It was particularly the soles of another boys feet that fascinated me. I use the word "fascinate" to describe my feelings at the time towards my interest in the male foot because I certainly had no idea of what a sexual fixation it was that was budding in my prepubescent mind.

The first time it really struck me was on some old kids show that my parents had put on to keep me amused. It was an episode about counting. And in this particular episode they were going to teach us kiddies at home to count to the number ten. And, of course, children need visual stimulation to help process the lesson. So what better to count to ten on than the toes of a boy on the show?

Up plopped his bare feet onto the table in front of him, and the camera zoomed in close to his soft, pink soles. Next, the host began to count his toes one-by-one with their index finger. As they made their way across each toe, the boy's feet tensed.

I didn't realize then, but being a television show it was likely that they had at least filmed this scene a few times before, so the boy and his feet knew all too well how this scene was going to end.

As the host finally reached the tenth toe, the camera zoomed back ever so slightly. It was just enough so that the boy's face was now visible behind his exposed soles. His eyes were fixated on his feet and his lips were pinched tightly together. His white knuckles showed how tight his grip to the arms of the chair he sat in was. Dread and anticipation was etched across his face as there was a lame banter typical of a lame kids show going on between the two hosts. The hosts were commenting about how great the boy's toes were for counting and that's when they asked the boy a question.

"But you know what else toes are great for, don't you?"

With an obviously forced grin and some hesitancy, the boy said "No. What?"

Before they even started, the boy's left sole moved slightly, partially covering the sole of the right foot.

"Tickling!" the hosts exclaimed with a cadence that made it perfectly clear why their acting careers would go no further than being hosts of this obscure, bargain bin children's show.

With this exclamation, the two hosts began scribbling their fingers all over the boy's bare feet. Each host had a foot of their own to tickle with one hand while using their other hand to hold the boys ankles firmly in place. The boy's hysterical laughter was all that could be heard as the show's credits rolled along the side of the screen, the image fixed on the struggling tickled soles and curling toes. And the tickling continued for a solid minute or two till the screen finally faded to black on the tender tootsies and the laughter began to fall silent.

I didn't know why, but I felt the need to rewind back and watch the scene again. And then, when it had ended, I rewound and watched the scene yet again. There was just something about the soft pink soles on the screen and the bubble toes that made me want to just stare at them. And then the tickling those feet endured! I just wanted to watch it over and over, wishing I could reach into the screen and help tickle those toes.
One day while at school I remember that I began to notice the boy's around me who had kicked off their shoes while we all sat on the floor and the teacher read to us. Suddenly, my old video tape at home came to mind and it struck me that these guys had feet too! And if that tape had taught me anything, it wasn't how to count to ten. It was that boys feet were for tickling!

A boy I sat by had kicked his shoes off and the way he had sat his black socked feet were very near me. I was fixated on them. He flexed his toes a few times and rubbed his soles together. I wondered how those wiggling toes looked under those very loose socks.
I started to slowly reach towards those feet in socks too big and found my fingers almost hovering in readiness for a tickle attack. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, a glorious anticipatory anxiety engulfed me. My fingers were edging closer and closer to the socked sole. And then...I pulled my hand back. I couldn't do it. It was overwhelming. And how would be even react? I wasn't sure, even at that age, that I wanted to know. But once story time was over and those shoes were once again concealing that boy's feet, a wave of regret washed over me and I couldn't wait to just get home and watch my tape. Maybe today I'd pretend that those tickled toes on the screen were my classmates and the dancing fingers on the arches were my own.

I eventually wore the tape out watching that scene repeatedly and when I finally did I only had my memories of that ticklish toe count. And eventually, the image of his feet fell to the back of my mind. In fact, feet themselves fell to the back of my mind. My utter fascination with them was gone for quite some time and other interests along with life itself overtook my conscious mind. It wasn't until Gable transferred to my High School sometime later that my desire for ticklish toes would resurface.

Gable Brookes was his name. To hear his name might result in some mental image of him as a dashing hunk. Perhaps one might see a young man with classic movie star looks from days gone by. Perhaps he's a James Dean type. At least that's what I'd thought. But that wasn't Gable.

When we first met Gable had awkwardly stumbled to his seat by me in homeroom and dropped his pencils and pens to the floor. I bent down to help collect the pencils and caught sight of the beat up pair of sneakers he had on his feet. There was a gash in the side of them and I could vaguely see his white sock with a gray sole peeping out. It was the first time in years I caught myself staring at a foot so intently.

"Thanks."

I looked up from his foot and into his eyes. Gable certainly was cute but not in a classic sense. In fact, Gable was rather gangly and thin. He had messy blonde hair and intense green eyes that possessed and innocence and a twinkle as if, despite having become a tall, long-limbed young man, there was still a little boy very much living and thriving within.
"No problem," I said with a chuckle as I handed him back his pencils.

As I handed him his pencils our hands brushed briefly.

Good Lord, I thought to myself as the pads of his finger tips brushed against the back of my hand, they're so soft. If his hands are this soft...Then his...

"My name's Gable. Gable Brookes, and I'm new here."

I introduced myself in response, snapped away from the ponderance of the soft, smooth, sensitive treasure I thought no doubt lay within those tattered sneakers.

Over the next few months Gable and I became the best of friends. Nobody else really tried to befriend him and even my own friends shrugged him off as kind of dorky. But I was oddly captivated by this allegedly dorky young man. And more importantly, something about him had reawakened a desire within me that had long since lay dormant. And this was High School, after all. I felt if I could freely explore any sort of experimental behavior with an unsuspecting, curious young man, then this was the time to do it! And I felt for sure Gable was going to be the one to do that with.

After a bond had been properly established, I knew that I would have to test to see if he was even ticklish. I feared with my luck he wouldn't be at first. And that's what stopped me from testing him for so long. I wanted to enjoy the fantasy a little bit longer before Gable possibly smashed it to bits by not offering one chuckle for my tickling efforts.
Wrestling, I thought. That's when I'll tickle him. I'll tease him and we'll wrestle and then I'll just go for his pits and tickle him. And that's exactly what I did.

"Hahahahaha! Jesus, stop!" laughed Gable in an adorable way that tickled my penis more than my fingers had tickled his pits.

"Oh," I said as I ceased the tickling, "You're ticklish, huh?"

"Very!" Gable chuckled as he regained his composure.

"You probably shouldn't have admitted that to me, man!" I laughed dominantly, trying to keep it as macho and without awkwardness as possible to mask my own nervousness.
Over the next few weeks, tickling became apart of what we did together. I'd often sneak up behind him and tickle his sides and pits. I would even do it in class at times when I was sat behind him. But as fun as that was, that was not exactly what I was interested in. There was one tickle spot I longed to explore. One that I had not had the chance to even glimpse outside of a pair of tattered sneakers. But that was about to change.

One day after school Gable invited me over for dinner to meet his folks. I graciously accepted but a lump quickly swelled in my throat at the thought. It was not the prospect of meeting Gable's family I was nervous about; it was the de-shoeing of those feet I fantasized about from afar. That glorious moment when he'd slip those shoes off and I'd get to examine those socked feet at long last.

We entered his house and he quickly kicked his shoes off against the wall in the hallway. I tried to inconspicuously watch his feet to get a clear look, but I couldn't achieve one. Gable kept walking around too much for me to even get an impression. Then finally he suggested that we go to his room for a bit before dinner. We went into his room and Gable plopped down in a chair that was in the far corner of the room. My heart leapt into my chest as I saw there was a foot stool in front of the chair and he was now plopping his dawgs up on it. I couldn't help myself and decided that I needed to take this opportunity to get a closer look.

"This is a nice room," I said as I took a pillow from his bed and threw it onto the floor in front of the foot stool his feet rested on.

"Thanks," Gable replied with a confused expression on his face as I sat down on the floor in front of him.

"You know you can sit on the bed, right?"

"Oh no. I'm cool here."

I didn't even care at this point if he was suspicious of my foot love. I just stared at the soles of his socked feet. They were black socks that had clearly seen better days, thankfully. Around the balls of his feet were worn and I could see the orange-pink flesh beneath. His arches were long and even through his socks I could tell his heels were plump and juicy.

Soon Gable began to talk about something or another, but I didn't pay attention at all. I suddenly remembered my school days when I'd hesitated to tickle the feet placed before me and vowed I would not make that mistake again.

I cut him off mid-sentence and exclaimed "Are you ticklish here too?" and reached out to tickle the ball of his right foot where the sock had worn.

As I made light contact, he flinched with a gasp.

"Please don't do that..." he said, pulling his right foot back.

Oh no, it's not going to be that easy! I thought and lunged for his feet.
"No, no, no, no..." Gable repeated with desperation as I struggled with his ankles, now in a headlock.

I reached down with my hand to begin my tickle torment when something gave me pause. I suddenly flashed on my old video tape from childhood and then flashed back to the situation before me. And I decided this wasn't right. If I was going to do this with Gable's apparently tender tootsies, I was going to do it right. But I decided a preview of coming events only would intensify the experience long-term.

"What?" I said, exploring his socked feet with my free hand, "What's wrong?"

I made sure my fingers did not tickle him and applied pressure more akin to a massage to his soles. The warmth radiating from his soft soles was making me so hard I thought my hard on was about to burst clear through my zipper. The smoothness of his soles could be felt as the fabric of his sock slid like silk along his soles.

"Don't tickle my feet," he said.

Hearing those words alone turned me on in ways I can barely describe. Simply hearing him say "tickle" and "feet" with his large, teen feet in my hands was enough to make me almost blow my load.

I ran my fingers up to his toes and found myself exploring the length of them in admiration through his socks. I could feel the pads of his toes were bubbled and the toes themselves were bony and shapely.

"Your toes are so long..."

Oh God, I realized, I didn't just think that that time!

I released his feet at that moment and he pulled them back and crossed them Indian style in the chair. He had an odd, confused look on his face but showed appreciation that I had respected his request. Tonight I would anyway.

I began to plot how I was going to bring my childhood fantasy to life. How I was going to bring my old video tape to life. I arranged with my parents to have Gable spend the night at my house for us to work on a project I'd made up. My house had three floors; the bedrooms on the top floor, the middle floor with the kitchen and dining room, and the rec room in the basement. The rec room was where I wanted it all to go down. It was a perfect setting and the perfect place for Gable's laughter to be music to my ears alone.
Gable arrived and was utterly polite and wonderful to my parents. We simply hung out for most of the evening and I tried to push my plot to the back of my mind until it was time.

Finally dark fell and Gable decided he wanted to get more comfortable. As he went to change into his pajama pants, I set up the trivia game for us to play. I had studied as many of the answers as I could and having owned the game for years was confident that I would have no problem remembering the answers. When Gable returned he seemed disinterested in playing, but I got him to play with a little bit of coaxing. As we played I did throw a few answers so that Gable would not become suspicious. As the game continued Gable's competitive side came out and it was obnoxious in a sexy way. It would make tickling him all the more enjoyable.

"Why don't we make things a bit interesting?"

Gable looked at me and chuckled. "Are you implying we make a bet, sir?"

"Yes."

"What did you have in mind?"

"Well," I began my rehearsed speech, "You see I've got a vast video game collection?"
"Yeah," Gable replied, his eyes wide with excited realization.

"Well," I continued, "If you win, you can have your pick of any video game I own on any system."

Gable asked several times if I was serious and I assured him I was. He quickly accepted and I had to slow him down and remind him that we had not established what would happen if I won.

"Well," he scoffed with a grin, "What do you want if you win?"
"A request."

"A request?" he questioned.

"Yes," I said, feeling a grin spread across my own face. "A request that you have no other choice but to fulfill at a later date when it's asked. A request that's going to be whatever I want it to be."

Gable hesitated for a moment, but to my relief let the prospect of his pick of my games win the day and agreed.

We forged ahead in our game and a few times I actually thought he might have had me. But familiarity was my friend in this game of trivia and in the end I came out on top. Gable was a little bit of a sore loser about it but eventually lightened up. He then began to joke about the request and said he shuddered to think what embarrassing thing I'd have him do in the future.

"I wouldn't embarrass you," I said, slightly offended he'd even think I'd do something malicious to him even in a joking manner. Sure, I was planning to submit him to tickle torture in this very rec room, but I'd never hurt him.
"Actually," I said, "I think now, while we're alone, is the perfect time to ask for that request."

Gable laughed awkwardly and let out a dramatic "Nooooo!" before finally asking what it was.

This is it, I thought. No turning back.

"I would like to tickle you for as long as I want," I said. As I said it, I could feel my mouth and throat go instantly dry. But I continued. "You will have to hold perfectly still and let me do this until I'm ready to stop."

Gable buried his face in his hands and began to laugh and groan. I was nervous and thinking he was going to say something about what a weirdo I was. But instead he finally said "I should've known!" With that he leaned back into the couch and put his arms over his head and closed his eyes tight and said "Go for it!"

I told him to put his arms down and open his eyes. He did and suddenly his chuckle started to fade as he became confused.

"I don't want to tickle you there," I said. "I want to tickle you there."

I pointed towards his feet on the floor and his eyes grew wide and serious.

"Excuse me?" he said with a large amount of shock in his voice.

"Well," I began, "I tickle your sides all the time. Your pits are easily accessible. I want to tickle a place I haven't tickled yet. A place that seems sensitive and neglected."

His expression was of utter shock and he remained silent, seemingly trying to come up with words to express what he thought of this special request he owed me.

Finally I broke the silence and said "Your feet, Gable! It's tickle time for your feet!"

Gable wet his lips and said, "Look...I don't know how I feel about that. I don't think I like people touching my feet. They smell and are kind of ugly and..."

"And they're insanely ticklish?" I interjected.

Gable just looked at me and said he simply wasn't comfortable doing it. My stomach sank. This was something I was desirous of for months now. I wanted this opportunity since I was a child. And as much as I had grown to love Gable, he was not going to rob me of it now.

"You know," I started, hearing frustration in my own voice, "I would have kept my deal and given you whatever game you wanted. I keep my promises."
Gable's expression showed he was clearly feeling defensive from my offensive remark. He asked me why I was so upset over something so silly. I didn't feel like explaining myself and subjecting myself to a deep discussion on how I'd basically only become his friend because I was interested in daydreaming over his feet before we'd become close friends. I told him to forget it and then went to get myself a soda from upstairs.

I stood at the refrigerator for a moment and thought how I was really being an asshole. What meant more to me? This man's feet or his friendship? I got grabbed him a soda too and beat myself up internally all the way down the stairs at what a bad person I was and what a freak I was for wanting his feet so badly. As I reached the bottom step and was about to apologize, Gable spoke.

"You're right."

"What?" I inquired, unable to believe what was actually coming from Gable's mouth.
"You're right," he said. "If it were the other way around, I'd be pissed if you didn't hold up your end of the bargain. So...I guess it's tickle time."

I felt that special tingle in my pants at that last proclamation and quickly said that if he was ready we'd begin. He asked for a moment to prep himself, which I obliged before he finally took a deep breath and said "How do you want to do this?"

I pushed the coffee table in front of him and got some of the pillows from the couch. I piled them nicely and told Gable to put his feet up. He did and I gently positioned the pillows beneath his legs so he was comfortable. I then told him to just sit back and relax. I sat down in front of his socked feet and stared at them for a moment.

I can't believe this, I thought. I'm finally going to do this.

"Are we starting?" Gable said, his eyes closed and breathe akin to an attempt at half-assed meditation.

"Almost," I said, as I leaned forward, close to his socked soles and reached up the pants of his pajama's.

His eyes remained closed as he flinched and asked what I was doing. I sniffed ever so subtly at his socked soles, taking in the dried, musky scent of the socks that had contained those ticklish puppies all day.

"I'm getting your feet ready," I said as I began sliding his socks down past his ankles.
"Oh no!" he said, crossing his feet over one another. "Please leave those on."

I took his feet and massaged both, gently uncrossing them.

"Relax," I said as I massaged, feeling the tension leave his feet and body.
"Okay," he said, visibly relaxing.
I reached back up to continue pulling his socks down. As I slid them down he gave no sign of struggle or tension. I slid the sock of his right foot down over the plump heel and lifted the foot up by the bare heel in admiration. I then pinched the top of the sock with my other hand and pulled it slowly up over his foot. His big toe was large and plump and each toe was just as pink and plump as the one before. It was a shapely, beautiful foot and it looked so pink, soft, and delicate. As his big toe unconsciously twitched in front of my face I felt my cock throb. The smell of his toes was faintly in the air near his freshly bared foot and I inhaled slowly as to appreciate all of the work of art before me.

As I removed the other sock and gently lay each foot side-by-side, Gable suddenly spoke up to say the tension was too much and he wasn't sure he could actually stand the tickling. He begged me to be gentle on them. I made no such promise. Because, as I learned from childhood, boys feet are for tickling. And a gorgeous, sensitive, soft, scented pair like Gable's were certainly not an exception.

I placed my index finger near the base of his toes on his left foot. Gable gasped deeply and mumbled "Oh no!" as his toes curled hard down onto my probing finger.

"Oh no is right," I retorted as I slowly glided my index finger down and around his soft, smooth sole. I explored every inch with my finger, paying attention to every twitch and reaction. Gable's breathing was heavy and he growled with effort to keep the laughter emanating from his tickled foot down in the pit of his stomach.

I upped the ante and started probing both index fingers on each sole, letting my finger glide and do delicate circles along the pink, silky flesh.

His feet began to seek shelter in one another and I proclaimed that if his feet tried to hide behind one another I'd just make the tickling worse. I'll give Gable this much, he heeded that warning for as long as he could. But my probing fingers found the balls of his feet and I exploited that most tender to soft touch tickle spot. Soon his right foot darted in front of his left and he rubbed the ball of his left foot with the back of his right, trying to rub the sensation away.

"You asked for it," I said as I grabbed his ankles into a headlock.

Gable let out one loud, apologetic yell before my fingers furiously began to scribble all over both feet. Gable sank into a fit of hopeless laughter and his toes wiggled and curled in an uncontrollable manner. His body spasmed and his feet trembled under my fingers as Gable screamed with absolute hysteria.

"Hahahahahahaha! No! N-n-nahahahahahahahahahaha! Oh God! Hahahahahahaha! P-p-plehehehehehehehehehehe! Stop! Stahahahahahahahahahaha! My f-fehehehehehehehehehehe!"

His struggling got harder to fight so I lay myself across his spasming legs. I then got very close to his feet and began to tickle with both hands at once. He squealed like a sort of parrot and grabbed a pillow that lay beside him. He began to scream hysterically into the pillow, hyena like giggles breaking up the scream.

His toes were now brushing up against my chin as they curled and uncurled in their ticklish torment. I lowered my nose to them as I continued my assault, trying to smell the sweet aroma that lay between those struggling piggies.

"P-p-p-lehehehehehehehehehease! Hahahahaha! T-thahahahaha! E-enough! E-hehehehehehehehe!" Gable shrieked, now flailing about, his eyes darting in all directions and his face blood red and dripping with perspiration.

My cock was throbbing as he begged and I could no longer control myself where his beautiful feet were concerned. Before this experience ended, I knew there was one thing I needed to do.

"And now!" I hollered over his laughter as I tickled, "The finale!"

I ceased tickling, lifted his feet up together in front of me and began to nibble on those juicy heels of his. Gable went silent at that moment, his body spasmed, and his eyes rolled back in his head. He lost his breathe and was entirely overcome with the ticklish sensation of my gnawing teeth against his plump, tortured heels. Finally he let out a long, high pitched squeal that fell apart into more hysterical laughter as I continued my feast of feet.

I traveled all over his feet, chewing and tasting his salty, smooth soles, enjoying the texture and taste of each inch. I nibbled each toe in earnest and chewed at the base of his toes to the greatest reactions. I then found myself sucking his desperately wiggling toes as I tickled his foot with my free hands.

My cock throbbed desperately and I finally reached down into my pants and began to stroke my pre-cum soaked joint. With only a few strokes I blew my tremendous load all over the inside of my trousers, Gable's wiggling big toe inside my mouth.

I stopped sucking his toe and tickling his foot. As I withdrew his toe for my mouth, I closed my eyes. I then kissed each toe individually as I came down from the draining orgasm that I'd just experienced and thanked his gorgeous feet in my heart for letting me achieve such pleasure from them. I only hoped now that the boy attached to those pretty feet was not feeling too negative about the levels of torture they had allowed him to achieve.

I opened my eyes and his bare, beautiful feet were still plopped there, now with a limp look about them. His toes glistened from a combination of saliva and perspiration. I let my eyes trail up his legs and up his torso to the face of the boy who was panting deeply on the couch.

"What..." he began between pants, "What...What was that?"
"What was what?" I asked, wary of his unreadable tone and expression.
"You...You, like...Ate my feet."

I felt myself go red in the face. I was sure he was going to call me out for my disgusting, fetish activity towards the end of his time of tickle.
"Yes, I guess I did."

He continued panting.

"Man..." he said. "That was cool."

I was confused and asked for some clarification on what cool entailed.

"Mom always told me," he explained, "that my feet were big and ugly. Feet are gross is what she told me. I think she has some sort of phobia for feet. But...Well, you don't think my feet are gross. You, like, were eating them and everything. And, fuck! It tickled so much. You're, like, the Foot Eater!"

I took advantage of his liking that I wasn't repulsed by his feet. How anyone could be, I will never know. But I do thank his mother for not appreciating such natural works of art as her son's feet. It opened the door for me to worship them properly.

Gable and I don't see each other as often as we did in school now. Life has a way of getting in the way like that. But without fail when we do get together, just as we always did from that sleepover onward, I make sure to reprise my role of the dreaded "Foot Eater" by proclaiming "Gable...It's your tickle time! Time to eat your feet!"