True Stories of the Foot-Sucking Pervert

Before I tell this story, I'm going to admit that I'm a total sucker (ha) for badboy types sporting hot footwear. The obsession developed during college when I used to cruise campus tearooms a lot and started to make a connection between certain types of footwear and the guys they were usually attached to. At the time, it was usually hightop Nike basketball shoes. Skater shoes were just starting to become popular. I remember one dirty skater boy in a pair of onestars in particular...but anyway. While I was in college there were three or four times when the guy, footwear, traffic in the bathroom and layout of the room were right and I managed to get the shoes off and feet in my mouth. They all seemed to enjoy it, but not nearly as much as I did. I think I liked it better than their dicks, or at least pretty close.

I think I already had a "foot thing" going, I just wasn't really aware of it. My senior year in high school I went to the drive-in with a couple of buddies, including one that I was crazy hot for. We were watching some R-rated titty flick and at one point my friend kicked off his Adidas. God his feet smelled! The other guys in the car started yelling and made him get out but I can recall thinking it wasn't bad. That, plus the dirty movie, and wanting him so bad, seem to have just stuck. A couple years later, add in the hot guys with equally hot footwear on campus, and it became a fixation. I just wanted to clear up how intense this desire is for me before I talk about what happened earlier tonight.

This afternoon, I was at McCaran Airport in Las Vegas, catching a flight back to Seattle. This was a good day to be in this airport, because there were some fratboys, skaters, and general bad boys hanging around. Probably there on spring break or something. Weird that the aiport was really quiet. There wasn't anyone in line at security.

I was schlepping through with luggage and a briefcase, in a coat and tie, with three other guys from work. All the way through the airport, I had been ogling these little studs in their Osiris, Adidas, and lots of sandals. As we got off the walkway and went into the gate area, we came up behind a guy who was walking alone. He was about 20, and had all my alarms going off--tall, around 6' 2", red hair (another big turn on), wearing a hat on backwards, sunglasses on top of the hat. He was also sporting a really baggy pair of red Nike basketball shorts and a t-shirt. He was a little on the lanky side, with nice long legs. I couldn't really see his face but once I saw his feet I didn't need to: largish (maybe 11 or 12) Filas. Not sure which ones, I haven't seen them before. But to make it better, he wasn't wearing any socks. I got close enough to make sure it wasn't a case of barely-visible footy-socks. He was sockless all right. I was beside myself.

I started following this guy around through the gate area, and wondered off from my co-workers. I know it was stupid, but this guy was just scorching. And those shoes! I just knew they reeked like sweaty boy feet. He was walking through all the slot machines with a backpack, and finally turned and I got a look at his face. Handsome enough, nothing special. He had one of those dumb half- goatees that I like. He also wore a semi-hostile expression on his face that seems to be consistent among dim heterosexual youth these days. All of which just made him hotter in my book.

Ten years ago, I might have had the nerve to hit on someone like him, only in another situation (likely a men's room someplace). As it is now, I wouldn't even consider it. I've gotten older, and wider, starting to go grey. There is no way in hell someone like that would even have a conversation with me, much less be picked up.

Still, I was totally captivated. I eventually went over and joined my friends near the gate, and sat down to wait for the plane to board. It turned out that the 7:30 was now expected to leave at 8:20, and I had about an hour and a half to kill. I was sitting there dicking with my phone, trying to keep an eye out for him in case he wandered by again. Sure enough, a couple minutes later he sat down across and about 15 feet down from me. I had a perfect view. I just sat there with my head down, acting like I was doing something with my phone, sneaking glances at him and those big ol' feet all I could.

I sat, and obsessed, and fretted and just got more and more worked up. After a few minutes I made a phone call and got up and walked around, then just happened to sit down next to him. I knew I was a pervert when I leaned over to tie my shoe, just trying to get close enough to pick up a whiff of his feet. No luck. Shit. When I leaned up he kind of gave me a hostile glance. I think he may have noticed me by this point.

I went back over to my first seat and just killed time for another 20 minutes or so, and a plan started to come together. Now, I admit that I have paid for sex three times in my life. Once, a college friend and I went to the Kansas City bus station and picked up some filthy kid who let us both fuck him for $40. We did that just to see what it was like. Two other times are more recent. I've pretty much stopped hanging out in tearooms, but on a couple occasions I've dropped in to a notorious one in Seattle and have run into the same cute skater kid who does this act where he shows his dick and then asks for $50. He settles for $20 and gets fucked, so I figured it was money well spent.

Anyway, I wanted this redhead and his Filas so bad I wasn't even thinking right. I had planned on doing some gambling--and didn't have time--so I had a couple hundred bucks in my wallet. After a lot of hemming and hawing, I dug a post-it out of my briefcase and wrote on it:

"I'll give you $100 if you let me suck you off, no questions asked. It will take 5 minutes. Follow me."

I folded it in half and sat and fidgeted for about another ten minutes. Finally I walked as casually as I could past him, then turned back and said, "Excuse me, I think you dropped this," and handed him the paper. I know I looked like a complete fool and I was shaking like crazy. Then I made a beeline for the concourse, planning on heading to a mens room and getting him to join me in a stall. I went about halfway down the concourse and stopped at a water fountain and looked back. No humpy redhead. Now I was really fucked. I had to go back to my friends, get my luggage, and get on a plane right in front of this guy. I was afraid he'd make a scene.

I figured I'd wait until the flight had been called, then run and grab my bag from where we were all sitting and bolt for the plane. As luck would have it, another coworker happened by and asked what I was doing standing there in the hallway. So I followed him back in, trying to stay hidden amongst the slot machines. The guy was still sitting in the same place, and was looking around. He saw me, got up calmly, and started walking toward me. I figured he might say something, but we were surrounded by old ladies and their quarters so I wasn't too afraid for my safety right then. His gaze was actually fixed in the distance, and he walked right past me. As he passed, he reached out and punched me in the arm as hard as he could, I'm sure. It hurt like hell. But he kept on walking down the concourse.

Grateful that it was over, I went over and sat with my friends and waited for them to call our flight. I still had about 45 minutes before we boarded. I had pulled out a magazine and was slouched down in the seat still smarting and a little freaked out. A few minutes later, the redheaded target of my clumsy advance strolled over, calm as can be, and sat down directly across from me. My coworkers were two seats down, with our luggage in between. Now I was fucking scared he would say something. But, he just sat there. He was staring right past me, into the distance. One knee was bouncing up and down really really fast, and he was gripping both armrests really tight. I looked down at my magazine for a minute. When I looked back up, he mumbled in a voice so quiet I could just barely hear it, "Two hundred." His head was shaking side-to-side just the tiniest bit, like he couldn't believe it or something.

The guy had already hit me, and I was scared shitless. So I looked back down at my magazine and pretended to read. He didn't leave. I looked back up at him. He was still sitting in the exact same position, with his legs spread a little. His long, muscular, lightly haired legs that ended in two huge feet. I gave in. I didn't even look him in the eye but said "Carl, I gotta go to the can. Watch my bags again, OK?" and got up.

He waited until I was out of the gate area and on the concouse and started following. There still weren't many people around but I didn't want to risk getting caught, so I went to the end of the first moving walkway and a little farther, where there was a small men's room away from the larger ones closer to the gates. I looked back and he was still behind me, with that same hostile stare fixed on his face. Yes, I was fucking terrified. But I figured this may be the only chance I ever get to have something this hot again.

I went in the men's room. It was empty, a two-holer with one urinal. I walked into the handicapped stall on the end and pulled the door shut but didn't latch it. He was right behind me, but stood in front of the stall door until I finally swung it open and motioned him inside. He came in and I shut the door and latched it. I looked up into those green eyes, and I swear it was like there was nothing looking back at me.

He said, "I want cash first." I pulled a hundred out of my pocket and showed it to him, then put it back in my pocket and said "After." Then we just stood there for a very awkward 10 seconds that seemed like an hour. I think he nearly bolted. Eventually, I reached for his crotch and rubbed it. He gave no reaction, still staring straight ahead. I started to kneel down but the floor was soaking wet so I raised the toilet seat and told him to stand on the rim. He hopped up with no argument and stood, holding on to the top of the stall with one hand for balance. I looked down at those fucking amazing big sweaty no-socked feet and then back up at him and said, "For two hundred I want to suck your toes too." Incidentally, I have discovered that this is the best way to describe it when you want to service someone's feet and they haven't been introduced to the concept yet.

I finally got a facial expression: a sneer, followed by disgust. He said, "Fuck. No." or something similar, I can't remember my heart was beating so hard. With no real ammo left after his flat denial, I could only say weakly, "Come on." No reaction. So, I squatted down and reached for his left foot. I put a hand on the back of the shoe and with my other sort of stroked the top. When I looked up he was back to staring off in to space. At this point it seemed like he was at least going to hold still for it, so I pulled on his knee and lifted up on the foot. He raised it on his own, and I started to pull it off from the back. His feet were sweaty, and the shoes were tied so it was really tough to get it off of his foot. In the process I slipped and one of my knees landed in the water and god knows what else on the floor. But, the shoe came off. The stud was still studying the wall intently so I slid the shoe the rest of the way off his sweaty foot. The smell hit me then. Strong and pungent, but not really ripe. I was happy though it could have been much stronger. Of course, I buried my face in that shoe and just breathed the funk in for a few seconds, and managed to lick the insole a little too. Size 12, by the way.

I turned my attention to his foot, which was creased from wearing the shoe all day but still really nice. Nails had been trimmed in recent history and there didn't appear to be any other hygiene- related issues. I pulled it toward me, and slid the big toe into my mouth. It smelled and tasted wonderful, as I imagined. I'm sure it was at least partly because he was a strapping red-headed straight boy. Unfortunately the angle was all wrong and I was afraid I'd spook him if I tried getting him into a different position so I wasn't able to give it the attention it deserved. I just sucked on the toes.

After a minute he mumbled, "I gotta go." I took this as a request to get on with things so I half- heartedly stood up and started rubbing his crotch. I could feel dick, but no reaction of any kind. I rubbed for a bit, and he told me to "take it out." I pulled down the front of the shorts and his boxers and found a nice, but limp, fat dick surrounded by a very large dark-red bush. Nothing huge but perfectly nice. I wrapped my lips around it and started sucking, tonguing, and pulling, trying to get a rise. It slowly started to get hard, and I was definitely enjoying the funk coming off of his sweaty balls. I kept sucking and after a couple minutes let my hand wonder around behind him and pulled the shorts down to about mid-thigh. I trailed my fingers up and down his asscrack and started to poke inside.

He was having none of that and roughly grabbed my arm and flung it away from his backside. At this point he pulled his t-shirt up and put it over my head then put his hand behind my head and started slamming my mouth on to his dick as hard as he could. Why he did this, I'm not sure. I'm guessing he either didn't want to touch me, or didn't want to see who was sucking his dick. I know a lot of guys enjoy getting their face fucked like this, but I'm not one of them. I'd rather get to enjoy a guy's dick, take my time on it, and have him blow when I'm ready.

Things didn't work out that way this time. Someone walked in the john and he crouched down with a look of panic on his face. I was totally ready for him to run. But, he stayed on his perch and waited for the pisser to leave. When he stood back up, his dick was still hard and he put the shirt back over my head and started shoving again. After maybe 30 seconds of this he grunted and shot 3 or 4 big squirts of jizz in my mouth. I gulped it down and started to lick his dick clean. Nope, he was done. Shorts up. "Where's my shoe?"

I leaned down and retrieved his shoe from the shelf on the toilet paper dispenser. As I was handing it too him, I tried to get another lungful but he snatched it away and put his foot about halfway into it, then stepped down off of the toilet. He looked at me and made a "gimme gimme" gesture. I handed him a $100 and five twenties and he spun around and was outta there, shoe half on. I heard him stop to get it the rest of the way on and then out he went.

I wouldn't say I was completely satisfied with my purchase but no real complaints either. I wanted to jerk out a load right there but someone else came in and I started worrying that my flight was going to leave without me so I straightened myself up and went back to the gate.

We still hadn't boarded so I went and sat with my colleagues. Mr. Redhead was nowhere to be seen. We boarded a few minutes later. I wondered if he was headed to Seattle or was on one of the other flights leaving from the same area. I wound up in 1B, right inside the door on the aisle so everyone else on the plane had to walk past me. He was the next-to-last one on board. The line stopped to let someone put away a bag and he wound up standing with his crotch about 12 inches from my face for almost a minute. You could have cut the tension with a knife and I couldn't bring myself to look him in the eye. So I occupied myself with staring at the beautiful foot I'd just been slurping on 10 minutes before. As soon as we took off I squeezed into the lavatory and whipped off a good one thinking of him.

What's funny is that I ran into him THREE more times before I left Sea-Tac. Once on the escalator, once in the parking garage, and once getting on the freeway. He had a nice black Honda and a perky girl by his side. He didn't wave.