by DJ
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My roommate and I share a small one-bedroom apartment in New York City. We get along pretty well considering we met only once before signing the lease. (I answered his ad in the paper looking for a roommate.) The both of us are very easy-going and respectful, which helps a lot. Plus, he's an accountant fairly fresh from college and works long hours at the office trying to prove himself to the firm, leaving us less time to get in each other's way.
Since you have to walk through the larger of the two rooms to get to the smaller room, we agreed to share the smaller room as a bedroom for sleeping and use the larger room as a living room for entertaining and TV watching. This way no one has a smaller room or is interrupted by people walking through their bedroom. Sharing the bedroom hasn't been a problem so far, even though it's a pretty tight fit. There's only enough space for one tall dresser, which we share, and two twin beds. The placement of the door and closet in the same corner make it so that the beds have to fit together in an "L" shape. I made sure I got the bed that makes the short side of the "L" so that the foot of his bed would be pushed against the side of the foot of mine. Having his feet so close to mine at night has been a really big distraction, as you can imagine. I have been super careful not to touch him so he doesn't get freaked out and suggest a different living arrangement. He seems to be straight, considering his occasional stories about sex with women, but he has no apparent problem with some gay people he says he knows, and he doesn't strike me as homophobic in the least. Besides, I'm a typical, masculine guy myself not wanting to arouse any negative attention. Still, I'm not about to push the issue. He doesn't ask and I don't tell.
Lately, I have been getting braver at night. Luckily he snores, and I discovered he is also a sound sleeper. One night after our usual bedtime chatting, I lay in the dark waiting to hear the steady rhythm of his snoring. Carefully I moved my foot over to where I thought his should be. He sounded like he was laying on his back, so I figured his legs would be fully extended and his feet would be as close to mine as possible. He is about 6'2" and his feet often reach over onto my mattress, which he has apologized for several times. Being hot-blooded Italians, our sheets are usually thrown around our beds, which makes for easy access on my part. Gingerly, I touched the bottom of his foot with my toes, listening carefully to his snoring. No reaction. I started to stroke the sole from top to bottom with just enough pressure so it's more than a tickle but not firm enough to jolt him from sleep. I was nervous as hell and getting harder by the second.
After 15 minutes or so I realized he was sleeping soundly. I rested my feet up against his and start quietly jerking off. In the dark, I visualized those thick, wide size 11s that I have memorized through quick peeks while we watched TV, his feet up on the arm of the couch. Or catching a glimpse through the open door of the kitchen as he read the paper over breakfast, his feet up on the table, crossed at the ankles. His long, thick toes wiggling every once in a while. And now I was actually touching them. The feel of his feet against mine, and that little bit of roughness around the edge of his soles was driving me crazy. I grabbed a few tissues next to my bed and quietly shot my load into them, to the regular buzz of his snoring. Soundlessly, I got up and tip-toed to the bathroom across the apartment where I cleaned up, shaking like a leaf from the rush of the experience. From that moment on I was hooked. I have been repeating that scene every night I can. Waiting for the snoring. Finding his strong feet. Exploring them with mine. Getting more comfortable with how far I can go, stroking his ankles and heels, sliding my toes around his Achilles tendon, playing with his toes, fitting his arches into mine. And moving my toe nails along the roughness of his heels and sides. It is the most goddamn erotic thing ever. And the rush of doing it without his knowledge is addictive.
I really miss it on the nights he goes home to visit his mother, or the occasional one-night-stand with some bimbo he picks up at a bar. But I have acquired hours of jerk-off material to fill in those gaps.
Something happened at his job recently that has him working unusually long hours. One night he didn't come home because he worked the night through and grabbed a quick nap at work, only to stay through another workday. When he finally came home that night, he was totally spent. I have never seen him so exhausted. He trudged through the door, yanking off his tie, muttered a few words of complaint to himself, and dragged himself into the bedroom. I heard him plop onto his bed.
I waited a few minutes before creeping into the bedroom to assess the situation. There he was laying on his side facing the wall, his legs almost fully extended. He was fully clothed and was still wearing his socks and shoes -- the same ones he had on for two days in a row! From his breathing I could tell he was down for the count. Considering his lack of sleep, he would probably be out cold until the next morning. I couldn't believe my luck. I stood there in the doorway for a while taking in the picture with my eyes. There he lay, on his side, facing away from me. The curve of his butt teasing me through his pants. His broad shoulders confined in his dress shirt creating an upward slope along his back from hips to arms. I noticed he was wearing those worn-out black slip-ons, the beaten up pair he meant to replace months ago. I fish them out of his closet every once in a while to get a whiff of that strong odor, my nose pressed into the worn leather shell right up against the little tag that proudly advertises "11W". Now they sat before me still in use, still molded around the thick foot of my sleeping roommate, a sitting target for my attention.
Light snoring.
My heart beat so fast as I approached the bed, I thought it would burst open right there. Carefully I lay down on my bed, backwards, my face inches from where his feet rested on their sides still nestled in their shoes -- the heels toward my chin, the toes pointing above my forehead. The window shades were down, but filtered light from nighttime street activity allowed me to see every inch, every second of what would happen before me. I stared at the worn bottoms of his black loafers, slowly sanded away by probably two or three years of hard pavement. I moved my nose to where his socks showed just below the ankles. That first smell was intoxicating. It was that familiar odor I memorized from the socks I dug out of his laundry bag so many times.
I wanted more. Ever so carefully I grabbed the heel of the top shoe and tested its tightness on his foot. His socked heel popped right out of its leather home. His snoring stopped suddenly and I lay there frozen, my hands supporting the half-off shoe. It was a moment of terror, as if I woke the Gorgon who could turn me to stone. The longest minute of my life passed as I waited for that soothing sound of his snoring. With newfound confidence I slipped the shoe quickly and carefully off, over the toes, revealing his beautiful black-socked foot. Putting my nose as far into the shoe as I could, I was met with that strong, pungent smell. Still holding the shoe, I moved on to the object of my quest. I shifted on my bed to a comfortable position, and put my face right into his moist, smelly, socked foot. The sweat spread all over my face as I gently rubbed it against his foot like a cat against someone's leg. His foot was warm from two solid days in shoes, and it stank strongly. Finally I settled my nose to fit into the hollow right below his toes, right where the most potent smell lingers. I filled my lungs with his smell. Deep, slow. Inhaling his essence. His socks and toes filtered the air I was breathing, giving it the sharpness of their stink.
Like before, I slipped off the bottom shoe, a little trickier since the weight of his top foot held it in place. He was so out cold by this point that I became braver handling his feet and ankles. I grasped the heel and ankle of the top foot and lifted it just enough for the shoe to slip off the other socked foot. I shifted them symmetrically together so my face fit right into the gap his arches formed. I took in deep breaths from his stinking feet, the wet socks still warm and feeling incredibly erotic against my face. I was in foot heaven, right there against and between his feet as he slept away.
I lost track of time nestled in his warm socks. It could have been an hour later. Getting used to his smell by now, I became ready for more, wanting to go even further no matter the risk. Moving my hand up the pant leg of his top leg, I found the edge of his sock and slowly pulled it down.
No reaction.
Inch by inch, the sock rolled down his lower shin exposing the hairy skin of his leg. It became more difficult at the thickness of his ankle and heel, but luckily the sock was looser than usual, worn for two straight days. It started to catch on the roughness around his heel as I slid it off his foot, right over his toes. A quick stop in his snoring as he lightly wiggled his toes, then back to the rhythm. I planted my lips right onto the ball of his beautiful bare foot. From heel to toe, I covered his thick feet with kisses -- a reaction that surprised me, but I went with it. I kept my lips against the bottom of his feet as I worked on removing the other sock. As the sock slid off with more effort than I had anticipated, he stirred. I quickly moved my head out of the way as he shifted his position. He spun completely over, now lying on the opposite side, his heels at my forehead and toes pointing down at my chest. I stayed as still as possible hoping he wouldn't open his eyes to see me in the semi-darkness laying the wrong way on my bed. Within minutes he was snoring like before. As soon as I felt comfortable, I pounced on his bare feet with my mouth, taking long strokes with my tongue. His feet tasted sweet and bitter, still stinking from two days in those shoes. I found my new favorite meal. I bathed his feet with my tongue, paying extra attention to the rough spots. After a nice long session with my tongue they started to soften up. I opened my mouth around one heel and began lightly scraping the harder skin away with my teeth -- a natural, homemade pedicure. I ate away at his feet back and forth until they squeaked clean. I covered his toes with my mouth and lightly sucked on them, moving my tongue along each one.
At some point during these few hours with his feet, I became so relaxed that I fell asleep with his toes in my mouth. I woke up with a start, realizing how much I could have totally fucked every thing up if he woke up first. I got up and grabbed his socks from the floor. A ziplock bag from the kitchen became their new home, which I keep in a box under my bed. They still smell great. And he doesn't seem to miss them. He woke up the next morning as usual, not one word mentioned about how his shoes got off or where his socks went. I haven't had such a perfect situation like that since -- not yet anyway. But I can't wait to give his feet another long pedicure.
