Date: Thu, 24 Jul 2003 10:08:35 EDT
From: Tommyhawk1@aol.com
Subject: Workboots

				 WORKBOOTS
			   By Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
		      WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM

I was glad when my next-door neighbors moved out. Noisy, drunken, abusive
and screaming at each other every Saturday night at 2:00 a.m. (Sunday
morning, that is). When I saw their stuff piled in boxes through an open
door, I smiled and went inside and didn't answer the door when the knock
came a short time later. They'd want my help moving and I wasn't going to!
     The apartment was vacant for a month and then suddenly, it was
occupied. I knew this when I walked by and saw that the windows, which had
been shut with blinds closed, now stood with blinds open and things piled
inside. Our two apartments shared an alcove and our doors faced each
other. I walked over, still craning to look in the side window nearest my
door when I nearly tripped over the work boots.
     My new neighbor had left his work boots on the mat before his front
door. Large, round- toed, size-13 work boots, dark brown, badly scuffed,
with a yellow rectangle that said "Caterpillar" on their outsides at the
tops. I lurched, caught myself, put them back into their original
side-by-side position and went into my apartment. At the time I saw those
boots, I was mostly annoyed, the alcove was small enough and now I was in
constant danger of tripping over his work boots. But they were gone in the
morning when I got up to go to work, and so I figured I could live with it.
     For days, my neighbor was an enigma to me. I knew nothing about him
besides the fact that he wore work-boots to work. I could look out my
window beside the door right into the window of his apartment (the usual
scatter-brained design of such cheap buildings) but for the fact that the
drawn blinds stayed drawn; I saw nothing on him other than an occasional
shadow against the blinds at night. Not that I was especially looking back
then, mind you.
     But the weather grew warmer rapidly, and the apartments had no
air-conditioning, I knew he would eventually be forced to do what I had
done, open the blinds and the window. First during the day only, but in the
heat of July and August, you had to leave every window open or roast inside
your own apartment.
     It happened, first the window was opened, then after a few days of
that, the blinds went up and I could, at night with both our lights on, see
him just fine. God, it's the hairy hunk that I had seen at the pool a
couple of times. I thought he lived up on the second floor. I could see the
shapeless masses that were his furniture, some sort of mattress and a
bean-bag chair and a television set seeming to be his only possessions. My
own weren't much more than that.
     I had seen him at the pool, hair glistening from the recent dip, and
him lying on the patio chair, his black hair and beard lying neatly in
place, his well-defined chest formed of his strong pecs, ovals topped by
two off-centered brown nipples, then the lines of his abs down to his
narrow waist, and the flat plateau below. His legs were nicely shaped
without bulging, widened areas showing the muscles. His toes were...
     "Like what you see, faggot?" was his sardonic comment then. I turned
and walked away, muttering, "jerk" under my breath, and after that, when he
was at the pool, I stayed indoors, and vice versa.
     Shit, now the guy was right next door to me. I thought about it,
snapped off the lights in my apartment. If I hadn't known he was next door
to me, odds were he didn't know the same about me. I turned off the lights
and stayed away from the lights that came from the courtyard, and watched
him. He was in that beanbag chair, I suppose it was (he had a Western-style
throw over it, making it an undefined mass, but it let him slouch low and
watch his television. I couldn't see all of him, but I saw he was bare
above the waist, and that he was watching television, which was his only
light source. It was spewing that off-brown color all over him in rippling
movements that made it clear he was watching a porn picture of some
kind. His arms were down in such a way that I wondered if he was playing
with himself! I leaned forward, but I couldn't tell. It seemed like
it. Would he do that, whack off with the windows open? I thought about it
and stealthily opened my door and went over to peek inside. Just a quick
look to tell me if he was whacking off or not, and I would dart back
inside, before I could be spotted.
     That was my plan, anyway. I tripped over those damned workboots of his
again and darned near fell down. I cursed and went back indoors, and back
to my window again. His arm was moving kind of funny. If I could see just a
little lower down--I got my old steamer trunk I had picked up in a garage
sale and pulled it over to the window and got up on that. I could see.
     Yes, he was stroking it. God, that long prong was a monster! He was
making long strokes up and down that shaft which must have been ten inches,
easy! Watching the screen, whacking his meat. Wearing only a pair of black
baggy shorts that he had lowered to mid-thigh, stretched out, his front
window shuttered, feeling secure enough to whack off like that, he was
watching and he was stroking.
     I reached into my own sweat-shorts and I pulled out my pud and pumped
it, intending to shoot when he did, if I could. But I had no more than
gotten it out when, without any sort of movement from him, no thrashing or
groaning I could spot, he suddenly shot his wad onto his stomach. Took me a
while to even spot the quick small jets as they arced over. And he was done
and wiping his stomach with a corner of that Western-style throw. I
wondered if it was thick and stiff with his jism; it seemed to be. He
finished cleaning off, turned off the television with the remote, and was
in darkness. Show over!
     But I was left with a hard-on and nothing but a few brief
memories. Damn, if those workboots hadn't been out there, I would have
gotten a good look at him! Those fucking boots had ruined my fun...or had
they?
     I pulled up my shorts over my hard pud and opened the door. They were
out there, all right. Feeling like a thief, which I was, I grabbed one of
them at random and pulled it inside.
     He must use the outdoors to air them out, because they were pretty
funky-smelling. I got a whiff of it, which was partly old leather but a lot
of male-sweat, and grinned evilly. Call me a faggot just for looking, who
the fuck did he think he was? I'd show him, even if I hoped he'd never
catch on.
     I pumped my cock, turned on by the brief glimpses of the hairy stud
and the thought of what I was going to do to him. Turned on by the
furtiveness, too, I got turned on pretty quickly and I grabbed that boot in
my free hand and I pumped my wad right inside that grungy workboot. Thick
clumps of my jizz made it inside, along with a couple that only hit the
outside of it, but when I caught my breath and looked, I had plenty of it
inside there like I wanted, clustered around the heel. I lifted it up and
let the sperm flow down into the toe, and it did, like syrup, a clump on
the outside falling in a splat on my floor. Then I carefully opened the
door and set it back beside its mate. The sperm would dry before morning,
and my nasty, hunky neighbor would go to work while walking on my dried
jism. And he'd never even guess! Revenge is sweeter (and safer) when you
take it anonymously.
     But I decided that next day, after I was sure he hadn't suspected a
thing, that one load of jism wasn't enough. I needed to put another load in
that shoe's mate. That would be it, he would know before much longer who
his neighbor was and any suspicion about the stains in or on his shoes
would be a dead giveaway. Safety lay in knowing when to stop. A load in his
other shoe and I would stop entirely. I was confirmed in this decision by
the fact that he was home when I got there with his door open, and he saw
me, and I saw him see me, go into my own apartment. I heard the word
"Shit!" and his door slam, and looked and saw the blinds had been drawn and
the window closed.
     I had never heard him go out in the evenings. Weekends, yes, but never
on weekdays, like this was. So I decided to go ahead and get the rest of my
revenge for his one-word insult at the pool, and put an end to it. I
reached out and grabbed his workboot, making sure this time I got the
right-hand shoe (I had jizzed in the left one, before) and darted back
inside. This time, it was harder for me, without the stimulation of the
recent sights and the lesser fear of danger. I whacked my meat for about
twenty minutes before I managed to get off. Only the realization that if my
neighbor noticed his shoe was missing, I'd be stuck with it and have to
toss it someplace discreetly gave me the impetus I needed to finish the
job. This time I held the shoe up to my crotch and shot the entire wad
right inside it. I got a few globs on the tongue's inside, but the rest
spewed inside. I think I coated its insides thoroughly, from the drainage
of the last slow spurts onto the tongue where it oozed down inside.
     I was done and slipped the shoe back outside, left my own door
open. No more reason to hide, my neighbor knew I was here.
     His door opened five minutes later and my heart jumped. He got his
shoes and I saw to my horror that he was about to put them on,
bare-footed. Some quick trip to the store or something.
     Maybe he wouldn't notice! Leather tends to soak stuff up in a hurry, I
know I'd had to leave a visible stain on the left-hand shoe which wouldn't
wipe off at all. Maybe...
     "Ah, God damn it!" my neighbor yelled. "Shit! What is that? God damn!"
     I settled myself in my chair and grabbed up a book. He muttered some
more and then I heard him walk over to my door--clomp, pat, clomp, pat,
clomp, pat. One foot shod, one foot bare.
     I looked up with what I hoped was innocence, seeing him standing there
red-faced and angry, wearing those black shorts and a red
pullover. Wielding the right-hand shoe and I looked at it, my confidence
breaking down. I must have shown all my guilt in my face, because he didn't
need anything else.
     "What the fuck did you do to my shoe?" he demanded.
     "What do you mean?" I said, licked my dry lips.
     "God damn you!" he yelled. He was sure of himself by now. "You think
this was funny? You...you...damn it!"
     "What are you talking about?" I said, scared and defiant. Trapped by
my lie, I was sticking to my protestation of ignorant innocence.
     But it was useless, he had it all figured out. He walked inside, over
to me.
     "Hey!" I said.
     He shoved the boot at my face. "Take a good whiff of that!" He said.
     "What?"
     He shoved the boot's opening right at my face. "I said take a good
whiff of that! You did that, you bastard!"
     I had the boot in my face and I got the smell all right. Heavy,
unmistakable smell of human sperm, of course.
     "God, that smells awful." I made a face and backed away. "What
happened?"
     "You happened, you little shit!" he said. "You got the hots for me?
Was that it?"
     "No!"
     "God, man, I stuck my foot right into it! You got my boot and you
jerked off into it. You got a thing about boots, shithead?"
     "Listen, get out of here!" I said desperately. "I'll call the cops on
you if you don't leave right this minute."
     "Look at me and tell me you didn't do this." he said. "Then I'll
leave."
     
I looked at him and I curse that my mother and grandmother raised me not to
tell a lie, because I couldn't do it. "I was getting back at you."
     "For what?" he said.
     "Calling me a faggot at the pool that time."
     "Shit!" He said. "God, my only pair of shoes and you do that?"
     "You shouldn't leave them outside your door." I said weakly. "I've
tripped on them at least three times." Only twice, but I was in bad straits
here. "I was mad at you and when I tripped on them again, I...I saw my
chance to get back at you."
     He stood there, looking at me, breathing heavily.
     "I'm sorry!" I said. "I'll make it up to you. I'll buy you a new pair
of boots come payday."
     "Next payday? When's that?" he asked.
     "Next Friday. Week from Friday." I groaned. Ten days away.
     "Shit, I can't wait until then."
     "Well, I don't have any money to buy them now, not big boots like
that." I said. "What do you suggest I do to make it up to you?"
     He walked over to me. "Get down!"
     "What?"
     "Down on your hands and knees!" he snarled. "Do it, or I'll beat the
shit out of you."
     I gulped, did as he said. His foot came up to my face. "Lick it
clean. You got your jism all over it, so lick it clean."
     I looked at that foot, looked up at him, and then I reached out a
tentative tongue and I lapped at his big toe. He was unstable on one foot
and when I lapped him a couple more times, he staggered and stepped back,
then went over and lay down on my mattress. "Get back to licking my foot."
he said. "I want it completely cleaned up by you, you understand me,
fucker?"
     "Yes, sir." I said, contrite. I had gone too far, let's face it. I
owed it to him. He deserved it. And...and I wanted to.
     I went over and started sucking on his toes, first that monster big
toe which stood proudly alone on his wide foot. It was like sucking a
short, stubby cock and that was how I treated it. Then the toe next to it,
running my tongue down between it and its close partner, pulling lips
around it and working it twice, then I took the middle toe in as well and
went down on the pair of toes, raising up and down again, sucking them
clean and dry. Then the last two toes, running my tongue between them as I
held them in my mouth, little hard knobs of man-flesh, with a funky taste
to the nails, hard plastic-feeling arcs in my mouth. Done with that, I went
over to the top of the foot and licked it in long, smooth arcs, stopping
and moistening my tongue with each stroke. I could taste the salty sperm
here and there on it and I gave those spots extra attention, sucking them
clean, then over to the side, running my lips and tongue over that
sensitive arch, and he groaned appreciatively.
     "Oh, God, yeah!" He said. "Give that foot a good washing, you
son-of-a-bitch! Clean it all off."
     I went to work with a will, for his foot was otherwise quite clean,
the carpet having lifted off any hint of dirt or sperm on the sole, but I
lapped them, the hard cushions of the feet as they segued into softer
patches and ending with the heel which I took as fully into my mouth as I
could and then, looking up at him, seeing his hard cock distending the
black silken shorts, I reached up for it.
     His hand intercepted mine as I caught it, yanked it away. I was bold
enough then to reach with my other hand and he caught that one before I so
much as felt it. "What are you doing, scuzz-bucket?" he asked.
     "Please?" I asked.
     "Why should I let you?"
     "I want to make it up to you."
     "You cleaned off my foot." he said. "You've finished.
     "No, sir." I said. "I jizzed in your left shoe last night."
     "What?" he said.
     "I want to make it up to you." I said. "Please?"
     "You figure a blow job would make up for me walking around on your
jizz all day long?" he said.
     "I think it's a start." I said as I scooted up closer to him. He had
both my hands, but he also had taken his own hands out of commission by
doing so. I got all the way up to his crotch and with both my wrists held
firmly by him, I lay face down and gnawed at his basket, chewing at that
thick cock through the shorts.
     When he groaned, I knew I had won, so I began to nuzzle that thick
pole, wondering if they were baggy enough to let me push the legs up and
free that otherwise unfettered piece of man-meat.
     It took some work, but I made it, his shorts leg pushed up to the
groin and me sucking on a ball that had worked free. He let go and fished
the cock out through that leg for me and I happily went to work on that
long, luscious pud. Just as long as I had thought, the arc of that scimitar
made it hard work to get it into my mouth like I wanted. I scooted around
and my neighbor groaned, "Don't even think I'm going to suck yours,
shithead!"
     "Just getting a better grip." I assured him and showed him by taking
that meat down my throat now that the curves matched up. He groaned and I
wasn't too surprised when his hand felt for my crotch. Plenty of the
hard-nosed varieties are just looking for some sort of excuse. But he
didn't do anything more, just felt it through the cloth and I knew it would
be a long time before he would take it in his mouth--if ever.
     With his hand manipulating if not pounding my cock, I assaulted his
with renewed vigor, giving him the blow-job of a lifetime (my own, too). I
was so turned on by this scene, him totally in charge, collecting on the
debt I owed him by my sucking him. I gave him full value, deep- throating
that wonderfully long, thin prong, and when he groaned, and I felt his
salty wads pumping into my mouth, I was almost disappointed.
     I pumped my meat while he got up and I stood up with difficulty as he
did so. "Can we do this again?" I asked.
     "I don't see why we should." he said, now pulling on his boots.
     I knelt down in submission at his feet. "Please, sir? I want more!"
     He was standing right before me, and I knew then what to do. As he
said, "Get out of my way, cocksucker." I let go and blasted my wads right
onto his legs and onto his workboots. This time, I soaked both of them real
well. He stood paralyzed in shock as I blasted onto him like that.
     Then, when it was over and I was panting, he caught up to the
scene. "God damn it!" He shouted angrily and cuffed at my head. It wasn't
hard, I moved with the blow and laid back, smiling. "You son of a bitch,
now they're dirtier than ever! And all over my legs! Christ!" He wiped them
with the sheet on my bed and I watched him. "You owe me more than ever
now." he shouted. "More than ever, you understand me?"
     "Come back tomorrow and you can collect." I said.
     He looked at me, scowling, and then the face cleared just a
little. "You better believe it. You service me daily until you can replace
these boots for me, you understand?"
     "Yes, sir." I said.
     "Bastard." he muttered and walked out to wherever he was going. But I
caught just a hint of a smile as he turned.
     I lay back. At least ten days to payday. Of course, I did already have
plans for all of that money, my bills and such. Then rent would come due
again. You know, it might take longer than ten days for me to buy him those
new workboots.
     A lot longer.

				  THE END
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		      WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM