(continued from Sniffing Mike's Briefs)
Mike and I are roommates, sharing this inexpensive two-bedroom house in this college town. He goes to school and I go to work. We cut the expenses down the middle and manage not to get in each other's way. We don't share much except the rent.
Mike doesn't have a clue that I secretly enjoy sniffing his dirty laundry, or that I think he is incredibly edible himself. He knows that I like guys, just like I know that he likes girls. We've each met some overnighters in the morning as they were leaving. But I've never indicated that I was interested in him and he seems comfortable with our living arrangement. Mike is very athletic and is on the track team, so sweat is a part of his life and I suppose the whole team of young men probably smells the same way, so he gets away with a little odor outside where no one else will notice. Along with not knowing about me getting off on the fetish smells from his socks and briefs, he also doesn't know that I'm aware that he wears his undies more than once between washings. More to my enjoyment of course.
Mike came dragging in after practice this Saturday, and immediately plopped down on the couch exhausted.
"How was it," I asked.
"Rough," he said, "We did hurdles today and my feet and legs are killing me."
Mike had never before let on to me how much discomfort he had from working out, so I figured I'd be more forthcoming as a friend. "You know my friends tell me I'm good with my hands," I said. "If you want, I can work on those feet."
Surprisingly, Mike wasn't put off by the thought of a guy massaging his feet. Probably all that camaraderie with the guys on his track team made it seem normal to him. "Sure," he said, "let me go wash my feet."
"Just relax," I said, going to my bedroom to get the oil, "if your feet stink too bad, I'll let you know."
He may have been self-conscious about having foot odor after his sweaty workout today, and wearing yesterdays socks. Mike was still lying on the couch, almost asleep when I got back. I lifted his legs and sat on the end of the couch with his feet in my lap. He hadn't taken off his shoes and was about to do so, when I told him to just lay back and relax.
I untied his large running shoes and slipped them off, immediately releasing the predictable strong foot odor. I hoped it didn't reach Mike's nose, for he surely would have insisted on washing his feet. I did tell him I would let him know if his feet smelled too bad, but of course I was getting off on this most personal hidden odor from my roommate's large, beautiful feet. I removed his damp sweat socks, which as usual had a musty, cheesy odor to them. But his feet had a sharper more acrid odor, almost like vinegar mixed with the cheesy odor.
As I took one foot in hand and rubbed the oil over it, the smell became even more pronounced, as if the oil brought it out. I enjoyed pressing the soft smooth sole of his eleven-inch-long foot with my fingers, as I worked the bones thru his soles. I pulled on each toe while rotating it between fingers and thumb, then slid my fingers between his toes, feeling the dampness of those hidden spaces. Mike was laid back with his eyes closed, clearly enjoying the work of my hands on his tired feet. I too enjoyed the feel of his foot sliding across my palm as I slid my hand along his sole, dipping into his high arch and rounding the smooth spherical heel. We were both getting off on the feel of skin sliding over skin, but I was particularly aware of the intimacy of this very private body part and enjoyed the personal smell that was wafting up from the feet in my lap.
I did long slow massages on both of his feet, and he seemed to be drifting in and out of sleep the whole time. I was sure he was awake enough to be enjoying the feel of it, but eventually, after much more time than a professional masseuse would have done, I had to end the foot massage. However, I suggested that I could continue up his legs if he wanted.