by whodunit
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I've had a foot fetish for......gee, how long has it been? It seems like forever.
As a newly (and happily) married man, I've kept my foot fetish from my wife (and everyone else, for that matter) for obvious reasons. I try not to think about it, lest it get in the way of my marriage, but every now and then I find myself fantasizing about my past experiences with the male foot. I daydream mostly about my sophomore and junior years of high school, where my fetish reached its peak. I'll then often reminisce on how lucky I was to have a friend like Jose in high school.
My friend Jose was unusual in many ways. For one thing, he was Mexican but he didn't really look it. His skin was that beautiful dark olive-y color typical of most latinos, but something about his actual appearance didn't scream "Mexican". This may have been due to his strong jawline and sharp chin, which made his head look slightly larger than most people's. He was also deceptively strong for such a lean person. He wasn't scronny by any means, but one wouldn't exactly look at him and assume he was a bodybuilder. Despite this, he was able to beat anyone in an arm wrestle, and he could tear down just about anyone that crossed him.
But the most surprising thing about Jose was that he was my best friend. I was a somewhat chunky kid (though you wouldn't know it unless I had my shirt off), I was a bit of a nerd (though I was relatively popular), and I had absolutely no toughness in me. Jose, on the other hand, was pretty temperamental. He got mad at people a lot, and he usually got aggressive when he was angry. So we were an unlikely pair, the two of us. But somehow we were able to have a whole lot of fun whenever we hung out.
This was especially true when we would wrestle, as 16-year-olds often do.
Mind you, wrestling with Jose was extremely tiring, but it was fun. He would always win, of course, possessing the flexibility and strength to be able to have me in a chokehold in 2 minutes flat. But still I persisted. Still I insisted on more rounds of wrestling, and still I lost. But I kept going, relying on the fact that I was determined to beat him one day.
It never happened. I never beat Jose in a match, but I did get progressively better and better at wrestling. I thought I was well on my way to beating him, until one day, everything changed. It was a mild day in June, and we were at my house. My folks weren't home for whatever reason, and Jose and I decided to wrestle, for lack of anything better to do. Jose started to take me down, but somehow I found the strength to lift him off of me. I backed up, stupidly, and fell onto the sofa. Jose was on me in an instant, pinning my arms down as he climbed over me. My arms still pinned to the sofa, Jose sat on my legs (thereby pinning those down, too) and stuck his socked feet into my face.
It's important to note that I was fully aware of my fetish at this point, though I had never before thought about Jose's feet. I suppose I just thought of him as a friend, and to start considering him arousing in any way was strictly wrong.
But as I lay there, helplessly sucking in the salty smell of his socks, I saw an opportunity to take advantage of my fetish. I had never noticed, but Jose had very very large feet, especially for a 16-year-old. They were thin and long, just like him, and they smelled both putrid and glorious at the same time. I had to get his socks off and see what they looked like bare.
As I "struggled" to escape my "torment", Jose cackled maniacally and asked, "How you doin' over there?" I was actually enjoying myself, though I was telling the truth when I responded saying, "They smell horrible! And there's lint in my mouth!" I wriggled my left hand free from his grip and quickly tore his right sock off, throwing it across the room. As I stared at his beautiful bare foot, Jose leaned forward and grabbed my arm, pinning it again. "Is that really much better?" he asked condescendingly as he stuck his now exposed foot in my face once more. And though it was true that the smell was compounded now that the sock was gone, I still had the excuse of the lint getting in my mouth. With that, I wriggled my right hand free and tore off his left sock, revealing the rank flesh beneath it.
As Jose pinned my arm again and jammed his feet in my face, I made some observations about his feet. The most striking thing about them was that they were amazingly soft. The soles of Jose's feet were literally softer than a baby's skin, which added to the pleasure of having them rubbed on my face. Second, they were a wonderful color, a slightly lighter olive than the rest of him. Third, they were well-proportioned. The toes were plump and fleshy but long, which complemented the longness of his soles, which were made even more attractive by the arches that ran along them.
I decided it was time to quit, since I didn't want Jose to have any suspicions of me liking his feet. So I tapped out.
I was far far more tired than I thought I would be, and I expressed this to Jose, who said he was tired, too. He plopped back down on the couch and said, "Since I won, you have to get me my socks because I'm too tired to look for them." I obliged, respecting the rules of wrestling. The winner had the right to some sort of reward. I found his socks, which I had thrown fairly far, and threw them to Jose. He looked at me, fake disgusted. "You expect me to put these on? I'm waaaaaay too tired, and my feet deserve a royal treatment anyway. You're going to put them on." Though the "royal feet" thing was sarcasm, this sudden verbal dominance turned me on. Still, I was smart enough not to show it, and I said, "Hell no, man. I'm not putting your socks on for you." To my surprise, Jose jumped up and somehow put me into a headlock. "What was that?" he asked powerfully, though still with a hint of sarcasm. "Alright alright I'll put your socks on for you!" I spat out. Satisfied with himself, Jose hopped back on the sofa and motioned to his feet.
I grabbed a pillow to put on my lap (so that I could hide my raging hard-on) and picked Jose's feet up, setting them down on the pillow. I grabbed a sock and started shoving it onto his bare right foot. "Easy, easy. Wouldn't want to damage the royal feet!" he said, his voice dripping with that same dominant sarcasm. With that I began to slowly slide the sock down his foot, a forced look of disgust on my face. I finished the right foot, and as I reached for the other sock, Jose said, "You wanna know what royal feet smell like? Here, sniff 'em," again in that sarcastic tone. I looked at him, surprised, and he shot me a look of expectancy. He lifted his foot up, wiggling his plump toes. "Go on," he said. I leaned in and took a whiff, secretly loving it but faking disgust. He put his foot down, satisfied, and I resumed putting his left sock on in the same gentle, slow manner as before.
Several months passed. This procedure became tradition. We wrestled, he stuck his feet in my face, I put his socks on. It was December when things changed again.
I was about to put Jose's right sock on when it happened. He stopped me, looked at me strangely, and said "Kiss the royal feet." He said this with an odd inquisitive tone, as if he was testing me. I cautiously leaned in and planted a small peck on the sole of his right foot. I looked at him again. He still had that odd inquisitive tone to his voice when he said, "Lick the royal feet."
I hesitated for a moment. What was happening here? Was he catching on?
Suddenly I felt a rush of lust and desire. Abandoning all caution, I leaned in and licked Jose's smelly bare foot from heel to ball. A strange rush of adrenaline came over me. I repeated the lick over and over, eventually transforming it into a slobbery sucking of his toes.
"Stop!"
I caught myself. I looked up at Jose, afraid of what he would do now that I had willingly licked his feet.
To my surprise, he stood up calmly and commanded, "Lie down, face up." His voice had lost its sarcastic tone. I did as I was told, shifting my body from a sitting position into a lying-down position. I wasn't sure what was going to happen, and that was thrilling. Jose sat on my legs and placed his bare feet in front of my face, much like he did when we were wrestling, except now he wasn't pinning my arms down. "Massage," he commanded simply. I quickly obliged. I rubbed his feet good, starting with the heel and moving up to the ball and the toes.
Bored with the massage, Jose ordered me, "Lick them." Once again, I did as I was told. After a few minutes of this, he spoke in a strangely normal voice, saying, "You know, I always sorta though you were a faggot, but this......this is unexpected. What is it about my feet that you like so much?" I told him it's impossible to explain.
From that day forward, worshiping Jose's feet became a normal part of our friendship. We were still best friends, but now we had a new thing to do when we hung out. I told him all about the idea of having a "master" and a "slave", and we would occasionally role play as such, Jose being an extremely convincing dominant master, and me being his humble footslave. But even when he wasn't my master, Jose would allow me to worship his feet when no one else was around. Sometimes I would take care of his feet as he played Nintendo or watched TV. Sometimes he would even let me lick his feet as he fell asleep. We explored different positions as well. Sometimes Jose was on my legs, sometimes I was beneath him as he sat on a chair, and sometimes I was laying flat on the ground as he stood over me. No matter what, though I always enjoyed it.
But those days are long gone. I found Jose on Facebook, and we keep in touch that way. But now my life is different. I can only hope that I will one day be able to have a man's feet, just like those days in high school.
