I didn’t really notice Jared, he was just some guy in my drama class, until I saw him in bare feet. You see, I have this thing for feet. It’s nothing weird- I mean, I don’t think so. I’m not gay or some sick shit like that. Jared just has nice feet- esthetically, you know?
I don’t know, maybe something is wrong with me, I can’t stop thinking about him now… I’m only in that stupid class because I have to have a damn art credit to graduate. Lord knows my ass can’t sing- or draw. So, what choice did I have? I guess the class isn’t that bad. At least it wasn’t until two weeks ago.
I guess I should stop avoiding it and just talk about it but I feel like even committing it to paper makes it somehow more real- more twisted. I’m so obsessed I’m writing about it in a diary like some damn girl? What the fuck!
Okay, I’ve been having problems with my girlfriend anyway so my head isn’t in the right place. And I swear I didn’t know it was a guy when I first scoped out his feet. That may sound like bull but it totally isn’t! The class was helping Mrs. Sagel clean out her costume closet. Well, it’s really a whole line of closets and cupboards along the wall of her classroom so with all the doors open you can’t see much up and down the line.
I was working next to some goth weirdos so I was pretty much off in my own world when I just happened to glance over. Some people were laughing and I guess I wanted to see what was up but the doors were blocking my way so all I could see was the tool and hem of some awful costume dress and these feet… these perfect feet.
I guess I should have known they belonged to a boy. The balls of his feet were pretty wide and you could see the tendons. They stuck out just a little from the top of his feet and ran to his toes like guitar strings. Yea, I guess I must have known they belonged to a boy deep down, but can you blame me for wanting to believe they belonged to a girl?
He has this way of walking though, especially when he laughs, where he stands on the balls of his feet. It’s really graceful. I never noticed that before either.. I wonder how I never noticed him before. Surely he wore sandals at some point? I guess it doesn’t matter though. All that really matters is that I want to see his feet close up, to touch them, and for the first time in my life I really wish I could draw. I’d give anything to capture his feet on canvas forever.
I’m really writing this because I want it out. I have a vain hope that if I get it all out on paper it’ll keep me from doing something stupid. That maybe, if I can explain why they captivated izmir escort me, it’ll all just stop. It’s so bad I had a dream about him last week. It bothered me so badly that I skipped drama class the next day. You may think that’s stupid but maybe you’ll understand if I tell you about it.
We were in my room playing Xbox together just like me and my buddies do. He was dressed just like he always is at school. He was wearing this kind of punk graphic tee, it’s white and teal, his belt has little metal pyramids all down it, and his jeans are slung so low that when he moves around on the bean-bag chair I can see the trail of hair that runs from his belly button to the visible edge of of his underwear. I notice all this calmly, sort of wondering at his fashion sense, because I just wear the generic jeans and tees my mom buys at Wal-Mart. His hair is the opposite of mine as well. It’s long for a boy, I guess, it falls down to the bridge of his nose and he keeps blowing it out of the way with little puffs that I bet he hardly knows he does. I have the sense in the dream, that even though this is all nice in some obscure way, what really gets my attention- and I mean really gets my attention, is that he’s barefoot.
I get hard- fast. I can’t help but be glad we’re sitting down- thinking; What the fuck! He’s a fucking dude. Then he notices me staring and says something that I find utterly bizarre, “Don’t look at my feet. They’re ugly.”
I look at him, shocked, and I see he’s completely serious. “But, dude, your feet are beautiful.”
“Don’t fuck with me. I get enough of that shit from your buddies.”
He’s upset and I just don’t get it. “What?”
“Don’t act all stupid. Why did you invite me over here anyway? Are Chris and Nathan gonna jump out so you guys can play a rousing game of kick the fairy?” His anger makes his eyes lighter. The blue is like little chips of ice.
“I invited you over because I’ve got a chub just looking at your fucking feet.”
“I… Brock, are you serious?” I don’t say anything in return. I just stand up. “Oh my god.”
I sit back down and look at the wall- unable to look at that shocked and bewildered look on his face. “I’m some kind of fucking pervert, I guess.” I hate how small my voice sounds. I don’t know how much time might have really gone by but in the dream it feels like ages before he speaks.
“Do you really think my feet are beautiful?” I nod but still don’t turn to face him. “I have these scars though…”
His voice is quiet and I have to turn around. He’s alsancak escort pointing at a place on the top of his left foot and at first I don’t see it. Then I notice the faint lavender lines. The scars are thin and pale, obviously old, and they run up his left foot and down his right calf onto that heel. The scars, in a way my waking mind is unable to articulate, make his feet even more perfect. “I think the scars only make them more beautiful. Can I… can I touch them?”
I’m touching them then, his answer lost on the cutting room floor of my subconscious, and his skin is soft except for the heel which is calloused but still smooth. The hair on top of his foot is minimal and fine. Then I kiss his foot. I can’t help myself. What’s worse is that once I start I can’t stop. I have his left foot in my hand, kissing it, and caressing it.
I lick the scars running up the side and then I lick his big toe. I nip at it playfully and then pull it into my mouth. He moans, deep in his chest, and then his right foot is pressed up against my junk- his toes trying to stroke me through the thick fabric of my jeans. I feel like I could come just like this- and apparently so does he because he pulls his cock out and starts stroking it.
I woke up then and my sheets were wet- I was mortified! I thought I’d had a wet dream about sucking a guy’s toes while he jacked his dick! Thank god it was just sweat- My body was drenched with it. I tell you though, that was the most sexual dream I have ever had. Do you see why I’m so messed up over this? How the fuck am I supposed to deal with this?
Well, I couldn’t stop thinking about it and I didn’t remember his feet having any scars so I made it my mission to try and see if he did. I got my answer a few days ago. He came to class wearing sandals and he does! He has those exact scars! I guess I must have noticed without really noticing, you know? How else could I have dreamed about them?
The bad part is he caught me looking. I was staring, shocked that they were really there, and when I looked up he arched his eyebrow at me. Then he gave me this real appraising look, a real up and down job, like I was a slab of meat. I was so disgusted I wanted to punch his fucking lights out but the worst part- the worst god damn fucking part is that I was hard as fucking iron right away. I want to say that the only thing I wanted to do was punch him but a big part of me (and I think you know which one) was clamoring for me to throw him down on the floor, suck his toes, and then fuck him into the rug until he buca escort couldn’t walk straight.
….yesterday I was looking at him again. He was standing a few feet away and he was wearing sandals again. I swear it was on purpose. It wasn’t even that nice outside… anyway, the asshole caught me looking again. It wasn’t even just at his feet. I’d slowly raked my eyes up his body (I tried not to think about his slender cock from my dream) and when I reached his head I was shocked to see he wasn’t talking to his friend anymore but looking right at me with this sly little smile on his lips. I wanted to wipe that smug look of his face! I wanted to (fuck)beat his ass and stomp(lick, kiss, caress) his stupid feet. This whole fucking thing is driving me crazy.
Today… today Jared gave me his phone number. Class was over and I was packing up my stuff. Drama is the last class of the day so I wasn’t in any big hurry. I always wait until some of the frenzy to leave cools down so that the traffic out of the parking lot isn’t insane. So, anyway, I’m standing there shoving my shit into my bag when he walks up. At first I don’t know who it is because all I see are some vans with a harlequin pattern on them and then a piece of paper is put on top of my desk.
I look up but he’s walking away. I don’t say anything, have no idea what I would say, I just pick up the paper. On the inside it says: “Why don’t you just ask me to let you look at them? I’m not going to wear sandals until you do.” There was also his phone number.
I look up quickly, not quite believing he could really be telling me this, and he’s just standing in the door. He gives me this weird smile, I’m still not sure what to think of it, and says; “I mean it. No more shows for free you freak.”
I still don’t say anything. I swear I couldn’t. I was physically incapable of speech so I just nodded like I understood and he left. Why did I just stand there like an idiot? Why didn’t I tell him he was crazy or that my friends and I were going to beat him up if he tried to come onto me again? Why couldn’t I do anything but nod and then put his number in my pocket?
I don’t want to call him. I don’t want to see him. I don’t. I just wish I could convince my dick (and my heart) the same thing. I wish I could keep from calling him but I don’t think I can. I can’t bear the thought of never seeing his beautiful feet again. I… the other day I thought that I was nearing the edge, some metaphorical ledge that I mustn’t fall off of, but I think now that I fell off the edge a long time ago.
This whole time I’ve just been in denial. That noise in my ears, the sound keeping me from thinking straight or getting out of this mess, was the sound of the air rushing past me as I fell. I can only hope that this abyss has a bottom and that I won’t free-fall forever.
It’s then, with a sigh, that I pick up the phone.