From: MN
Subject: M/M FOOT FETISH - StudFeet #1
Date: Thu, 12 Sep 1996 22:14:56 -0400

Larry,

This is Jon.  I have got to tell you about a true story that recently
happened to me.  During my senior year at college, I went to a party
with some friends of mine.  These were the kind of friends who love to
party and drink themselves stupid all night long, and play rancid KISS
and Guns and Roses (ugh) all night.  But they are all really good guys,
both over and under the influence of alcohol.  This night, I arrived at
their townhouse at about 7pm, and I learned that one guy, let's call him
Pat, began drinking at 12 noon that day and hadn't stopped yet.  He was
the cute Irish dirty blond stud/jock with huge blue eyes who was the
inspiration for several of my fantasies for several years now.  I joined
up with the party, partying, until about 2pm, when in walks Pat with two
drunk girls under each arm.  He had a scrape on his forehead because he
fell down drunk unconscious on the sidewalk outside.  The girls walked
him up to his bedroom and left him there, then came out to me to get my
attention.  I was a pre-med student and knew a little something about
bandaging wounds and stopping bleeding.

So the girls got me to go up and visit Pat, because they were
afraid for his health and safety.  I went up and saw Pat unconsious on
the bed in the middle of his room, a bed that was dragged out into the
room because his friends from other universities were also visiting for
the party and they were using his bed.  The girls then returned to the
first floor, leaving me alone with Pat for about one hour.  I heard
another G&R song coming on downstairs, and I knew that I had time.  I
would have only ONE opportunity.  Pat was folded on the bed,
fully-dressed, with sneakers and socks, and Pat was one big jock.  He
was one of those good jocks with a heart of gold and a head of lead.  I
bent over and examined his forehead and saw that it was only a flesh
wound, then went to the bathroom, grabbed a damp washcloth and held it
to his head.  When I did this, he did not move, not one inch.  I was
moving his head in my hand and, no response.  A second time, and no
response from Pat.  His eyes were shut, and I could nod his head
freely.  I thought, what else of Pat can I move freely?  I began to get
a hard-on the moment I tested the consciousness of cute Pat.

Despite the alcohol I had drunk that night, the hard-on did not leave me
for the rest of the night, because of what I did next.  I left the cloth
on his head, positioned so that I could see his eyes if they opened, and
I moved down to his sneakers and moved the top one. He was on his right
side, so his left sneaker rested on his right.  Nothing.  I slowly
grabbed his left ankle, then the left knee and lifted them, and
nothing.  With his left leg and foot in my hand, I slowly turned the
foot at the ankle.  Still nothing.  I put the foot down and quickly but
quietly untied the sneaker.  I loosened up the strings, lifted the
tongue, slowly lifted the foot by the ankle, and slowly pulled off the
sneaker.  The smell of exercised feet wafted into the air, and it was
good.

By this time, I was feeling the alcohol and was getting frisky and
uninhibited.  I tried to boldly test Pat's level of consciousness by
slowly rolling into his hip and moving his body.  Nothing stirred with
Pat, until I tried it once-too-many times, and he almost woke up.  The
sense of impending fear that he would wake up sent my heart beating,
hotly, but the wave of adrenalin roused me.

It was evident to me that I could go farther with Pat's body than I had,
so I did.  Boldly, I untied the other sneaker and removed it, and placed
both next to the bed.  I placed my hands on both soles of his jock feet,
socks-on, and tested the reaction.  Nothing.  With my hands pressing
softly on his feet, pressing softly on the feet of a dead-drunk stud, my
hard-on was stiff as a steel pole.  I could not wait any longer.  I
slowly grabbed the top of his sock and relentlessly pulled it off his
foot.  Success!  I gently placed his foot down, adjacent to the lower
socked stud foot this time, and pulled off the lower sock. I returned
the top foot to its original position, resting peacefully onto of the
lower foot.  I could not believe that I was being so meticulous and
careful with his two feet, while my heart was racing around all over the
place inside my chest!

There they were.  Two limp, muscular, numb, bare feet connected to one
unconscious, hot, studly limp, numb jock-dude.  Right there.  Pat is a
really good guy.  A good friend, and dependable.  I depended on him to
stay dead-drunk, and he did.  I rather matter-of-factly rearranged the
feets' positions, ready with a story if Pat should wake up ("I'm
checking for signs of a twisted ankle!").  My bare hands were placed on
his bare feet, by me, although at this point I think I separated myself
from the situation so as to watch it from above, being high on alcohol
at the time.  I rubbed the tops and bottoms, pressed the toes into a
point and rubbed the folded soles (my favorite move), rubbed around some
more, then planted my face right in the center of the soles, so that his
feet imprinted right onto my face!  I was locked in!  Again I
faceplanted into his soles, and nothing but easy soft breating from big
Pat at the other side of the bed. I even looked sideways through the
feet, which belonged to ME now, and looked at the face of the previous
owner of these feet.  I then looked at Pat's whole muscular body, slowly
moving the feet and legs to make sure that they were connected to
someone.  Were these two feet connected to the same young male, I
wondered to myself.  Then another faceplant.

Then Pat groggily moved around and rubbed his bare feet against each
other.  I pulled back and saw the feet move with a mind of their own.  I
saw how the toes and soles matched with each other perfectly.  Not to
sound moribund, but his feet were shaped like two little coffins, narrow
and longish up from the heel, the widening to the balls and toes.  His
soles were substantial.  They were thick and desensitized from the
development of a rather thick callous padding from all the sports he
played.  Worked wrinkles developed a natural pattern down the center of
the dry soles, and his toepads reshaped into five perfectly round pads,
resting on the tops of the padding below.  The feet had time to dry off
by now, so the scent was natural, with hints of sock and sneaker in the
background.  I could feel the heat radiate off the feet from Pat's
overheated body trying to recuperate from a full day of drinking, and I
swear I could see the feet pulsate.

I returned to rub my face and hands all over his feet for a solid
fifteen more minutes!  Wow!  Then I heard people coming up the stairs,
and in exactly 1.5 nanoseconds, I grabbed the blanket, covered the
pulsing studfeet, put my hand on Pat's limp upper appendage (his head),
and feigned a diagnosis to our friends who walked in.  Actually, it was
pretty hilarious in hindsight.  Another friend and I recently recounted
the scene.  He walked in and saw me, drunk, with Pat's head in hand,
administering Last Rites on the newly departed!  It was a most humorous
and exciting night.  Every inch of this story is true, Larry, and I'm
sorry it went on for so long, but you did say "in great detail", didn't
you?  Enjoy, and I'll hear from you soon.

Jon