by Wanz
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To some the beginning of this story may prove to be a bit of a disappointment due the fact that it has no stereotypical set up. No street roughen overpowering an unsuspecting yet willing foot friend. No perfectly adorable UPS delivery man who also just happens to be perfectly willing to have the package recipient slip off his little brown ankle boots and company sox and suck his toes, as of course, we all know UPS delivery men are apparently predisposed to do. This is not a case of the college roommate who is at one moment outraged that you have sifted through his laundry and are caught sniffing his sox, and then magically decides to punish you by forcing you to worship his feet. As I said some will be disappointed, while others may be relieved to simply have, for a change, a real foot scenario played out for them as it actually occurred without the benefit of totally contrived circumstances.
There's no big build up, and nothing particularly unusual about the way we met, so let's simply begin by saying Wayne and I were friends and had been since the second grade.
We grew apart when after high school, each of us went our separate ways. Wayne and his twin brother Andy went to Chapel Hill to major in Psychology and I went to New England to find a little seaside hamlet like the one Jessica Fletcher lived in on Murder She Wrote, to develop my God-given writing abilities, inspired by the awesome sight of foam crested waves cashing against the rocky Vermont coastline, or during vacation, breaks, washing across the pristine sands of Martha's Vineyard or Fire Island. What I developed instead, was my ignitable fetish for bare feet. And the New England beaches provided me with an endless parade objects of my desire.
When we were growing up, the Twins were, by design, assigned to different homerooms all through grammar school. Wayne was in my homeroom, which is why I was best friends with him, but rarely hung around with Andy. They seemed determined not be associated as twins, to establish their own identities independent of one another. They avoided situations where they would have to be seen together. Yet the connection was there. They excelled in precisely the same subjects and sports, and ended up becoming
great friends, who were in all the same classes working toward the very same degree in the very same major.
Fast forward.
I have had one moderately successful novel published. Still get monthly royalty checks just large enough to pay one week's grocery bill. However my contributions to several New England newspapers, magazines, and the occasional New Yorker, and Readers Digest feature, earn me a modest income compared with my cost of living, but affords me the ability to remain a Oceanside resident in a very comfortable home. An impressive enough edifice that when pointed toward, acts as somewhat of a lure, when inticing handsome young men with perfectly tanned young feet into my foot fetishist lair.
I'm 32 by the way. And while usually attracted to the feet of those much younger than I, on this uncommonly warm spring day, what caught my eye was not a youngster, but an incredible pair of bare feet, with proportions and features which bordered on perfection, made more inviting by the promise of a level of maturation implied by not only the reading materials laying the sand next to his sunlounger, but also by the well-developed body to which the feet were attached which suggested years of training and good diet.
His face was covered with a towel, leaving me to imagine that the face was equal in beauty to the feet invited inspection of this being to begin with. The feet were veiny to only to the extend that makes a foot masculine and interesting to behold, without being overdone. The skin of the entire foot had the appearance of bronzed satin. Smooth yet manly. Tanned to the extend that there was only the slightest hint of a former pink hue. No unevenness of coloration. No blotchiness. No calluses. Professionally trimmed nails, which indicated success. Possibly wealth. Or at the least someone with good grooming habits. If not, then someone who could afford to be, or cared to be pampered at least to the point of being willing to pay for a pedicure. Or did he perhaps have a lover, or better yet a foot slave, who tended to, and cared for these feet of absolute perfection? Would they smell as good as they looked? My head was spinning. My mind racing. And my better judgement prevailed as I elected not to give into my nagging impulse to simply kneel and kiss these outstretched, sunsplashed offerings which were so effectively inticing me with all the seductions the mixture of a perfect spring day and perfect pair of feet can exude. I was dizzy with desire, but resisted the temptation to start licking on the spot.
I unfolded my sunlounger, and placed it next to his. The beach was incredibly crowded, as seemingly everyone had decided to take advantage of the balmy weather, so it would not be odd for me to set up camp so close to him. I, of course positioned my sun bed so that my head would be at his feet. This would be justifiable because the sun had risen to a point where it was no longer over the Ocean. Mr. Perfect Feet was facing the water, and I was chasing the sun, or so I would offer if I found myself in a position to of want of an alibi.
I put on mirrored sun glasses, as was my clever custom, so no one could discern for certain that I was cruising their feet, unless I was certain they were "family" and wouldn't beat me up for doing so. When my head came to rest opposite his feet, if was immediately entranced. Within a moment he began to stir and I turned my head in the opposite direction. As Mr. Perfect Foot began to gather his things to leave, I heard an oddly familiar voice speak my name with a question mark intonation. I looked up, and standing over me with a quizzical look on his face, was an adult incarnation of my schoolboy friend Wayne. In utter disbelief, I spoke his name with the same measure of trepidation he seemed to stumble through speaking mine. Just as we stammered through the initial awkward pleasantries, and I was inquiring, out of courtesy, about the health and well-being of his brother, who camping jogging up the beach to a breath catching stop directly in front of us, but Wayne's equally well matured brother, Andy.
Well for a story professing to be devoid of a contrived set up, this set up, though factual, still turned out to be quite a set up, didn't it?
Fast Forward.
I point at my lure beyond the dunes and it is not long before the three of us are sharing cocktails and catching up on each other's lives in the comfort of my very own living room. As the evening wore on, and progress reports were replaced with half drunken true confessions and the like, I quite simply just blurted out my whole foot addiction story, and finished up by explaining exactly how and why I came to be lying next to Wayne in the first place. While Wayne and Andy were not gay, they were the coolest adults I had ever met. They had a genuine sweetness of spirit, and Wayne had no problem expressing his very real fondness for me.
"Wayne said, promise me you'll stay below the knees and I'm all yours" With that he took his Perfect bare feet off the coffee table, and sung them over to come to rest on my lap. I slid down in my seat so as to be in a position at the opposite end of the same couch where by the heel of his bottom foot (they were crossed, one over the other at the ankle)
came to rest on my chest, with the sole of the foot within licking distance.
I licked. And kissed. And licked some more.
Wayne chuckled a bit at first, to hide his discomfort, but as he and Andy continued to remember old times, he eventually settled into the worship.
His feet tasted of salt. Not the salt of an Ocean still too chilly to swim in, but of a man whose feet had been perspiring in the sun for several hours. There was no odor to speak of, as he had not been wearing shoes. That was a bit disappointing but the salty manhood which was ripe for the licking, was an intoxicating taste, and the more aggressively I began to eat those feet, the more Wayne pretended to not notice. The more he excelerated his conversation with Andy so as to completely exclude me, leaving me to lavish attention on his feet. At the point where he flipped over on his tummy, so that the tops of his feet would come to rest on my face, and did so without my bidding, was the moment that all encompassing full body shiver that is at once both exhilarating and mysterious, came over my body in full force. Those fabulous veins could now be inspected by not only my eyes, but by my nose tracing their path down the length of this perfect, perfect, foot, all the way to those perfect, perfect toes. Sweet toes, with those perfectly trimmed nails, exuding male elegance. Just as began to dart my tongue between the first two toes, I was startled to hear Andy yell out "That's it". I immediately assumed he had seen as much as he cared to, and was calling an end to my adoration. But he followed up with "I can't stand it anymore, I have got to know what that feels like."
Wayne popped right up, and said, "Sorry brother" and vacated his spot. As Andy took his place, Wayne continued, "Have a ball, but don't wear him out, I'm coming back for seconds. I could not believe my good fortune. Before I could even fathom what was happening Andy had ripped off his sneakers and athletic socks and literally slapped the soles of both feet in my face. "Knock yourself out man" he said.
This was almost too much to take in. First my best friend lets me lick, suck, and worship his feet. Now his equally hot brother has his feet in my face, and guess what? They smell like heaven! They are warm, damp, and slightly stinky from an afternoon run in some clean, but well worn Nike over the ankle shoes. I lay motionless at first and just basked in this moment and this aroma for several minutes. I was snapped back to reality when Andy sort of barked out "Hey come on!" while simultaneously removing one foot for a millisecond and immediately slapping it back across my left eye. "Lick that crap off my foot. Let me see ya eat it". He was referring to all the little specs, and in some cases little balls of white cotton that littered his feet. He had apparently been running and sweating in brand new athletic socks right out of the package, which left cotton/terry deposits on his feet and most especially between his toes. I puckered my lips around each little remnant and respectfully kissed off each piece of stray sock, stuck to his gloriously aromatic foot. I took a long time doing so, and an impatient Andy said, "The toes man, get to the toes, that's the part that got me over here in the first place!"
I set to work, loving eating the sock shedding from between his toes. After completing that task I lavished my wet tongue's attentions to the spaces between his toes, and it was like eating some devastatingly fattening, super rich, decadent dessert. I was taking in too much, too fast, and yet could not get enough, as I forced the five toes in my mouth all at once, and when I heard Andy moan, "Oh God, this is too good. I think I want to be your new best friend" then he called out to Wayne, "Will you share him with me brother"?
To which Wayne replied, "Sure, but lets move upstairs to the bedroom where there's room to share".
To be continued next week...
