Lost and Found
by Onwardupward
It was just past twilight when Marco Vanderpool spotted him—sprawled on the pavement, breath shallow but steady, clothes smudged with the dust of the road.
The neighborhood had emptied with the setting sun, leaving his silent form like a forgotten echo. He knelt beside him, fingers fluttering at his wrist, relieved to find a pulse. No blood. No wounds. Just unconsciousness, enigmatic and undisturbed.
His apartment was only two blocks away.
Impulse overcame reason. Maybe it was loneliness—or the terrible pull of wanting something unknown to shatter his routine. He couldn’t explain to himself why he didn’t call 911. Instead, he half-carried, half-guided his slumped form back to his place, draped him on the couch, and stared at him under the lamplight.
He looked like something out of a dream. Messy curls. Soft jaw. The weariness of someone running from something. Or maybe to it. This curly-haired boy was about eighteen or nineteen years old—half Marco’s age. It would have been proper to just call 911.
But he didn’t. He waited an hour. Then two. Then five.
And somewhere in those quiet hours, as he made tea he didn’t drink and hovered without purpose, affection began to slip in through the cracks of guilt. He imagined waking up to the young stranger looking at him—not with confusion, but with understanding. With gratitude. He imagined explaining himself and being forgiven.
But reality gnawed at his conscience.
"You’ve crossed a line," he whispered to himself, pacing. "This isn’t compassion—it’s possession."
The phone sat idle on the counter, blinking with missed notifications.
He kept glancing between the couch and that phone like it was a moral scale. Every moment he didn’t call felt heavier. Every breath he took made his more terrified of what he hadn’t done.
Then he stirred.
Blue eyes fluttered open like reluctant curtains.
And for a moment, their gazes locked—hers brimming with remorse, his with unspoken questions.
“I should’ve called someone,” he said softly, before he could speak.
He blinked, silent. The air trembled with uncertainty. When he looked as if he might pass out again, the young man spoke,
“Do it … I’m sick of pretending to be unconscious and waiting for you to make your move. Do it.”
“Do what?”
“Whatever you want. My name is Douglas Hoffman, I’m a legal eighteen years of age and I give you permission. Just be gentle with me.”
Then he pretended to pass out again. Or perhaps he truly did. Marco wasn’t sure.
And before he knew it, he began undressing the limp boy. Once Douglas had been stripped naked, Marco began kissing him, letting his tongue swirl within the eighteen-year-olds slack mouth until he thought he felt him tremble. Then he kissed and licked the unconscious young stranger’s entire face all. He lingered over the place in his neck where his pulse beat, savoring the erotic feel of it. He then moved down to his shoulders, kissing, nibbling, licking as he went. Marco did his arms and hands, giving each slack finger its individual attention, then he moved back up to do his underarms. The warm smell, feel, taste of the unconscious youth was making him crazy with lust!
Then there was the smell of Douglas’ feet.
The smell. Yes! That smelly, delightfully aromatic fragrance that bare male feet give off.
Marco kissed the stranger’s feet lovingly. The handsome youth’s feet were pale and tender--the young man clearly took care of his pedal extremities. The older man pushed his lips to the sides of Douglas’ soles and kissed the toes of each foot. This drove the very ticklish stranger mad!
" EEEHEHEHAHAHAHAAAAHAHAAHHAHAHHHA... STOP! ...STOOOOAHAHHA....AHAHAHAHAHAAHTHAHATAHA...THAT TICKLESSSSSSSSSSAAAAAAAHHHHAHAHAHAA!!”
Marco, crying now … and for reasons he had no clue, kept ticking and fondling the boy's bare feet with his lips and tongue. Rubbed his tear-stained cheeks against the tops of Marco’s pedal extremities. He even snuck a taste at them. He took Will’s right foot in his hand and lifted it. Then, like a dog, he began licking the handsome youth’s fleshy bare sole. The older man ran his hot wet tongue slowly up and down the sole of the other foot as well. Marco’s taste bud’s tingled at the fresh taste of sweat-scented flesh. Marco kept laughing as the engineering older man’s slimy tongue vacillated between each sole, both now shiny with saliva. Marco’s tongue moved over the tops of the lad’s toes, then into the ticklish crevices under the well-shaped digits. Next he squirmed his tongue, like an electric eel, between each of the curly-haired stranger’s wiggly toes.
All the while Marco Vanderpool was going insane with laughter.
" HAAHAHHAAAHAHH... AHAHH...STOP!!!" succession. Then Marco began licking and nibbling at the eighteen-year-old's toes as the lad very slowly recovered from his mysterious daze and began to giggle and squirm at his captor's ministrations. Marco tasted between each of the stranger's toes and felt an ecstasy like never before in his life. He lapped at the bottom of Douglas' feet, tasting the sweetness of the young skin on his tongue. He rotated the left foot and put the side of the handsome lad's foot between his teeth, rubbing up and down the length of it for a moment. Then he turned the foot back around and chewed lightly on the area just underneath the toes. His desire to lick his handsome young captive became a yearning to eat and swallow the beautiful toned body. This foot obsession continued a couple more minutes…
Marco then dry-humped the eighteen-year-old's limp body until he [Marco] climaxed.
When the curly-haired stranger suddenly “came to” soon afterward, he and Marco aettled in for a long day of REALLY getting to know each other.