Hi my name's Jake. I'm a 5'8, 150 pound, bespectacled (but cute!) college nerd majoring in
Information Technology. I'm gay, and I also have a huge foot fetish, two facts which are
(thankfully) unknown to my 6'0, 200 pound jock dorm mate. His name is Josh.
One evening while I was working on my laptop, Josh walks in wearing a sweaty t-shirt, athletic
shorts, and his worn-out size 12 Nike High Tops.
"Yo Josh, what's up," I asked.
"Not much, I'm just beat, man," he replied, while grabbing a beer from the fridge.
"Yeah, you look like it," I laughed, "Basket ball game?"
"Yup, kicked ass like always."
"You're delusional. Grab me a beer too while you're over there, will ya?"
Josh lumbered over to the "living room" with the beers, gave one to me, peeled off his sweaty
t-shirt, pulled off his shoes, then plopped his ass down on the sofa opposite me, cradled his
hands behind his head, made a lengthy exhale, and perched his big socked feet on the coffee
table.
I was sitting on the couch directly opposite him, with the coffee table between us, which
afforded me an excellent view of his big socked feet. Almost immediately, my eyes were glued to
his feet. Almost in a trance, I surveyed those feet like a true connoisseur, noticing how his
socks were indeed damp and sweaty, how they clung to the shape of his feet, noticing the well
defined contours of his heels, arches, and meaty toes. As he reclined on the sofa relaxing, with
his eyes closed (luckily for me), he begin to slowly wiggle his toes, clenching and unclenching
them, which was a delight to watch, because it made his socked soles wrinkle and curl up like
fists. And of course the scent, which wafted across the room to my eager nostrils, like a fine
perfume to me. Suddenly Josh opened his eyes and spoke.
"You alright, man? You look like you're in a trance or somethin'. How many beers have ya had
today?" He laughed good naturedly. I snapped out of my trance, quickly averting my prurient gaze
away from his feet (with some difficulty), and back to my laptop. Perceiving that during the
length of my trance blood was rushing to my dick, I crossed my legs, hoping that I didn't have a
noticable bulge in my khakis.
"Sorry man, I guess I'm just exhausted. Been working on my assignments all day," I said as a
pathetic attempt to save face.
"Yeah, I'm worn out too. My feet are killin' me."
As soon as he said the phrase "my feet are killing me," some sort of restraining bolt in my
brain just popped out, and I blurted out these words before I could stop myself:
"Have you ever had a foot massage?"
Hearing this, Josh immediately opened his eyes and looked at me in a piercing, inquisitive
manner.
"I- I mean, by a girl, of course, haha!" I stuttered, feeling my cheeks flush, hoping to God
Almighty that my face wasn't turning a shade of red due to this disastrous blunder.
"Nah man, never got one. Most girls are grossed out by guys feet."
"And that doesn't make any sense, does it? I mean, feet are feet, everyone's got 'em, right?
Chicks pay so much attention to their own feet, getting pedicures, painting their nails, all
that shit. So it seems kinda hypocritical for them to refuse to even give a guy a foot massage!"
It might have been my imagination, but at that moment, I thought I saw something in Josh's eyes
light up. "Wanna give me one?" he asked.
For a moment, I just sat there completely stunned, mistrusting my own ears as to whether or not
he really just said what I though he said.
"Y-you mean, like, ME give you a foot massage?" I stuttered in disbelief.
"Yeah man, 'cuz no one else has ever offered to give me one, and I could use one, I've been on
my feet all day."
I jumped at this unbelievable opportunity.
"Ok, just lie down on the couch... here's a pillow for your head, and just prop your feet up on
the armrest."
As he did that, I rushed to get some toys, including a fur glove, an ostrich feather, a bottle
of warming massage oil, a Hitachi "massager", and two silk ties. I put them all in a discrete
duffel bag. When I returned with the bag of goodies, he inquired what was inside, and I told him
it was just "massage stuff." I pulled up a comfy chair and sat right in front of his socked
feet. I pulled out the silk ties.
"What are those things for?" Josh asked.
"You don't know?" I asked in mock surprise. "All the professional foot massage places use them.
They're meant to hold the client's feet in place to ensure the very best possible massage!"
I don't think Josh bought that baloney (he wasn't THAT dumb) but he put up no resistance as I
diligently wrapped the ties around one ankle, securing it with an intricate knot, then did the
same with the other ankle, and then secured the excess slack of the ties to the bottom of the
couch. When I finished, he playfully tugged at the bonds, trying to move his feet this way and
that, but my handiwork allowed his feet a very minimal range of movement (much to my delight.)
So there I was, sitting very comfortably in front of my jock buddie's tied down socked feet as
he lied supine on the sofa. This was going to be fun!!!
*To Be Continued*
Information Technology. I'm gay, and I also have a huge foot fetish, two facts which are
(thankfully) unknown to my 6'0, 200 pound jock dorm mate. His name is Josh.
One evening while I was working on my laptop, Josh walks in wearing a sweaty t-shirt, athletic
shorts, and his worn-out size 12 Nike High Tops.
"Yo Josh, what's up," I asked.
"Not much, I'm just beat, man," he replied, while grabbing a beer from the fridge.
"Yeah, you look like it," I laughed, "Basket ball game?"
"Yup, kicked ass like always."
"You're delusional. Grab me a beer too while you're over there, will ya?"
Josh lumbered over to the "living room" with the beers, gave one to me, peeled off his sweaty
t-shirt, pulled off his shoes, then plopped his ass down on the sofa opposite me, cradled his
hands behind his head, made a lengthy exhale, and perched his big socked feet on the coffee
table.
I was sitting on the couch directly opposite him, with the coffee table between us, which
afforded me an excellent view of his big socked feet. Almost immediately, my eyes were glued to
his feet. Almost in a trance, I surveyed those feet like a true connoisseur, noticing how his
socks were indeed damp and sweaty, how they clung to the shape of his feet, noticing the well
defined contours of his heels, arches, and meaty toes. As he reclined on the sofa relaxing, with
his eyes closed (luckily for me), he begin to slowly wiggle his toes, clenching and unclenching
them, which was a delight to watch, because it made his socked soles wrinkle and curl up like
fists. And of course the scent, which wafted across the room to my eager nostrils, like a fine
perfume to me. Suddenly Josh opened his eyes and spoke.
"You alright, man? You look like you're in a trance or somethin'. How many beers have ya had
today?" He laughed good naturedly. I snapped out of my trance, quickly averting my prurient gaze
away from his feet (with some difficulty), and back to my laptop. Perceiving that during the
length of my trance blood was rushing to my dick, I crossed my legs, hoping that I didn't have a
noticable bulge in my khakis.
"Sorry man, I guess I'm just exhausted. Been working on my assignments all day," I said as a
pathetic attempt to save face.
"Yeah, I'm worn out too. My feet are killin' me."
As soon as he said the phrase "my feet are killing me," some sort of restraining bolt in my
brain just popped out, and I blurted out these words before I could stop myself:
"Have you ever had a foot massage?"
Hearing this, Josh immediately opened his eyes and looked at me in a piercing, inquisitive
manner.
"I- I mean, by a girl, of course, haha!" I stuttered, feeling my cheeks flush, hoping to God
Almighty that my face wasn't turning a shade of red due to this disastrous blunder.
"Nah man, never got one. Most girls are grossed out by guys feet."
"And that doesn't make any sense, does it? I mean, feet are feet, everyone's got 'em, right?
Chicks pay so much attention to their own feet, getting pedicures, painting their nails, all
that shit. So it seems kinda hypocritical for them to refuse to even give a guy a foot massage!"
It might have been my imagination, but at that moment, I thought I saw something in Josh's eyes
light up. "Wanna give me one?" he asked.
For a moment, I just sat there completely stunned, mistrusting my own ears as to whether or not
he really just said what I though he said.
"Y-you mean, like, ME give you a foot massage?" I stuttered in disbelief.
"Yeah man, 'cuz no one else has ever offered to give me one, and I could use one, I've been on
my feet all day."
I jumped at this unbelievable opportunity.
"Ok, just lie down on the couch... here's a pillow for your head, and just prop your feet up on
the armrest."
As he did that, I rushed to get some toys, including a fur glove, an ostrich feather, a bottle
of warming massage oil, a Hitachi "massager", and two silk ties. I put them all in a discrete
duffel bag. When I returned with the bag of goodies, he inquired what was inside, and I told him
it was just "massage stuff." I pulled up a comfy chair and sat right in front of his socked
feet. I pulled out the silk ties.
"What are those things for?" Josh asked.
"You don't know?" I asked in mock surprise. "All the professional foot massage places use them.
They're meant to hold the client's feet in place to ensure the very best possible massage!"
I don't think Josh bought that baloney (he wasn't THAT dumb) but he put up no resistance as I
diligently wrapped the ties around one ankle, securing it with an intricate knot, then did the
same with the other ankle, and then secured the excess slack of the ties to the bottom of the
couch. When I finished, he playfully tugged at the bonds, trying to move his feet this way and
that, but my handiwork allowed his feet a very minimal range of movement (much to my delight.)
So there I was, sitting very comfortably in front of my jock buddie's tied down socked feet as
he lied supine on the sofa. This was going to be fun!!!
*To Be Continued*
