High school dances were basically all the same.  The guys would stress out about money, having to wear a stupid looking tuxedo, while the girls shopped for months for a dress in which they'd spend a total of five hours.  But it's all a part of growing up.  And they were fun.  No where else could you see all the different groups of people in one place, all having a good time.  The skaters danced right along with the jocks, the preps moshed right next to the drama crowd, and everyone in between.  The sock sightings were also universal.  As the evening progressed, all the guys would take off their uncomfortable rented shoes and venture out on to the dance floor with only a pair of dark socks between their tired, yet rhythmic, feet and the cold floor.  I admit to making the rounds on the dance floor interacting with the spectrum of groups to view the socked feet of their eclectic membership.  Even the student teacher I lusted over for much of my junior year showed off his socks and his dance moves during the winter formal.  I remember telling my date I needed to take a seat because my leg was cramping just so I could enjoy the view of the godlike Yale grad from a greater vantagepoint.

My junior prom was one of the more memorable formal dances I attended.  I had secretly been seeing a guy named Mark for a few months by the time it rolled around.  Since we were both still in the closet, we agreed it would be okay to date girls-- and only girls.  I had been dating a nice girl named Chrissy for a couple of months, so I was going to the dance with her.  She and Mark had become acquaintances during the few times they ran into each other on the go.  And with just about a week left before the big party, Chrissy's best friend, Mari, was in desperate need of a decent date.  Mari was a very pretty girl, but unfortunately, she was also a very mean one.  She always had trouble finding dates.  She was very blunt in her remarks and while most of us were polite about sensitive subjects, Mari didn't possess that little voice to help filter the rude comments.  Although she was part of the clan, most everyone thought she was the witch of the junior class.  I, on the other hand, actually like her.  I admired her pure honesty.  I was always the politician in high school, always trying to make everyone happy and like me, but once in a while I wanted so badly just to tell that guy who always visited me in the Student Body office that he smelled like stewed tomatoes or to tell that girl who came crying to me because she was kicked off the dance team not because all the other girls hated her, like she thought, but because she could barely walk correctly, let alone actually dance.  Mari was not a popular girl.  So on the Friday before the big day, good ol' Mark volunteers to escort her to the dance.  I was not a little bit annoyed.  We had agreed not to be in each other's presence while the other was with a girl.  Though I understood Mark was only trying to do a noble deed, being the bratty little 16-year-old I was, I was furious.  After some coaxing and a wild Saturday night in Santa Cruz under the stars, I realized it would be kind of fun to have Mark around.  It would be the perfect opportunity to be with him and my friends at the same time.

For some odd reason my school always had our big formal functions on a Sunday night.  It was probably because ballroom rates were much lower and even though our teachers' lounge and principals' offices were always teaming with new furniture and bright new wallpaper, our advisors always drove home the point of saving money.  Whatever the reason, I was always rushing.  Sunday was my family's day to be together.  Putting on the illusion of a well-adjusted family that my parents lived for, we would get up before even the rooster went to bed and spend two hours at church.  After deprogramming myself, I would usually fake a headache or a pressing English paper to get home even before our lunch at the home of the most boring, self-involved family in history, my father's best friend's.  But, as luck would have it, I actually did have to finish reading "Hamlet" for an English class and, to add to the irony, the day of my junior prom was an especially important day for an offshoot of the Shea family, the Australian exchange student they had been hosting for six months.  It was Leslie's birthday and being the gentleman, I stayed through every lame conversation about little Timmy Shea's latest merit badge and the latest Bobby Shea-pitched 20-hitter.  Mr. Shea would end that conversation with, "You'll get 'em next time, huh Bob?"  Though the Shea patriarch was the biggest blowhard you'll ever have the displeasure of meeting (he owned a used car dealership on the El Camino… need I say more?), he did have an awesome pair of 42-year-old feet.  On that particular day he was wearing a pair of loafers that he was not afraid to let slip from his feet every two minutes, exposing his blue and brown patterned socks.  As we went into the TV room, he took them off for good and while the two families watched a tape Leslie's family had sent from picturesque Sydney, I just stared at Mr. Shea's more picturesque socked peds.  (I later found out Leslie's older brother, who I had lusted after during his visits, was parading around in his white socked feet throughout the birthday video.)

Since the extended birthday party lasted hours longer than it should have, I not only didn't have time to polish off a few acts of "Hamlet," but I only had about a half an hour to get ready for the dance.  Mark and I had agreed to meet at my house before we went to pick up our dates, who had been dressing for the past few hours at Mari's house, just around the corner.  Mark arrived in the middle of my shower and though he was already in his rented pinstriped tuxedo, decided to take his second shower of the day.  I never enjoyed taking a shower with another person, but the thought of being around my running stud for the next five hours, without being able to touch him, drove me crazy.  Though I knew I only had a few minutes to take the shower, as Mark walked into the bathtub, I dropped to the floor and started at his beautiful feet.  He had jokingly kept his dress socks on while he jumped into the shower; I appreciated his openness to my sock fancy.  Much to his surprise, as the socks on his shapely size twelve feet soaked up the warm bath water, I sucked in, drinking.  Mark had gotten used to his feet being the center of attention, so he started on himself.  After a few minutes I took off his soaking socks and threw them out of my shower.  As I rose to my feet, Mark fell to his knees and gave me one of his slobbery blowjobs.  With all the extra shower water running down my body, it was close to heaven, my body quivering.  It was the first time I had ever been intimate with someone in the shower.  And even though it was a relatively brief encounter, I spewed twice before the shower was over.

While wiping each other off, Mark realized he didn't have another pair of socks to wear.  Once again, to his surprise, I went into my sock drawer and pulled out a pair of black socks that looked strangely familiar to him.  They were his socks that I had slipped into my overnight bag after we had gone to one of my parents' parties on the bay.  It had only been a couple of weeks before, so his musk was still lingering.  As I blushed upon the light of my thievery, Mark grabbed the socks and put them on.  Though he was on the lanky side, his feet were quite thick and the socks' fabric was stretched to its limit.  His feet were almost perfect for me; His arches weren't too high; His toes were a nice size; The big toe was quite thick; The veins ran up and down; His nails were always nicely groomed; And though they had a strong, distinct scent, they were never rank.  With only a few minutes before we were to be at Mari's house, I got off one more time.  With his socked feet rubbing against my body, from my face to my own feet, I jacked off, trying to keep my groans down to a minimum.  I barely missed cumming onto his socks.

At Mari's house, all of the parents took pictures.  We drove away with Mari having forgotten her purse.  We drove back to her house and took another round of pictures.  We finally arrived at the restaurant about twenty minutes late to meet the rest of the clan.  Our waiter was very attractive, so it was hard to concentrate on my meal or even Mark.  I always feel bad about looking at others when I'm with someone.  But it is hard to help....  Sitting on opposite sides, he had slipped off his shoes under the table and I must have dropped my salad fork five times just to catch a glimpse.  Later, as dessert was being served, I felt his right foot rubbing against my leg.  With the possibility of being caught, I slipped off my right shoe and began to fight his foot.  By the time the cheesecake was wiped off my plate, my sock was half off and my load was half way through my male organs and nearing my Calvins.  All during dinner the subject of "Hamlet" kept coming up, almost thrawting my under-the-table fun.  Almost.  Apparently I was the only one who had not finished reading the overplayed play.  In the back of my mind "Hamlet" was stuck for the evening.  Shall we dance, sweet Prince?

We arrived at the Fairmont Hotel's Grand Ballroom in downtown San Jose at about 9:30.  The DJ had chosen to play Chrissy's favorite song the second we walked in.  She pulled me like a bloodhound hot on the trail to the dance floor, practically separating me and one of my favorite limbs: my right arm.  Even though the night was young, the guys had already shed their shoes and the dance floor was a sea of socks.  Trying to concentrate on my date was difficult, but my core decency won out.  Though I would catch slight glances, I didn't stare at the floor like past dances.

It was around 11:00 and Ace of Base was blaring from the speakers as the female members of the clan gathered to take their "chick pic."  With that break, Mark and I had our first chance to be alone.  We walked into the lobby and then into one of the hotel's restaurants' bathrooms.  Luckily it was a single toilet room and we were allowed to be totally alone.  Though we weren't planning on being intimate during the date, the sight of hundreds of pairs of socked feet was too much for me to handle.  After checking the floor for general cleanliness, I shut the door.  As the occupied signed flickered to the outside world, I fell to my knees and unzipped Mark's pinstriped tuxedo pants.  Apparently Mark was ready for my willing mouth as his dick practically shot out, knocking me in the nose.  Mark's cock tickled the back of my throat and, though my mouth was full, I managed a few audible groans.  Without thinking about where we were, I continued to suck Mark's veiny cock.  Before he was about to shoot his usually plentiful load, he stopped me.  I was confused, but then stood up and unzipped and pulled down my pants, thinking Mark wanted to return the favor.  Instead, to my pleasant surprise, he told me to take off my right shoe.  Had Mark discovered his own affinity to feet?  The thought certainly excited me.  He lifted my right foot to his feet and felt, for the first time, the rush of air through my toes as he inhaled.  With the confusion giving way to ecstasy, I leaned against the closed door.  I made my way down to the floor, all the while with Mark's nose pressed against my foot.  Though the sniffing had stopped, he began to lightly bite the tips of my toes.  After getting ample fabric in between his teeth, and with a little help from his right hand, he pulled my sock off.  Having never experienced a footjob from the receiving end, my hard on poked completely out of my pants.  At the first touch of tongue, goose bumps ran up and down my body.  His usually slobbery blowjob technique had transferred to his first footjob.  Saliva was running down his chin and he began to stroke himself through his fly.  After taking my left shoe off, he started to bite my toes and tore the sock off of my foot.  Mark then sucked each toe with the same vigor as if he were giving a blowjob.  And as he was getting to my pinky toe, I let out one loud moan and blew my load onto my undershirt.  I lay there, with my eyes closed, barely moving, simply enjoying Mark's swift tongue.  After another few minutes, I felt his tongue leave my foot.  Hoping for another surprise, I kept my eyes closed.  Seconds later, I felt his lips against mine.  I asked him why he had just surprised me like he did.  Was he a foot man and never knew it before tonight?  Unfortunately, no he was not.  It had been a while since we had the conversation regarding my wish he would play with my feet.  So long I had even forgotten until he brought it up.  Like the man he was, he thought tonight would be the perfect time to grant it.  And it was.

After getting dressed and cleaned up, Mark and I returned to the dance to meet the clan that had gathered in the lobby.  Feeling especially renewed, Mark and I grabbed our dates and dragged them to the dance floor.  We all slipped off our shoes and, with Garth Brooks' "Friends in Low Places" starting us off, we danced the next few songs with wide smiles on our faces.

As the clock stuck midnight, the first few notes of the prom's theme song, Eric Clapton's "Wonderful Tonight," began to play.  Though I wanted to desperately grab Mark and dance with him, I knew the time was not right.  So, instead, we danced with our dates, our backs to each other, touching every so often as Mr. Clapton sang, "My darling, you are wonderful tonight."

After we made the rounds to the countless compulsory after parties, Mark and Mari and Chrissy and myself went our separate ways.  Chrissy and I never did much more than hold hands and kiss and that night was no different.  I was Mark's and he was mine.  And even though the cruelty of high school and the rest of world prevented us from being totally honest with it, we knew it and that was enough.

Under those circumstances, the night of my junior prom would have been more than perfect even if it would have ended there.  But Mark was full of surprises that night, and into the next morning.  I returned home at around 4:00.  I had spent a couple of hours with Chrissy, talking with her and her family about the night.  I was practically asleep, lulled to by Celine's crystalline voice, with "Hamlet" in hand, when my phone rang.  Because of the piles of clothing I had amassed during the past week, I could not easily find the ringing cordless.  By the time I found it underneath the tuxedo I had just shed, my answering machine had started its outgoing message.  Right before the beep, I turned it off and I screamed into the phone.  Expecting my mother, who frequently called from down the hall, I apologized for the rude greeting.  Instead, I heard Mark's devilish laugh.  Before I could finish my apology, he told me to unlock the kitchen door and let him in.  I rushed to the door not knowing what Mark had planned.  I let him in and followed him into my father's office, just to the left of the kitchen.  Thinking even rabbits need a little time to recover from a day of sexual activity, I readied myself for another session.  But Mark pulled out a tape from his jacket pocket and popped it into my father's little radio.  Pinching myself to make sure I was truly awake and not dreaming this unfolding scene, Mark played the tape and slowly walked toward me.  As the familiar first notes of "Wonderful Tonight" hit my ears, I couldn't help but laugh a little.  Mark, still in his full tuxedo, but in a pair of the Adidas slippers he seemed to wear constantly instead of his rented shoes, and I, in my pajama bottoms and a white T-shirt, began to dance.  Though Mark was always a gentleman, he was never the romantic, so this little dramatic stunt took me by surprise, even in the light of that evening's events.  As we swayed to the slow song, Mark told me how wonderful I was that night and when the song had finished, slipped into my left pajama pocket the pair of socks I had taken from him weeks before and that he had worn throughout the night.  Plagiarizing a line from "Hamlet," Mark said, "That's for remembrance."

I will always remember that evening.

We're not imprisoned by the past we left behind.