he continued with the other foot.
This was the beginning. Meetings like this became a regular, special SECRET thing for us.
He loved my feet and I loved that he loved them. He liked kissing, worshipping, sucking on, putting them all over his face and chest—socks, no socks, you name it. It was MY feet that he felt fully this way for, not just any ole random guy’s feet. I know a lot of people don’t understand how you really can be attracted to someone’s feet in a profound way. For Devontez it was something special and my feet, or he could aggressively grab me by the ankles and tongue-bathe my soles forcibly. My feet are tender delicate body parts that I keep very protected from the rest of the world most of the time (socks, shoes.). Even during those times when Devontez would strip off my sweat-soaked socks after a long day of me doing whatever, he loved kissing on them and sucking my toes and putting them all in his face and even manually rubbing my sweaty soles against his dick until his dark tower shot off like a geyser! I loved him because he showed only ME this special part of himself. We weren’t lovers or anything, but these encounters were our distinct, secret time together.
It still is to this day whenever he’s back in California visiting his mom and brother.
