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The Senior's Flip Flops
By Bryce Manning
Author's Note: I wrote this story with a significant foot fetish element hoping that might limit my page count (it really didn't work), but if feet aren't a total turn off you might still find it fun.
I'm sitting in my Advanced Placement English class, struggling to pay attention as the teacher lectures about the novel we're reading. I don't even remember the title right now. I'm looking at her, a pencil in my hand, but I'm thinking solely about Blake. Passing him on the stairs as I walked to third period had ensured, once again, that he was the only subject my mind could handle.
Blake is 6' tall, maybe 190 pounds, undoubtedly more muscular than 95% of the guys at the school. His blond hair is cropped short, almost a buzz cut, his face always clean-shaven. I'd only been brave enough to actually look into his eyes a couple of times, but they were the most beautiful, sparkling blue I've ever seen. Blake's skin is richly tanned like he spends countless outside, his arms and legs covered in a light dusting of fine hair. He's always grinning a perfect white smile, always laughing jovially with his friends whenever our paths cross. Hearing his deep, manly voice makes me melt.
I found the most perfect parts of Blake the very first time I noticed him walking toward me, as my eyes drank in the stunning sight of the hottest man I'd ever seen. When my glance drifted down his muscular legs, I realized he was wearing flip flops. My gaze was immediately glued to his nearly naked feet, cast down to the tile floor until they finally crept past me.
Like the rest of Blake, his feet were flawless. They were size twelves at least, maybe even bigger, and they were wide, on the verge of being too wide for the dark brown leather flip flops that contained them. The tops were as darkly tanned as the rest of his body, his toes a medium length, the index toes slightly longer than the big ones. All his nails were perfectly trimmed and completely clean, his tan making them seem impossibly white. I'd never seen a masculine guy with such well-groomed feet in my life.
The sight of Blake had been enough to make my dick chub up, but seeing his incredible feet had made it painfully hard. I reacted quickly, moving the book in my hand over my crotch to hide my throbbing desire from the dozens of other people walking around me. Ever since that first chance encounter, the one I'm sure he didn't even notice, I've been obsessed with Blake Harrison.
I'd learned his name within the day by stalking the social media profiles of other students, eventually finding a picture of a group of seniors that had Blake tagged. I felt excited clicking that link, expecting that it would lead me to dozens of stunning portraits of my new crush, but Blake's profiles were all private. Aside from a few tiny thumbnail-sized images of his grinning face, they yielded only his name. I'd have to settle for seeing him in real life.
After weeks of blatantly gawking several times a day, he'd noticed me checking him out countless times in the hallways or on the stairs. I'm sure he's used to that though. Everyone must constantly be checking him out. I tried to restrain myself, but I treasured those glimpses of Blake too much to give them up. I found myself thinking about him constantly. He was the man of my dreams, the kind of guy I'd always fantasized about when I jerked off. Now I was easily doing that two, three, even four times a night, picturing Blake's grin, the muscles on his tall frame, the perfect size 12 feet resting in the flip flops he always wore. I knew I was a mess.
I didn't think my infatuation could get worse, but that's when football season started. On game days, the members of the team always wear their jerseys to class. When I spied Blake during our first hallway meeting of the day, I immediately noticed the mesh fabric of his blue jersey. Of course he was on the football team. As Blake drew closer, my gaze drifted down to his white gym shorts, past his bulky legs, finally finding his feet still clad in that same pair of leather flip flops. I heard him laughing cockily as he passed by, wishfully imagining that he was intentionally teasing me even though I knew it wasn't true. I had to cover my bulge up yet again. I don't know why thinking about Blake wearing a full football uniform was so hot.
I suddenly hear laughter, my reverie breaking. Looking around the room, I have no idea why the entire class had just burst out. I stare down at the blank notebook in front of me as the teacher starts talking again. I don't know how to fix this. How do I get my focus back? How do I stop thinking about him all the time?
I've had intense crushes before, but my obsession with Blake is the worst one yet. I know it's the most pointless one too. Just looking at him, seeing the way he interacts with his friends, I know he's straight. Even if Blake were miraculously bi, I know he'd want a guy who looks like one of his muscular football buddies, not someone like me.
People always say I'm cute, but I'm also small: 5'7" and 140 pounds, a wiry kid who can barely grow facial hair, nevermind any on my body. I'm 16, but people who don't know me automatically assume I'm a freshman. I'm good at running but I've never lifted a weight or played a sport in my life. I know I'm way out of Blake's league.
The bell rings, snapping me out of my obsession again. I'd spent almost an hour sitting in this class and I'd learned absolutely nothing. I know I can't spend the whole year doing this every single day. Blake is ruining my life.
Looking around my dark bedroom, suddenly feeling sober after my fourth Blake-inspired orgasm of the night, I admit to myself that I'll never have him. He doesn't even know I exist, and if he did he wouldn't care. I need to move on. I try to sleep, tossing and turning for at least an hour, when Blake inevitably creeps into my thoughts again. I wish I could sniff the sweatsoaked leather soles of the flip flops he wears every single day. I wish I could know what his hot jock body smells like.
If I can't have Blake, I resolve, maybe I can be content having a part of him that will help me fulfill my lust. I'd take anything I could get: a sweaty shirt, a musty jockstrap, a smelly pair of his football cleats. Anything. Anything at all. How could I ever pull that off? I finally drift to sleep fantasizing about the possibilities.
I waste another school day imagining how I might steal a part of Blake. By the time the dismissal bell rings, I'd committed to the first step of a plan: I was going to start following Blake around after school, looking for an opening. I felt crazy as I donned my backpack, walked out of the classroom, and consciously held myself back from sprinting toward the gym.
The building is tucked away at the back of the school campus, bordering the athletic fields and the football stadium. I'd been there a couple dozen times when we were forced to assemble in the bleachers of the basketball court for pep rallies, so I know the sidewalk I'm traversing leads directly to the main entrance. I figured this is where I would first spot Blake.
Walking around the building, I notice that there are two other entrances: one leading out to the baseball field and track complex and another to the stadium. I know the latter is where I'll see Blake again, dressed out in full gear on his way to practice, accompanied by the rest of the football team and their coaches.
I've devoted the whole day to plotting a bold heist. I'm going to sneak into the football team's locker room and seize something that belongs to Blake. Maybe I really am crazy. The only realistic opportunities I'll have to penetrate the building will be while the players are out practicing on the field or after they finish and go home. Deciding my best option would require substantial surveillance. I need to figure out how long it takes everyone to get over to the stadium, how long they spend practicing, and how long they take to shower and leave the gym. I feel even crazier thinking about exactly what it will take to accomplish my mission, but I shrug it off. Blake made me this way, and now I need his help to overcome my obsession. I don't have a choice.
Circling back to my starting point, I plant myself at a picnic table that overlooks the gym's main entrance, opening my backpack and laying out a couple books to make it seem like I'm reading for class. I open one to a random page, my glance actually fixed on the sidewalk beyond. Guys are steadily streaming into the building, and plenty of girls too. I'd been so fixated on Blake I completely forgot they had teams. How many locker rooms are in that huge gym? I'd only seen the basketball court at the center and the hallway that leads to it. Opening the wrong door could easily ruin everything.
Then I see Blake's figure in the distance, his blond, tanned visage unmistakable as he struts up the gym. I can just barely make out the sound of his leather flip flops clapping against the sidewalk as he draws closer, disappearing inside the building. Seeing him again, I decide the risks are worth it if there's even a slim chance I can succeed. I know this is insane, but I need to have a piece of Blake.
I stow my decoy homework and relocate to a grove of trees that overlooks the gym entrance leading to the stadium, sitting down in the grass. I pull out another book, not even knowing which one I'm holding, not bothering to read any of the words on the pages, periodically casting my glance up to the doors. After fifteen boring minutes, I finally spy the first guy in football pads emerging. A couple dozen others filter out of the building before I spot Blake, now clad in that same blue jersey I'd seen him wear on his first game day, this time stretched over shoulder pads that make him look huge. He was holding a helmet in his hand, the white football pants and white crew socks stretching up from his cleats contrasting beautifully with his bronze skin. He's so perfect.
For a moment, I imagine him fucking me dressed just like that. Football helmet on, pants pulled down low enough to unleash his dick, his gloved hands gripping my ankles as he plunges his length in and out of my ass. I can't even imagine how amazing his feet must smell after a long, sweaty practice. I bite my lip, feeling my cock getting hard. I know I need to focus.
Fifteen minutes after my first sighting, the stream of players and coaches seems to cease. I imagine Blake out on the football field right now, his muscles bulging, sweating into all the gear I'd just seen him wearing. That's what I want to swipe the most, but I know it's all probably destined for a laundry pile as soon as they change. Or do they take everything home and wash it all themselves? Either way, one of the coaches probably locks the door after all the players leave. I wouldn't have a chance of penetrating the locker room then. My best opportunity is now.
I drop my book into my backpack, throwing it over my shoulder and starting to walk toward the entrance the football team had just emerged from. I wasn't sure how long the practice would last, but I only needed five minutes. My heart pumps faster as I draw closer to the building, my mind racing to think through a cover story if I get caught. I decide to claim I'm writing a story for the school paper about athletics, that I felt like I needed to see a locker room in order to accurately describe one. The excuse would fold with the slightest checking, but maybe it would suffice if someone caught me. I don't care anyway. I have to do this.
My hand is shaking as I pull one of the gym doors open, cool air thick with the sweaty, masculine scent of a locker room flooding over me. Walking into a hallway I'd never seen before, I notice several doors labeled only with numbers. I know I'm in way over my head, but I can't stop now. I take a deep breath and slightly open the first door I reach, peering inside. It's deserted, a stretch of rows of small lockers that are secured with padlocks. Seeing those big shoulder pads on Blake, I know this can't be right. I let the door creak closed.
I can hear the screeching of shoes on the basketball court beyond. A whistle blows, a man's voice yelling out something incomprehensible. Adrenaline is pumping through my veins. This is so dangerous, so stupid, but thinking about Blake's perfect feet in those leather flip flops drives me to creep even deeper into the gym.
I notice a billboard covered with information about the varsity football team, another door next to it. Maybe that's the one. I open it slightly just like the first one I tried, glancing into the room. There are rows of deep, open boxes lining the walls, clothes and bookbags stowed within. A couple benches are positioned at the center of the space. This feels right. I glance over both my shoulders, seeing no one else around, my heart pounding harder than ever as I take another deep breath and slip inside.
Names and numbers are taped above the cubbies. I survey them intently, looking for Blake's, when I notice a pair of flip flops resting inside one of the boxes. My heart skips a beat. Approaching it, I see his last name spelled out on the wall: HARRISON. Number 21.
Oh my god, Blake's flip flops! Oh my god! I reach my hand out and run my fingers across the leather, the closest I've ever come to touching him. My dick is filling out as I start to grab the shoes, and then I realize the shirt and shorts he'd been wearing earlier are here too, a pair of plaid boxers that had actually touched his dick resting right on top. I'd struck gold. I wanted to smell it all right here, to rip my dick out of my pants and jerk off while I finally inhaled Blake's scent, but I knew I could have company at any moment. I pulled my backpack off like a madman, unzipping it and piling all the treasures inside. I literally start to run out of the room, bookbag still in hand, throwing the locker room door open and tearing down the hallway like I'd just stolen a million dollars.
I'm not just crazy, I'm fucking crazy. I can't believe I did that! Breaching the gym doors, I finally slow down, not wanting to look suspicious to the other students who might be meandering around. I strap my backpack on, calmly walking back around the gym to the sidewalk that led to campus.
For a moment I feel guilty, realizing that Blake is going to come back from practice and feel completely dumbfounded that all of his stuff is gone. But it's his fault. He forced my hand. He was straight and hopelessly unobtainable, enchanting me more than any guy ever had, locking my brain into an overpowering obsession that was consuming me. I decided Blake's life was perfect enough that he could afford a day of minor inconvenience, especially if his slight misfortune meant permanently fixing mine.
Clearing the school's front gate, I start power walking back to my house, moving so fast my calves are aching just halfway into the journey. My legs start to feel like lead, threatening to give out, as my pace slows to a plod. At least no one could stop me now. I was free and clear, and this was going to be the best evening of my life.
Reaching my front door, I open it as quietly as I can, carefully creeping up the stairs to my room. I'm desperate to avoid being inconvenienced by my parents. I close the door softly, locking it, and throw the bag full of loot down on my bed as I immediately strip off my clothes.
I lay down naked, my dick already rock hard in anticipation, reaching into the backpack and removing Blake's things, carefully piling them next to me. I pick up one of his flip flops first. Holding it up to my face, I can tell he's been wearing them for a very long time, the imprints of his perfect toes visible against the leather. I pull it closer, sniffing hard, breathing in the faint smell of Blake's sweaty foot. It's sharp, intense, but just barely perceptible. I feel a little disappointed, wishing I could have stolen his football cleats instead. Those must smell like heaven.
I cast the flip flop aside and grab Blake's boxers next. I hold the crotch right up to my nose, sniffing hard. He'd only worn these for the school day, but I can still detect the musky scent of his dick and balls. I've never had sex, but I feel like this is what it smells like. Even if the scent is slight, it's intoxicating. I start imagining how intense it must be after a long practice. That must be when Blake smells the best.
I set the boxers down and reach for his shirt next, holding it up above my face when I suddenly hear a knock at my door. Shit!
"Dylan, are you home?" my mom asks uncertainly.
"Yeah!" I call back, my brain scrambling. "I have to submit this homework by 8:00 and then I'll come down!"
"Dinner is on the table now if you want a break," she invites, blissfully unaware that I have some jock's sweaty t-shirt in my hands.
"A couple more paragraphs and I'll be there!" I lie from the bed, hoping she'll walk away. I hear her footsteps retreating. Thank God my parents respect my privacy.
The interruption made my dick go soft, but I hoped Blake's shirt could easily change that. It's a size large, the pits still damp with his sweat. I draw one of the wet spots to my nose, feeling the moisture against my nostrils as I breathe in the scent. There's a heavy note of deodorant, but the pungent aroma of a man is obvious, stronger than it was on anything else I'd sampled. I shudder, feeling goosebumps all over my body as I try to focus my senses on his primal odor. It's strong, powerful, rich with overwhelming pheromones. This is what masculinity smells like.
I start jerking my cock, the sweaty pit of Blake's shirt resting against my nose, imagining pulling the cleats off his feet after a long practice. Blake is still wearing the bulky shoulder pads as I strip his wet socks off, plunging my face into his big soles and greedily lapping my tongue at the intense sweat. I picture him throwing me down over the bench in the locker room, arrogantly grinning as he shoves his dick inside my ass, his deep voice calling me names as he starts to fuck me hard. Sweat is dripping off his ripped body and down on to mine as he pummels my guts. I feel myself approaching the edge. Within seconds my face contorts and my balls tighten as the climax overtakes me, the most intense pleasure I've ever felt exploding through my whole body. Massive streams of cum squirt out of my dick and paint my whole torso, barely missing Blake's shirt.
Laying there panting, finally satisfied, feeling warm cum all over my skin, I know I can't keep Blake's things forever. I feel horrible. The pang of guilt I'd experienced as I darted away from the gym cascades into overpowering remorse. I can't believe I've selfishly hurt Blake trying to fulfill my own insane desires. I need to make things right.
I meant it, but I still jerked off four more times with Blake's stuff that night, even slipping my size 9 feet into his huge flip flops. After five orgasms I felt worse than ever. I knew I'd be standing in the football team's locker room again tomorrow.
When I saw Blake in the hallway the next day, I couldn't bring myself to look at his face. My eyes immediately wandered down to his feet, seeing that he was wearing a pair of black Nike running shoes for the first time since the school year had started. I felt disgusted with myself. That was my fault. I lost another day not paying attention to anything, but this time I was busy beating myself up. I'm a bad person, a crazy person, and I definitely don't deserve Blake.
The whole day was torture. My classes dragged on endlessly, and when the final bell rang I felt like I'd served a life sentence. I didn't experience a hint of anxiety retracing my steps to the gym, positioning myself in the grove of trees that overlooked the path to the football stadium again. I didn't bother with pulling out a book this time. Instead I just watched the sidewalk, feeling embarrassed about my abhorrent behavior, as the varsity football players strode out in their gear. Ten minutes after the last man had traversed the path, I started down toward the doors, pressing myself back into the building where I'd trespassed yesterday.
This time I knew exactly where to go, mournfully walking past the team's billboard, praying I wouldn't find a soul inside as I turned the handle of the locker room door. I felt relieved seeing it was just as deserted as last time, stepping in and yanking my backpack off. I unzipped it as I approached Blake's cubby, reaching for the clothes I'd left neatly folded inside and placing them on top of what he'd deposited here today. Seeing Blake's black athletic shoes again, socks wadded up by the tongues, I feel so regretful. I'm also seriously tempted to steal them, imagining they must smell so much better than his favorite footwear had. What the fuck is wrong with me? No, I can't hurt Blake like that again. I grab the flip flops from my bag, looking at them longingly one last time as I rub my fingers against the worn leather. I knew they'd be back on his feet tomorrow, back where they belonged.
"What the fuck?" I suddenly hear from behind me.
I know I recognize that voice. I freeze, the flip flops still in hand, twisting my head in terror to see Blake standing behind me in full football gear, an angry sneer on his face.
"What are you doing in here, kid? Are those mine?"
Realizing that I'd been caught, I feel like I'm going to faint. I'm literally shaking, struggling to form words seeing how pissed off Blake looks. "I--I...uh..."
"You, uh, what?" he snarls. "You're the fucker who swiped all my shit yesterday? You didn't think I'd come back to make sure it didn't happen again? I don't even want to know what you were doing with my stuff."
I turn to face him, feeling myself gulp. "No, I just--" I stop talking the second Blake steps toward me, my whole body trembling thinking that he's going to punch me in the face. I instinctively draw my hands up to protect myself, but he just forcefully snatches his flip flops away, throwing them to the ground.
"I don't have time for this bullshit right now," he growls as he menacingly jabs a finger into my chest, looking over his shoulder to make sure no one else is there. "But I'm not finished with you. Be at the science building tomorrow by 6:00 PM or I'll make sure you're begging to transfer to another school. Got it?"
I frantically nod my head.
"Now get the fuck out of here, kid," Blake commands condescendingly, crossing his big arms over his padded chest.
I run out of the football team's locker room for the second day in a row, and this time I find the strength to literally sprint the whole way home.
Go figure, now that Blake actually knows who I am, I desperately want him to forget me. I spend the whole night contemplating dropping out of high school, not wanting to see him ever again, but I knew that wasn't realistic. I had to face my crimes. I owed Blake that. In a weird way, I felt like my plan had actually succeeded after all. His vengeance, whatever form it would take, might finally excise Blake from my brain. Maybe then I could finally be free.
I showed up to school the next day feeling scared shitless. When I crossed Blake in the hallway, he glared at me like he wanted to kill me, forcing my head down. I saw his feet pass by, his flip flops restored after a night of lusty exile. I knew I deserved whatever was coming.
Everything was a total blur until the school day ended. I'd learned nothing, and everyone I knew must have noticed that I was a total wreck. But that didn't matter. I planted myself at the science building hours early, at first trying to catch up on some of the work that I'd missed obsessing over Blake. I still couldn't focus. I just waited. Maybe the whole football team was going to show up to kick my ass.
Eventually, I see Blake approaching, alone, even more confidence in his strut than usual, a look of intense determination on his face. His flip flops are loudly clacking against the concrete. Maybe now he's going to finally beat me up. I deserve it.
"Come on," he orders, walking right past me.
I can't bring myself to move. I'm terrified.
Blake stops, turning to face me, his mouth twisting into a vicious scowl. "If you don't follow me, I'll fucking drag you," he threatens.
I know he means it. I don't have a choice. I fall in line, accompanying him without any further resistance. "Where...where are we...going?" I manage to spit out.
"Shut up, kid," he dismisses.
"I'm--I'm sorry, really," I try to apologize, feeling like I'm about to burst into tears.
Blake freezes, whipping around to grab my arm, jabbing his other finger into my chest again. "I said shut the fuck up."
His beautiful face looks so stern. Nothing I say is going to stop him. He's in control.
Blake leads me out to the senior parking lot, pulling keys out of his pocket and unlocking what must be his car. "Get in," he commands.
I open the door, pulling my book bag off and climbing into the passenger seat as Blake takes his place next to me. At first I assume he brought me out here to yell at me in private, but then his keys jingle as he inserts one into the ignition and turns it. The car starts.
He swivels his head to glare at me. "Shut the fucking door."
"Where--"
"Shut it!" he demands.
I grab the handle and yank the door closed, Blake immediately backing out of the spot and driving away. He turns out of the parking lot and then on to the street. I have no idea where we're going. Fuck, where are we going?
"You have some kind of crush on me, kid?" he asks after a few minutes on the road, looking slightly less pissed as he peers over.
I stare down at the backpack between my legs. I'm sure he's figured it all out, but I'm afraid to own up to anything.
"Now you suddenly have nothing to say?" Blake mutters. "What's your name?"
"Dylan," I whisper, still looking down like a coward.
"I bet you already know mine. What is it?" he quizzes.
"Blake," I whisper again.
He laughs. "Yeah, I thought so."
"Where are we going?" I ask, actually managing to say the words. I hear his blinker ticking as the car turns.
"We're just driving around right now," Blake answers softly, his whole disposition seeming to change. He's silent for awhile. "So, you going to tell me why you snuck into the football locker room to steal my stuff yesterday?"
I want him to know how bad I feel. I look up guiltily as we stop at a red light, Blake's head turning to examine me. I can tell from his expression that he knows exactly what I did. Why do I have to tell him?
"I've seen you," he announces, looking back toward the road, "checking me out in the hallway, on the stairs. Looking down at my feet all the time. You think I never noticed? You do it every single day. Who does that?"
Now I actually feel tears welling up in my eyes. "I'm sorry," I whisper. "I won't do it anymore. I just want to go home. Please."
Blake glances over again, all the traces of anger in his face drained away. "Tell me what you did with my stuff and I can take you home right now," he promises.
He's not going to let me go until I tell the truth. I sigh loudly, tilting my head up and banging it against the headrest of Blake's car. My eyes are closed, but I still cover them with my hand. "Yes, I have a crush on you," I confess, my voice quaking. "I...touched myself while I had your clothes. I'm sorry."
Blake is quiet for a minute. "I figured it was you," he says flatly. "But why did you bring everything back?"
"I felt bad," I answer immediately. "I know it was wrong and I'm disgusting. I'm sorry. I'll stop looking at you. Can I please go home?" I hear Blake's blinker ticking again, uncovering my face after he makes the turn. We're sitting in the driveway of a house I don't recognize. I glance over at Blake still scared out of my mind.
He grins his perfectly straight white smile, looking intently into my eyes like he's not mad at all. "You can come inside with me or I can take you home. What do you want to do?"
I'm so confused, shocked that he's offering me a choice. Why would he want me to go inside with him? Is he hitting on me? What he'd said about noticing me checking him out, figuring it was me, is reverberating through my mind.
"Come on," Blake decides for me, unbuckling his seatbelt and stepping out of the car. He walks around to my door, opening it. "Or I can take you home," he repeats coolly, seeing my hesitation.
What do I have to lose? I immediately leap out, shutting the door behind myself as we walk up his driveway. "Are your parents home?" I whisper.
Blake laughs like it's a dumb question. "Don't worry about that."
He leads me inside, up the stairs to his bedroom, shutting the door behind us. I peer up at Blake uncertainly, still nervous. He's towering over me, but his face looks so kind now, almost empathetic.
"Sorry if I spooked you," he says softly, actually sounding apologetic. "I had to make sure someone else didn't put you up to pranking me or whatever."
I start to feel less anxious, but I have no idea what to say. I look up at him blankly.
Blake smiles disarmingly. "So, you have a crush on me, huh?" he says like he's amused. "What turns you on the most about me?"
I'm embarrassed to tell him. I stare down at the perfect tanned tops resting in his flip flops. "Uh..."
"You can say it, I already know the answer," Blake prompts.
"Your feet," I admit sheepishly. I see his toes curling.
"Why do you think I wear flip flops every day, man? I like showing them off. I liked you noticing."
I look up at Blake's face like I'm stunned. Is he gay? Does he have a foot fetish too? "Are you--"
"You're pretty cute," he interrupts, stepping out of the shoes and throwing his big frame down on the bed, his size 12 feet hanging over the side. "Is this what were you thinking about when you finally smelled those flops?"
"Yeah," I confess lustily, unable to look away from the incredible sight. I'd never seen Blake's soles before, but the pink bottoms were as flawless as the perfect tops, smooth with gorgeous arches.
He curls his toes again. "Want to touch them?"
My jaw drops open. Oh my god, I'm standing in Blake Harrison's bedroom, staring at the soles of his feet, and he's asking me if I want to touch them! He smirks seeing me look mesmerized, nodding his head like he's repeating the offer of permission. I kneel down on the carpeted floor, Blake's soles mere inches from my face, my cock straining painfully within my shorts. Part of me thinks this is some cruel joke, that he's going to lash out and kick me in the head at any moment. I look up hesitantly at his face, still in awe, but I can tell me he means it. This is my chance. I reach out, wrapping each of my hands around Blake's huge feet, gently caressing his soft, warm skin.
"Yeah," he hisses like he's enjoying the sensations.
My fingers trace every inch of each foot, feeling the veins running along the tops, the fine blond hairs, Blake's incredible toes. I hear him moaning slightly as I start rubbing them more aggressively.
"Mind if I get a little more comfortable?" Blake asks.
I can't believe he's asking me. I just shake my head silently.
Blake pulls his feet away, planting them on the bed and lifting his butt up as he grips the waistband of his gym shorts, sliding them off. There's nothing underneath. His hard dick is sticking up, at least seven inches long, as he pushes his soles back over the edge of the bed. He starts stroking.
He really is enjoying this. I feel emboldened, drawing Blake's feet together and guiding my face into them, his moist soles pressing against my smooth skin. I inhale the intense, masculine smell of his feet, the aroma so fresh and strong compared to when I'd sniffed his flip flop, exhaling my warm breath against his soles. I feel Blake start to gently push his feet into my face, slowly sliding them up and down, his toes curling against my skin, brushing against my hair.
"I skipped the shower after practice," he says. "I figured you might like them better this way if we made it that far."
"I love it," I murmur into his soles, sounding like I was lost in a trance. No wonder they smelled so incredible. I maneuver my mouth to the center of one of Blake's soles, parting my lips and gliding my tongue up along it. I taste his salty sweat.
"Oh fuck," he sighs. "Yeah, lick it, little man."
My dick jumps hearing Blake call me that. I don't know if it's supposed to be demeaning, endearing, or both, but I like it. I run my tongue over every inch of his velvety sole, across each of his toes and in between them, greedily breathing in the sharp, sweaty smell of his feet the entire time. Blake's moans grow louder, his jacking obviously getting more intense. I know he's appreciating this as much as I am. I wrap my mouth around his big toe and start sucking it like I imagined I'd suck a cock, looking up into his stunning blue eyes.
Blake smiles at me, shaking his head like he can't believe this is happening. "I'm so glad I caught you bringing my shit back," he says smugly. "I've always wanted to try this."
I pull my mouth off his toe. "Me too," I whisper, feeling free to completely unleash. I suck each of Blake's toes individually, taking two into my mouth at once, and then three. It's a stretch, but I even manage to fit four, my mouth hungrily bobbing up and down on Blake's sweaty foot, struggling to fit as much of it as I possibly can inside me. He's jacking off furiously the whole time, his moans growing more fervent than ever.
"That feels so good, man. Maybe you should get a little more comfortable too. Want to stand up?" Blake asks.
I lift my mouth off his toes, his whole foot now covered in my warm saliva, raising my body up uncertainly. My dick is tiny compared to his but I know my bulge must be obvious.
"You should take those shorts off."
"Yeah." Before the word even escapes my mouth I'm already unbuttoning them. I rip the shorts down with my briefs, yanking my shoes off too. Now my rigid five inches is jutting straight out.
Blake grins seeing how hard I am. "I think you really liked that too, little man." He strips his shirt off, throwing it aside.
I'm staring at him in awe again. Blake's veiny biceps are thick, his shoulders bulging out, his perfectly sculpted pecs sticking out above ridiculously defined six pack abs. I've never seen a guy this muscular except on the internet.
He knows I'm astonished. "You like my body?" Blake asks seductively, slowly running a hand between the mounds of muscle on his chest and down his chiseled stomach.
"It's perfect," I murmur
"You should take your shirt off too," Blake suggests.
I grit my teeth knowing that I look nothing like him. I can't believe he wants to see stringy 5'7" me shirtless, but I do it.
"That's a beautiful little body," Blake compliments like he really means it. "I love guys who are smaller than me. Come lay down," he beckons, patting the space beside him.
My heart starts pounding. Even seeing how turned on Blake was, I never imagined this was going to progress to more than worshiping his feet. I wasn't sure what was going to happen now, but I knew I needed to be beside him. Blake is the man of my dreams, and I would gladly do anything he wanted. I step up to his bed, climbing in and lowering myself down next to him. He's so much bigger than I am, my feet barely coming up to his ankles. He pushes his hairy leg against mine.
"You left your socks on!" Blake complains, his deep voice so close to my ear.
Before I can react, he lifts his big torso up, reaching his long arms down and stripping my socks off. He grabs my foot, caressing it with his rough hand. I'd never really thought about a guy touching my feet, but Blake's grip is blissful, the middle part of my sole seeming to be directly connected to my cock. I feel it throbbing even harder as Blake massages my foot.
"You have cute little feet, kid," Blake says as he lowers himself back down.
"Thanks," I whisper. "Yours are still way hotter."
He laughs, grabbing his dick and starting to stroke. "Jerk with me," he invites.
We're both working our rock hard cocks, Blake rubbing his tanned size 12 against my pale foot, when he reaches his free hand to my thigh, grazing it gently. I immediately start stroking faster.
"You like when I touch you, Dylan?"
"You feel so good," I pant.
Without even looking I know Blake is vainly smiling. "Want to get on top of me?"
I peer into his blue eyes. "Like...to cuddle?"
"Yeah. I want to feel more of your body against mine."
I release my dick, lifting up and repositioning myself so that I'm between Blake's legs, our erections mashing together. My arms are hooked between his armpits, wrapped around his back, my head resting against his chest. I can hear Blake's heart beating, the smell of the afternoon's intense football practice wafting up from his pits. I love all of it. Blake holds me hard, pulling his warm, muscular body into mine, his hands tracing up my naked back until one of them starts affectionately stroking my head. His touch gives me chills. I feel closer to Blake than I've ever felt to anyone in my life.
"You ever kissed a guy?" he wonders, his seven inches throbbing against my dick.
"No," I answer nervously, lifting my head up and looking into Blake's eyes again.
"Me neither. You want to try it?"
"If you do," I whisper timidly.
Blake presses his hand gently against my head, pulling me toward his mouth until our lips meet in a soft kiss. Euphoria surges through my entire body as we start tenderly locking our lips together, kissing more and more urgently, our smooth faces rubbing across each other as our dicks grind between our bodies. We're both starting to breathe harder when I feel his tongue flick across my lips, and I part them without a conscious thought. Blake's tongue slips into my mouth, dancing against mine, greedily pressing deeper, harder, more aggressively. It's the most amazing sensation I've ever felt, even better than licking his soles and sucking on his toes. We make out passionately for what feels like fifteen minutes, both our faces wet with spit when Blake smoothly pulls away.
He smiles gleefully at me, his blue eyes shining so brightly. "That might be the best kiss I've ever had."
I feel myself smiling too, my heart melting. "Me too," I murmur happily. I'd harbored my obsessive crush for weeks, and now I feel like I'm in love with him. My whole mouth is sore.
Blake reaches for his shorts, fishing his phone out of one of the pockets. "Shit," he mutters, his gaze turning despondent. "I really hate to say this, but my parents are going to show up any minute now. I better take you home."
My happy expression shatters. I wanted to spend the whole night with him. I wanted to spend every night with him. We kiss again, a couple times, and I finally lift off his muscular body, grabbing my clothes off the ground and starting to dress myself. I struggle to contain my erection in the tight fabric, seeing Blake's athletic shorts bulging with his.
He laughs. "We kissed so much we ran out of time to actually get off! I'm definitely having an epic jerk off session when I get back." He steps his perfect feet back into the flip flops, grabbing the car keys from his pocket. "Come on, little man."
I have so many questions I want to ask him, but I know now isn't the right time. We retrace our path back to Blake's car. As soon as he pulls out of the driveway, he reaches his hand out to mine, our fingers intertwining. He looks over contentedly at me.
"You want to come home with me again tomorrow?" he asks
I can't believe any of this is happening. I feel like I'm glowing as I stare into his beautiful eyes. "I'd love that."
Blake grins at me, gripping my hand harder as his glance shifts back to the road. "Yeah, so would I."