[The Meeting] [The Call] [The Flirting] [The Kiss] [The First Time] [Mark's Socks]

I remember the date:  January 15, 1994.  I was a junior in high school and dating my second boyfriend.  I was a little scared about being "out," so I chose to date guys that had nothing to do with my friends from school, though that would later change.

THE MEETING

I met Mark at the mall while Christmas shopping with my family a month and a half earlier.  He was working at the Gap and I noticed him right away.  Though he had on the uniform, he wasn't a pretty boy.  For some reason I could tell he didn't feel comfortable working in such an environment.  Being ever eager to spark up a conversation, I walked up to him and asked about the closest item to him, which happened to be a sweater.

"Could you help me find a large?" I asked.
"No problem," he responded.

After going through about half the display of green, blue, and red patterned sweaters, Mark found a large.

"Here you go," he said.

He handed me the sweater and smiled.  He was a good-looking guy, taller than myself, on the skinny side, had blonde hair, and the nicest brown eyes I had ever seen look back at me, save for my mother's.

"To be honest with you, this is probably the ugliest sweater I've ever seen!" I jokingly admitted, not noticing the five people scrambling to buy their loved ones the unfortunate sweater.

Mark laughed and, I would suppose against company policy, agreed.

"Actually, you looked so bored I wanted to give you something to do," I said.
"Yeah, well, they hire 50 people to work during the holidays and half of us don't have anything to do but try and look busy," Mark said.
"Hey, shut up!  Your manager might hear you."
"That's all right," he said.  "We're safe; She's actually over there trying to look busy herself!"

It was the way he said it that told me I had to know this guy, be it friend or otherwise.

Nervously, I said, "Well, if you ever get so bored that you need to talk to someone, you should give me a call and maybe we can try to find an even uglier sweater than this one to give to my uncle.  That would be an exciting job!"

He didn't say anything, so I tore off the edge of my Christmas list, scrolled down my number, and handed it to him, never really expecting him to use it.  Thinking back, he was a little shocked, but accepted the slip of paper and just smiled again.

We said our good-byes and I continued my year-end Christian duty of Christmas gift-buying, wondering if I had just made a mistake by giving him my number.

Luckily that feeling passed as I passed a 50%-off sale.  Oh, that Christmas spirit can do wonders for a confused soul!

THE CALL

A few days had gone by and I was just coming home from an exhausting day of four classes, gossip, and back stabbing-- just a typical day of high school-- and on my door, a note.

Mark had called about fifteen minutes before.  I was a little surprised and very excited!  I told myself I would wait until the evening to call.  Of course I called about two minutes after making that promise, but it had to be evening somewhere!

THE FLIRTING

So, that first week we talked and met a few times for coffee.  He was a very nice guy and we talked about everything, except girls, even though I was dating a couple of them.  He told me about his family and their business, a restaurant frequented by my very own parents.  We talked about school and how much we wanted it to end, even though we enjoyed it.  We exchanged stories of our Zima-swilling friends.  We both liked to watch as others tripped and stumbled over furniture at parties.  And there was no shortage of personal injury stories involving ottomans, desks, and, of course, toilets.

THE KISS

One particular conversation is etched in my memory forever.  We were in front of Mark’s house after he had taken me out for my birthday dinner.  We didn’t have very much money so we shared a Mexican pizza from Taco Bell.  We sat on the curb and  watched an older couple walk by hand-in-hand.  Though I’m sure they had known each other for years, they looked like they had just sparked up a romance.  They smiled at us and made a comment about the moon.  Mark, who drew the moon almost every night before he went to bed, went through his moon spiel to the couple, who seemed genuinely interested.

After they had gone, I asked him, "Can you imagine yourself being married for so long and still acting like that?"
"Not really," Mark said.
"No?  Why not?"
"I’ve never pictured myself even being married."

We both paused and looked around us.

"I think I understand," I said.
"I think you do."

With that said, I turned to him.  Though his voice had suddenly turned somber just a second before, he was smiling like I’d never seen him smile before.

I thought to myself, "Geez, I’m just gonna close my eyes, lean over, and kiss him."

So, as I closed my eyes, about to lean over, I was stopped.  I opened my eyes and there we were, risking everything by making out right there in front of his house!

I couldn’t help but pull away and laugh.  My body was feeling so much joy, but his lips were moving around way too much really-- too much to be really enjoyable.

"I’m sorry," he said with a crooked smile.  "I’m just really nervous."
"What am I doing to you?" I asked.  "You’re probably the most confident person I know and here you are, shaking like a leaf."
"Sorry."
"Don’t be sorry."
"That was my first kiss," he admitted.  "With a guy."

I think he was waiting for me to tell him that it was my first time kissing another guy, too.  Of course having gone out with one other guy the summer before, it would’ve been a lie.  So, I just smiled, stood up, thanked him for dinner, asked him to drive me home, and got into his car.  He looked confused at first, but then he realized this only the beginning.

I was getting attached pretty quickly.  Though it scared me, I allowed myself to go with the flow.

The flow lead me to a relationship that, though regretfully secretive and long over, I still hold close in my heart and probably always will.

THE FIRST TIME

My Mark was a runner and I loved that about him.  Though he could run further and faster than I could even drive, he was willing to bear with me and go running a couple times a week.  It was after our January 15th, 1994 run that my fascination for the foot, especially the socked foot, began.

It was raining that Saturday afternoon and so we cut the run short.  I didn’t have the fancy running jacket he had that kept out the rain, so I was getting a little pissed off.  He knew it and offered to give me his jacket.  Though I really didn’t want to go any further, I said yes just so I could see him run in a wet shirt.  I was always horny in high school.  Eventually the cold rain dampened my overworked hormones and we headed back to Mark’s house.

Though his mom never really liked me for some reason, she was always polite and was used to me being around.  We walked into the house and she was in the kitchen making lunch.  She was the greatest cook and there was always food in the house that tasted so good I felt like leaving a big, fat tip whenever I ate.  She wasn’t quite done with the sandwiches so she offered to bring them up to Mark’s room when she finished.  A subtle, yet effective, way of getting our wet selves out of her meticulous kitchen.

She didn’t have to shove me upstairs at all.  I was eager to see Mark change into a clean pair of shorts and a shirt I had bought for him for his birthday, which was the day before.

We ran up the stairs, I behind him, and I noticed how awesome his legs looked.  They weren’t thick, but they had amazing muscle tone.  He had a lot of hair on his legs and, for some reason, it was a little darker than the hair on the rest of his body.  I loved running my fingers through the hair on his legs while he slept.  Though he never knew how much I enjoyed it, luckily he always wore shorts to sleep.

We got to his room and I told him to shower and change into his new clothes.  Usually while he undressed to shower I would be watching TV, but with the cable out I turned to him for my viewing pleasure.

He laughed a little and danced around while he took off his wet shirt.  He struggled a bit, but finally got it off.  I was just laughing, hoping his mother wouldn’t knock on the door during her only son’s stripping debut.

Next were his running shorts.  I started laughing even harder.  He didn’t remember to take off his shoes.

"Take your stupid shoes off first you genius!" I said.  "Oh, you’ll never make it as a stripper if you don’t remember to take your shoes off before your pants."
"Just for that little comment, you’re just going to have to wait to see all this," Mark said.

He sat down quietly on the floor and began to unlace his shoes.  Though I could see his jock peeking out, I was more fascinated by the shape of his legs.  So beautiful!  Of course his legs lead down to his beautiful feet.

He had taken off his right shoe, a blue and white Adidas running shoe, and I felt excited by the sight of his socked foot.  He took off his left shoe as slowly as his right and his white socks, soiled a little by the rain and mud, were strangely invigorating.

Maybe it was seeing him strip for the first time or maybe it was just the fear of his mother walking in on me watching her son strip, but I was horny as hell seeing his white socks cling against his feet.  I was a little confused since I never really thought I was a victim of any fetish.  But I caught myself thinking too much and stopped myself.

"Mark, hold on," I said.  "I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in just your socked feet before, have I?"
"What are you talking about?" he asked.
"Wait, let me just see something really quick."

I walked to him, sat down, and grabbed his foot.  He was obviously as confused as I was, but he didn’t flinch.  I felt like I had discovered gold.  I was wide-eyed, trying to take in the sight of his beautiful feet.  I took his left foot and put it against my cheek.  I must have taken him by surprise since he lost his balance and fell onto his back.  It was still so soft, though a little damp.  I put it closer to my nose and took a little whiff.  Mark said something then, but I didn’t hear him.  I was too busy getting the most raging hard on of my life.  I’m sure he noticed because he stopped talking.  He was just laying here and I just kept rubbing his feet.  I couldn’t hold back.  I took his right foot into my mouth and ran my tongue all over the white cotton/lycra blend.  I was so horny.  I grabbed my cock and just started rubbing.  I think Mark was a little freaked out. Usually by this time he was rubbing right along with me, but he just lay there.

I turned my head to the door to make sure we had locked it.  It was.  So, I continued sniffing, kissing, and rubbing Mark’s feet.  The smell wasn’t dirty, but had a hint of musk.  I felt his legs and caressed them.  I was about to explode as he finally started to move.  He grabbed his jacket from my body and took it off.  It was hard for him because I didn’t want to let of any part of him.  He succeeded in taking my shirt off as well, but I just wanted to touch his feet.  I wasn’t interested in his cock right now, though it was very beautiful.

I took off one of his socks and started to lick his bare foot.  Then and there I lost it.  I grabbed my cock from under my shorts and rubbed it like a crazy man.  Mark was laying down again, unable to do very much, but enjoy the amateur footjob I was giving him.

It wasn’t too long until I let out a few muted groans and checked my right hand.  I was a little embarrassed at first, realizing that I had just jacked off with a foot in my mouth.  But I enjoyed it and was thoroughly satisfied.

I got up, made sure I didn’t get any of me on his carpet, and walked into his bathroom to wash up.  He followed me, but didn’t say a word until I had dried my hands.

"What just happened?" Mark asked.
"I don’t know exactly," I replied.
"I think you just jerked off with my mom in the house!"
"Oh, shit, she’s bringing us sandwiches still, isn’t she?  Go take a shower.  We’ll talk about what just happened later."

Mark finally got his other sock off and his shorts and jumped in the shower.  I sat on his bed, staring at his piled up socks.  I tried to feel guilty about what I had just done, but all I could think of was how hot his socks looked.  I got up, grabbed them, and threw them into my bag.  As I was zipping up, Mark’s mom finally knocked on the door, I unlocked the door, and she walked in with four club sandwiches.

"I hope you’re hungry," she said.

Boy, was I ever.

Mark's Socks

So much to believe in.