The Interview
by Dusty Bare Soles

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Martin had left college a year ago and was struggling to break into his chosen career of estate agent. The housing market crash had left little in the way of work and his confidence was at an all-time low. It was on this very subject that Martin was thinking when, lying in bed, barely awake, and feeling the effects of drowning his sorrows from the night before, he lay face-first and diagonally across his bed, with his shoes on the floor and his white sports socks hanging loosely on his feet.

His phone rang. It took all the effort he could muster to scramble to the hall of his parents' house to get to answer it. It was probably his mother phoning from work to make sure that he was awake and not sleeping away another day. With a sigh he picked up the reciever and grunted, "Hello?"

Upon hearing the voice on the other end he stood bolt up right. "Yes, of course, that's no problem... 3 pm?... Today... No problem at all. I will be there. Thank you"

He hung up. His hangover would have to wait. He had a job interview at 3pm and needed to ready himself as quickly as possible. The firm had an interviewee cancel and wanted to offer him their place. This was the one and only interview he had had in 6 months. "Right! F*ck!! Okay!" He sprung into action. Without thinking he ran to the shower and jumped in, giving him the chance to clear his head and to think of a plan of action. Martin was cocky and could talk in an interview no problem. He was confident that if he could get there on time he could give a good impression. Besides, he had no time for preparation now.

Within 15 minutes Martin was showered, fed and ready to go to buy a suit. His old one was destroyed in a post-interview alcohol binge half a year ago and he hadn't gotten round to buying another one.He pulled on the clothes from last night and ran downstairs. On his way through the kitchen he dipped into the cookie jar in the kitchen cupboard and pulled out some notes to add to his own. "Thanks, Mum", he said aloud, knowing that she would have gladly given him the money to get a suit if she was there- anything to get him working, and out of the house. He didn't have time to phone and ask her anyway. Off to the store. Martin would buy a suit, change there, and go straight to the interview.

Martin ran straight to the menswear store and explained to the shop assistant what he needed and the urgency of the situation. Within 10 minutes he was wearing a slim fitting suit which accentuated his naturally lean but muscular frame. Martin's own clothes lay in a pile on the floor of the changing room behind him as he pulled back the curtain and asked the assistant,

"Well? would you give me a job?"

"The suit's great. Not so sure about the bare feet though"

"I'll need a pair of size 12 dress shoes and some black socks, please"

His helper returned with both.

"Will these do?", he asked.

"They'll do just fine", replied Martin and he took the box, fell back on the stool in the dressing room and put on the sheer socks first.

"Are you sure about these socks?"

"If you don't want the sheers I can get you another pair"

"No, no time, they'll do fine".

Martin paid the assistant, handed him a tip, and said, "do me a favour, can you put my clothes in a bag and keep them aside for me?" He was running to the bus stop before the door had even closed.

"Good luck", shouted the assistant after him before walking to pick up the crumpled pile of clothes on the floor. There was a smell of booze and from the pile and as he lifted them one white sport sock fell out. With a furtive glance around the store, which was all but empty, the assistant picked up the sock, walked into the changing room, drew the curtain and breathed deeply through the sole of the sock like a prisoner released from jail might suck on the air of freedom. He dropped the other clothes and stood there, breathing in and out. A massive boner pressed against his trousers and he tucked it up and under his belt before he steadied himself, gathered the other garments into a bag and then walked to the cash desk, where he put the bag underneath. The socks remained in his pocket, where he fondled their dampness and returned his fingers to his nose discretely throught the day. It was a pleasant odour - not very smelly but masculine and, to him, intoxicating.

At 3.20, Martin left the building office building where the estate agents had just interviewed him. 'That did not go well', he thought. The interview had, he thought, been a disaster. It was over very quickly and the panel who interviewed him seemed to look through them, like they were going through the motions, having already earmarked the job for someone else.

"We'll phone you sometime this evening", they told him.

This put Martin in the mood for a drink. He went to the nearest bar and downed a couple of shots to cure the hangover and anyway, a drink is the perfect way to unwind after a hard day!

On his way to the bus back uptown he remebered his clothes. 'Damn, the store closes at 6! Time for another drink and then I'll head over there'

By the time Martin got to the store, he was much the worse for wear. Not only had he blown the interview, he had hardly eaten and the alcohol was taking its toll. The shutters of the store were half way down so he rapped at them. The assistant came to the door. "we're closed, but come on in. Martin, isn't it?"

"Yes"

"I'm Murray"

"Hey, Murray. Just here to get my clothes"

"Like I said, come on in"

Murray closed the door, and turned the sign to say 'Closed' to the outside world.

Martin had lost all inhibitions, due to the drink he had taken. He walked on in, fell into an arm chair and put his feet up on to the foot stool in front. "Murray, just do what you gotta do, I need to catch my breath and my feet are killing me."

"I've got to cash up and do a few things before I can go. Do you want to wait ten minutes?"

"That sounds great, Murray", Martin closed his eyes and folded his arms over his chest.

Murray stood behind the cash desk, desperately trying to cash up and make the till balance while staring at Martin's dress shoes, one crossed over the other and the sheer socks he had pressed on him earlier were showing his ankles. 'Oh boy!', he thought, 'If I could get my hands on them!'

"How did the interview go?", Murray asked to test if Martin was still conscious.

"Hmmmm? Not great, haha!", Martin's voice was low.

Murray turned a few more lights off so that the lighting was now soft and one spotlight illuminated Martin's calves, ankles and feet but kept his upper body shaded. He just knew that Martin's feet would be moist and warm after a stressful day and the sheer socks will have caused them to sweat a bit. He imagined the shiny solesbeneath the leather of the new shoes. How good his feet must smell, mixed with the smell of new shoes and clean sweat. He waited and hoped for signs that Martin was asleep. It didn't happen.

"Hey, man, if you wanna drown your sorrows, I have a bottle here I keep under the counter for myself. I'm heading out tonight and wanted to start a little early"

"I aint gonna refus that offer. Thanks, Murray. That tip paid off, didn't it?"

Murray poured a drink, and slipped something into it that he knew would likely knock Martin out. Martin knocked it back, and said "Thanks, Murray. But those shoes you gave me are killing me. I could do with a foot massage"

Murray knew this was a joke but thought to himself, 'I'll see what I can do'.

Within a few minutes Martin was unconscious and his glass fell to the floor. Murray was kneeling in front of the foot stool, unlacing his shoes. He took a deep breath and surveyed the shining dress shoes before moving. Martin's right foot was on top of his left. He slipped his finger under the laces which ran over the tongue and pulled them forward to loosen their grip. He then pulled the shoe from the heel toward him and lifted it up and off the foot, bringing the shoe to his nose as his eyes surveyed the partially exposed sheer sole in front of him. A shot of adrenaline ran through him and he felt sick for a moment but excited and turned on too. Without hardly noting he had gently place the right foot down beside the still shod left one and removed the left shoe in the same way as the first. Now he was faced with his ultimate fantasy - a sleeping pair of sheer soles, fresh from shoes and damp but freshly fragrant.

He actually salivated at the thought of tasting these soles. He wanted his hands to feel them first. He began with gentle strokes, feeling the moist soles and the fabric of the socks at the same time in the way that only sheers can. He was as hard as a rock and he actually felt as if he would explode when he removed the socks. He tried to calm himself and pace himself but his mouth was around the toes of the left, then the right socks, sucking and carressing with his tongue. His tongue could feel the outline of the toes but this wasn't enough, he wanted his tongue right between each toe and the fabric stood between him and that. He ripped the socks at the toes and tore them down to the sole. He ran his tongue from heel to toe and back again. Martin's soles were amazingly cute. They were slender but masculine with toes so perfectly shaped - like grapes. He pressed his face between the one bare sole and the other sheer sole and savoured the smell and the feel. He was in ecstasy and knew he wanted to oil them, to tickle them, to suck each toe and to feel himself sliding between his oiled, bare soles.

While he was unzipping himself with one hand in readiness for getting to know Martin's soles intimately, while holding the other foot to his face, Martin's phone rang in his jacket pocket and the toes within Murray's mouth twitched.

Murray had a split second decision to make. Should he grab the phone and try to silence it but risk waking Martin, or should he let it ring and stay stock still.

Who could be phoning, anyway? He could pretend to be Martin, or his friend. one thing was for sure, he was in an uncompromising position and his throbbing penis was telling him to keep on going.

Hope you enjoyed,

Martin