As I looked at my GPA and my test scores, it seemed pretty obvious that I would not be going to a traditional medical school, and the letter in front of me stated no different. However, in an effort to not disappoint my family or be jobless, I held one last opportunity in my hands… podiatry. Years ago, I had thought of entering podiatry, but my fraternity brother’s told me I was better than podiatry. Yet, after not being accepted to the tens of medical schools I had applied to, I had the last resort of podiatry, and despite disapproval from my friends it seemed like a promising career, so I pulled up the American Podiatry Association’s page.

As I looked at the application of podiatry school, it was adorned with hundreds of pictures of feet: some of men, some of women, some cartoons, and some real. I never really looked at feet, so I never was bothered by them, I was simply unaware. But looking at the images present on the application, I questioned the idea of spending my life looking at feet. With this, I pushed my chair away from my desk and looked down at my running sneakers. I slipped off my size 10.5 Nike Pegasus sneakers. I picked my sneaker up and took a whiff. It was damp and smelled a bit like an ocean, which would make sense because I had jogged five miles earlier in the day. I looked down at my black puma socks and wiggled my toes, watching the sock move with my toes. It was essentially a part of my foot by the end of the day. I slowly peeled them off and wiggled my bare feet. There was a smell, but it was, in a way, kinda hot. My socks were damper than my sneakers and for a brief moment the idea of putting my sock in my mouth came into my mind but I pushed that feeling down. I did not know what to do with it.

My bare feet were objectively nice. I had a sock tan that separated a deep tan from a pasty white, right beneath my ankle bone. I had small tufts of hair on each of my toes, and about thirty strands of hair on top of each of my feet. My toes were longer than normal, and from years of track and field and walking around barefoot, my arches were nonexistent. My soles were smooth and light pink, except for at the bottom of my big toe which developed calluses when I trained in my socks at the gym. I have never gotten a pedicure, I feel like it would take away from the character of my feet. But after spending a while looking at my own feet, it seemed clear that I could probably be a podiatrist.

While I was sitting in my room with a new plan forming in my head, from my window I saw my mom and my dad pull into the driveway. My mom shuffled into the kitchen to start preparing for dinner. My dad came into my room.

“Hey son, any good news?”

“Uh, yeah it kind of seems like I’m not going to be going to medical school  next year, but I think I can still be a doctor…”

“Really? How does that work? If you’re thinking of a Ph.D., that is definitely not the route you want to take unless you want to be a professor…”

“Yeah, you’re right dad, but no not a Ph.D., I was thinking of something kind of crazy… podiatry - and before you say anything, I think it is important to say that podiatrists make up to like $300k a year and they work 9-5 and it seems like a really overlooked career, and a lot of good things could come from it...”

“Son, I just don’t want everyone in our family to think you have a foot fetish, that is kind of the reputation podiatrists have, plus I have never seen you even look at a foot, what makes you think you could make a career out of caring for feet?”

“I don’t know, you’re probably right, but I did look at my feet today and it wasn’t an experience that made me hate life y’know?” I said as I lifted up my barefoot and wiggled my toes and rotated my ankle towards him.

“Well, son, looking at your own feet is pretty different than looking at other people’s feet.”

“I guess that’s true, but how am I going to get ‘experience’ to see if it’s right for me?”

My dad looked at me and seemed to have a lightbulb moment, and he grabbed a stool from the corner behind him and brought it next to my chair “turn towards me son.”

I moved my chair to face him, only to find his right Brooks Ghosts on my right knee.

“What are you doing dad?”

“ Trust me, this will give you an idea” he exclaimed as he crossed his sneaker-clad feet onto my lap. “Examine my feet like you’re a real podiatrist.”

“What’s the first step?”

“Act on instinct son, do not overthink this, I’m the patient, you’re the doctor.”

With that, I looked down at his sneakers in my lap, and I started to tug at both of my dad’s shoelaces, and once the neat bows were undone, I saw his shoes expand and the toe boxes wiggle as my dad’s feet prepared to exit his shoes. I held my dad’s shin from beneath and held his left sneaker in my other hand, and then I slipped his shoe off of his left heel. To my surprise, instead of finding a socked foot, I found a red, sweaty bare sole.

“Dad, what the heck? You aren’t wearing socks!”

“Well I don’t really like the feeling of socks, and I like to kick my shoes off while I drive so I can drive barefoot… and I just came from the beach… don’t judge me, if I was your patient I know you wouldn’t judge me, just continue.”

I continued to hold his sneaker in my hand and looked down at his feet in my lap, one bare, and one still in a shoe. My attention turned to his shoe… I looked inside and saw “8 wide.” “Dad I didn’t know you were a size 8… or that you had wide feet… our feet are pretty different…”

“Nice observation son,” he said as he scrunched his barefoot on my lap, “I have no idea how you got such long slender feet, but you did get my flat feet.”

“Interesting,  I guess genetics work in weird ways,” I said as I began to peel his right sneaker off to reveal his second bare sole, which now both sat in my lap, almost staring at me.

“You’re still holding my sneaker son… why don’t you give it a smell, I wonder if genetics passed over scent wise,” he said as he picked my sneaker from earlier up and gave it a whiff right in front of me.

“Wait what dad?”

“Don’t be prude, I’ve heard foot smell can be a cause of underlying health issues, just smell my sneaker.”

With that, I lifted his sneaker into my nose. It smelled reminiscent of my sneakers, but even more briney, probably because of his feet sweating straight into his shoes without the hindrance of a sock… it smelled… good. “Damn dad, that is strong.”

“Hahaha seems like you liked it though…” he said as he moved his left foot two inches towards the middle of my shorts and knocked his foot against my, unbeknownst to me, hard as fuck dick tenting up in my shorts. “Tell you what son, your mom is busy with dinner, let’s help each other out,” as he reached down and picked up my right foot and held it up to his nose “help yourself to mine all you want son.”

Seeing my dad rub my foot on his face was at first weird, but seeing the man so in control of all situations in life, not only displaying true joy but also showing a lack of control, inspired me to lift up his size 8 wide feet fresh out of sneakers with no socks up to my face.

I rubbed his feet all over my face. I felt his feet sweat on my face and I loved it. I felt the pads of his soles press into the apples of my cheek and saw his toes wiggle in front of my eyes. His feet were so sexy. His tops were super hairy, as were his toes, and the briny ocean smell was strong but sexy.

“Son, I’m about to take a taste of your toes… feel free to do the same… or not, whatever you want” with a wink.

I felt his tongue start sliding between my toes, and the feeling drove me crazy, my toes were slippery, and then his tongue found my soles which at first was a little ticklish but then felt so good. Once again, I was inspired to try worshipping his feet. I stuck his hairy toes in my mouth and the flavor was overwhelming salty, and man it was delicious, and once my tongue explored every centimeter of his toes, my tongue found new territory: my dad’s perfectly smooth soles. I licked up and down his soles for what felt like hours.

Unfortunately, all good things cannot last forever, as we heard my mom and his wife scream our names and “DINNER!”

We put each other’s feet down, and my dad said “alright, let’s go” as if he did not just make my feet an entire meal for himself.

During dinner I heard my mom and my sister talk about their days, as I just dug my way into the food, still confused but excited from what just happened.

A little bit to my surprise I felt some hair underneath the soles of my feet. I looked up from my food to see my dad give me a quick smirk as he lowered his gaze back to his food while my mom and sister continued to talk. Our soles rubbed against each other and our toes wiggled against each other stacked onto the other.

“How was your day son?” asked my mother, unaware of the going on’s beneath the table.

“Okay, I didn’t get into medical school, but I am applying to podiatry school now, so there’s that,” I said with a quick gaze over to my dad who was looking at me.

“I think you’re going to be a great podiatrist son, can't wait to be one of your patients!”

-Tom A. Hawk