Down the Drain

Author's Note: this one has a little something for everyone (including shoe fetishism, my specialty). Do you have the patience and self-control to allow the story to unfold?

***

Gavin gently brought the sole of his sneaker down onto Josh's basketball shorts. He gently teased the straining manhood beneath, making small circles with the ball of his foot. The zigzagged grooves of his tread gripped the shiny nylon material, sliding it over the swollen glans. Josh whimpered slightly and lifted his head off the glassy wooden floor of the gym to take in the sight of Gavin, towering above him, curls dampened with sweat framing the hard planes of his face.

"You are so fucking hot," Josh moaned, overtaken with disbelief that this moment had actually been realized. Gavin grinned and paused, leaning forward on his knee, his foot pressing into Josh's groin and sending surges of an exquisite pain shimmering at the edges of his vision.

"I know," Gavin replied simply, his thick eyebrows raising in sync with a casual flick of his wrist as if to indicate that--he try though he might--he simply couldn't help being agonizingly sexy to both genders. John smiled as he ran his hands up the mesh upper of the Adidas Next Levels that enveloped Gavin's feet and swooped up his ankles. God, it felt amazing to have one nestled between his legs.

Ever since the first time Gavin had stepped onto the basketball court with them on--months ago--Josh had been mesmerized by their tall, yellow silhouettes, uninterrupted by laces. They bent and bounced as Gavin dribbled and paced, the black outsoles mirrored in the court floor. Josh had found himself staring at them hypnotically as Gavin rested with his feet up on the bleachers, and had once even snuck his hands inside them while he was in the locker room shower just to feel the lining, still damp and warm from Gavin's efforts on the court, and to imagine his feet inside them, pressing into his aching erection.

But there were no furtive glances now. No secrets. Gavin dug his heel into Josh's stomach and raked it down to his crotch, catching the waistband of his shorts and pulling it below his cock, which impatiently sprang free. "You've waited long enough for this," he said with a slow nod. "Don't disappoint me."

Josh's slamming heart skittered over a missed beat as he wrapped his fingers inside the elastic band that stretched around Gavin's Achilles. He could feel the moist cotton of his tall black socks on his fingertips. "You mean I can--?" He scarcely dared to finished sentence.

Gavin put his foot back on the floor of the basketball court and thrust it between Josh's legs, the exclamation of the sole on the high gloss planks reverberating off of the high ceiling where the lights hummed in a steady excitement. Josh sat up, using Gavin's stony calf to pull himself forward where could now feel the knit texture of the sneaker's tall tongue on the underside of his shaft, the sensation driving him toward an inescapable end. Gavin leaned down and brought his face close to his, his breath warm on the bridge of Josh's nose. "Paint them."

Josh's back arched in response and his entire body thrummed with a single purpose. "Oh. My. God!" His voice buzzed off the flimsy walls of the fiberglass shower as he slammed his palms against sides and steadied himself in the stall. Jets of semen softly plopped to the floor and slowly swirled to the drain.

Gavin smiled at him in smug satisfaction before receding into whatever part of Josh's mind he crouched in, waiting for his next opening.

When Josh could finally keep his eyes from rolling back, his dunked his head beneath the shower's stream and watched as the last of his climax clung with jellyfish-like tendrils to the grille in the center of the floor.

How many times had he fantasized about Gavin? How many sperm had thrown themselves into oblivion for the hopeless cause?

He wrapped a towel around himself and padded down the hall to the kitchen, droplets still clinging to his legs and leaving a wet trail on the old hardwoods behind him. If his grandmother were still around, she would have had plenty to say about that. But then, she was probably already rolling in her grave with just how much her 1970s era ranch house had deteriorated since Josh had inherited. He hadn't touched a thing since her death--including a sponge or a vacuum. He barely even noticed the cobwebs that fluttered between the ceiling and the dusty rings that held the faded curtains.

He was scrolling through FaceBook and standing in front of the refrigerator, its harvest gold door yawning wide to reveal the darkened interior--since he had never bothered to replace the bulb--when a high-pitched squeal sliced the gloom of the house wide open.

"What the hell?" he murmured as he slammed the door to the fridge, condiment bottles rattling in the door. He cocked his head and turned in a slow circle in the center of the kitchen, eyes panning across the crumb-dusted, cluttered countertops as he struggled to hone in on the direction of the racket's source.

When he shuffled to the smoke detector in the dark hallway, his damp foot caught a pile of junk mail in the living room and sent a volley of blue and white envelopes across the floor. Swearing under his breath, he craned to look at the yellowed plastic disk on the ceiling, which did not so much as blink once to indicate that it held sentry over the house.

Thrusting his legs into a pair of jeans, he bounded down the basement steps where the piercing tone increased in its intensity, worming into his head and buzzing the inside of his skull. Josh could make out a foreboding red light atop a gray metal box affixed to the wall on the far end of the basement. He started to wend his way through the clutter, which was even more thickly deposited here than on the floor above, the incessant shriek in a gradual crescendo until he finally reach the box.

***

"Septic alarm," Gavin automatically volunteered. He leaned against the cash register counter as Josh related his tale from earlier that morning. Josh looked up from the stainless water bottle display he was unpacking with an expression of mild disgust.

"See? Now how the fuck do you just know shit like that?" The two of them had probably worked most of their shifts at the store together for the past three years, and the apparent breadth of Gavin's knowledge never ceased to amaze Josh...at least when it wasn't nagging him with a constant undertone of inferiority.

Gavin shrugged cooly. "I grew up in the valley, too. Just about every house out there's got one." He began to slide the bottles into an orderly row as Josh plunked vthem on the counter in succession.

"Yeah, well I didn't know anything about it. I just flush the toilet, you know? I didn't think I was supposed to have to concern myself with what happened after that." He crushed a sheet of bubble wrap into the empty box and kicked it across the carpet tile to the stockroom door.

Gavin chuckled as he logged into the register and scanned one of the bottles. "Come on, man," he countered, jabbing at the screen as he ran the pricing information. "You haven't concerned yourself with anything in that house ever. Who are you kidding?"

Josh slid around to the front of the counter and stood opposite him, resting his hands on the glass top. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Gavin continued to stare at the screen. "Dude. You're the only 22-year-old I know who owns a house around here and you're letting it go to shit. Literally." He set the bottle down and looked at Josh. "If you don't start taking care of it, you're going to be in a world of hurt."

Josh burned at the accusation, knowing it rang with truth. He turned and busied himself with straightening a rack of sunglasses.

"Yeah, well what do you know about the expenses of owning a home? Don't think I didn't notice the brand new Ultraboost you got there on your feet. Those suckers are, what--$200?" And would be hot as hell to be underneath, he silently added.

Gavin grinned and glanced down. "I used my store discount," he retorted. The bell sounded as a mom and her preteen son ambled in. Gavin started from around the counter.

"Look," he said, pausing by Josh. "Did you call a septic pumping company?"

"Tried," Josh mumbled sullenly. "Can't get me in today. Guess I'm supposed to somehow magically not use any water between now and whenever they can fit me in."

"I know a guy. I'll text him and see if I can't get him over to look at it for you today."

Josh looked skeptical.

"Serious?"

Gavin bobbed his head emphatically. "The guy's legit. It's gonna be alright. Okay?"

He slapped Josh on the shoulder. The touch resonated through him, given how Gavin had already unknowingly aided him earlier that morning.

"Hey, Gavin?" Josh called. He paused and turned back. "Thanks, man."

Gavin grinned. "Anytime, brother. Anytime. Oh, and it's Dell now, remember?" he said, gesturing to his name tag.

Josh returned the smile and rolled his eyes. "Just because you can switch your name on a dime doesn't mean I can." He watched as Gavin crouched next to the boy and began to take his foot measurements for soccer cleats, his crisp white socks appearing between his immaculate Ultraboost and his pressed gray uniform pants. After an all-too-familiar horny twinge, Josh shook himself and busied himself at the hoodie wall.

***

The tank truck emblazoned with "Sean's Septic Services" was already in the driveway when Josh pulled in, and a man in blue coveralls--presumably Sean himself--was standing in the weedy backyard, pen poised over a clipboard.

"Are you Sean?" Josh asked as he slammed the car door shut.

"That's what the poop mobile says," came the reply along with a lopsided grin. His dark hair was swept into a floppy-but-trendy bun, and he had the thickest forearms Josh had ever seen. Josh couldn't help but stare at the snaking veins that bulged under his skin as he shook hands with him.

"I really appreciate you're coming out so fast."

"Hey, anything for my buddy, Gavin."

"Yeah, he mentioned you knew each other."

"I dated his sister, Heidi a while back. Hey, I'd love to shoot the shit with you...literally," he broke into a laugh at his own apparent wit, "but I think we better see what's got you backed up down there." He pointed a booted foot to an area of grass. "I've already determined your tank port to be down here. Just didn't want to start digging without your go-ahead."

Josh put his hands up as if in surrender. "Please. Do what you've got to do."

At that, Sean got to work shoveling a small, neat hole in the yard. Josh tried not to enjoy the sight of his worn work boots repeatedly coming down on the shovel too much, the loops of the red laces swaying lazily with the movements, but the fact was that a good nine hours had passed since his morning shower. He was already beginning to feel the crackle of unspent energy, which--like lightning to a rod--usually sought out the nearest tantalizing male footwear. Concerns he may normally have had about awkwardly standing by and watching his own excrement vacuumed from the ground evaporated as his endocrine system overrode social convention.

He was already semi-hard when Sean snapped on a pair of gloves and squatted down to pull the tank lid up, the soles of his boots bending and crunching against the ground. The reek assaulted Josh's nose almost immediately, but Sean didn't bat an eye. "How long since you've had this pumped?" he asked as he heaved the concrete lid onto the grass.

It took everything for Josh not to cover his nose with his shirt like a pansy-ass. "I have no idea. I inherited from my grandmother about two years ago, but I lived here for like ten before that. I don't ever remember it being done."

Sean rocked back on his heels and shot Josh a judgmental look. "So at least 12 years? Probably longer?" Josh shrugged. "You're supposed to get your system pumped every three to five years." Josh stared blankly. Sean stood up and beckoned for him to come closer. "I want to show you something." Josh could feel his entire face involuntarily screwing up as he craned his neck over the foul little portal. He was surprised to see what looked like soil just below the concrete lip of the tank. "Now every septic tank gets scum on the top after a while," Sean explained, gesturing with his orange rubber-gloved hands, "but this is pretty extreme." To Josh's surprise--and his cock's delight--Sean extended a boot down into the hole and pushed his sole against the crust. It didn't give under his force. "This is one of the thicker ones I've seen. It's completely dry and solid on top."

"That's...shit?"

"Your shit, to be specific." Sean put his hands on his hips.

Josh didn't know why, but he found it oddly arousing to know that this muscular guy in crisp blue coveralls had just pressed his work boot against his feces. True--it also disturbed him--yet that didn't diminish the rush. "Wow. So...what now?" Josh could see his clueless expression reflected in the technician's aviators.

"We'll get the aerator out to break this all up, then we'll pump it all out. We'll rinse it down in there and make it all pretty. Then you'll set a reminder in your phone to call me back in three years so it doesn't get like this again."

Josh nodded, feeling a little like a scolded child. But he was certainly not put off as he watched Sean drag the hose across the yard and locked on the PVC stinger. He then retrieved a two-handled, gas powered contraption.

"So that's an aerator?" Josh queried.

Sean yanked on the cord a few times in rapid succession until the small two-cycle motor putted to life. "Also called a 'crust buster,'" he called over the din. "Let's whip up a nice smoothie, shall we?" He inserted a long rod with a small blade on the end into the hole, which began to rotate. While Sean watched the vile crust give way and churn into the effluent below, Josh elected instead to keep his eyes on operator himself. Sean bent his legs as he braced against the machine. His meaty arms vibrated, his hips swayed, and the heels of his boots took turns parting with the ground as he pushed and pulled on the rod. The air may very well have been laden with Josh's own aerosolized shit, but there was still something very sexual about of this, and he could feel the resolve of his own rod as it stirred in kind.

He was just imagining other circumstances that would require Sean to thrust and pull in such a way, the first drops of pleasure sliding into his boxers like slippery jewels, when Sean suddenly cut the motor. He propped his aviators on his forehead.

"Something doesn't feel right," he declared as he began to extract the rod from the ground.

"I thought it was feeling great," Josh was mumbling under his breath just as a mass of gray slime balled up on the end of the aerator came into view. "Good night!" he said in tone equal parts awe and revulsion.

Sean stoically crouched and studied the gelatinous substance. Threadlike tendrils wound around the shaft of the machine and dangled from the sagging misshapen form, which completely obscured the aerator's fin.

"What the hell is that?"

"I've seen it all," Sean murmured. "Fatbergs, ass wipes, hair...but this--" he dabbed an orange gloved index finger at the mass and gluelike strands clung to it. "It's almost like rubber cement," he marveled. A thick snotty rope slid off the rod and landed on his boot and became fixed there. While it escaped Sean's notice, it certainly hadn't Josh's. There was something terribly familiar about it. Hazy wisps of pleasure and horror were just coalescing into thought when Sean beat him to it.

"Holy fuck," he gasped softly. "It's semen." He stood and looked at Josh with an expression he couldn't quite read. It definitely contained shock. But was it also disgust? Or possibly reverence? Josh felt the fire that had ignited between his legs now spread to his cheeks, but he stood defiantly before Sean and refused to break his gaze. He was mortified...and so wet that surely it was starting to show on his work pants.

Neither said a word. Sean clenched his jaw, the muscles working in his cheeks as he quietly hosed off the aerator, threw the switch to the truck's pump, and held the hose over the opening in the ground. He stood with his boot--christened with Josh's clotted cream--resting on the ridged pipe. Occasionally the pump would whine and race, and the hose would quiver between his gloved hands and convulse under his foot. Josh noticed Sean's fleeting glance in his direction each time this happened, and he could only imagine it was because they had hit another payload.

***

By the time the lid had been replaced, the loose dirt piled into the void, the hose coiled on the truck, and the copy of the bill had been ripped from the clipboard, Josh could hardly contain his raging erection. The vibrations of the tanker pulling out of the driveway were still rattling the panes in the front windows when he slammed the door behind him and clawed at his belt. In about five strokes, pearly streams were arcing over the living room rug.

"Oh, sweet Jesus," he hissed, his fist crunching the Sean's Septic Service invoice on the hall table beside him. He shakily slid to the floor with his back against the wall, gasping. He sat, staring blankly for a moment, his mind so steeped in endorphins that it seemed to rattle around uselessly in his head like the pit of an overripe avocado. He gazed at his wasted seed settling over the carpet fibers. It was literally the only thing in the room that glistened. And that's when he finally things with crystal clarity: his life really was going down the fucking drain.

He thought about the countless nights spent on fantasies that would never breathe oxygen. He thought about the gallons of semen his body had faithfully manufactured for him, day after day--possibly the only productive thing he had ever done--hauled away in a shit tanker. He thought about Gavin. Gavin, his friend of six or seven years that he had secretly crushed on for just as long, who was starting an apprenticeship as a stone mason. Certainly, it wasn't the career Josh would ever pick for himself, but at least Gavin had a plan. He was moving on from the sporting goods store they had worked together since high school--hell, he was changing his goddamned name. And here Josh sat, looking at his congealed cum brought forth by his own hand on the cruddy floor of what used to be his grandmother's house.

His head lolled against the wall as he took in the room. He saw the darkened pathways that had been smashed into the rug in front of the sagging couch and into the kitchen. The old console tube TV that, while still dominating the room as it had for three decades, sat forgotten under a film of grime because of the flat screen he had rested on top of it. And of course, there was the detritus of his lifestyle littering every surface and lurking in every corner. Every half-emptied Red Bull can and petrified carton of lo mein that had so passively accumulated over the weeks now seemed to rise up to mock him.

The loser.

Well, this was one thing he could change starting now. After peeling off clothes slick with his own juices and quickly showering, Josh set to work getting the house in order. He moved through the rooms with a garbage bag, sweeping the surfaces of clutter with his arm. He rolled up the living room rug and heaved it onto the front porch, revealing enough fine silt on the hardwoods underneath to fill a child's sandbox. He unearthed cleaning supplies he didn't know he had from deep within cabinets he never entered. He vacuumed, he sprayed, he scrubbed. The fridge was cleared, the countertops unladen. Faded curtains were torn from their rings and the cobwebs were wrangled with a towel on a yardstick. He loaded the ancient dishwasher for the first time in two years and twirled the dial.