by XMarineJoe
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“Hey Jerry,” called Ben, his voice bright and chirpy coming through the phone line. “Wanna help me polish the boat today? We can take her out for a bit afterwards if you like.”
“Sounds great! I’ll call you when I’m done studying, about an hour.” Jerry hung up and went back to his Trigonometry homework. He had never really been good at math throughout high school, and simply being a freshman at FSU didn’t automatically improve his skills. However, his attitude took a 180 after that phone call and he suddenly found the equations a bit easier to solve.
You see, ever since running into him at the grocery late last year Jerry couldn’t shake Ben from his mind. It probably had something to do with Ben’s happy-go-lucky attitude and positive perspective on life. Ben stands tall at 5’ 11”, is lean with moderate amounts of hair throughout his body, and has that good-ole-boy handsome face that puts everyone at ease with just a smile. Not unlike that actor of the same name who has made a life with Alias alter ego Sidney Bristow. The two men established a friendship based on many common interests; athletics, action movies, and anything beach related. Jerry was also intrigued by Ben’s sense of freedom and adventure. He had never before met another married man that seemed to be able to spend so much alone time with his friends, and Jerry was not complaining by any means. That Laura was something special indeed. He wondered if Mr. Affleck was as lucky.
Anyway, Jerry finished the last of his homework and headed down to the dock in hopes of getting in a quick swim before Ben showed up. “Jerry,” called a familiar voice. Punctuality was one of Ben’s traits as well. “Come on up. We’ll go for a swim later.” Jerry climbed aboard and greeted his buddy with the normal horseplay to which both men were accustomed. He also threw in a quick once-over that he was sure Ben never noticed. They were both dressed in blue board shorts, and Jerry wore a tank top while Ben wore a Hawaiian shirt. Ben was also clad in designer sunglasses, flip flops, and a funny looking straw hat.
So Jerry went about helping his buddy with the chores. He really didn’t mind at all because Ben was such good company and conversations came easily. Today’s topic revolved around determining the age and distance of certain astrological bodies. Two hours had passed before Jerry could decide whether Pluto would ever again be confused as a planet.
“Man, isn’t she beautiful?” remarked Ben.
“Sure is. I didn’t know fiberglass could sparkle.” No more thoughts of the misunderstood star.
“OK, let’s take this baby for a spin,” suggested Ben. A flick of the wrist and off they went. Jerry was enjoying very much the bouncing motion and the look of sheer bliss on his buddy’s face. The ocean breeze was exhilarating and a welcomed contrast to the hot July sun. It wasn’t long before they came upon some shallow water where Ben decided to drop anchor. “This is it, Big Guy. Meet you back here in half an hour.” Within seconds Ben’s colorful shirt, sandals, and European specs were tossed in the corner and he dove off the side of the boat.
“All right, Aquaman,” replied Jerry, but his buddy was already out of earshot.
They were both great swimmers and Jerry had always had something of a spiritual connection with the ocean. It was as though it gave him new energy, new purpose. And this time it was no different as he drifted with the current. He was really going deep into his mind and feeling at one with the world. Matter of fact, he was so entranced that he lost all track of time. A shimmering angel fish roused him back to reality. He glanced at his watch and panicked because an hour had passed since his buddy had announced the rendezvous time.
“Holy shit! I hope Ben’s not pissed.” He double timed and was back at the boat within 17 minutes flat. After collecting his breath he climbed topside where he found his friend sprawled out on the floor, his swim trunks already dried by the sun’s rays. Most of his stuff remained in the corner where he’d tossed them earlier. He had forsaken the fancy shades and opted instead on the sombrero for eye protection. Giorgio Armani would have been disappointed. By the soft humming sounds coming from under the hat Jerry concluded that his buddy was in dreamland. There was another noise, unfamiliar, and coming from somewhere close by but he couldn’t place it at the moment.
Whatever! The most important thing right now was sipping on an ice cold beer. There seemed to be a slight problem though. Ben’s body was blocking the refrigerator door. Actually, not his entire body, just his left foot. Jerry tried to kick his buddy’s foot out of the way, but to no avail. So he decided that he’d just pick it up and move it over a few inches.
He knelt down, but before he could pick it up, the foot made contact with his hand. Strange electricity passed between the two men and Jerry froze. Being a rather logical person, he remained in position while trying to figure out why there was a stirring in his crotch simply from making contact with his buddy’s foot. Sure he had thought about Ben sexually, but not his feet. It was rather odd since he’d never been into anything kinky in the past. And with all the tussling they’ve engaged in over the months, surely he had touched Ben’s foot before without experiencing these feelings of lust. So, why was it happening now?
“Dude, what the hell?! You’re drooling all over my foot!” These words bellowed from under the straw hat. It was only then that Jerry realized the snoring had ceased and, more importantly, that he was in a compromised position and still making contact with his friend’s foot. And he didn’t understand why Ben just didn’t move since he was obviously awake. The next words from Ben cleared up any misunderstandings that were clouding Jerry’s mind. “Now you’re gonna have to clean it off.”
This brought Jerry back from his musing. He closed his mouth and glanced around for a towel.
“With your tongue, Fag!” With this demand Ben simultaneously tossed his foot upwards, closer to Jerry’s face.
Jerry couldn’t believe or begin to explain what was happening. It was like he had been hypnotized, because he obediently brought forth his tongue and made contact with Ben’s toes. The sensation was twice what he felt from the initial contact between hand and foot. He was very surprised by the smooth texture, fresh smell, and slightly salty taste, but more so that this simple action had caused his pulsating member to grow a few inches. It was desperately trying to break free of the Billa Bong board shorts.
“Yeah,” remarked Ben. “Lick it like a good little bitch. I knew something was up ever since I caught you checking me out at the store back in October. You kept looking down while we were chatting. First I thought maybe you’d dropped something, but then I saw your face when I wiggled my toes. I couldn’t believe it. Laura said that you might be like one of those foot fags she had heard of around the neighborhood. I’d never heard of such a thing, but damn she was right! And every time we wrestle you manage to get my feet near your face somehow. Then I saw that look again today when you came on deck. I’m not as dense as you think, Shit Head!” Senor Sombrero had slid off to the side of his face now, revealing a strange grin that Jerry hadn’t seen before. It wasn’t one of anger, but not overly friendly either.
Jerry’s mouth hung open with bewilderment as he tried to absorb these remarks that caught him totally by surprise, because now he realized that Ben seemed to know more about him that he did himself. He was slightly disturbed that his “buddy” seemed to be awaiting an opportunity to take advantage of a perceived weakness. And he was even more disturbed knowing that this had been the topic of conversation between husband and wife. This was certainly not the way it should have turned out based on the movie that had played back repeatedly inside Jerry’s head.
“Lick between my toes,” demanded Ben. “Get the heel too, Asshole. Yeah, that’s right, Queer Boy. You are one special Foot Fag!”
Jerry returned his attention to the mission at hand and obediently licked, slurped, and sucked on Ben’s left foot as commanded. His tent was now rigid and threatening to poke a hole through the fragile fabric of his swim trunks. His left hand instinctively found his dick and freed it for a quick stroke. By now he had abandoned all thoughts of confusion as to why this was even exciting.
“No way, Perv!” Ben used his right foot to smack Jerry’s hand away. “The action’s right here in front of your face. Keep licking, you can jack yourself some other time, Foot Boy. This one needs cleaning too.”
Although sure that his initial slobbering did not come near Ben’s other foot, Jerry grabbed it anyway and brought it to his face for a wash after returning his throbbing member to its polyester prison. He commenced to giving it a thorough tongue bath, paying special attention to the heel, arch, and in between the toes. He was smashed and it was far superior to any intoxication produced by the best cannabis. Suddenly, with one gulp he had half of Ben’s foot in his mouth, drool running down his chin.
“Damn,” remarked Ben. “Hungry, aren’t you?” Yes, Jerry was feeding a hunger that he hadn’t known he possessed. He went from one foot to the other, licking, inhaling, and sucking sloppily. He had never experienced anything quite like this before, and was certain that he never would again. If there was a heaven, then it was right here at the bottom of his buddy’s huge, delicious, meaty, masculine feet.
“OK, Foot Licker,” sneered Ben. “Since you’re doing such a good job I’ll let you get yourself off. But hurry up; I’ve had enough of this shit.” Ben planted both of his newly spit-shined feet squarely on his buddy’s face. Jerry re-released his young soldier and gave it a few quick yanks. With an ear-splitting scream he erupted hard, his cheeks moist with tears. Most of the spunk landed on his chest but a few squirts hit his chin.
“Don’t get that shit on me, Fucker! And don’t mess up my boat either, or else this time you’ll be cleaning it with your tongue.” Ben pulled away, stood up and opened the refrigerator door in search of a brew. Apparently, dominating his “friend” made him dry. “You still thirsty, Faggot?”
Jerry couldn’t understand why Ben was still referring to him in this domineering way. And how did he even know that Jerry was thirsty? Ben had been asleep. Jerry used his tank top to wipe the goo from his body. He was about to get up and put Ben in his place when he noticed the return of the mischievous smirk. And Ben was holding only one corona, while slowly closing the refrigerator door. What the hell?! Was this some kind of joke? He knew the fridge was always packed with beer. Ben loves the stuff more than water. He would never forget to stock the fridge, would he? Highly unlikely. Oh well, they could always get more upon returning to the beach.
The boat seemed to be rocking now and that strange clanking sound resurfaced. It was probably present all along. Jerry just hadn’t notice, being preoccupied with foot duty and all. He peered in the direction of Ben’s things and the mystery began to unravel. It was the sound of bottles banging against each other, a few empty bottles… beer bottles. The notorious multi-colored shirt was doing double duty as camouflage and cushion, though apparently not very well. No doubt the beach shoes and overpriced Italian eyewear were somewhere in the reckless bundle. Ben had evidently had time to knock back a few while concocting his elaborate scheme.
It was all making sense now, and Jerry started to comprehend the level of planning that went into this sadistic plot. Ben had apparently chosen the chapeau to shield more than just the sun from his eyes. It had done a fine job of concealing any facial expressions that might have given away his intentions while “napping.” And it had also provided him with a clear view outward that wasn’t evident by anyone looking at his face.
A new sensation took hold and Jerry gasped. He tried to get up from the kneeling position, but his muscles did not receive the command. He found himself once again under that familiar spell.
“Here’s your beer, Bitch!” A naked Ben stood facing Jerry, one hand helping to chug the last of the Mexican cerveza while the other was holding his dick. It was an attractive piece; circumcised, decently hairy, and with an equally proportioned ball sack. It was sizeable, though flaccid and pointing at Jerry’s face. Ben positioned himself so that he was standing over his buddy, just inches away from his face. “Open wide!”
Jerry’s lips began to part as if the red sea receiving a command from Moses. His brain must have confused the signals; rendering him defenseless and at the mercy of Boatman Ben.
