Mom's Sleepy Soles Pt. 01

I have no idea where my foot fetish came from. I've done extensive reading online, trying to research my fetish's potential origin. There are many theories, but no one knows for sure. Some believe fetishes arise from being "imprinted" as a baby. Maybe you were crawling on the floor next to a pair of bare feet and tried to play with them. Maybe your mother thought it was cute to let you teeth on her toes, and over time, that created a deep, intense attraction toward feet. I personally could never recall anything of that nature—all I know for sure was that I've loved feet for as long as I can remember.

Barefoot scenes in movies and TV shows always got me excited. This was also true when warmer weather coaxed my fellow classmates into wearing flip-flops or sandals. How I managed to pay attention in school during those summer months I'll never know. There were nothing but distractions but everywhere, right as I was hitting puberty. But then though I'd seen bare feet in movies and also in real life, getting to worship them always seemed like a distant reality - sure I could "see" then, but I could never "have them. And that's where my mom comes into play...

We still live together in the same house and have a great relationship. She's really everything a son could ask for. On top of that, she goes barefoot at home all the time, I can't even begin to tell you how hard it is for me to study when I came home from school. Even from upstairs, I can hear the sound of my mother's bare soles walking across the kitchen floor as she prepares dinner. I know it's weird to admit this, but I've always found her feet to be incredibly arousing. This has always made me extremely uncomfortable, being sexually attracted to my mother, even if my attraction was only toward her feet. But the awkwardness of it all didn't change the way her feet made me feel. Not even a little. Her feet drove me absolutely fucking crazy - a secret that until now, I kept only to myself.

One night, when my father was away on a business trip, me and a few friends bought beer from one of their older siblings. This was the first time I'd consumed alcohol as well as the first time I'd ever been drunk. I was afraid to come home because I didn't want my mom to find out and ground me. I snuck into the house as quietly as I could, praying I could make my way to my room without her interrogating me. Thankfully, when I entered the house, the living room was dark. I continued creeping my way toward my room, tiptoeing as quietly as I could. The only obstacle between myself and a clean getaway was my parents' room. Their door was wide open and I'd have to walk passed it to get to mine. The bright glow of my parents' television spilled into the hallway, taunting me. There was no way to pass without being fully exposed.

I continued walking as lightly as I could, trying my best to ensure the wooden stairs wouldn't creek beneath my shoes. Amazingly, they didn't. I was now just outside the threshold that separated my parents' room from the hallway. I thought about my options. I could try crawling across the floor, praying my mother's attention would remained fixed on the television. But if she saw me crawling, I'd be caught red-handed. I then thought about briskly walking passed their room without stopping. If my mom tried speaking to me, I could tell her I had to go to the bathroom and would be right back. Then I could stay in the bathroom as long as I needed—even until morning if I had to. I could tell her I was having an extremely bad stomach ache and I could just stay in there until I sobered up. And if I did just walk by, there was still a chance that she wouldn't say anything to me at all. I could simply head directly to my room, close the door, go to bed, and no one would know anything, But as I pondered all the options and possibilities, I noticed a sound. The sound was different from whatever was coming from the TV. I could tell because the sounds from the television changed drastically from moment to moment. The sound I noticed was constantly repeating, over and over. And then I realized what it was—a snore...

Ever so carefully, I peaked my head into the room. What I saw was more than a relief—my mother had fallen asleep while watching TV. I was now free to pass without any fear of getting in trouble. But then I noticed something else. It was the soft glow of the television reflecting off the soft pads of my mother's soles. My pulse immediately heightened. I just started at them, hypnotized. I'd seen her feet thousands of times, but this was different. This time, she was passed out, and for the first time in my life, I was drunk...

The next thing I noticed was a half-emptied bottle of Nyquil on my mother's night stand. Earlier she mentioned that she felt a cold coming on. I don't know how long I stood there, but it was a while. My dick throbbed against my pants as I tried talking myself out of what already I knew I was about to do. Slowly, I entered...

To be continued...