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The new life unfolds.
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 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.