My Latino/Italian Soccer Stud
by Alsmith Fortytwo

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His name was Stephen and he was the most beautiful and erotic guy I'd ever met.

In his mid-twenties and of Mexican/Italian descent, he stood at about six-feet tall and weighed in the area of 160 lbs. An average build, admittedly, but it was the only thing about him that could be termed "average".  He had short, silky black hair, gorgeous chestnut brown eyes, a killer smile (with just a hint of an overbite, which I loved), a sexy five o’clock shadow and a pair of the hottest-looking feet imaginable.                     

  He played soccer in a semi-pro league (he wanted to go pro, but a knee injury a few years earlier put an end to that dream) and adhered to a strict foot care regimen. Stephen and I became acquainted through a mutual friend and I made a point of attending all of his games. Despite his knee trouble, he was a very good player and I really enjoyed watching him, as did many others (the guy had a lot of fans and ate up all of the attention).

We began hanging out a lot. We'd usually meet up after a game and go get something to eat, drink, etc. However, there was this one particular Saturday when he declined , saying that he was tired and just wanted to go home, kick off his shoes and relax (a tantalizing scenario!). Not one to let a good opportunity pass, I decided to invite him back to my apartment for dinner. I suggested that he could rest just as well on my couch while I cooked. It took a little prodding, but he finally accepted.          

By now, the mental image of this hunk that I was so crazy about sprawled out on my sofa was making me incredibly horny.

When we got to my place, I told him to make himself comfortable, which he immediately did by removing his sneakers (they gave off an intoxicating odor). I'd hoped that he'd take off his socks, too, as my lust for his bare feet was intensifying, but he didn't. I knew that if those socks were going to come off, I was going to have to be the one to remove them. But how was I going to accomplish this without giving myself away and possibly alienating him? I wasn't sure if Stephen knew that I was gay (I wasn't totally out) and, although I'd heard rumors that he was bi, he'd never confided anything to me about his orientation. I didn't want to risk losing his friendship over an unwanted pass, but my desire for his pedal extremities was getting more and more difficult to conceal and control.                                             

I decided that I needed to loosen him up a bit, so I offered him a glass of wine.

After several minutes (and several refills), I screwed up my courage and sat down at the other end of the couch where his sock-clad feet were. Without a word, I lifted them and placed them on my lap. He didn't seem to mind and looked at me with a playful little grin on his face.

Encouraged by this reaction, I asked him if his feet were sore after playing such a rigorous game. He replied yes, and, without asking permission, I just started rubbing them.  Again, there was no resistance and, within moments, his body began to go limp with relaxation as I fondled and massaged his tender soles. He was obviously deriving almost as much satisfaction from this as I was. Just then, I was pleasantly taken aback when he started rubbing my swelling cock with his left foot. Was I dreaming this or was this guy really as attracted to me as I was to him?                                             

By this time, I'd forgotten all about dinner (it didn't seem that either of us was all that hungry... at least not for food). With some residual trepidation, I asked him if he would mind if I removed his socks, explaining that the massage would be more effective if he was barefoot. Flashing a sly, sexy smile, he told me that I could do whatever I wanted (music to my ears).  I peeled the slightly moist socks from his sweetly redolent feet and couldn't resist giving them a sniff, the sight of which seemed to amuse and arouse him even more.

He raised his foot and began wiggling his adorable toes in my face. It was clear that he was extending a tacit invitation for me to worship his feet (I mentioned earlier how much he enjoyed the attention of fans and I'm sure that he knew what a devoted one he had in me). I started by lightly licking his soles and couldn't help but notice the cute look on his face. It reminded me of the gratified expression a puppy has when his tummy is being rubbed. I bathed the bottoms of his scrumptious feet with my warm, dripping tongue for several more minutes, then proceeded to the toes of his right foot.

I sucked his big toe like I was a baby with a pacifier as I eagerly watched him unbutton and unzip his soccer shorts to reveal a massive erection. The sight of his exquisite manhood (he was very well-endowed) inspired me to suck and lick his toes all the more furiously.  I soon switched over to his left foot and continued to revel in the tasty delights of those digits.                                    

 
By now, I was really feeling drunk with elation and he coyly inquired if there was any other part of his anatomy that I might like to wrap my tongue around? Without hesitation, I separated his muscular legs, stuck my head in his crotch and began giving him what he later would tell me was "the best blowjob he'd ever had". I savored his delicious cock for well over a half-hour until he finally shot his delectable load in my mouth. I swallowed his cum and light-headedly relished the bliss of having my beloved Stephen so thoroughly inside of me. Seconds later, I had my own wonderful orgasm (the first of many he would go on to give me). The whole experience would prove to be the start of something incredible for both of us (we've been together ever since).

Eventually, we decided to relocate to Los Angeles so Stephen could pursue an acting career. It wasn't long before he landed a role on a daytime soap. I work for him as a personal assistant (wink, wink). To this day, our relationship continues to be very mutually beneficial.

He tells me that he would be totally lost without my "services".