Our friendship seemed unusual to people because we looked so different from one another. My demeanor spoke of inner-city, his screamed of affluence.

For instance, the casual ease with which Kevin lounged against the bus stop sign would convince a stranger that he was some rich suburbanite braving the more nefarious areas of the city in order to score some "unauthorized stupefacients" or what have you. This day he was dressed in his slip-on loafers with discreet gold buckles, well-tailored gray slacks and open, gray-striped sports shirt with a paisley ascot tucked in. He was Mr. distinguished all right. His recently barbered brown hair seemed placed by aristocratic heredity. His tall, well-toned body gave no hint of the childhood deprivation that I knew he'd suffered through.

No, I shouldn't claim that I KNEW he suffered through it. Rather that's what he used to always tell me. For some reason he always thought that telling me stories about how he had lived a life "just as rough as" mine would make me like him better. I wanted to tell him that I came from a decent home with decent parents, but it made him feel good to think that he was looking out for some poor disenfranchised inner-city kid. Why spoil his condescending high? People say the road to hell is paved with good intentions, but I say good intentions pave the road to Heaven. Kevin wanted to be a good man. And the fact that he wanted to be a good man MADE him a good man in my young eyes.

Despite his good heart, Kevin really wasn't the aristocratic guy he appeared to be. He was a thief who owned two suits. But he really knew how to get the most out of his limited wardrobe. He and I had been hooking up for about a year, robbing convenience stores all over the Southbay. We'd go our own separate ways after each robbery, but while we worked together there was inimical magic. No one suspected us of being in cahoots because, as I've said, I was an "urban" kid and he was a stately-looking fellow from the suburbs.

It's funny how we met . . . he was trying to enter the restroom at Del Taco, but the place was already occupied by yours truly. It was a single-person restroom so… you know, one at a time.  He banged on the door and pleaded that he had to use it. But I didn't open it. Not out of cruelty, mind you, but because I don't like company when I'm handling my bodily business.

But as soon as I finished, washed my hands and zipped up, I sought him out and told him the room was free. And after he finished handling his own business, he sought ME out to thank me. I kid you not. Anyway, from this quaint incident caused a friendship/partnership to emerge. The emergence process is a LONG story that I won't get into here, but it reached the point where we ended up robbing and stealing.

And the way we stole was pretty simple . . . .

Kevin would enter an establishment and play the average customer . . . the I would enter and play the could-be young thug. While the clerks were busy watching every move I made, Kevin would rob them blind. Simple.

Today's robbery would be no different. Kevin will walk into the E & V Quick-Stop pretending to be the prosperous, upstanding citizen intent on just purchasing coffee and a paper. And while he was in the process of purchasing these things, I would enter and play the role of the suspicious-looking urbanite. And while all eyes were on me, Kevin would swipe the pile of twenties Vachss (the owner) kept directly under the counter.

You see Vachss never put the twenties in the cash register. Everything else would go into the machine--singles, fives, tens, fifties, loose change . . . but he segregated the twenties and kept them in a neat pile right under the counter. I didn't know why he did this and I didn't care. The only thing that concerned Kevin and me was that we make that pile our own.

And we did.

While I waited outside and around the corner, Kevin bounced into the store in his dignified stride . . . like a tight-assed English butler from the movies. I didn't even glance in his direction when I entered two minutes later. That's how we played it--we weren't supposed to know each other. With a purposely sneaky gait I jounced through the store like a fox, drawing the attention of both clerks to me. Their attention would have been focused on me no matter how I walked, but I made myself even more obviously suspicious to make certain that their attention STAYED on me.

At different points during my search both clerks (including Vachss) sauntered up to me and asked me if I needed help finding something. Stupid fucks. Vachss intolerant, narrow-minded nature was the main reason I didn't feel an iota of guilt robbing him.

I peered into the aisles of bread, aspirin and cookies, the racks of sun-visors and batteries and key-chains, and the colorful assortment of magazines. When I heard Kevin leave the store I grabbed one package of gum and made my way to the counter. The eyes of both clerks never left me. The eyes even followed me after I paid for the gum and left the store.

I met up with Kevin around the corner. After we high-fived and all that shit, I sobered and watched his hand remove from his pocket a wad of bills. He stripped off nine twenty dollar greenbacks from the pile of eighteen and slapped them into my hand.

"Nice working with ya," he said by way of conclusion. And then his hand came out and gently held my cheek for a second. I think I knew right there . . . when he displayed real affection for the first time . . . that our days of scams and petty larceny were at an end. I think he may have even felt guilty over the fact that he had spent the better part of a year corrupting me. He didn't have to worry. I was of age at that time and knew exactly what I was doing. I used him as much as he thought he was using me.

But two days earlier I ditched school and the two of us went to the public pool and hung out. We had fun . . . I think that scared him.

Telling him what I liked had been simple enough-at least the foot stuff was. I told him that I had a thing for male feet that I didn't understand, but didn't really care to understand. This occurred while we were passing a bottle of malt liquor back and forth to one another as we made our way to the Pool. Kevin was intrigued and not repulsed by my fetish.

Once we arrived he winked at me and ran for the pool. I was quickly on his heels and followed him to the pool's edge. We both jumped at the same time and hit the water with a huge splash. We had a ball.

"Okay, about that feet thing you have . . . ." He pulled his foot up out of the water and placed it on my chest. He pinched at my nose and then at my nipples with his toes and rubbed his foot around on my face and neck. I seized his foot and placed it in front of my face. I placed his big toe into my mouth and began sucking it. "Awesome!" He squirmed. I soon sucked in the second toe and worked over both toes at once.

He then raised his other foot out of the water and placed it on my shoulder. He moved it around and ground it into my face a little and used his toes to play with my ear. "That feels incredible Kevin. Wow, I never knew someone sucking on my toes could feel so good!" He moved his foot from my shoulder and placed it on top of my head. He pushed me under water gently and jumped in with me.

I lifted his right foot with my hands under his heel and slowly began licking from his heels to his toes. My tongue must have felt amazing against his soles, because he squirmed and moaned like crazy. His mind seemed totally occupied with this amazing feeling that I was producing. I switched to his left foot and started repeating the slow strokes up and down, up and down, from heel to toe with my tongue. With every up stroke, his foot was wrinkling and his toes curling up. I was causing a wild excitement to run throughout his entire body.

He moaned in pure ecstasy as every part of his body seemed to contract and then released and it was as if I could FEEL it tingling. Muscle trimmers moved up and down Kevin's body, finally centering in and around his groin. With both feet up near my face, I continued licking and driving him to the point of no return. When I finally stopped, the front of his boxers were wet with cum. It appears that with all the excitement, he had shot a load or two in them.

So, fetish and all, he was getting too attached to me . . . and most-likely felt that it was time to move on while he was still able to DETACH himself.

Lifting my chin and touching my cheek was all that he could manage as far as goodbyes go.

"See ya, Kev," was what I said. Not a real goodbye either, but I wanted to say SOMETHING.

After Kevin left I didn't want to feel bummed out, so I proceeded to think up ways in which to spend the money I'd helped to appropriate.

So I sought out and found a hoochie called Tammy. She had the necessary "jiggle factor" on her top half (and sufficient roundness on the bottom half) to get me sprung. I didn't know Tammy's last name. Didn't care to know. All that I cared about was getting up in those orifices.

I led her through the door that led up a half flight of stairs to the abandoned Conner building's abandoned balcony. I kissed her passionately and stuck my hand in her sweater to use the backs of my fingers to mess with her titties. Then I seized her ass in my hands and gave her posterior's contours a good rub. Eventually she pushed me away and held out her hand.

I negotiated a good deal and handed her two twenties. She then sat on the iron grate of the cast-iron balcony, totally without ceremony, and waited . . . waited while I unzipped my pants and slapped on a sheepskin Kevin had given me. The first time he'd lent me protection he thought I just liked to carry it around with me . . . to show off and feel like a big man. He didn't realize I actually used those elastic preventives till he came upon me and Michelle Whatever-her-name-was going at it in the ditch behind the park. That was in the days before the police began to regularly patrol the area for indecorous activities.

Anyway, after I got the sheepskin on, I was hard, perpendicular and ready for action.

Tammy didn't let go of the money, or even put in a purse or anything. Girls in this part of the neighborhood all treated money that way, be they respectable or whorish. They held it tightly in their hands while waiting for the collection plate to reach them in church . . . or while a barely pubescent boy fucked their brains out on the fire-escape of an abandoned building.

But once I was done with Tammy I was still full of "energy". I could have gone to the park and worked it off on the basketball court . . . or I could pick a fight. I eventually decided on a third option. And I decided on this option the moment I spotted eighteen-year-old Eric Greene walking home from school.

Eric was the oldest of the Greene boys, a clan from the southside who owned a Ford dealership. I saw how much this superlatively cute kid looked like his younger brother, with his almond-shaped hazel eyes and his high-cheekboned oval face. I saw the golden smooth skin, the gracefully arched eyebrows and the curly dark brown hair that capped all of the Greene boys. Eric was very cute, but still a bit of a punk. Because his family had SOME money, he liked to pretend that he was "prince of the neighborhood" or some shit like that.

Yeah, getting him was going to be fun. When he decided to cut through the overgrown empty lot (we called it "the jungle" because that's what it looked like) I made my move.

I was almost on top of the little asswipe before he even sensed my presence looming up on the side of him like a raptor. With a startled cry of fear he leaped back, his backpack falling to the ground heavily. Guess he had his books with him. Surprising.

He ran quickly to what he thought would be the safety of the doughnut shop some fifty feet ahead, and he pumped his way through the lot's leafy branches that whipped against both our faces, until he reached the back of the establishment where he stood breathing heavily. There was a fifty-fifty chance that someone from the doughnut shop might be out dumping trash or whatever, but luck was on my side today.

Eric tried to dash to the side of the establishment . . . I suppose to scale the short fence that separated the doughnut shop from Brooks Cleaners. He tripped over his feet in the attempt . . . which made my job that much easier.

I sat on him, effectively fastening him to the ground. After I got his sneakers and socks off I couldn't take my eyes off of his beautiful feet. They were big and cute with round, well-shaped toes. And his creamy soles looked extremely vulnerable. I grabbed a fragment of one of the weeds that grew wild and rubbed it across the toes on his right foot. His toes curled, creating little ridges to form across the bottom of his sole. He screeched and tried to pull his foot away from the tickling plant.

"Yeah. Scream for help like a little girl Eric . . . I wanna hear that high-pitched bitch voice of yours ring out,"

And, just as I predicted, my taunting made certain that Eric WOULDN'T scream out for help. Eric had pride. It was okay for him to run from what he thought might be death or rape . . . that was just common sense. But scream for help (upon realizing the situation was non life-threatening) like a bitch? HELL no! He had that kind of pride that comes with the inability to lose face in a community where your pseudo-ornate family is regarded as royalty.

I tied his ankles together with my belt (and this task was MUCH more difficult to carry out back in then) and started tickling his feet with my fingers. His feet escaped my belt noose twice . . . until I finally cinched it so tight that, had the belt been around his neck, his head would have been squeezed clean off. Then I resumed tickling his feet with a fervor. He giggled, thrashed and shrieked. He cussed me out and ORDERED me to stop in a pissed voice, but I kept right on moving my fingers over his soles and between his toes.

I watched him squirm around, straining under my weight and against the belt that kept his ankles tethered together. I liked having both cute feet bound together so that I could assault both soles together for the topmost effect. After a few moments he was begging for me to stop, throwing his head back and howling with laughter.

Then I began to firmly massage both of his feet. He jumped at first as my fingers touched the smooth skin on his soles. His soft feet felt great, and his toes wiggled as my fingers rubbed his soles. Then I brought my mouth down to his feet and begin to suck one of his big toes. I looked up and saw Eric's glazed terrified eyes open watching what I was doing. But scared as he was, his hand had reached down and he was stroking his dick which was still growing in size. I sucked and licked his big toe, then began to move down each toe on his left foot, letting my tongue wind between each toe. Then I settled in on his little toe and nibbled it.

"Please!" He yalped and giggled as my fingers began to stroke his feet. "Hahahaha!"

I didn't stop as the look on his face told me to carry on despite his fright. So I did the same to his other foot, which continued his reaction. My tongue was licking up and down his right foot while I stroked his left. if I nibbled his little toe, Eric would let out a moan. I could see he was grinding himself into the ground. I sat across his legs and he raised his arms above his head. I began to run one hand up and down his torso, while the other circled and tweaked his nipples.

Then I let both hands slide into his arm pits and he let out a giggle again, "No! please, hahahehhe!"

I let my fingers lightly stroke the tufts of hair under his arms and tickle his skin, but gently so he would keep his arms up. Now for the final part, I moved lower and began to pulled his shorts down. His dick was solid, with pre-cum oozing out of the tip. I let my fingers tease his public hair . . . again he tried to raise his shirt off the bed. My fingers slid behind his balls and I tickled him gently--his moaning became more frequent and encouraging. My one hand tickled his balls while the other gripped his shaft and ran up and down in an increased rhythm.

"Please, now, please . . . " he moaned as his body stretched. The rhythm of my hand became quicker and he gasped, stretched and cum shot out. We were both sweating, and Eric was panting and trying to catch his breath .

And just when he thought I was through tormenting him, I went back to his feet and tickled them for a while, nibbling his toes.

I didn't stop until he uttered his first scream for help. I didn't want people rushing out there to find me on top of some kid.

I released his feet and gave him a twenty. His family wasn't so opulent that free money couldn't stir him. Still, I never offered him money in exchange for tickling. By the time I ran into Eric again I had moved on to "greener" pastures.

Such is life.