Chapter 2

Trey and Cal bark out a laugh from about twenty feet away. Apparently something about boxes of Junior Mints and Snowcaps is funny.

Nico flashes a credit card, “I guess I’ll take one lane, nine games, three shoe rentals and a couple sodas and candies.”

I begin to work the register, “No snack for you?”

He shakes his head, “I’m not a teenager anymore. That shit would go right here,” he pinches his fingers where love handles would be if he had any fat on his body at all. He looks me in the eyes again and this time I’m the one who looks away first.

I finish the transaction on the register and ask, “What size are you?”

He cocks an eyebrow, “Excuse me?”

“Oh, right.” He pockets his credit card, “I’ll take an 11.”

The Neanderthals are back and I ask Trey, “What size shoe do you wear?”

“What the fuck do you care? Do you have a foot fetish or something? Are you some kind of faggot?”

Nico is about to jump in but Cal gets there first. “Dude, we’re at a bowling alley. Look down.”

He does and it registers that they’re all in snow boots. He looks up at me, “Sorry Corey. I’m a 13.”

Cal scoffs, “It’s Kenny, not Corey. And I’ll take a 12.”

As I grab all three pairs I hear Nico again inform them that my name is Cody. Trey says, “Whatever. And I’m not giving you my shoes.” He turns to Cal, “While we’re bowling he’d be sneaking whiffs and jacking off in them or something.”

Nico shakes his head.

Cal laughs and turns to me, “Even if you do like feet, Trey’s would cure you of that particular affliction. They smell like a goat’s anus.”

Even Nico laughs at that one. “True story,” he says.

“I’m gonna trust you guys,” I say. “Keep your shoes with you.”

They each take their respective pairs and are about to head to their lane when Trey asks me, “Is that natural or do you dye it?” He points at my hair.

Before I can answer, Cal says, “It’s natural.”

“How would you know?”

“Because he has green eyes, duh.”

Trey says, “It could be hair dye and colored contacts.”

I almost laugh. I hate the way I look. If I altered my look, why would I ever choose this?

“What about his freckles,” Cal asks. “Do you think those are fake too?”

“And you’re so pale. How are you so white?”

Nico says, “Trey, it’s January. What do you expect?”

“I’m just getting to know our new friend here. If he dyes his hair, wears contacts, paints on his freckles and has a foot fetish, that’s all fine with me. Good for him.”

I blush. Hoping to avoid having to prove anything, I say, “It’s all natural. All of it. My skin doesn’t tan, it only burns. I wear sunscreen 9 months of the year.”

Trey grunts. As they turn and walk to their lane, Nico sneaks me an apologetic half smile and my dick returns a half salute.

For the next 30 minutes the three of them bowl their first game as I read my book. Then a shadow crosses my page. I look up and Trey and Cal are looking down on me. Trey says, “We’re bored. We want to play with you.”

Nico appears from behind them, “What he means is he wants you to bowl with us. He wants to even us up and make it two teams of two.”

Trey smiles, “Sure. In a minute. But first, I still can’t stop thinking about whether or not you were lying to us.”

I place my book face down on the counter. “Lying about what?”

“You,” he says. “You said it’s all natural. I want to see for myself.”

They move quickly around the counter and I have the ridiculously irrational thought that only employees are allowed back here. Cal moves behind me, lifts me out of the chair and holds my arm behind my back. Trey is in front of me and he grabs a fistful of my hoodie. My heart is pounding. I’ve never been beat up before and suddenly I’m terrified. Where is Nico? He’s been the voice of reason tonight. And there he is. He says, “Trey, you don’t have to do this. Leave him alone. He’s just doing his job.”

“Of course I don’t have to, I want to.”

I close my eyes and wonder if the first punch will land on my jaw or in the stomach. But that’s not what happens. He unzips my sweatshirt and finds I’m wearing a t-shirt under it. He grabs my t-shirt and yanks it up to my armpits. For a moment, all three of them stare at my chest and stomach. I don’t work out. I should, but I don’t. I’m skinny, but soft and vulnerable at the same time.

It’s Cal who speaks first, “See, I told you it’s natural. There’s all the proof you need.” He points and I realize he’s indicating the treasure trail of short red hair that begins at my navel and disappears beneath the waistband of my jeans. “He couldn’t dye that,” Cal insists.

Trey seems to be in a trance. He’s still staring. Cal adds, “His stomach is even whiter than his face. I guess that’s because there are no freckles down there.”

I look to Nico for some help here, but he’s staring too. And he’s had a way longer look than I had of him in History class all those years ago. All the staring is making my crotch stir again. Hopefully not so much that they notice.

Cal is the only one who’s spoken in the last few minutes. To fill the silence he adds, “It’s like porcelain or something. You know? So white. And smooth. I bet at the beach all the girls are jealous.”

That makes me even harder and I’m filling my jeans quickly. It also makes me blush again and Trey and Nico seem to snap out of their daze. Nico says, “Let’s get back to bowling.”

Trey pulls my shirt back down and looks up to my green eyes, “We need our fourth.”

I shake my head, “I’m on duty.”

He looks around the empty building, “Who’s gonna know?”

“Great!” he grins. “You’ll be on Nico’s team!”

Nico says, “If Cody doesn’t want to—”

Trey points at him, “No! He let us down already with the food and the beer. We are paying customers. What we want, we get. We want him to play.” He looks down at my feet. “But he can’t bowl in those. What size shoe are you?”

I completely forgot that I was going to change from my boots to my high tops like an hour ago right when these guys pulled up. I’ve now been wearing these thermal snow boots for four hours and I’m once again aware that my feet are burning hot. A small part of me believes that if I don’t tell him my shoe size then this won’t happen. I say nothing. He can see the resolve in my eyes. I can see in his eyes that he takes this as a challenge.

He says, “If you won’t tell me then there’s only one way to find out.” He nods at Cal who grabs my arms again and the two of them wrestle me to the floor. I don’t put up too much of a fight – what would be the point? Any one of these guys is three times stronger than me. They each straddle one of my legs and try to tug off my boots. They are laced too high and tight to slip off. Realizing this, they begin to slowly and methodically unlace each boot, taking their time. Like they’re unwrapping a present. With the laces finally loosened enough, my boots come off. My feet are as sweaty as I feared they might be. The cool air of the room can be felt through my sodden white Nike crew socks.

They each bend the tongue back on the boot they hold, read the label and say in unison, “A perfect 10!”

Nico grabs a pair of 10’s from under the counter, “Okay guys. I’ve got his size right here. Let him up and let’s get back to bowling.”

They are not moving so therefore, neither can I. Trey says, “He won’t willingly put those on. We’ll have to put them on for him.”

Cal sniffs, “Dude, I didn’t think it was humanly possible but I think his feet smell worse than yours do.”

Trey sniffs then covers his nose, “Oh my god! Is smelly feet a Ginger thing or something? Wow!”

It’s not a Ginger thing. It’s a snow boots thing. I forgot to change out of them and I wore them in the warm indoors for too long. But I say nothing.

“Maybe all of the stink is in the socks.” Trey barely grazes my foot and I flinch. “Mr. Sensitive,” he grins. “His socks are soaked through with sweat. That can’t be good. We better get them off of him before he catches a cold.”

“Or permanently damages my sense of smell with his insane funk,” Cal laughs.

Nico says, “Come on. Cody was just minding his own business. Don’t hurt him.”

Trey looks up, “Who said anything about hurting him?”

Cal says, “But feet this smelly cannot go unpunished.”

Oh no. Punished? What does that mean? If they’re not gonna hurt me then what? Tickle me? No one has tickled me since I was a little kid. I have no siblings and that’s just not something I ever did with friends in high school or college. I don’t even know for sure if I am ticklish, but if my involuntary reaction to Trey’s little touch just now is any indication, then I might be in some real trouble here. I feel my wet socks getting pulled off and I look at Nico. His eyes meet mine and I deflate when I see that his are helpless and resigned.

Cal says, “Seriously Kenny, I need a gasmask this close to your feet.”

I wish I could say they’re lying. Or at least exaggerating. The truth is, I can smell my own feet from way up here and it is pretty bad. I want to scream that it’s from the boots, but I remain silent.

Trey observes, “His feet are as white as his socks.” They both laugh.

“Except for his pink toes.”

“His toenails are perfect. Jeez, he could be a foot model.”

“How can a pair of feet look so perfect and smell so much like ass?”

The humiliation is actually making my erection even more erect. But I can’t worry about that anymore because the attack on my helpless feet has begun. My toes get bent back and fingernails begin a slow drag up the soles of my feet. My arms flail about and I realize that I’m actually screaming. I guess I am ticklish. One of them flosses my toes while the other grazes my arch. One of them swipes up and down the top of my foot while the other scratches at the ball of my foot. My captive feet get probed, prodded, raked and explored. Every inch. At least ten minutes have gone by and tears stream from my eyes as I howl in laughter. I think I just might pass out.

I don’t know if they finally get bored, can’t take the odor anymore or if they become genuinely concerned for my sanity, but they eventually stop. They still remain straddling my legs though and I feel the bowling shoes being worked onto my naked feet. Gross. Community rentals and no socks.

Once both shoes are tied, they stand and pull me up. Trey grins, “I guess redheads are extra ticklish.”

Because I’m afraid of what might happen if I don’t bowl with them, I go pick out a ball. In the first frame, Trey rolls a strike, Cal gets a spare, Nico has 9 and I have 7. Trey looks at me and says, “Take off your hoodie.”

“The hoodie isn’t my problem. I’m just not very good at bowling,” I say.