A Straight Boy Socktastrophe. P1: Luca, E1
High School is rough for like, any gay boy. I've learned to stop playing victim, but at the time, I really thought I might have had it the worst. Closeted, obviously, but down bad with fetishes I found to be so weird. I kind of hated myself for how I felt, and did virtually anything I could think of to hide it.
Ultimately, people always knew. I was a lot more feminine than the guys around me and the overwhelming majority of friends I had ever had were girls, so people always thought something was going on. That's not to say I didn't have any male friends—believe me, those are the essence of the story—but it was 'sus' enough for most people to, at least internally, think I must be gay.
There were a few guys in my senior year that I was slightly more open with. Never enough to openly admit I was gay, but enough to test the waters, especially guys I thought were horny enough overall to be willing to do something with another boy if the circumstances were right. In my benefit? The fact that I was so closeted meant any guy with the balls to call my bluff knew I'd never dare say it out loud. At least not for a while, right?
Luca and I had been casual friends for years. I had always found him attractive, albeit most of the girls I was friends with did not. He wasn't your typical "macho boy" or whatever, he was a bit more slender and slim, quite small overall. He was taller than me (although that's not saying much) and definitely had muscles, but girls back then didn't pay him all that much attention. I was used to questions like "why are you even friends with him?" from the girls in my friend groups, wondering how I could ever have enough in common to converse with guys like Luca.
Like I was saying, Luca was slim but fit. He played soccer, you know, that type of body. He went to the gym pretty often but wasn't a bodybuilder type, he just liked maintaining his abs. Overall, he was pretty ... different, at least compared to me. He had dark (but unmistakably brown) hair, not overtly long but long enough to be wavy and slick. He always looked clean, but like any other 18 year old boy, he had a certain musk to his presence. I personally enjoyed it, no shock there. He had relatively defined arms and legs, and while his abs weren't inherently impressive they were certainly visible. He had a striking V-line, though, I think that's something everyone agreed on.
Snapchat was where Luca and I would speak most of the time. We had a streak, so we'd have to send each other a photo at least once a day. I remember my streak with Luca more than most of the other guys from school because the photos he'd send would almost always include a glimpse of his feet, normally in socks.
Right—I should have mentioned this earlier. I had a raging sock fetish. I guess I still do, but back then? Oh boy.
He almost surely never thought anything of it... Or so I thought. Perhaps it was intentional? I always think that people who show their feet or socks in photos and videos more often than the common person are doing it intentionally—they too have a secret fixation of it, so they include it because they think it makes them more appealing. They're not wrong; Luca sure wasn't.
But at the time, I never read into it much more than "shit, I love that." And that was mostly it, until it wasn't.
Like any other young person dealing with a sexuality crisis, I was constantly finding ways of mixing my secret desires into my daily life. Ways of, essentially, exploiting 'normal' scenarios to benefit myself. In this case, I knew I wanted a way to encourage Luca to send more photos of his socked feet. The question was how.
Looking back, I do wish I was more creative. Ultimately, what I did was send a response one day with "ew" typed out, practically begging him to ask me what I was grossed out about. When he inevitably did, I told him I had a fear of men's socked feet. I thought it was genius. To my credit, I mean, it did work—probably only because Luca was also a dumb horny 18 year old. I wouldn't recommend you try this at home.
For the weeks after that, it was our little secret joke. He found it hilarious that pictures of his socked feet would make me gag or want to vomit, or so I said. And on my end, I found it intoxicating how often I'd get to see pictures of Luca's socks and socked feet. He'd send them multiple times per day. I ended up ensuring that I never opened a Snapchat from him near anyone else, to make sure that no one would know I'm receiving pictures of Luca's feet for fun.
If anyone's wondering, he had stunning feet. Slim, slender, but bony and veiny. They weren't huge but big enough to feel manly. He had a range of different socks, but I vividly remember him wearing Puma socks the most often—or sometimes those Sketchers socks. Range of different colors and patterns, too, but almost always similar—either black and dark grey or white and light grey.
I should have known better than to think this was going to go on forever. I was delusional to think Luca was just going to keep inadvertently filling my spank bank with pictures of his pretty socked feet (and, sometimes, the rare bare foot, which I did not personally like as much but still definitely enjoyed witnessing). At some point, he was bound to either catch onto the gig or push further, knowing full well how vulnerable I was. In this case, he chose both.
One day, after school, he sent his normal photo of his socked feet. He wrote "Streaks" on the photo, but it was clear that this one was specifically meant for me, the picture crisp and clear, showcasing the detailed pixels around his socked toes. I remember salivating, as I always did, at the sight of it.
When I responded with my traditional ew, he must have decided enough is enough. He sent another photo back and said he wanted to "help me conquer my fear of socks", and threatened to find ways to do it if I didn't comply. He told me it was to my benefit, and that I couldn't go my whole life "terrified of seeing other men's socked feet." Of course, this was all written over a photo of his socked feet again. He wouldn't have missed that opportunity to play with me.
I was intrigued. My perverted young self wondered how I could take advantage of this. Obviously, I hadn't noticed that Luca was thinking the exact same thing.
"How do you plan to do that?" I asked in a response picture. My pictures never showed my feet—I was addicted to his, but had no interest in anyone serving mine. I certainly didn't want to confuse the message.
"Well, what scares you the most about it? What disgusts you?" he asked. This time, one of his socks was halfway off of his foot, revealing his heel and half of his arch, his toes still covered in the fabric.
Taking this as my opportunity to dive into the specifics, I was honest (but in reverse): "Just the smell, the taste, I don't know. Men are dirty, they don't change their socks or wash their feet enough. I hate that."
I still didn't know exactly where Luca was going with this, but I knew where I was hoping it would go.
"Then that's exactly what we need to focus on. You need some exposure therapy. Lucky for you, I'm one of the guys you call 'gross', I haven't changed this pair of socks in like three days and I went to the gym several times with them. Come over, let's fix you," he said, the text over another photo of his socked feet, one of his feet lifted so he could show the worn out bottoms. They didn't look filthy, but you could tell he wasn't lying.
My heart skipped a few beats. Exposure therapy? I mean, it's almost exactly where I hoped this was going, I was just shocked that Luca was initiating something like this. I surely wasn't about to deny such an intimate experience with a long-time friend, especially not one that involved the very part of him I'd been dreaming of for so long. "Alright, bet it doesn't work", I responded, almost daring him to take it as far as he could.
That same day, I gave my parents an excuse and went to Luca's house. His parents weren't home, which I ought to have taken as another sign that Luca knew exactly what he was doing. Again, I was dumb and desperate, but clearly it worked in my favor.
He opened the door, a smirk already big on his face. "Welcome, I'll be your doctor for the night," Luca said, asking me to take my shoes off at the door. Ironic.
I glanced down and low and behold, I saw Luca's socked feet, tucked into the very same socks I had seen on Snapchat only minutes prior. As if to maintain the facade, the bit we were playing with, I grimaced when I looked back at him, repeating my ew.
"Oh, give it a break. I told you, I'm going to fix you today. You're going to breathe through them until the scent is the only thing you can call comfort," he said.
Was it a threat? Was it a promise? I wasn't sure at the time, but I knew I'd enjoy it either way. Fuck.
NOTE: This story is entirely fictional. All characters are 18+ and consenting. This story will involve fetish/kink play, NSFW, sex, gay sex, and more.
Open to any suggestions for where to take it in the next episode!
High School is rough for like, any gay boy. I've learned to stop playing victim, but at the time, I really thought I might have had it the worst. Closeted, obviously, but down bad with fetishes I found to be so weird. I kind of hated myself for how I felt, and did virtually anything I could think of to hide it.
Ultimately, people always knew. I was a lot more feminine than the guys around me and the overwhelming majority of friends I had ever had were girls, so people always thought something was going on. That's not to say I didn't have any male friends—believe me, those are the essence of the story—but it was 'sus' enough for most people to, at least internally, think I must be gay.
There were a few guys in my senior year that I was slightly more open with. Never enough to openly admit I was gay, but enough to test the waters, especially guys I thought were horny enough overall to be willing to do something with another boy if the circumstances were right. In my benefit? The fact that I was so closeted meant any guy with the balls to call my bluff knew I'd never dare say it out loud. At least not for a while, right?
Luca and I had been casual friends for years. I had always found him attractive, albeit most of the girls I was friends with did not. He wasn't your typical "macho boy" or whatever, he was a bit more slender and slim, quite small overall. He was taller than me (although that's not saying much) and definitely had muscles, but girls back then didn't pay him all that much attention. I was used to questions like "why are you even friends with him?" from the girls in my friend groups, wondering how I could ever have enough in common to converse with guys like Luca.
Like I was saying, Luca was slim but fit. He played soccer, you know, that type of body. He went to the gym pretty often but wasn't a bodybuilder type, he just liked maintaining his abs. Overall, he was pretty ... different, at least compared to me. He had dark (but unmistakably brown) hair, not overtly long but long enough to be wavy and slick. He always looked clean, but like any other 18 year old boy, he had a certain musk to his presence. I personally enjoyed it, no shock there. He had relatively defined arms and legs, and while his abs weren't inherently impressive they were certainly visible. He had a striking V-line, though, I think that's something everyone agreed on.
Snapchat was where Luca and I would speak most of the time. We had a streak, so we'd have to send each other a photo at least once a day. I remember my streak with Luca more than most of the other guys from school because the photos he'd send would almost always include a glimpse of his feet, normally in socks.
Right—I should have mentioned this earlier. I had a raging sock fetish. I guess I still do, but back then? Oh boy.
He almost surely never thought anything of it... Or so I thought. Perhaps it was intentional? I always think that people who show their feet or socks in photos and videos more often than the common person are doing it intentionally—they too have a secret fixation of it, so they include it because they think it makes them more appealing. They're not wrong; Luca sure wasn't.
But at the time, I never read into it much more than "shit, I love that." And that was mostly it, until it wasn't.
Like any other young person dealing with a sexuality crisis, I was constantly finding ways of mixing my secret desires into my daily life. Ways of, essentially, exploiting 'normal' scenarios to benefit myself. In this case, I knew I wanted a way to encourage Luca to send more photos of his socked feet. The question was how.
Looking back, I do wish I was more creative. Ultimately, what I did was send a response one day with "ew" typed out, practically begging him to ask me what I was grossed out about. When he inevitably did, I told him I had a fear of men's socked feet. I thought it was genius. To my credit, I mean, it did work—probably only because Luca was also a dumb horny 18 year old. I wouldn't recommend you try this at home.
For the weeks after that, it was our little secret joke. He found it hilarious that pictures of his socked feet would make me gag or want to vomit, or so I said. And on my end, I found it intoxicating how often I'd get to see pictures of Luca's socks and socked feet. He'd send them multiple times per day. I ended up ensuring that I never opened a Snapchat from him near anyone else, to make sure that no one would know I'm receiving pictures of Luca's feet for fun.
If anyone's wondering, he had stunning feet. Slim, slender, but bony and veiny. They weren't huge but big enough to feel manly. He had a range of different socks, but I vividly remember him wearing Puma socks the most often—or sometimes those Sketchers socks. Range of different colors and patterns, too, but almost always similar—either black and dark grey or white and light grey.
I should have known better than to think this was going to go on forever. I was delusional to think Luca was just going to keep inadvertently filling my spank bank with pictures of his pretty socked feet (and, sometimes, the rare bare foot, which I did not personally like as much but still definitely enjoyed witnessing). At some point, he was bound to either catch onto the gig or push further, knowing full well how vulnerable I was. In this case, he chose both.
One day, after school, he sent his normal photo of his socked feet. He wrote "Streaks" on the photo, but it was clear that this one was specifically meant for me, the picture crisp and clear, showcasing the detailed pixels around his socked toes. I remember salivating, as I always did, at the sight of it.
When I responded with my traditional ew, he must have decided enough is enough. He sent another photo back and said he wanted to "help me conquer my fear of socks", and threatened to find ways to do it if I didn't comply. He told me it was to my benefit, and that I couldn't go my whole life "terrified of seeing other men's socked feet." Of course, this was all written over a photo of his socked feet again. He wouldn't have missed that opportunity to play with me.
I was intrigued. My perverted young self wondered how I could take advantage of this. Obviously, I hadn't noticed that Luca was thinking the exact same thing.
"How do you plan to do that?" I asked in a response picture. My pictures never showed my feet—I was addicted to his, but had no interest in anyone serving mine. I certainly didn't want to confuse the message.
"Well, what scares you the most about it? What disgusts you?" he asked. This time, one of his socks was halfway off of his foot, revealing his heel and half of his arch, his toes still covered in the fabric.
Taking this as my opportunity to dive into the specifics, I was honest (but in reverse): "Just the smell, the taste, I don't know. Men are dirty, they don't change their socks or wash their feet enough. I hate that."
I still didn't know exactly where Luca was going with this, but I knew where I was hoping it would go.
"Then that's exactly what we need to focus on. You need some exposure therapy. Lucky for you, I'm one of the guys you call 'gross', I haven't changed this pair of socks in like three days and I went to the gym several times with them. Come over, let's fix you," he said, the text over another photo of his socked feet, one of his feet lifted so he could show the worn out bottoms. They didn't look filthy, but you could tell he wasn't lying.
My heart skipped a few beats. Exposure therapy? I mean, it's almost exactly where I hoped this was going, I was just shocked that Luca was initiating something like this. I surely wasn't about to deny such an intimate experience with a long-time friend, especially not one that involved the very part of him I'd been dreaming of for so long. "Alright, bet it doesn't work", I responded, almost daring him to take it as far as he could.
That same day, I gave my parents an excuse and went to Luca's house. His parents weren't home, which I ought to have taken as another sign that Luca knew exactly what he was doing. Again, I was dumb and desperate, but clearly it worked in my favor.
He opened the door, a smirk already big on his face. "Welcome, I'll be your doctor for the night," Luca said, asking me to take my shoes off at the door. Ironic.
I glanced down and low and behold, I saw Luca's socked feet, tucked into the very same socks I had seen on Snapchat only minutes prior. As if to maintain the facade, the bit we were playing with, I grimaced when I looked back at him, repeating my ew.
"Oh, give it a break. I told you, I'm going to fix you today. You're going to breathe through them until the scent is the only thing you can call comfort," he said.
Was it a threat? Was it a promise? I wasn't sure at the time, but I knew I'd enjoy it either way. Fuck.
NOTE: This story is entirely fictional. All characters are 18+ and consenting. This story will involve fetish/kink play, NSFW, sex, gay sex, and more.
Open to any suggestions for where to take it in the next episode!
