My younger brother Mickey, my best friend Ian, and I would spend hours after school and on weekends playing video games in my room.  The three of us would lie on our stomachs for hours with our bare feet hanging high in the air.  The stench of feet was strong enough to kill a cockroach.  Mickey doesn't change his socks until they are completely crusty, and Ian has worn the same dirty flip-flops for years.  I don't think either of them properly clean their feet in the shower.  Again I remind you that I am 100% straight.  It is by coincidence that the stench of Ian and Mickey's feet make me so hard that I cannot concentrate on the video games.  I began to find myself smelling, licking and massaging their feet instead of playing video games.

Eventually I would quietly play with Mickey and Ian's feet while the two of them played games, talked with each other, and they kind of ignored me.  Anytime I tried to join in on the conversation, one of them would shove his foot in my mouth as if to silence me.

One weekend my two dads went out of town to a salad and horseback riding retreat.  (I don't know what they did there… something about tossing salads and riding bareback all weekend).  Ian and Mickey planned a video game all-night and day marathon.  I, of course, stayed in my place behind them for a foot worship marathon.

Around 3am or so, Mickey asked if anyone wanted a beer.  "Sure," Ian said.  Mickey kicked me upside my face, "hey, beers!"  I got up, went to the kitchen, grabbed three beers, and returned.  Mickey said, "good, thanks for bringing an extra, fag!"  Feeling a bit angry, as most straight men do at that word I charged at Mickey, "what the hell did you call me?"  Ian smacked me on the face with his foot, "Shut up and open the bottle for your guest."  They both laughed at me.  "I think it wants a beer," Ian looked at Mickey.  What am I a plant?  "Oh," Mickey said, "then why didn't it just say so?"  They positioned themselves to where I was on the ground looking directly up at their feet.  Each poured beer down his foot until it dropped from the heel into my mouth.  "Now lick it off," they said as they clinked their bottles together, "Enjoy!"  Beer has such a flat taste, but the taste of feet made it much more satisfying.

Saturday afternoon while Mickey and Ian were asleep side by side with all four feet smothering my face, Mickey got a text on his phone.  "Hey, Ian.  Brent says he's playing football with some guys in his backyard and he needs two more people."  Ian sat up, "Sure I'm game."  Without bothering to ask me, they took off.  I'm not a football person, but at least I could stay and watch.  Mickey came back, picked me up and slammed me in the floor of my closet.  "What the fuck?" I banged on the door as Mickey wedged a chair under the door knob.

They were gone for hours.  When they came back, Mickey opened the door, "alright, fag, time to come out of the closet."  He picked me up and slammed me on the floor in front of my bed.  Their feet and legs were caked with mud and they both rubbed them all over me like I was a door mat.  "We kicked y'alls ass, man," Ian laughed.  Mickey's like, "Whatever!  Haven't played football in bare feet like since third grade."  Ian raises his feet up and adds, "And in the pouring rain, we should have quit before that ground got so muddy." Ian ran his feet up and down me very quickly. Ian said, "and how about when you intercepted the ball and started to run when you slid in that dog shit." He laughed.  Mickey said, "Yeah, that was gross, but fun.  I hope I got it all off."  Mickey looked at his foot and saw there was a little speck of dog shit still on his heel.  He rubbed it on my nose. 

So that's me in a nutshell. 

I'm the speck of dog shit beneath my brother and his friend’s feet.