Rip Van Wrinkled Soles
by TGIBriday
Evan Hartley looked like the kind of guy who never had a bad day. Blond hair that fell just right without trying, blue eyes that made half the school lose their train of thought, and a quarterback’s build that seemed carved out of every sports movie cliché. But tonight, sitting on the edge of his bed with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, he felt anything but invincible.
His throat was scratchy. His head felt heavy. And every few minutes he sniffed in a way that made him wince.
Across the room, hunched over Evan’s desk, sat Milo Feldman—his best friend, his unofficial tutor, and the only person who could make trigonometry sound like a bedtime story. Milo’s glasses kept sliding down his nose as he scribbled through Evan’s homework with the focus of someone defusing a bomb.
“I swear, Milo,” Evan muttered, rubbing his forehead, “I can’t get sick right now. Not this week. Coach will lose it. The whole school will lose it.”
Milo didn’t look up. “Well… yeah,” he said matter‑of‑factly. “You’re the quarterback. The quarterback. People are already talking about how you’re gonna carry the team on Friday. You know—‘Evan Hartley never slows down,’ ‘Evan Hartley plays through anything,’ ‘Evan Hartley doesn’t even know what weakness is.’”
Evan groaned. “Dude, you’re not helping.”
“I’m just saying what everyone else is saying,” Milo replied, flipping a page. “You’ve got a reputation. A mythos. A whole… Evan‑verse built around you.”
Evan flopped backward onto his pillows, staring at the ceiling like it had personally betrayed him. “Great. Fantastic. So if I sneeze wrong, the entire school collapses.”
Milo finally turned in his chair, pushing his glasses up with one finger. “Look, I’m not trying to freak you out. I’m just being realistic. People expect you to show up. You always do.”
“That’s the problem,” Evan said quietly. “I always do. And now I feel like garbage.”
For a moment, Milo softened. He wasn’t used to seeing Evan like this—wrapped in a blanket, blond hair messy, blue eyes tired. Vulnerable. Human. It made him sit up straighter, like he’d stumbled into a moment he wasn’t supposed to witness. He was also distracted by the glimpses he caught of his friend’s bare feet. They were big with slightly wrinkled soles and rather elegant toes. The nerd lusted after Evan’s feet like mad, but he’d never let the blond jock know this.
“You know,” Milo said, voice gentler, “you’re allowed to be sick. Even superheroes get colds.”
Evan cracked a weak smile. “Yeah, but superheroes don’t have the entire senior class betting on them.”
“True,” Milo admitted. “But they also don’t have me doing their homework.”
Evan laughed—a small, congested sound, but a laugh nonetheless. “Thanks, man.”
Milo shrugged, returning to the worksheet. “Just… try not to die before Friday. The school spirit committee would never recover.”
Evan pulled the blanket tighter around himself, letting his eyes drift shut. He still felt awful. He was still worried. But somehow, with Milo muttering formulas under his breath and the soft scratch of pencil filling the room, the pressure felt a little less crushing.
For the first time all day, he let himself rest.
By the time first period rolled around the next day, Evan already knew he was in trouble. His head felt stuffed with cotton, his throat burned, and every breath rattled like a loose window in a storm. Senior year was supposed to be his victory lap, not a week of coughing fits and watery eyes. And definitely not the week before the biggest game of the season.
He told himself he could push through. He always did.
But halfway to school, he ducked into the empty courtyard instead of heading to class. The old sycamore tree—wide‑branched, half forgotten, and perfectly hidden from most windows—felt like a sanctuary. He unscrewed the cap of the cough syrup he’d grabbed from home, took a swig, then another, then one more for good measure. It wasn’t smart, and he knew it, but desperation made people do stupid things. He just needed to feel good enough to get through practice. That was the only thing that mattered.
The medicine hit him fast. His limbs grew heavy, his thoughts syrupy. He stretched out beneath the tree, backpack as a pillow, and told himself he’d sleep for twenty minutes. Thirty, tops.
He was out in less than one.
The courtyard stayed quiet for most of the morning, but eventually students drifted through—cutting across campus, sneaking a moment alone, or just curious about the figure sprawled under the tree.
“Evan? Dude, you good?” one sophomore asked, nudging his cleat lightly. Evan didn’t stir.
Another student crouched beside him, waving a hand in front of his face. “He’s breathing… I think he’s just out cold.” They exchanged a shrug and wandered off, assuming someone else would handle it.
By lunchtime, three more students had tried to wake him—calling his name, tapping his shoulder, even shaking his arm a little. Each time, Evan mumbled something incoherent or didn’t react at all. Each time, the student hesitated, unsure whether to get an adult involved. And each time, they walked away, convincing themselves it wasn’t their business.
The day moved on without him.
Milo found a motionless Evan Hartley, sprawled on his flat belly now, beneath the tree. The nerd knew he’d never have an opportunity to explore the jock in a way he never had before, he knelt down and removed his snoozing friend’s shoes and socks. No one was around now and the smaller youth knew he’d have his muscular unconscious friend all to himself for a while. The wind was blowing slightly, and Milo caught the scent of Evan’s size feet and the sweat-dampened socks he’d removed.
At first only the blond jock's feet were being licked and tickled by the breeze. But, after a while, it wasn't long before the nerd had his face buried in his sleeping friend’s meaty bare soles. Milo was dizzy with bliss by the time he stopped taking advantage of this fallen angel and made an attempt to help him.
He convinced himself that his muscular friend needed mouth-to-mouth. He rolled Evan over. And, after giving the unconscious jock an erotic semblance of this medical procedure, Milo gazed down at the beautiful face of Evan Hartley and licked the tip of the blond youth's pug nose happily. He knew he’d probably catch whatever bug was currently plaguing the jock, but it was worth it!
Evan, though still fast asleep, curled his bare toes as Milo leaned down to kiss him again. At this particular time of day, there was only a slim chance that anyone traversing in the area could see them. The bespectacled nerd kissed his way down the prostrate jock.
Evan’s tanned feet looked so smooth in the waning sunlight… like the feet of a much younger boy. His heels white but tinted with a slight rosiness. Evan's slightly wrinkled soles made Milo sigh, and the jock's toes were perfectly shaped and they delighted the nerd's fingers as he caressed as fondled them. He tenderly kissed Evan's tanned, salty toes, licking, nibbling and caressing them sucking the toes on each foot from little to big.
While this occurred, all the still unconscious young jock could do was moan with pleasure in the fading sunlight shining down upon him. Rock hard now, Milo unbuckled his pants and released his throbbing cock. He then wedged his cock in the area between Evan's beautiful feet and began to thrust faster and faster. Friction created by the skin of the nerd's penis rubbing against the soles and toes of the jock's bare feet was incredible. When Milo shot his load, he not only bathed Evan's feet with his cum, but the blond youth's shins, knees and thighs as well.
Evan, still mostly asleep, giggled through his unconsciousness after Milo bent down and began to fervently lick the cum from the blond youth's bare feet. The nerd tongue bathed the jock's feet clean, lapping and licking at Evan's soles, and even slurping away every drop of cum from between each of the muscular youth's toes.
It was only after he was completely satisfied that Milo cleaned himself up and dashed away towards home. He was thoroughly ashamed of having taken advantage of his friend, but he was oh so satisfied!
When Evan finally blinked completely awake, the sky above him was deepening from blue to black, the courtyard lamps humming to life. His mouth felt like sandpaper. His head throbbed. His body ached from lying on the cold ground for hours.
He sat up slowly, disoriented. The campus was silent—no chatter, no whistles, no thud of practice drills. His phone, dead in his pocket, offered no clues.
And his feet were bare. Had he been so out of it that he'd unonsciously shed his shoes and socks while he slept? As disoriented as he currenty gelt, he woulsdn't be surprised.
Panic crept in as he staggered to his shoeless feet. Practice was over. School was over. Everyone had gone home.
He’d missed everything.
Evan leaned against the tree, breathing through the fog still clinging to his mind. He’d tried so hard not to let his illness interfere with football, and in the end, he’d sabotaged himself far worse than a cold ever could. He quickly stepped his sockless feet into his cleats.
The courtyard felt enormous in the quiet. He looked around, realizing how alone he’d been all day—how many people had seen him and walked away, unsure or unwilling to step in.
He wasn’t angry at them. Mostly, he was disappointed in himself.
After a long moment, he slung his backpack over his shoulder and started the slow walk home, the night air cool against his fever‑warm skin. Tomorrow, he’d have to face his coach, his team, and the consequences of his choices.
But for the first time all day, he wasn’t pretending anymore. He was sick. He needed rest. And he needed to stop trying to carry everything alone.