by PJSSDC
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Through many years, like many of you, I spent in silent yearning for the opportunity to express my desire to sniff and kiss another man's feet. In college I sneaked whiffs of my roommates' socks, and in graduate school I fell in love with a guy, and spent one intense night, when he was passed out drunk, massaging and kissing his feet, then lowering his pajama pants and massaging his ass and back till he jerked off.
But years went by, years of marriage and children, before I finally got to realize my deepest desires. I was enrolled in a graduate military school that sent the class on trips overseas. One of my classmates, who'd been very remote and distant for most of the year to all of us, happened to be in charge of arranging rooms for my trip and he asked me to room with him. I said sure, knowing he was a quiet and intelligent man I could put up with. Little did I know that by the end of the trip, I would want nothing but to be his foot slave.
Our friendship started easily enough. I lost a bag on the way over, and the Colonel began right away to act as my protector and adviser. He kept checking the luggage belt while I reported the bag, then, once the search was abandoned, he provided his guide services to shop for the things I had lost - mostly underwear. He knew Rome because he had lived in Italy years before. So we went to the shopping areas and while I rejected purchases because the prices were too high, he said things like, "Come on, admit it. You have always wanted Italian underwear."
Even when I tried to let him off the hook, saying I'd shop by myself later, he just smiled and kept on with me. He also asked me what I wanted to see and when I said something on a whim, we'd start off and before I knew it we were there. I reciprocated a little by being the one bold enough to try out pidgin Italian to ask for things like bus tickets, so I felt good about our comradeship. But at a certain point, partly because the supposedly macho marines and soldiers who were also on the trip began to seem ridiculously childish - getting drunk and arguing about each other's behavior - I realized that I was not willing to give up my roommate - and his sensible conversation (which went on for hours every night). In fact, I began to realize that I would do anything to keep him happy and at my side. That, in fact, I was in love with him.
Feeling this way, I began, midway through the trip, to grab up his smelly socks while he slept and jerk off sniffing and kissing and sucking his sweet foot sweat out of them. As the days went on, we just got to be closer and closer, sitting around in our underwear and ordering room service so we would not have to interrupt our intimate talks. But I didn't let on how I felt until the last minute. Finally, on the last night of our trip - after a long walk around a hot Italian city in search of a place to eat -- while he tried to tune in the TV, I got up from the bed (in Italy, God love those Italians, they push the twin beds together as one) went to the foot of the bed and started unlacing his shoes.
"You want these off, don't you?" I asked humbly.
"Yeah, sure," he answered. I pulled them off, and roughly brushed his socks, loosening them from his sticky feet.
"Want your socks off, too?"
"Uh, no" he said as he self-consciously pulled his steaming feet away. So I subsided briefly on the bed beside them. Then, really mustering my courage, I said as I reached for his now outstretched feet, clad in red nylon socks, "Give me those socks." I peeled them off, and started massaging his surprisingly soft feet.
"What are you doing?" he asked, gently.
"Giving you a foot massage. It's good for your back." (He had told me about his back problems - which had included disc surgery years before.)
"Oh, yeah, I know. I used to get shiatsu massages for my bad back on Okinawa."
"Good. So just let me do it."
And off I went, really kneading and rubbing, tugging on his toes and rubbing the toejam out from between them, noticing calluses on his toe tops, and the baby-smoothness of his soles.
"You have really soft feet for an old soldier," I said.
"Yeah, well, I took my own advice and wore two pairs of socks a lot," he told me referring to a bit of help he had given me when I'd complained about blisters earlier in the week.
"Has anyone ever done this for you before, I mean besides the professionals?"
"My wife used to, but she won't anymore."
"Well, I've never done it for anyone before. Why don't you get comfortable?"
"Huh?"
"Why don't you take off your clothes and get back in bed?"
He obediently got up and stripped off his shirt and pants and lay down again in his T-shirt and boxers. "You don't have to do that anymore," he said as I resumed the massage.
"I want to. I like it."
"You LIKE rubbing people's feet?"
"It is only because it is you, Pete. I told you I have never done it for anyone else. Want me to rub your back?"
"No, that might hurt." At that, I ran my nails across his soles, and he said, "That hurts," and pulled away. I patted each sole then, and said, "Well now you know who to come to if you ever want a foot rub again."
"Yeah."
Well, this was just the beginning. I told him how much he meant to me and insisted that we start having lunch together when we got back to the States. So, the next week, we stole off to my house at lunchtime, he in uniform with his black plasticized shoes. I got him to sit on the loveseat, gave him a Coke, and then perched next to him. I hoisted his leg up onto my thigh, noticing the strong male heft of it. "Now I owe you a foot massage," I said.
"No. Why?" he asked, a little flummoxed.
"Because you were so nice to me in Europe, helping me cope with the other guys, looking for underwear in Italy when my luggage was lost."
"But that was just normal."
"Well, I don't know what it was, but I do know that I really feel like I just want to do this for you." I proceeded to unlace his left shoe, and gently pulled it off. I dropped it on the floor and gripped his fluffy black sock and toes in my hand. I could feel the dampness and warmth, and wished I could smell them better. But I just massaged the moist fabric free, then peeled it off and rubbed his tender foot, pink from its hot confinement. I hoisted his right foot up, and he leaned back further, sighing. I gently loosened those laces, too, and eased his foot free, peeled off that sock and then stroked and caressed both feet for many minutes. We talked about our friendship and my devotion to him.
"What do you tell your wife?" he asked.
And I told him the truth: "That I have deep feelings for you that I do not understand..."
(to be continued)
