It all started when I moved into my new place. My second cousin, Lewis, was visiting and we had arranged to go out for a few drinks and finish back at mine.

Lewis is one of those guys you don’t really look twice at. About 5’10”, light ginger (‘It’s strawberry blonde!!’) hair and a faint beard that couldn’t be bothered growing past a couple of millimetres. We were never in touch as kids, and didn’t know each other existed until a family party when we were both around 19. Since then, we’d done the usual following each other on Facebook and Instagram, the odd ‘like’ and birthday message, but went for months without seeing each other. Over the past year though, we’d made more of an effort to invite each other to more events – gigs, parties etc. and now were more like mates than second cousins.

So, I grabbed a couple of bottles of beer from the fridge, and joined Lewis on the couch. We’d kicked our shoes off in the hall (strict rule – carpet throughout downstairs) and found something mildly entertaining to watch on TV. We were both wearing black sports socks – the slightly thick type.

‘Really nice house, mate.’

‘Cheers – still some work to do but I’m really pleased with it’.

I was yawning something terrible, and apologised.

‘Sorry bud, I’m absolutely wasted from work this week. Been on my feet for 12 hours a day, this is the first time I’ve had in days to sit down!’

‘Same mate, good to have a few drinks though on a Friday.’

‘Yeah,’ I agreed.

There was a few moments silence while we both mindlessly watched what was happening on the TV. Lewis broke it.

‘I’ve been known to give good foot massages, you know,’ he grinned.

I looked at him. Did he say what I thought he’d said?

At this point, I should say that I’ve had the biggest foot fetish since I was a kid. Socks, feet, trainers, you name it. And, yes, one of the reasons I make my friends take their shoes off in the hall is so I can grab a whiff when they go upstairs to the toilet.

The only contact I’d had with Lewis’ feet was at a house party years ago - he had taken his shoes off and was sat with his leg crossed with his socked sole pointing towards me. My taxi had arrived and I was heading off – I gave his foot a gentle squeeze as I said goodbye and thanks for having me. You know, like you’d do with a shoulder or ruffle someone’s hair. Lasted less than a second but kept me going for months, if you get what I mean.

Could it be that I’d finally met another person with a foot fetish? And not even a randomer…my own cousin? And, if I was going to let him give me a footrub…surely, he’d let me return the favour…?

Lewis shrugged and laughed.

‘That’d be amazing mate!’ I laughed, and I swung my feet onto his lap. He got to work straight away on my right foot, kneading his thumbs in circles in my arch and ball, working his way up to my toes. It felt incredible. I’d honestly never had a footrub before. He squeezed each toe and cracked them, before moving right down to my heel, pushing his thumbs into my socked foot.

I decided to make the move.

‘I’ve been known to give good footrubs myself too actually!’ (Blatant lie.) Lewis smirked and swung his feet up on to the couch. We repositioned ourselves so our backs were resting on the armrests, our legs resting on each other’s, and our feet in each other’s hands. I used the opportunity to take another swig of my beer.

His socked feet felt amazing. Soft, wide, and meaty. Not the tiniest bit of dry skin anywhere, and his toenails – while I couldn’t see them – felt short and trimmed. I mirrored everything Lewis was doing to my feet, pushing my thumbs just under his toes and rubbing them in circular motions. His sock was slightly loose on his foot, and everytime I rubbed his foot upwards, the creases on his sock created little mountains. I moved from left to right, right to left, and then both together, my left hand servicing his left foot, my right hand servicing his right foot. I had positioned his feet on my chest, and the weight of them was driving me wild. Just seeing whichever socked foot I wasn’t massaging resting idly on my chest, inches away from my face, toes wiggling lazily, was enough to make a mess in my jeans.

I wonder if Lewis felt the same?

He must do…he started it after all…

We must have been going at it for around 15 minutes, only stopping to drink our beer. I wanted to ask him if he wanted me to take his socks off, but something kept stopping me. Maybe it was a step too far. Two lads rubbing each other’s’ socked feet = fine. Two lads rubbing each other’s’ bare feet = gayyy.

‘This feels amazing,’ Lewis murmured. His cheeky grin had gone now, and he was staring intently at my feet as he rubbed them. I laughed, trying to act cool.

‘Yeah, feels alright doesn’t it!’

‘Can’t beat a good footrub,’ Lewis yawned, his thumb running under my toes. His eyes were starting to close, but his hands were still hard at work kneading away at my feet. I wiggled my toes appreciatively.

His feet were literally centimetres away from my nose as I rubbed them. I might not get another opportunity to see what they smell like. But he was wide awake! I couldn’t just dive in and sniff them.

I had to make do with taking a deep breath and hope that I caught some of the aroma.

Wow.

It was a heavenly combination of trainer smell, sweat and man. You know that undefinable smell, just…man? My head was spinning. I had to keep shifting Lewis’ legs so they couldn’t feel my raging boner through my jeans. Although, as I did so, I swear I could feel something bulging inside his jeans that certainly wasn’t his phone…

All of a sudden, Lewis let go of my feet and pulled his away from my hands.

‘Toilet…bursting for a piss.’

As he left the room, and I could hear his feet stomping up the stairs, I smiled to myself. Sure…enjoy your ‘piss’…

I suddenly remembered his trainers in the hall. I ran out the living room, into the hall and picked them up. They were a pair of slightly battered Nike AirMax 90s. I could hear a healthy long trickle upstairs which suggested he was busy and I was safe. I took a long, hard whiff. The smell was just right – not pungent, but not too faint. He’d clearly been wearing these for a long time, and his foot sweat combined perfectly with the trainer material.

The toilet flushed, so I carefully laid the trainers down where they were, ran back into the living room and flopped on the couch, ready to restart our little footrub session. Maybe even barefoot this time.

I waited.

And waited.

I had heard Lewis’ footsteps down the stairs…so where was he? I went out into the hall to check…and there he was, putting his trainers back ON!!

‘I’m going to have to run, mate – my housemate’s locked out and I’m up early in the morning. Thanks for a great night though!’

I tried not to let the disappointment show on my face.

‘Ah no worries! Yeah I’m pretty tired myself. Great to see you!’

We did that weird high-five slash hug thing that men do. I smirked.

‘And thanks for the footrub!’

Lewis laughed.

‘Any time mate – likewise, you’ve got some good skills there!’

And with that, he opened the door, and was gone.

To say I was gutted was an understatement. Why didn’t I just pluck up the courage to rip his socks off and bury my face in them while I had the chance?

Still, at least I had the memory to keep me going.

Until two weeks later, of course, when Lewis and I arranged another night out.

Part 2 Coming soon...

By Declan