by Sox729
True story.
Peter sat next to me in physics class. We all sat together, two to a desk. Eleventh grade, high school. I had just turned seventeen, and he was the same age. Blond hair, average height, and - for a skater - had a pretty muscled build. We really didn’t have a lot of skaters at our high school - the atmosphere was pretty preppy, and the 'skaters' were really just a few kids that would hang out in the woods behind the building after school got out, smoking cigarettes and waiting for the parking lot to clear out so they could skate.
Physics was usually the last class of the day for us. The bell rang, and I’d step out into the midafternoon daylight, squinting a bit as my eyes adjusted from the relative darkness of the hallways. I’d trail Peter out towards the parking lot, and he went off towards the woods with the others, skateboards in arms and a cloud of smoke swirling around their heads. He always wore the same beat-up pair of Nike 6.0 skateboarding shoes with white, no-show ankle socks, and every day as I trudged onto the bus, I thought about how those feet of his must smell.
Or maybe they didn’t at all? You never really know, I guess. Some guys’ feet don’t really smell, and others’ do. Just depends. I guessed - hoped - that his would positively reek. I came close to finding out - once, in the locker room after gym, after he had stripped off his clothes to go shower, I thought about catching a sniff of his freshly worn socks. But then he his socks and shoes in a bag before walking off to the shower, and as there were other guys around, I couldn't rummage around for them without being questioned. And besides, I was too busy willing my cock to stay flaccid after catching a glimpse of Peter's thick cock and low-hanging balls.
So one day we’re in physics, and the teacher’s droning on about time relativity and time travel, and it’s actually pretty interesting. He draws diagrams on the board, but Peter isn’t paying attention. He leaned back in his chair, stared intently out the window, and then discreetly thumbed out a text message without taking his phone out of the pocket of his hoodie.
"Fuck, when is this shit going to end?" The teacher doesn’t hear him mumble to me, since we’re in the back of the room, and I just shrugged my shoulders at him.
And then it happens.
I’m taking notes, engrossed in the lecture, when it hits me in the face - that smell. Hard to describe, right? Vinegary, I guess, for lack of a better adjective.
A shot of adrenaline surged through my stomach. I looked down, and Peter’s shoes are off. The left foot is pointed downwards to the floor, toes arched back; his right foot moved up and down as he pumped his heel rapidly. Suddenly, I was petrified - sitting straight upright in my chair, I tore my gaze from his Hanes socks to the chalk diagrams on the board, everything motionless except for my cock, which started to stir. I don’t want to look down; I don’t want him to catch on to the fact that I’m loving this.
But, as with many things in life, my dick forced me to take action. Those sweaty Hanes, buried in his 6.0s (size 12, as I later found out) for the whole day, continued to pump out that vinegary odor. The invisible cloud surrounded my head, and my dick is hard as a rock. It’s straining against my boxers and shorts, and the sunlight pouring in through the window causes the bulge to cast a shadow.
For the first time, I move. I leaned back in my chair, trying to discreetly tug down my shorts a bit to cover up my fat boner. It doesn’t work, so I covered my lap with a notebook. While doing so, I looked down at the floor and see sweat marks on the linoleum tile, where his damp socks made contact. The smell was just radiating off of them, and I wasn't sure what to do. Something. Anything.
He notices me looking at his feet, and I momentarily panic.
“Yeah, sorry,” he said under his breath. “My feet stink.”
I play it cool, of course, and answer without taking my eyes off the board. “No problem, dude. Barely noticed.”
“Yeah?” He looked down at his feet, wiggling his toes a little. “I think it’s these socks.”
Shit. I don't think I've ever been so aroused in all my life. So they did stink, then. “Maybe,” I replied, trying to keep my voice even. "Try taking them off, that sometimes helps." Not really, of course - complete bullshit. His bare feet would just sweat up those Nikes, probably even more so without socks. Peter glanced below the desk.
"Yeah, give it a try," I continued, changing my previously noncommittal reply into something more definitive. He reached down, peeled them off and put them on top of his backpack, which was on the floor between and slightly behind us. He cracked his toes against the the desk leg and slipped his feet back in his shoes.
I needed those socks. I had to have them. I could feel sticky precum leaking out of my dick and onto my thigh. Between Peter’s socks and the fact that I hadn’t jacked off yet that day, I seriously thought as though I was going to bust a fucking nut right then and there. I needed relief.
And there they were, chilling on his backpack. I needed to act fast. I had an extra pair of socks - grey toe and heel, but not Hanes - in my own backpack, which I had used during gym class earlier that day. Would he notice if I switched them around? They looked identical, except that mine didn’t say Hanes. They also weren’t dirty and damp with sweat. Although they did have a nice funk to them, come to think of it.
I couldn’t resist it any longer. My crotch was damp with precum, my cock throbbed, and I felt as though my balls were going to explode. I slid a hand down into my backpack and found my pair of socks, as well as a folder with some papers. I slid the socks into the folder, took it out, and put it on his backpack while I pretended to look around for something in my bag. Then I quickly switched the pairs of socks on top of his backpack, keeping one eye on him the whole time. He didn’t notice.
Sweet, sweet success. There were only 15 minutes left before class was over, but I couldn’t wait any longer. Socks (and folder) in hand, I nearly ran out of the room, one hand clutching the folder and the other stuffed into my pocket to try to cover up my massive erection. I walked briskly down the hall and barged into the bathroom. A cursory sweep of the room revealed that no one was there, so I threw open a stall door, locked it shut behind me, and opened the folder.
They were still there, damp, smelly, and warm. God knows how long he must have been wearing the same pair for them to smell and look like that - a few days, probably. I imagined it in my head. Maybe he wore them all the time. When he was asleep. When we played indoor soccer in gym class. When he skated down the steps near the parking lot and chilled with his friends, smoking. When he flopped down on his bed and jacked off to the latest Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue (which, it should be noted, I had seen in his backpack just a few minutes earlier, and with which he had jokingly mentioned "having a good time with last night").
I inhaled the rich odor, the sweat and the slight smell of leather from his Nikes, then jerked down my shorts and boxers, my belt clattering to the floor. My cock was shiny with precum, and I shoved it into one of the socks, feeling the sweat-soaked cotton glide against my cock.
I jerked it fast and furiously, and it didn’t take long. I pulled out of the sock - as tempted as I was to bust a nut in there, I wanted to keep them for future fun. With one hand clasping a sock over my nose and mouth, and the other pumping my cock, which was wrapped in the other sock, I could feel myself approaching the edge of a tremendous orgasm. My nut juice was about to boil over.
I turned to the side of the stall and let it rip. Up until that point, the only sounds I had made were soft moans of delicious ecstasy, but now I lost control. “Fuck. Shit!” I grunted, perhaps a bit too loudly. Several thick ropes of cum shot out of my cock; I had no idea that I was capable of producing that much jizz. Creamy white contrails landed with a satisfying splat on the stall wall, rivulets dripping down on the floor. It was by far the most I had ever ejaculated.
I paused for a moment, savoring the post-orgasmic glow and watching my cum slide down the wall. What the hell, it was the end of the day. I didn’t bother to clean it up, and walked calmly back down the hall and went into the classroom.
Peter was still at our desk, looking bored. Just as I got to my seat, the bell rang. I bundled the socks into the folder and carefully placed it into my backpack. He shoved his notebooks into his bag and, without saying anything other than a brief "Later," he walked towards the door. I noticed that he was wearing my socks.
When I got home, I put his socks in a plastic bag to keep them smelling as strongly as possible, and had some great times with them in the weeks afterward, but never had the chance to get my hands on another pair of his socks. We graduated almost two years later; Peter went to our local community college for a year and then started working at a car dealership. Earlier this year we had our five year high school reunion, and I was surprised (but pleased) to run into him. It was at a bar downtown, and although it was dark inside, I could tell that he was wearing a different pair of Nike skate shoes. Although I had been keeping tabs on what he was up to on Facebook over the years, we took a few minutes to catch up. But the whole time we were talking, my gaze kept dropping down to his feet as I imagined his stinking feet, socks, and shoes, and my cock started growing in my pants...
