The Fall of Troy Pt. 02

Note to reader...this story contains sneaker fetish themes. It's maybe less slow than the last part (check that out if you haven't!) because things tend to happen fast when people are surprised and nervous.

I stood there staring, frozen in my tracks, for what felt like minutes - even though it was probably just a few seconds. The imposing figure in lacrosse gear stood there outside my door, as though he were in the middle of play, knees slightly bent, and doing that back-and-forth "cradling" thing with his crosse that I'd seen players do often, even though he didn't have a ball in the head. I knew it was an in-game strategy and one of those fidgety things lacrosse players did, but I just thought it was hot.

The ostensible candy-seeker was wearing a red helmet, a white-and-red jersey that covered a set of shoulder pads and that had the number 18, elbow pads, gloves, white shorts that came down to a few inches above the knee, white leggings under the shorts that ended above the ankle, and white crew socks peeking up out of mid-high gray shoes. He was looking over his left shoulder and stopped rocking his stick, lowering it and resting the head on the ground. When he turned his head back toward me, he started slightly, and I almost dropped the bowl of candy. Inside the helmet I could barely make out a big grin that had formed, and a gloved hand gave a casual wave as he leaned on the stick with the other one.

"Trick or treat!" he shouted.

Inside I was shaking slightly, and I probably was on the outside also. I opened the storm door slightly.

"You're a bit late, but I still have plenty of candy, so I guess you get it all," I managed.

"That's nice of you, haha!" he laughed. He leaned forward, inspecting the bowl's contents. "Whoa, full-sized Snickers!?"

"I don't have kids of my own yet, so I'm allowed to spoil the crap out of other people's." Definitely shaking now. His voice was beautiful. Kind of a "hey bro" vibe but softer, even gentle.

We both stood there, realizing we were at the end of the playful banter that we could keep up all day online, but that in person only works for so long.

"Um...Troy?" I asked, pathetically. "Come in?...I guess?"

His body language communicated a slight nervousness perhaps. "I kinda thought it would be funny, y'know, Halloween and all...I don't have to, if you're busy or have something going on...."

I opened the door wider. "I'm just handing out candy to... kids." I coughed, trying not to crack a smile or just laugh openly.

"I'm 26 now, heh!" he chuckled, holding the door with a gloved hand and stepping inside. I closed the front door and led him through the foyer into the kitchen beyond, where I turned to face him.

"Old man, then, wow!" I resisted the urge to poke him in the pads.

"OKAY Zad­-" he stopped, and blushed so hard I could see it through the face mask. It was so much easier to be brave online. "I mean, um..."

"It's okay," I said, smiling. "We're the same people who've been talking for months. You can make the same jokes." I had the thought that maybe he didn't think I was attractive in person, which was immediately followed by a chastising mental yell of, "Come on, it's not like this is some kind of date!"

He seemed to ease up a little, and I heard what sounded like a short, exhaled breath. Sigh of relief?

Stick resting against his thigh, he pulled off both gloves, tossing them on my kitchen island. Nimble, strong fingers found their way up to either side of his helmet. There was a click from each side, and he lifted the helmet up and off. He shook his head back and forth, bringing down the helmet, and his dark, slightly wavy hair, now a little longer in the front and short in the back, tousled itself and settled perfectly toward his right side over his forehead, framing his dark eyes. He bit his lower lip slightly, darted his eyes off to his right, and then looked at me, and grinned.

I nearly lost bladder and bowel function. I certainly stopped breathing. The face that I knew could shine through a helmet grille was now beaming at me full brightness, and my brain had to squint.

"Hi," was all I could manage. I felt like I needed to hold onto something for support. I was glad I was dressed in jeans and a zip-up hoodie, decent public-facing clothes for handing out candy, instead of the usual near-pajamas I typically wore around the house in fall and winter.

"Hi yerself," he replied. He half-grinned, a little asymmetrically. Dark, gentle eyes smiled at me. His fair complexion was radiant and he had a small mole on his right cheek, the kind of thing some people put on using makeup, because there's something irresistible about them. And holy Christ, he was.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I asked. His smile faded slightly and he looked down. "NO! I mean... I'm surprised, but it's not bad, I just...."

"Don't know what to do with me?" the grin returned. Oh, fuck you, was he messing with me?

But his question did jog me into "host mode," and I moved toward him, reaching for his helmet. He handed it to me, and I put it next to his gloves. "Can I get you something to drink?" I offered. I thought about suggesting Kool-Aid, but stopped myself.

"Sure, whattaya got?" He placed his crosse next to his other equipment on the kitchen island, and started to tear open the Velcro closures of his elbow pads, slipping these off as well.

"What would your mom let you have?" I didn't say. Instead: "Most things...beer, soda, wine... gin."

He laughed. "Beer sounds great."

"IPA or Belgian?"

"Oooo, Belgian," he said excitedly. Wasn't I attracted to him enough already?

I got out a pair of Chimay Bleue and opened them, retrieving the appropriate glasses from a nearby cabinet as I continued trying to figure out exactly what was happening here. "So,...?" I gestured, indicating he could go ahead now and tell me what the living hell he was doing standing in my kitchen.

"Oh! Sorry. I mean...I always said I'd come visit you. So I figured tonight would be perfect for me to show up in lax gear and pass for a trick-or-treater!" He laughed a bit. "Also I thought it would be hilarious. You should have seen your face!" He was clearly pleased with himself, but in a goofy, genuine way. It was so attractive.

"Yeah, a 6-0, 180 trick-or-treater," I countered, as I poured the beers.

"Oh, just 165 now, I dropped some since I stopped playing and don't need to body check dudes anymore." He threw a shoulder in my direction as if to demonstrate. "Oh yeah, and I'm doing a co-op for school and actually working a few miles away from here for the next few months. Hah! when I saw where I got accepted and where they were putting me up, and then looked where your address was...." he shrugged and sipped his Chimay, making an 'ooo that's good' face, looking at it. "I've been in the apartment a couple weeks and didn't tell you, cuz I thought it would be hilarious to just show up." He clearly thought this was all 'no big deal,' so I figured I'd pretend the same, at least outwardly.

I walked toward the living room and motioned for him to follow with my head. We sat on either side of the intersection of my large L-shaped couch, and I bent my legs up in front of me like I was used to doing. Woolen socks kept my feet warm. Troy looked down and then up. "Oh, sorry should I take my shoes off?"

I immediately felt my face turning hot, and shades of red. I'm sure my eyes were wide. Troy just smirked and raised an eyebrow.

"No, you're fine. Really. I have hardwood everywhere so no worries." I looked at the shoes now more closely. He crossed his ankle over the other knee and flexed his foot - gray New Balance Freeze lacrosse turf shoes. Undoubtedly size 12. I wanted to touch one immediately but restrained myself.

"I'd have gone with cleats to complete the look," he said, "but it's a bitch walking on pavement." He looked around, craning his neck. "But where are they? I could always put em on!" He laughed.

I let that one pass for now. It was either that or throw myself at him. What was he doing in my living room anyhow?

"So...can I ask what... why are we?.... I don't get many stalkers around here," I fumbled, gesturing wildly, grasping at mental straws.

His turn to blush. He looked down at his beer and didn't seem to know what to say for a moment, then: "I guess it is kinda crazy. But is it weird to say...it doesn't feel weird...to me?"

"I didn't mean to imply it's weird...but well... it kind of is..." I was trying to figure it out in my own mind while I showed my work verbally, "...or at least that's what people would generally think if they knew how we met and that we're hanging out right now."

Troy considered this with a pensive frown and a sideways glance, bobbing his head in understanding, and said, "I think you're really handsome and I've always felt...safe...talking to you." His voice was quieter and the blushing wasn't stopping. "And I'm really close by now. And friends my age kinda piss me off, but you...."

As his voice trailed off he looked up at me, and shrugged.

I finally popped the question. "Troy, um...did you come here with something in mind?"

"Yeah, I wanted to meet this guy I like," he said with almost no hesitation.

I was floored. It wasn't so much what he said that struck me, as it was the quickness with which he came out with it. He was someone who had thought about things, including his motivations, and knew himself in a way that perhaps many guys his age - or hell, of any age ­- didn't.

"So you dressed up in lax gear and decided to randomly show up." I was laughing. "It's creative, I'll give you that!"

He shrugged. "I'm goofy and spontaneous sometimes. Plus I didn't think you'd mind and maybe you'd even like it."

"I don't mind, I do like it, and I like...you, too." I had been drinking my beer nervously fast and had maybe half left. I set it down on the coffee table. Troy did the same and leaned back, hands behind his head after ruffling his hair and straightening it a little.

"So, you don't have to," he started, "but I'd love to see where you keep em."

"Keep wha-...oh, the cleats you sent me?" My pulse picked up.

"Yeah! I mean I understand if you don't wanna give me the grand tour or you're busy or something but I am here and all...."

Sigh. This was happening. "I mean, what the hell?" I shrugged. I got up, swiped my beer glass from the coffee table, and walked back toward the kitchen, dropping off my beer. Troy followed suit. We made a left to the foyer, and then up the stairs to the bedrooms, headed towards the master. I was glad I had recently cleaned.

As he followed me up the stairs, he noticed, "Hah, you don't look like a size 12...aren't they a little big for 'yardwork?'"

"Ooookay funny guy, 10.5, and you already know I didn't buy them for the fit!"

We approached the walk-in closet door and I opened it, turning on the light. "They're in here," I said, gesturing. Troy followed me in.

The cleats were in their own cubby in one of the built-in shelves, as if on display. Troy spotted them quickly and his face lit up. He laughed a little.

"You've got them enshrined like a holy relic!" he commented. "You really like em, huh?" He glanced sideways at me, smiling.

"Um, yeah," I said, nervously. I was kind of trembling a little. I took one down, regarded it. Incredibly, I went on with, "Sometimes I'll get them a little wet inside and put them in front of a space heater, so it's like I just took them off y-...I...can't believe I'm telling you this." I was trembling more.

Troy took the...his...cleat out of my hand and put it gently back on the shelf. He was standing so close. "You wouldn't have to do that to the ones I'm wearing. They're already warm and a little wet." For a moment he was so unbelievably sexy. Then, "My feet sweat when I'm nervous, hah!" He was goofy, and sweet, again.

It would have felt weird if he had turned it on too thick, but the way in which he was testing the waters between us felt genuine, and mirrored how I was feeling inside. His admission of being nervous also put me at ease ­- it was easy to assume he was cocky, or just clueless, but every minute I spent with him in person made him seem more genuine and likeable.

It was also totally mind-blowing that along with the shoes I had worshipped for months, Troy fucking Daniels himself was in my closet in lacrosse gear. I think I snapped. I put my hand on his chest and pushed gently, feeling the sternal portion of his shoulder pads beneath the jersey, and exerting slight pressure. His eyes widened for a second and he started slowly stepping backwards and out. We kept going until he felt the bed behind him, and he slowly sat down on it. It was a bit higher than beds typically are, as I had storage underneath, so his legs dangled with his shoes about six inches above the floor, as he pushed himself back onto the bed a bit more.

I squatted down in front of his legs. The gray NB Freeze turf shoes looked well-used but not dirty. I unzipped and removed my hoodie, and then took his right shoe in my hands. It was warm. I could feel his toes move a little, and he flexed his ankle slightly.

His voice was almost a whisper. "Does Daddy want to take my shoes off for me?"

My heart was positively racing now. I looked up at him. "Yeah he does. Is that okay?"

"Yeah." He was blushing hard now, mouth slightly open.

I caressed the instep, and then the exposed part of his leg between the top of his ankle sock and the white leggings that came down from under his shorts. His skin was pale, relatively hairless, and smooth. I turned my attention to the laces, undid a double-knot, and pulled the tie free. I reached my thumb in to either side of the tongue and pulled it open slightly, and then put my hand around the heel.

I looked up and he was biting his lower lip. He nodded his head upward once slightly, and mouthed the word "yeah." I looked back down and pulled the shoe off his heel. I had been getting hints of his scent up to now but a wave hit my face in full, and I almost lost my balance. It smelled so, so good.

True to his word his foot was warm and slightly damp. I squeezed it in my left hand, felt its softness, ran my hand along its beautiful curves. The clearly used dingy-white ankle sock had a black Adidas logo on the elastic band and three black stripes all the way around the forefoot. I felt a small hole in the underside, and momentary contact between my finger and his bare foot sent a signal to my brain like a static shock.

I brought the shoe up and placed it over my face, nose deep inside, and inhaled slowly, closing my eyes. I opened them just in time to see his foot raised to the height of my head, coming down on the sole of his shoe to gently press it further into my face.

"Yeahhhh..." he whispered, biting his lip. "Do you like that?"

I moaned, and nodded. His scent was intoxicating and real - not that the cleats hadn't smelled real, but this was so different. It was more feet than cheese or fish, and was so fresh. It was so him. It almost burned, and I ached inside.

And I couldn't believe he was letting me - that he wanted me to - do this. But my mind was shifting slowly from his shoes to his feet and to him. This was different now. Troy was on my bed in the flesh, and I wanted more of him.

I took his other shoe off less ceremoniously, and also placed it over my face briefly, inhaling deeply. I placed the two together on the floor between his feet, which dangled and aired slightly closer to me. I placed each of his feet on my thighs, feeling them warm and damp through my jeans, and began to massage his left foot. He jerked it slightly, as the pressure I was exerting was probably unexpected, but then he relaxed it into my hands. The curves of his arch and heel felt as beautiful as they looked. I leaned down and kissed the top, then the side of his socked foot, repeatedly. Then I rubbed my kisses in deeper.

"Whoa," he uttered, "that feels so good."

I continued rubbing through his sock for a moment, then pulled it off his foot slowly and gently. His toes wriggled a little once it was off. His feet were as beautiful as he was. "Pale" is too strong a word; "fair" fits much better. They were so beautifully fair. His toes were proportional and straight, nails clean and trimmed, and the scent of him was all around in the air. I rubbed my thumb front to back along the curve of his arch, pressing deeply.

"WooOOOOOooww!" he said, surprised, and then laughing.

"Sorry," I laughed too, looking up at him.

"No, I was just - no one's ever...."

I didn't let him finish. I took the most beautiful foot I'd ever touched and brought it up towards my face, throwing my mouth around his big toe, sucking, and looking up at him.

"Hoooooly fuck," he said quietly, eyes wide.

My mouth was filled with a slight salt and the taste of the scent that had been bathing me. I kissed the toe and then made several soft kisses along the curve of his arch. Looking up, I saw that his mouth was wide now, too.

"Is this what you thought about when you played with my cleats?" he asked.

I nodded. "Yeah, this and-...." I stopped myself from saying more, looked back down, blushing.

"Hey Mark."

"Yeah?"

"Show me what's after the 'and.'"

Blood rushed to my head and my ears were ringing. I removed his right sock and did the same to that foot also, sucking each of his toes and at one point fitting most of them into my mouth together. I lifted it higher and began to kiss the sole, beneath the toes and back towards the heel. The damp, slightly saline taste and his smell were intoxicating.

Troy began to participate a bit more, pushing his foot, sometimes even forcefully, onto my face. He flexed his toes, cupping my forehead or cheek. He brought up his other foot and pressed my face between them both, gently but intentionally. I kissed them alternately, and licked each from heel up to the toes. He moved backwards onto the bed more, reclining on his elbows, so I was now kneeling to continue worshipping his feet, which were close to the height of my head.

I leaned back a little just to pause for a moment, staring at the two perfect size 12 soles in front of me, and then continued sucking his toes, biting his heel, alternating feet. My mouth and nose were full of his scent and taste. Occasionally my efforts would tickle and he would laugh a little, but mostly he seemed to be really into what I was doing. When his toes were in my mouth he started to flex them, almost hooking me like a fish, and pulling me toward him. I looked up to see he was touching himself, rubbing his hard cock through his shorts.

He pulled his feet away and used them to push his hips up off the bed, sliding his shorts off in a smooth motion. I could clearly see the outline of his hardon through the white spandex leggings. It was his turn to perform for me. He sat up and slowly pulled the #18 jersey over his head, revealing black shoulder pads with a white Nike swoosh on the chestpiece, pointed upwards toward his heart. Underneath them was a tight-fitting white t-shirt.

Staring at me, he raised his left arm up, and undid the Velcro closure securing the biceps pad. He did the same to the other side, then unbuckled the side closures of the chest pads, and pulled the entire apparatus up and off. It was one of the most erotic this-may-as-well-be-porn scenes I've ever witnessed. Finally, he pulled the white tee up over his head, shaking his beautiful hair back into place. A gold chain with a cross lay between defined pectorals, its yellow contrasting with fair, smooth, milky skin, punctuated with several more birthmarks like the one on his cheek. His nipples were fair and pink like his lips. Slightly defined abs led down to the hints of a trail of dark hair above and below his navel.