Back when I was a kid, the guy who sold my family insurance would come to the house to discuss policies and stuff with my folks. He’d obligingly take his shoes off before he came into the living room (yeah, they did stuff like that back then too) because we had a big, plush cream-colored rug.
This is where my fetish really began I think. Socked feet (especially dress-socked feet and bare feet). I knew I liked feet because I would always look at the insurance guy’s socked feet. No one could see me; I remember getting an electric tingling all over my body as I did this. At nine years old I didn’t understand what was happening, and I really didn’t care.
Later I attended a high school that was ordinary, but still a place where I was completely miserable. There was a group of boys, mostly football players, who were stereotypical brutal bullies. I’d be on the receiving end of their brutality on several occasions. He was six foot one and damn-near 200 pounds at the time. A football-playing “Adonis” as many a female described him. Sky blue eyes, honey blonde hair, rough, but chiseled features… Right away I knew that he could get away with doing whatever crap he wanted to do to me with little or no consequences. I’m serious. None of the school staff or anyone did anything about it because so many of them were in awe of these troglodytes.
More than once he’d push my five foot seven, one hundred and eighty pound frame down. I never displayed the proper level of fear and awe, you see, and he noticed. He’d look straight at me with a cold look in his eyes and say that slur. And the label was true, but he shouldn’t have been saying that with such obvious contempt. I wasn’t scared because I was no weakling. I had been working out regularly since junior high. I could take it.
Until I couldn’t.
I eventually got truly sick of his shit and the next time I saw Corey (that was his name. Corin “Corey” H-----n) approaching. I didn’t wait for his attack … I just attacked the fucker—swung a brutal blow that was as unexpected as it was powerful. It knocked him cold!
Now this is when things got weird. Not for me, but for everyone who knew me or bore witness to what I did.
I knelt by his feet … he was lying face down and was already coming to. But he was still too groggy to stop me from doing what I intended to do. As if it were the most natural thin g in the world, I untied his Nike sneaks then gently pulled them both off his feet. There must have been a buzz in the crowd of people who saw me do this, but I honestly can’t remember seeing or hearing them at that moment. Soon I had his sweaty size twelve white-socked feet in my lap, and I was taking in the wonderful odor. I took long sniffs while I fondled both socked feet in my hands and I even touched them with my nose! All of my blood went to my hardening private place and my entire body tingled with excitement.
Then I pulled off one sock.
When I touched Corey’s big bare foot, it surprisingly felt very soft and warm. And oh, did I caress the soft, sweaty sole of that amazingly smelly foot! They had deep wrinkles in them. I actually contemplated the idea of rubbing that sole with my hard cock.
But he regained enough of his senses to pull that foot away from me … plus one of the witnesses (not sure if it was a teacher, principal or fellow student) yanked me away from my fallen, shoeless foe.
I really don’t remember much after that. But I didn’t switch school, nor did I care about the consequences I face for doing what I did. It’s all a very treasured memory.
