The thing I like the most about my neighborhood is the high number of hot men who work in the local shops. There are many small businesses there, ranging from big and small restaurants to cosy newsstands. Unfortunately, a high concentration of hot guys does not directly translate into an equal number of hot feet (here I apply my personal view of what a hot pair of male feet should look like). Nevertheless, I just can't help myself from checking them all out whenever possible. Just imagining how nice a pair of feet would be based on a guy's look, how his toes, heels and soles would look like and smell inside their working boots, leather shoes or sneakers, is stimulation enough to make my dick get hard. After all, I'm a freak male foot lover! If lucky enough, there are times when one can get a glimpse of their barefeet in flip-flops and that's exactly what happened the first time I saw Augustus and his to die for perfect feet.
Unlike most of the guys I usually check out, A does not work at any of the local shops; he lives in the neighborhood though. Curiously, I had never seen him around until the day our paths crossed at the candy store, a place I rarely visit by the way. The store was rather busy, invaded by sweets craving school kids, just like his daughter. She's a beautiful 7 yo and he was getting her a bag of M&Ms and a soda. I was right behind them in line, which was kinda long. Suddenly A turned to me and asked if I could hold his place in line for a minute since he had forgotten to pick some "important" items. I simply replied "sure", already happy for the unexpected first contact. As he walked to the cookies isle holding his daughter's hand, I took my time to, as discreetly as possible, admire his beautiful high arched feet. In fact, my eyes examined that godlike specimen of a a man from head to toes. A is in his later thirties, tall, dark hair, amazing olive eyes and skin tone, lean body and the most luscious lips a man can have. His large smile made him even more handsome, despite his natural friendly attitude. He was wearing a tempting pair of white flip-flops and the view of his naked feet stunned me. At that same moment I knew I had fallen completely and utterly in love with A's feet and, therefore, I'd do (almost) whatever it took to worship them!
I will take advantage of this point in my story to bat around the idea of how far is too far when it comes to our desire to worship another's guy feet. We, foot lovers, are easy prey, sitting ducks ready to be slaughtered in a pond. The moment a guy realizes the power his feet has over us, we are doomed! This has been one of my ultimate concerns when we play this kind of game, especially when we go for repeats. Being vulnerable and, at times pathetic, is not my thing; I love men's feet, but love myself even more. It is a matter of self respect! Why am I diverting from the story? Because I saw, in the face of that naive handsome man, the hidden power to bend my will as he pleased, considering how strongly my infatuation for his feet overpowered my whole being. After such a long time in control, I was really scared! Call it a hunch, and I will get back to this if our tale takes that turn.
But back to my narrative: It is hard to be discreet when one is staring at something/somebody; yet, I tried my best. Those of you who had the chance to read my previous accounts (thanks for the patience by the way), know how fascinated I am by high arches and A does not disappoint any admirer in that aspect; his arches and toes are to die for. In fact, all about his feet and lean body looked perfect in those white flip-flops. They exposed to the world a guy's size 9 feet, with well shaped and average size toes, narrow heels, carefully trimmed nails. For such a skinny man, his tops are very inviting (not so veiny) and in accordanceto his light olive skin tone. At that point, I could only imagine how soft his paler soles should be. That vision alone just made my day.
A came back to the line and kindly thanked me for holding his place; he even offered to get me a candy of my choice in retribution ("your feet would do it", shamelessly thought). A is a very polite person, on top of his overwhelming sex appeal. Since there was a considering number of people ahead of us, we started to chat. I found out that he has just recently moved to the area after his separation and that the candy store as an almost daily, mandatory pit stop on the way home ("my Princess's demand", he added. "Good to know", I thought. My mind started racing with the perspective of regular "by chance," encounters and how I could turn the situation to achieve my main goal. Many prayers to Saint Michiavelli should suffice! We continued to "casually" run into each other for a couple of weeks, with the annoying repetition of the same scenario: plain friendly conversations. I was literally left to my own devices and, thr only thing I could do at this point was fantasize about having his feet. He had never given me room to make a move; he was charming, a sweet talker even, but I still couldn't read any signs of sexual interest from his part. I just went with flow until the night that dramatically changed everything.
Though I often go to the nearby bars, I'm not a heavy drinker. I enjoy having a beer or two and chitchat with some acquaintances (though I'm by myself most of the times). I usually pick a bar, get a table, order my beers, take my time to finish them, get the check, pay for it and take off. If friends or acquaintances show up, they often join me for a while coming from work. I was all alone the night Augustus unexpectedly showed up. I had never seen him at any bar before, especially at night. What nice a surprise! He said hi and asked me if he could join me for a drink. "Why not?", I replied. "Sorry", he suddenly said; "I don't think I have ever introduced myself properly. My name is Augustus, I've just recently moved to the neighborhood and my seven years old daughter loves the local candy store; but I guess you are already aware of that", he smiled and offered me his hand to shake. "All but your name" I uttered while firmly shaking his hand. He smiled at me once more and said: "it seems you already know a lot about me, whilst I know nothing about you ". Call me crazy but there was something on the tone of his voice that "activated" the vibe I was looking for since the day we first met. So, I told him some facts about myself and my life, hobbies, general interests and so on. Besides being extremely hot and the owner of the best pair of feet ever, A is a very intelligent and sensible guy; we immediately stablished a common ground: a mutual interest for the Arts, more specifically literatures. That alone provided us with enough food for thought. We had a pleasant conversation for about one hour or two, just sharing favorite writers, playwrights, novels, even poems. Meanwhile, I was checking his feet out, despite the fact that he was wearing sandals instead of his usual white flip-flops.
That was when, just out of blue, A inattentively removed his his left sandal and crossed his leg, exposing his sole. "My feet are sore", he said in the most casual manner. Guys, I couldn't believe my ears! In fact, I nearly fainted when those random words came out of his mouth; yet, I was able to keep my my cool and simply asked him what seemed to be the problem. A responded: "You know, just a a pair of tired dogs in desperate need of a soothing massage, some attention". Let's face it: this was too much to handle! I don't know what came to me but I immediately grabbed the exposed foot and started rubbing it all over, from heels to toes. I was in heaven! For a minute, I didn't care we were at a public place, a bar packed with patrons having a good time. To me, pure bliss. However, almost simultaneously, I realized that it was nor the place nor the time to engage in open foot fun. I let his foot go. A, on the other hand, had his eyes closed and seemed to be enjoying my hands gently caressing his high arch and asked me not to stop. To avoid spoiling the moment, my first impulse was to say: "Let's continue this somewhere else". To my surprise, A promptly agreed. He told me he knew a place, an indoors soccer field that was surely empty at that hour. It's a place he frequently goes to practice and he had the key to the main gate. "I need to make a quick stop though". He explained he needed to see "his guy" and I immediately understood what he meant. Don't get me wrong: I have nothing against drug users or any other kinds of addiction as I personally have mine (alcohol, cigarettes and men's feet); therefore, I do respect people's choices as long as I do not have to deal with their, let's say, needs. I told A I would go with him up to the place where he was meeting his "guy" to get his fix and then wait for his return somewhere else. It took him about fifteen minutes to close the deal and, when he was finally back, I stopped a cab and instructed the driver to drop us off the nearest gas station so I could get a six pack at the convenience store before heading to the soccer field. During the ride, I grabbed Augustus left foot, put it on my lap, removed his sandal and started sucking on his toes, licking his soles and biting on his heal; his big toe is an extra bonus, so I spent more time toying with it. A seemed to be enjoying, in ecstasy one could say. I'm not sure whether the cab driver noticed the foot action or not as, but it's possible since A was moaning while I worshipped his foot like it was my last meal.
Once we arrived at the gas station, A went to the bathroom while I browsed the beer selection. The moment we reached the exterior area of the convenience store, a cab stopped right in front of us and a handsome blonde guy, holding a half empty bottle of whiskey, came out of the back seat and greeted us. He was clearly intoxicated and started talking like crazy. He volunteered unnecessary personal info such as where he lived, details about his children, his line of work, etc. While the verbal diarrhea went on and on, I couldn't refrain myself from checking out his feet. The drunk ginger was really hot: tall, well built, strong hairy legs and a size ten nice pair of white men's feet. A was really focused on what the stranger had to say (he was already sipping the guy's whiskey) and, as I soon figured out, they shared the same addition. The ginger scored many points right then; I just decided to see where this socialization would take us. Faster than I could utter "abracadabra", the two cuties had already decided we would move "the party" to the ginger's flat, a couple of blocks from the gas station. Just like before, they would have to make another pit stop to get more drugs.
It was already 6 am and I just watched A and the ginger walk away after my refusal to join them. That was the last I saw of A until we run into each again at the candy store two weeks later. Don't mind my blue balls!
