Right is Wrong (THE BEGINNING)
EDDIE:
Prejudice.
The reasons for it vary. Race, religion, creed ...But how does one deal with it when it involves your fetish? I can recall meeting someone I really liked at Parsons Café. We even exchanged phone numbers. Later that week we went out a couple times. Nothing fancy. Eventually we became a little intimate. Nothing too heavy.
One night we were on the phone for about 4 hours straight when the conversation turned to sex. He asked me what really turned me on. I didn't want to tell him because back then I was a little bit ashamed of my fetish, so after about a 1/2 hour of beating around the bush I finally told him that having my feet licked and tickled turned me on. He said, "What? Oh my god. You've got to be kidding right?" Then gave me this weird kind of look, you know?
But sexual/fetish prejudice is something I would eventually grow used to. I'll never get used to the other kind. I mean I'm reasonably sure that most of us who are white males have rarely, if ever, experienced the pain and bruises and humiliation of racial prejudice. Even with all the so-called "reverse racism" bellyaching we don't really know what it feels like to be rejected in the workplace because of our color or gender. Or what it feels like to smash into an artificial ceiling created to keep us out.
I was born in Arizona and spent a good deal of my time in urban Washington DC. I developed an "accent" there and never lost it, even though I first came to live there when I was eighteen.
Anyway, it was because of that accent that I was reminded what a shallow, judgmental, prejudicial nation we are. You see it was the early 1990's. I was managing editor of the Villamonte Register, the largest paper in my township. And my spouse, Chris, and I had finally reached the point where we could buy a bigger home. So we perused ads in the paper and I started calling around.
"Can you tell me something about the house you have advertised?" I would ask the real estate salesperson.
"Do you know where it is," he or she would reply. "Do you know how much it would cost? We already have someone interested in that one." On and on they went always avoiding setting up an appointment.
Then one night we were home eating dinner and I was telling Chris about how I called about one house and the salesman hung up on me. And that it happened a second time. Just about then, someone knocked on the door. A stranger.
"Can I help you?" I asked. He stuttered. "You called me earlier about a house," he said, "And when I talked to you, I thought you were black. That's why I hung up on you." He had traced my name through a cross directory, discovered I was managing editor of the Register and where we lived, and said, "I have come to apologize."
I won't repeat the extremely profane two-word answer I gave him before slamming the door in his face. Prejudice against my foot and tickle fetish I could handle, but THAT kind of prejudice just blew me away ... even if it had all been a "mistake" and not personally directed towards me.
The next day after work, I called and told my friend Damon Woodbine what happened. Damon is African American and a loan officer at Adams National. He gave a wry laugh and said, "Welcome back to our world, brother!"
He said "Welcome BACK to our world" because I had been in his world before. Years ago ...just after I'd graduated high school. I'd entered that world the first day I first took the D.C. Metro ... the train known as the standard bearer for cleanliness and efficacy in major urban transit,
You see my folks made me take this trip to Alexandria, VA. I was there visiting the college they thought I would be attending ... after living my whole life till then in and around Houston, a city with worse traffic jams and noxious emissions than Los Angeles. At first, I was scared of the Metro; what if I took a wrong turn and ended up in the ghetto?
Well, guess what: I did, the first time I ever rode it alone!
As difficult as it is to get lost using the color-coded maps that mark the way of the yellow, red, green, orange, and blue lines, I managed to get myself stuck in the middle of some horrendously poor, entirely minority-filled, entirely terrifying neighborhood instead of arriving at the Cavallario's Steak and Seafood House restaurant I'd set out for. I was eighteen, but, as my grandfather often said, I was "as dumb as an ashtray on a motorcycle".
Anyway...
Steeling myself for assault or murder (or both), I walked around a while until I happened upon a small crowd watching two black men kneeling in front of upturned buckets, hitting them with sticks, while two others played steel drum and acoustic guitar, and two or three others took turns freestyling without a microphone.
I think they smelled me coming up the sidewalk, for they all stopped doing what they were doing and simultaneously turned to face me.
One of them came towards me and was saying something. I don't know what he was saying because my heart was beating in my ears so hard! I was cornered; the black stranger's eyes locked to mine and I know I must have looked like a soon-to-be-drowned puppy.
When I tried to bolt away I tripped over a root protruding from the ground and fell on my face. But I immediately scrambled to my feet and took off for the surrounding woods that might have been some kind of a park. My ears picked up the sound of snapping branches and crunching leaves, and I knew that my pursuers were moving more cautiously than I was--apparently as unfamiliar with the terrain as I was. I used it to my advantage to put more distance between them. I couldn't let those thugs catch me!
Yes, I would later grow to hate prejudice as a "fully formed" adult ... but when I was a dumb eighteen-year-old I really was chock-full of it.
Anyway, I dodged left and zigzagged right, not wanting to leave a steady path behind me as I continued, my feet carrying me on their own accord, my chest heaving, terror sweat dripping into my eyes and obscuring my vision.
One of the men called out to me. He didn't sound like he was yelling a threat, but I wasn't taking the chance. His voice and the voices of some of the others sounded close ... too close. I chanced a look behind me, eyes quickly scanning the area. But because of the trees and darkness, I couldn't see anything. When I turned back, I had just enough time to see the edge of a huge gorge in front of me ...ready to swallow me. I skidded, trying to stop in time, but the soles of my new Adidas sneakers didn't give me any traction.
For a few brief seconds, I felt a weightlessness surround me as I fell and fell, but the ride was quickly cut short when I hit bottom and everything went black.
***
DAMON:
I gaze down at the stranger. He is curled up on the bottom of the gorge, unconscious.
He's a college boy, but out cold he looks almost like a kid--his eyelashes thick and dark, his mouth a touch petulant. He would have made a great Nazi with his golden blond hair which right now is in a standard businessman's cut that belies his eighteen years. Prying open one eyelid I see that he has enormous sky blue eyes, and his easily blushable fair skin was evident even in the moonlight. He had a splattering of freckles on his nose and cheeks. The wallet in his jacket identified him as Edward Dobbs.
Glancing at him, I didn't think he looked like an Edward. An "Eddie" maybe, but not Edward.
Now his eyelids were closed shut one more--seemingly sealed lightly with his long lashes. His rather sensual lips weren't closed completely, as he took inaudible breaths while sleeping.
Eventually a couple of the guys who had been pursuing the kid showed up. One, Aaron Jackson of Rosen Plastics, explained that they had only intended to offer the boy help because the lad certainly hadn't been the first white person to take the wrong train. The other ... Michael Davis of Burger King ... was pissed that the blond collegeboy had assumed they were thugs. He then went on to give a little tirade about how it was white people who were always getting lost there, white people who always mistook blacks for the rogues, and white people who would certainly, if they were given the chance, attack them unprovoked. Yeah, he came off like a dick, but in truth the idea that he had been mistaken for a lowlife hooligan had really hurt his feelings. The way hurt feelings manifested in people really varied from person to person.
"Did that fool kill hisself?" Aaron asked, staring down at the inert blond form at our feet.
"No ... think he's just stunned." I said. Then I nobly announced that I would see to it that the hurt stranger was taken care of.
When Michael and Aaron left I knelt down next to the kid and noticed the glistening tear streaks on his face. He had been so scared he was crying! Gently, I wipe the only remaining tear from his face. As I do so, his brilliant sky blue eyes slowly open.
Next thing I know he's trying to fight me! He's all swinging his fists and cursing and trying to kick, but I get a good grip on him. I knew he was still weak and dizzy from the fall, and that keeping him subdued wouldn't be too much of a problem. Eventually his struggles get weaker, and then he faints and goes completely limp. When I relax my grip, his blond head lolls forward and his arms hang straight down. Crouching down I grab him by the waist and pull his languid body over my shoulder. Then I and stand up and walk over to the pond and admire the view. Eddie's spaghetti-limp arms and dangling down my back, and it looks great in the mirror-like reflection in the water. His ass is firm and tight, and I turn so I can see his see his shapely white hands swinging down near my own ass.
"You really did have more to fear from me than you did from Aaron or Mike." I whispered to my unconscious burden.
I carried him from the woods. And once I got him home I easily carried the slender boy to my bed. As I lay him carefully down on it, I looked down at the collegeboy--a hunger strong as a monsoon within me. I am not partial to taking what isn't freely given to me, but this youth's presence sang to me. I've felt sexual stirrings throughout the twenty-four years of life I'd lived at that point, but rarely did the company of someone SING to me.
I was born on October 4th in Virginia. I was Damon Woodbine, the only child to a single mother who died giving birth to me. I began my life in a one bedroom apartment with my grandfather, Ezra. After growing up in a rough neighborhood for thirteen years, I developed a natural talent for fighting. I even attained a passion for making the guy I was fighting look stupid.
At age 14, Grandpa was no longer able to work, and with no money we were forced to move in with my uncle and his wife in DC. Before I left my hometown, however, my best friend since I was six was beaten to death over a gang-related dispute. I turned to my school counselor for help. She told me that being born with certain abilities didn't ensure what I would become in life ... instead it was how I chose to use my abilities that would make me the man I would become. To make a long story short, I gave up fighting altogether. Eventually I got a job working at a bank as a teller of all things. It something that had benefits and could be done with basically no experience.
Anyway, back to the story at hand.
Like I said, I carried "Eddie" into my bedroom and laid him out on the mattress. I gently placed my hand on his forehead, noting that his fair skin didn't seem unusually hot despite the fact that he was sweating like crazy. I lifted his eyelids again and looked at his sky blue peepers--noting that his pupils did seem responsive to light but sluggish.
I started to get the unconscious blond youth undressed. I removed his jacket. I blinked when I opened Eddie's shirt. His skin was so white it was almost glowing. I ran my hands carefully over Eddie's ribs, stroking them.
After rubbing his jean-clad legs for a bit my eyes were now drawn towards Eddie's size 10 feet. Slowly I unlaced his Adidas sneakers and then slid them both off. The wonderful smell of young feet wafted into my nostrils. His feet formed so well in his damp white socks, indicating that the boy's feet had sweated in his fashionable footwear. And again, they smelled heavenly! I was thrilled by the sight of the sweat-smudged soles of his socks. I smelled inside both his Adidas and grabbed hold of his ankles and rubbed the bottoms of his sweaty white-socked feet over my face and nose. Then I began to lick his socked toes and suck on them. Though unconscious the handsome kid began to moan and groan on the bed. I tongued his socks as I savored the smell beneath my nose. The salty taste of his foot sweat was incredible!
Seeing me lapping away you wouldn't believe that there had been a time when I'd been into girls a lot ... and at first I preferred to be with them and not guys. But the older I got the more I began to notice something different about myself. I would see a man's feet and would get a hard-on and would start having erotic fantasies of licking, smelling, kissing and sucking on them ... and other parts of his body. Yet for the longest time I still didn't have any desire to be with men in any other sexual way. I began to consider the fact that there was something wrong with me.
It was my "saditty" psychiatrist sister-in-law who told me that there wasn't necessarily anything wrong with me. It just appeared that I had a fetish for the male body ... and that I had what some may call homosexual tendencies. She told me that I had been subconsciously suppressing them because I'd grown up in a machismo-filled urban atmosphere where those kind of tendencies were reviled. She told me that I was clearly aroused with men, and that could only mean one thing. And she told me that I should learn to accept this part of myself.
Anyway, next I grabbed the knocked out blond boy's ankles, lifted his limp legs and pulled his sweat-soaked socked feet to my nose and sniffed them deeply and rubbed them over my face again. Wow do I love the smell of feet freshly removed from shoes. Soon I shot a huge load into my Khakis.
Once I'd cleaned myself up I returned to the bed and slid in next to Eddie, holding the unconscious youth close to me, knowing what I was doing was wrong. Still I burrowed close to him as he slept, sweet and innocent-looking. I had no idea what I was going to do with this beautiful stranger, but I hoped that I could come up with something where the both of us could have a good time.
***
EDDIE:
I think I died the night before after a long and harrowing chase through some mysterious woods. It was like going to sleep but with a lot more fear. I awoke in the arms of an ebon-skinned stranger.
I gently nudged the sleeping stranger with my shoulder before slipping out from under his arm and trying to stand. When I struggled to my feet I found my head swimming dizzily. Without even bothering to look for my sneakers I tried to pad my way out the unknown bedroom I was in. And I tried to do so without waking my equally unknown bedmate.
I only made it a few steps before I lost consciousness and crumpled towards the floor.
***
DAMON:
I caught Eddie before he hit the floor. Held in my arms, the kid unconsciously pressed his cheek to my bare chest. His slender body was still and eventually his breathing slowed. I used my fingers to rub the smooth curve of his spine through his T-shirt then stroked the downy softness of his golden hair. I laid his limp form back upon the bed.
“Thanks.” My houseguest whispered, having apparently regained consciousness a few minutes before. “I really want to show my appreciation, but all I … I … I really have the strength to do right now is to offer myself …”
And he was out like a light again.
Was he serious? Was he in some kind of dazed delirium when he made the offer? Was he really giving himself to me of his own free will? Apparently so!
Whatever the case, I smoothed Eddie's hair--kissed his closed eyelids. He regained consciousness for a few moments.
"Please please..." he pleaded. And at first I thought he was pleading for me not to rape him or something ... but then I felt his hands on me passionately and I knew that what he was really pleading for was for me to continue! I could feel how his skin grew hot and flushed with passion--how his body responded to my touch. I could feel how his sky blue eyes grew wilder and wilder, until his fingers again raked across my back, demanding me to fill him.
Then he started to cry. Crying because, even though he wanted me to have my way with him, he didn't WANT to want me to do that. Like me he'd been raised in a place where behavior of this sort was reviled. So it was impossible to have pleasure without guilt.
I felt even more sorry for the kid than I had before. I leaned in, pulled his shirt up a bit and kissed his shoulders. My palms were warm and, I hope, comforting over Eddie's bare flesh. The college boy released a heavy sigh. Kisses upon kisses and more exclamations of pity from me followed as I massaged away. Overcome by emotion at this unexpected show of kindness, the blond boy began to sob into the bed's pillow before he even knew what had overcome him. I shushed him, promising that I wouldn't hurt him and do my best to make our time together a pleasurable as possible.
He gave me a bleary-eyed gaze, nodded and said "Yes." Then he passed out again. But before losing consciousness I'd laid him bare to my love and he surrendered wholly--giving himself up to me.
I went down to the bottom of the mattress, pulled his warm, damp socks off and kissed his bare toes. I can tell he never spent much time barefoot--his soles were beautiful. The toes were long and shapely. His soles were equally comely and long with a strong heel and a well-defined high arch with a meaty ball of the foot. I continued kissing his toes, drawing each one into my mouth and tickling them with my tongue. Soft chuckling sounds came from Eddie, telling me that he was waking up again. I kissed and massaged and tongue-tickled my way all over the blond boy's size 10 feet.
"Nohohoho plehehehease don'thahaa tickle meheeheheee!" Eddie exclaimed, trying to twist his body away.
I paused for a moment, facing Edward Dobbs' sensitive soles. I watched the drowsy eighteen-year-old and listened to him plead, which seemed to make the fire in my loins grow. Then, without really realizing it, I started to play my fingers along Eddie's feet. This made him start to guffaw and plead for me to leave his feet alone.
The blond boy was in a delicious agony. Fingers that he was too weak to stop tickled him and made him laugh. And after pulling up and unbuttoning bit of his clothing, his armpits, ribs, and belly were stroked. His belly button invaded. Even his chest was being stroked, causing his man-nipples to stiffen. But when I touched his feet an electric shock rolled through him and seemed to explode in his brain. Clearly this collegeboy hadn't known many days without shoes and his feet were very sensitive. From the tip of his big toe to his heel he was extremely ticklish.
"Nahahahanot my feeeeheheheheet!," he scream-laughed as my fingers scrabbled along his soft fleshy soles. He curled his toes, attempting to steel them to my assault, but this only encouraged me to begin pulling his toes back and apart, leaving them exposed for more of my tickle torture.
I was having a ball exploring Eddie's feet. Tracing each line, darting in and out between his toes, scraping a nail lightly at the heel. It seemed so natural to lick, and when he laughed even harder I began to nibble and talk against his soles. "What great-looking size ten dawgs!. Come on, laugh for Damon, boy. Laugh it up."
Eddie looked as if he was about to lose his mind. It was bad enough with the fingers, but when I began to use my tongue and teeth he went wild. I could sense the tickling vibrating up his legs and concentrating in his core. A warm flush creeped along the collegeboy's body. And the more it creeped the dizzier the kid seemed to get. Begging was out, for now he couldn't get the breath to even speak!
***
EDDIE:
The stranger's fingers felt like they were everywhere--from my ears to the tips of my toes, tickling my neck, back, thighs, knees, calves, chest, tummy... everywhere all over my hypersensitive skin! My captor drew close to my hair with a growl. Something about my scent seemed to draw him. He licked his lips then lunged, burying his face into my blond thatch.
Jolts of pleasure slammed into my brain. I was so dizzy from laughing so much. Yet I somehow found the breath to moan. The evil fingers roamed underneath my clothes and all over my body as I twisted all over the bed. My body glistening with sweat. Fingers continued stroking my ears, fingers on my neck, my chest ... everywhere and with twice as much vigor now! This guy was Tickling me until I was sure I'd go insane! And yet a sweet pleasure coursed thru me from my tickle-tortured nerves to the core of my manhood and up to my brain.
Though his actions spoke to the contrary, this "Damon" guy certainly didn't look gay to me. He was about 23 or 24 years old I guessed--and he had shaved his head bald. Indeed he epitomized manhood with his rock-hard muscles and no body fat. He was huge, his skin was as brown as Coca-Cola and a baleful intensity raged in his equally brown eyes. As he unzipped my pants and began to nibble and lick all over my penis wild shocks of electric passion were sent racing through my body.
My arousal flared quickly to "Damon's" intimate oral attention and I screamed and blacked out.
***
DAMON:
I finished lapping away every drop of sweat on every inch of bare skin my tongue could reach on the blond boy. Sweet.
I freed my throbbing tool from my pants. Then I picked up the eighteen-year-old's super-ticklish bare feet. They looked, smelled and tasted so wonderful. The college boy lay completely limp and unmoving as I did this. I didn't know when Eddie had fainted again, and I didn't particularly care. I simply began to suck the unconscious boy's toes one by one again. My tongue explored every detail of them. I licked his soles until they were wet and glistening. Then I put his feet together and shoved my dick between them. I instinctively used them to massage my stiff member. They felt so wonderfully soft and I wondered, if Eddie were conscious, if this would tickle him.
A jolt of pleasure ran thru my body and a torrent of creamy jizz erupted from me, splashing down upon the passed-out blond college boy.
To be continued