Chapter 2
He notices my predicament and explains, “Sorry again. I just need to check for high arches.”
I guess that makes sense. I mean, I think I’ve heard of high arches. It must be a real condition. I would assume that high arches are bad, but I really don’t know. I ask, “What’s the prognosis, Doc?”
He chuckles, “You’re gonna pull through.”
He continues on to examine each toe individually and I can’t help but let out an embarrassing groan of pleasure. What toe conditions could he be checking for? I’m not sure I want to know. Next, he tells me that he needs to know if have any pain anywhere. He says he’ll be pressing all areas of my foot and I need to tell him if anything hurts. So that’s what he does. Every square inch of my foot, top, bottom and sides gets a press and it’s all pleasure, no pain. Am I supposed to be enjoying the examination? Is something wrong with me?
Reading my mind, the doctor says, “There is absolutely nothing wrong with you. At least not with that one.” He sets my bare left foot down and replaces it with my still booted right foot. He begins the same routine on foot #2. As the boot comes off, I get a fresh waft of smelly funk. Now there are two feet fouling up the room. How is he tolerating this? This foot, fresh out of the boot, is extra damp and ultra-sensitive. I twitch and flinch at every touch. For the third time the doctor says, “Sorry.”
I’m practically getting high on his scent. If I’m not careful I might have an eruption inside my jeans. That would be uncomfortable. As I begin the same routine on his right foot, I start asking him some questions. This is unusual for me. I usually focus on my fetish and talk as little as possible, but this Kid isn’t just another sexy guy with sexy feet. I like him. He’s funny and cool. And at the very least, I’ll see him every Wednesday for the next few months at poker night.
“Where do you go to school?”
“Good school. Do you like it?”
“It’s cool. I like the campus and the classes. And my classmates are all pretty nice. Nothing like the assholes in high school.”
I scoff, “Only losers like high school. High school sucks.”
I guess I said the right thing because he rewards me with an adorable laugh.
“What’s your major?”
“Chemistry. I love lab work. And with everything you’ve taught me today about proper foot care, I’ll be able to stand in the lab 8 hours every day and remain corn-free until the day I retire.”
I bark out a laugh. “Are you making fun of me?” I squeeze his captive foot in my hand, not too hard but hard enough to display my dominance. “That’s a bold move considering the vulnerable position you find yourself in.”
He giggles, but it’s a nervous giggle.
I strip off his second sock and this foot is as beautiful as the first one. As I do so, my thumb again “accidentally” drags along his sole and he involuntarily jerks and laughs. I pretend to be sorry for at least the fourth time. I’ve lost count. Would he notice if I steal his smelly white socks? I want to keep them on my bedside table forever. Maybe if I sell him a new pair of work socks and make him try them on, his old socks will be forgotten. Forgotten in my pocket.
I ask, “I assume the college paired you up with a roommate. How’s that going?”
I can hardly decipher his reply because my visual inspection has his musky bare foot only inches from my face. I’ve never sniffed glue or smoked pot, but I think I’m actually starting to buzz.
The Kid says, “His name is Danny. He’s a really nice guy. We became friends on the first day. I was afraid at first that we’d have nothing in common because we seemed so different. We’re the same height, but he’s on the wrestling team. He’s athletic and popular. His biceps are as big as my thighs.” The Kid flexes for me and, unimpressed with his own bicep says, “Mine are not.”
I laugh again. While it’s true that the Kid here is not gonna win a weightlifting competition anytime soon, when he flexed, it made my dick twitch in its denim prison.
I say, “You said you two are friends, right? I’m sure he doesn’t care about superficial stuff like that.”
“You’re right. He doesn’t. And being roommates, we spend more time together than with anyone else on campus. We’re cool.”
I’m not this kid’s dad (thank god), but it seems like there’s something he’s not saying. I feel protective of him. I prompt, “But…?”
He sighs, “This is gonna sound weird and maybe he and I were just raised differently. Maybe it’s how his family is or just how he grew up. Danny kind of doesn’t understand the concept of personal space.”
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. If this kid were my roommate, I’d pretty much violate his personal space on a daily basis too. “Had you ever shared a room with anyone else ever before? Like with a brother or something? Is he the first roommate you’ve ever had?”
“I’m an only child.”
“Look, Kid. When you share such a small room with another person, you end up all up in each other’s space. Tell me what you mean. Give me a couple examples.”
I smile and a tingle spreads in my chest. I want to hug this kid right now too. I say, “Okay. And this bothers you?”
“Umm. No? But it’s weird. Is that weird? It’s kind of weird. He hugged me the moment I met him 9 months ago and has hugged me once every single day — that we’re in the same town — since then.”
“Okay. Some guys high-five, some guys fist-bump, some guys clap shoulders, some slap butts… I guess Danny hugs.”
“Yeah. A lot. And he holds the hug a beat or two longer than what seems natural. If so much hugging were natural. And sometimes during the hug, one of his hands accidentally ends up under my shirt and on my bare skin.”
“Well, I guess I’m a little ticklish. I know it’s an accident, but he has to feel me flinch every time it happens. And there’s no way he doesn’t feel the goosebumps it gives me immediately upon contact.”
I’m halfway through my pain point/pressure test on his second foot. “So, we’ve established that he’s a hugger and you’re not. Have you thought about telling him? If he knew it made you uncomfortable, don’t you think he’d stop?”
Who the hell am I to suggest that someone else might stop doing something that he thought was making another person uncomfortable. I’m basically molesting this poor kid’s sexy, smelly foot as we’re talking.
He considers this, “But I don’t want to risk our friendship or make our roommate dynamic awkward. And besides, I never said I didn’t like the hugs. He’s a really good hugger. I just said it’s weird.”
“So, you like the hugs then.” I say it as a statement. An established fact.
I shake my head, “What else you got?”
“He… Umm… He gives me massages.”
I haven’t met him, but I’m starting to really like Danny. I have a sudden mental image of this Kid with all four of his limbs tied to the corners of a massage table while he’s spread eagle and totally naked. In my mind he’s fully erect and a perfect 6 inches. Not small, but not so big that I can’t swallow him whole and too easily bring him to multiple convulsive orgasms. I shake the image clear of my head, but not so much that I can’t revisit it later, when I’m alone and sniffing his dirty socks while I lie in my bed giving myself multiple convulsive orgasms… I clear my throat and ask, “Massages?”
“Yeah. Unsolicited. Like, he just starts massaging on me. Pretty much every day.”
As I knead away at the Kid’s naked, captive foot, I ask, “How. Tell me what he does.”
“So, his last class runs later than mine. Every day I make it back to our dorm before him. If I’m standing when he enters, I get my daily hug first. If I’m sitting at my desk, he comes up behind me and massages my neck, shoulders and upper back. I don’t ask him to; he just does it. For like a half hour. I never massage him back, but he keeps massaging me.”
“And you don’t say anything about it? You just let it happen?”
“Like with the hugs, I don’t want to hurt his feelings or jeopardize our friendship. It’s not worth it. And like with the hugs, I kind of like the massages too.”
This Kid. I can’t stop smiling. “So you like the massages then.”
“Well, yeah. He has big, strong wrestler hands. He puts his hands on me and I kind of turn to jelly.”
He sees the confused look on my face.
“It’s just that it’s weird, right? Don’t you think it’s weird?”
This Kid is so asking the wrong person that question.
He continues, “I did try making myself unavailable, but that didn’t work out too well.”
“I thought, what if I’m not at my desk when he walks in? If he misses his opportunity, maybe he’ll slowly get out of the habit. So I took to studying while sitting on my bed with my back safely against the wall and my legs stretched in front of me.”
“But that didn’t work out?”
“Now he comes in, sits at the foot of my bed, puts my feet in his lap and gives me lengthy foot rubs.”
I really am about to cum.
“He always starts over the socks and halfway through, the socks come off. And you heard me right. I said ‘always’. It wasn’t a one-time thing. If I was on my bed, a foot massage was coming my way. Like it or not.”
“Yes! Of course I like it. His big, strong hands working away at my tired feet? But it makes me uncomfortable. Have you ever felt guilty pleasure and awkward embarrassment at the same time?”
Every day of my life. I say, “Maybe?”
“So I started leaving my shoes on. I figured if he walked in and found me on my bed as usual, but my shoes were still on, he’d skip the foot rub.”
“Did he? Skip the foot rub?”
“No. He sat down at the foot of my bed like always and put my feet in his lap like always. He almost seemed to enjoy this even more. Like my feet with shoes still on were a wrapped gift just for him.”
That’s exactly how I feel. Okay, Danny has a foot fetish. And he has the world’s best subject to exercise his demons on. If I wasn’t already, I am now totally jealous of Danny. I want to manhandle these beautiful feet every day. I want to trade lives with Danny.
The Kid continues, “So, he untied my lace and slipped off my shoe before giving me the same foot massage I’d been getting daily at that point. The thing is, the shoes being on made it worse for me.”
No. He means better. Not worse. It was better.
“Fresh out of the shoe, I was extra sensitive. He had to realize it, right? My sock was damp and my foot twitched at his every touch.”
Precum is absolutely gushing out of my dick at this point. I bite my lip. “So, he hugs you and gives you friendly massages. Is there anything else?”
“No. We’re friends. He’s a really nice guy. We talk about classes and friends and home and family. I’m super glad he’s my roommate.”
“You said you’re both very different people; I mean, he’s an athlete and popular. You said that you are not those things. Do you two share any of the same interests? Do you like the same books? Movies? Music? Do you binge the same shows?”
“Books and movies, I don’t know. Shows and music, yeah. I mean…I think so. Whenever I’m watching videos or shows on my laptop or on my phone, he comes and joins in with me. We talk about it and laugh and we both seem to enjoy it.”
“So, do you plan it? Do you have a schedule? A set routine? How does it work?”
“No routine. If I’m watching something he comes and sits next to me. It’s kind of another personal space thing of his. I know that laptops and iPhones are small, but he kind of leans right into me. Shoulder to shoulder and thigh to thigh. One time, he actually fell asleep with his head on my shoulder.”
I’m starting to get a clearer picture here. This is a really smart, sensitive, intuitive Kid here. How can he be so clueless? I have finished my examination. I place his right foot down and declare it as healthy as its counterpart.
I ask the Kid, “Does he ever cross a line with you?”
He crinkles his nose, “What do you mean?”
“Everybody’s line is drawn in different places. Does Danny ever do anything to you that you don’t want done? Does he use his strength against you?”
“Does he tickle you?”
“Only accidentally when he doesn’t realize it.”
“So… Never in a torturous, evil manner?”
“His hugs and massages are harmless?”
“Totally. A little weird, but well-intentioned.”
“He doesn’t violate you in any way?”
The Kid cocks another eyebrow at me.
“Does he… I don’t know. Does he spy on you in the showers?”
“Does he creep on you while you’re sleeping?”
“Oh my god! Of course not!”
“Have you ever caught him sniffing your dirty clothes?”
“Does he try to get you naked? Does he parade himself around in front of you naked more than absolutely necessary as roommates?”
“He’s a nice guy. He’d never do any of that.”
This Kid. So smart and so dumb. I measure his feet. “You were right. You’re a 10.5. But these work boots come in European sizes. A man’s 10.5 is a European 44.”
I disappear into the back room and return with a pair of work socks and the proper sized boots that meet all of David’s specifications. There are several more things that I would generally do right now to my captive customer under normal circumstances. I would personally be the one to put his new work socks on his gorgeous feet, all the while taking unnecessary time and explaining the virtues of compression and breathability. I would put his new boots on his feet for him, ‘accidentally’ swiping up each sole multiple more times while doing so and lacing them up slowly and lovingly before putting him through numerous tests to ensure a proper fit. After pulling them back off, I might even be so bold as to give him a tongue bath, licking his salty, musky dried sweat right off his baby-smooth feet. Sucking his toes one at a time and making his eyes roll back into head. Then I’d tell him that he needs more safety gear. I’d fit him for a back brace, making him reach his arms high above his head, exposing his navel while I take measurements I don’t really need. If his belly button were a sexy innie, I’d continue the charade. If it were a gross outie, I’d leave it be. The thing with belly buttons is you never know what you’ve got until it’s revealed. I wanted to do all of that to this Kid today. I planned to. But now I can’t.