The Fall of Troy Pt. 03

Note to reader...this story contains sneaker fetish themes, but maybe a little less so than the previous parts, as I'm hoping this series will appeal to a broader audience as it continues. It's a longer one, so buckle up!

The alarm went off. I smiled before I even opened my eyes, and tuned into senses other than sight. The white spandex leggings and t-shirt hugged me tightly and smelled of Troy's deodorant, and his body. I had tried to wear his chest pads too, though they became a bit uncomfortable shortly after I dozed off, and I had removed them. But they were there next to me also. I ran my hands over the shirt and leggings, feeling them on me, feeling my body under them. My heart rate rose a bit.

Yep, I was smitten.

Troy would probably say that was "swell, grandpa," so I would never actually use the word "smitten," even though his joking would be gentle and genuine, and even though there was no more perfect word for how I was feeling -totally struck by Troy.

More importantly, I couldn't possibly tell him how I was feeling. Could I? No, just no. My mind reeled back to the events of the previous evening (and my duvet cover that still needed washing), and it started to look for a way out - I could mail back the things he left, and just go back to my fantasies and his cleats, in their place of honor in my closet.

Yeah, right, Mark. Try to un-ring that bell.

My ears were still ringing with his voice, and my nose was full of his scent. I could taste him on my tongue. And with my eyes closed he was still there, grinning at me goofily, or silently mouthing "Yeah," with an upward flick of his head, daring me to keep worshipping his sneakers, his feet, or just...him.

I got up, peeled myself out of Troy's clothing, and put it in my closet with his cleats. The shoulder pads found a place of honor on a nearby hook. I shivered briefly, remembering his strip-tease taking them off. Really, I had to laugh, looking at the collection of items I never imagined I would own, or that would have the backstory they did! At the same time, I was feeling a little let down. Or perhaps I was feeling embarrassed? Or at least I felt changed. It was one thing to have an object like Troy's cleats, and even a picture of him, to fantasize about and satisfy desires with, but it was quite another to have met the owner in person, and to have acted out the fantasies in reality. The excitement I felt I could get from things Troy had owned - this was slowly being eclipsed by how I felt about the boy himself.

And that was starting to feel like a huge problem. Where was this going to go? Would we keep it casual and just mess around sometimes until he inevitably moved back home, or somewhere else for a job? Would I develop feelings for him that would ultimately leave me unhappy? Worst, to me, was the thought that he might develop feelings for me, only to have me pat him on the head and say "that's nice, but I couldn't possibly take someone your age seriously."

Was that the worst possibility? No, I was kidding myself - he would probably be fine in any case. It was my own vulnerability that was making me feel crazy. Was that why was I thinking so hard about a simple hookup that was pretty great and that may or may not actually ever happen again?

I decided on a mental break. I wasn't going to text Troy that day, or maybe even that week. I would see if I could do without him and leave his things in the closet and...sound totally like an addict.

I hadn't checked my phone. Of course there was a text waiting to disrupt my sanity-planning:

"Morning, Zaddy - sleep well in my lax gear?" Smiley, hearts-for-eyes, drooling, laughing - lots of emojis.

My addict hands started to text back almost without thinking. "Sure did! The leggings and shirt made me feel like you were right next to me all -" Nope...delete, delete, delete. Try again. "Sure did!"

"Did you like smelling like me?" came seconds later. Absolutely trying to kill me.

"Not gonna lie, I love -" delete, delete, "Not gonna lie, pretty amazing."

"Hope you have a good day at work."

"Thanks, you too Troy."

There, that wasn't so bad, was it? This was fine, I.... Yeah, my heart was pounding in my face and my ears were ringing, and it felt hard to breathe.

Getting ready for work provided a good distraction, as did work itself. I checked my phone throughout the day, receiving and answering texts from the usual suspects, but I felt a tiny pang at each one that wasn't from Troy - which was all of them. By the time I got home, and had time to sit and think about the fact that I hadn't gotten a text from Troy all day, and ached more than just a little inside, I began to realize that I Had It Bad.

And then the worst possible thing happened. My phone buzzed from the kitchen counter. Turning it over slowly, I saw there was a text from Troy. Unconsciously holding my breath, I opened it.

"Hey Mark! Had a stupid busy day. Hope yours was better!"

I thought the dopamine rush would give me a seizure.

- - - - - - -

It was pushing into November now, a week and some days since Troy visited, and the weather was cooling. Work had been busier than usual, and I was getting better at not thinking about Troy all the freaking time.

We communicated pretty much every day, either by text or via the chat feature of our email. This was kind of like before we met, but our conversations were peppered with a bit more flirtation and innuendo than before, given what we'd shared. The communication was still so easy, whatever the subject, and his memory of our prior conversations continued to remind me that he was thoughtful, and a good listener: he'd ask about a patient I'd mentioned previously, or what I thought of a new beer I had bought, etc. It made me question whether I was as thoughtful, or paid as much attention to him. I wanted both to be true.

One weekend night I spiraled into an internet hole of true crime, or UFOs, or cryptids, as I often did, watching videos in a darkened room on my laptop. I jumped slightly at the unexpected PLING that came from the email browser window.

Troy: Hey!

Me: Jesus you scared me!

Troy: Did you think it was Gray Aliens or the Michigan Dogmen coming to get you?

See what I mean? He totally had my number. Is it any wonder I felt the way I did about him?

Me: Uh, yeah, you know me...

Troy: Hah, yeah I do! But hey I was thinking...I have next week off from class and research, and was gonna drive back to my parents place for a few days but also was thinking about coming to see you again?

Heart racing, breath holding, dopamine seizure.

Me: That sounds fun! When were you thinking?

Troy: well I know you work a lot so maybe friday night?

Me: Sure, I can make dinner.

I realized that sounded like a date, but I was caught up in the excitement of his expressed interest.

Troy: Wow that's really nice but you don't have to go to any trouble or anything.

Me: It's no prob I do it for myself all the time haha

Trying to sound casual. Maybe "all the time" was a stretch, but I was already feeling the urge to back-pedal from "date language."

Troy: ok...is there anything I can bring? Anything I should wear? I could change into my gear when I get there!

Wink emoji, shoe emoji - I didn't know there was a lacrosse emoji, but of course he would. It was the cutest little ball and crosse.

Me: Now that's trouble you don't have to go through

I preferred the use of italics to emojis for expression in my text chats. What can I say? I was a nerd.

Troy: Oh...lost its thrill? Considering a switch to football? hhahh

To be honest I had gone back to Troy's equipment in my closet multiple times, but it was feeling different. There was a longing, almost sentimental feeling I had for it now.

Me: OMG no, not at all. Well, I don't want to be weird.

Troy: what?

Me: well, the whole fetish thing... it's kind of a substitute for someone I can't get close to. And the fact that we did what we did makes me think less about the gear and more about... you.

Troy: awwwwww so I ruined you on my cleats? HAha

Me: Don't get me wrong your shoes and the smell of your feet in them is part of you and is so hot to me. And when you go back home after your internship or whatever you do I'll totally want them to remember you.

...and probably totally miss you, I didn't type.

Troy: hahaha maybe I'll start a subscription service to Me

Me: Yeah I'll need the Premium level please

Troy: oh you're already on that plan! hahahaha

No shit, kiddo. I was totally Troy-matized.

We kept chatting for a bit, and agreed on 6 PM as a good meeting time. He said he'd bring some beer.

- - - - - - -

Each day as Friday closed in, I became some combination of more excited, nervous, and terrified. I did a decent job focusing at work, but thoughts of Troy continually cropped up, spurred by our impending...meeting. I refused to allow myself to think of it as a date, even though I had suggested dinner. We chatted about plans and what to eat, and settled on Italian ­- he wasn't picky, he said.

I of course was, and loved having people to dinner. "Italian" to me meant homemade pasta and sauce, so I started the sauce the night before, and got home early Friday night. The pasta was made easy with KitchenAid rollers attached to Ethel, my beast of a mixer. After kneading the dough and letting it rest just a bit, I pulled pre-made meatballs out of the fridge and popped them in the oven, put on a pot of water to boil, warmed up the sauce, and cranked out (or Ethel did) sheets of pasta and ran them through the spaghetti cutter. There was little that satisfied me like having guests over for a meal I knew I had mastered, and had prepped in advance.

I was lost in draping the last of the fresh pasta over a long French rolling pin suspended between two open drawers, when the doorbell rang. I think my heart stopped for several beats. I went to the front door and opened it.

I realized that between the lacrosse roster pics and his last visit, I hadn't really seen much of Troy in casual clothing. Perhaps I wasn't ready for what I saw. He wore a stunning black parka with a fur-lined hood that lay across his shoulders and framed his face. The coat was partially unzipped, showing an orange shirt underneath. Tight dark navy jeans couldn't possibly make his legs look even sexier, but they did. And these ran down to gray New Balance low running shoes with blue accents, that looked well-worn and stood out in contrast to the jeans. In his hand, he held a four-pack of Chimay Bleue.

I think my face had frozen, or maybe had fallen a bit, because he picked up on my expression and commented.

"Not as stunning out of lax gear, huh?" he chuckled.

Was he fucking kidding me? I couldn't even think of what to say for a second, and then thought of all the wrong things to say that were too much, and settled on, "No, that's just not true." I felt my face getting hot. "You're more so... now." Gulp.

He grinned and stepped inside, putting down the beer. Then he threw his arms around me and lifted me off the floor a couple inches. My face was buried in the fur of his parka and his neck for a moment, and he smelled undeniably, intoxicatingly, of boy.

He let me down but I couldn't feel the floor, and I thought my knees would buckle. For a moment, our faces were so close, and I felt paralyzed.

"Holy CRAP it smells good in here!" he broke the tension. "OH! Here's a present," he said, stepping back and picking up the Chimay. He held it out to me, looking down at it, and then up at me.

That single moment, the image of this beautiful boy who had just lifted me into the air and was now handing me my favorite beer, smiling at me with his eyes, waiting for my approval, was probably burned into my brain forever.

"I figured I drank half your stock last time I was here, so...." he scratched the back of his head and flashed a sheepish grin.

I took his offering. "That's really sweet of you," I smiled back. I was accustomed to going on with something like 'you didn't have to' or 'this is too expensive,' but I had been trying to be more graciously thankful in general, lately. "Wow, it's even cold!" I knew it didn't come that way in stores, typically.

"Yeah, I got it a few days ago and put it in the fridge," he said. He shrugged, unzipping his parka all the way. "Wasn't sure if it would go with what you're making, but you can't drink it warm, if it does!"

How was he so ridiculously thoughtful? How was I not, just standing there and staring at him?

"Let me take your coat, sheesh," I said, putting the beer on a hall table and reaching out for his parka. He took it off and handed it to me. Its warmth, and the smell of him that came from it, gave me a momentary thrill as I put it in the foyer closet.

I turned back to see him standing there in a tight long-sleeve orange Henley, with the top couple buttons undone, revealing a white crew neck tee underneath. The orange set off the blush of his lips and cheeks, probably exacerbated by the cold outside. And that adorable mole on his cheek - how did it make his smile more radiant? He was just beautiful, and I stared like an idiot.

"Ooh, lemme pop this in the fridge so it stays cold!" he said, springing into action and taking the beer off the table. He disappeared around the corner into the kitchen and I heard him open the fridge, place the beer inside, and close it. "My God, what're you making?" he called from out of sight.

I snapped out of my daze. To focus and be my normal self was going to be more challenging than I thought. I walked toward the kitchen, and my feet felt heavy.

I found Troy, mouth agape, looking from a piece of spaghetti he had picked up, over to Ethel, and back. "How are you- is this... did you make this?"

I smiled and shrugged, loving that he was poking around my kitchen. Before I could say anything, the timer went off, signaling that the meatballs were done. Grabbing a mitt, I opened the oven, and pulled out a pan with six of them on it, softball-sized and sizzling. I gently placed each into the Dutch oven with the sauce, relit the burner, and partially lidded it. The pot of water was just boiling.

"Can you bring me that rolling pin with the pasta on it?" I asked. He picked it up gingerly, watching the spaghetti sway like hair, and brought it over to me. I took it from him and slid all of the golden strands into the boiling water, stirring them. "It'll be ready in just a few minutes."

"Who are you?!" he chuckled.

"It's my creative outlet," I explained, while stirring. "And food is my lo- ...my way of giving." I had stopped myself before completing the phrase 'love language.' It was completely valid, I said it all the time, and I was saying it to Troy with this meal, but I was more than sure that it wasn't the time for that word.

I put down the spoon and turned around to find Troy incredibly close. He threw his arms around me and hugged me, burying his face in my neck. It took me a second to catch up, and I hugged him back.

"No one's... I mean... I've never...," he searched for words. "No one's ever done all this for me," he said, over my shoulder. He strained his neck toward the stove and inhaled, as though he were trying to taste the sauce with his nose. Then he came back to my neck, exhaling against it with warm breath, and pulling back to stare at me from his three-inch height advantage.

I couldn't look up at him, and could feel my face hot and probably looking blushed. I wanted desperately to kiss him, to tell him how much I loved having him that close, but felt I might lose my proverbial shit if I did.

I turned my head to the right a little, looking towards the stove. "Fresh pasta cooks fast, don't wanna overdo it!" I laughed, nervously.

Troy stepped back quickly, looking down. "I'm...sorry I didn't mean to get...weird?"

The pasta was absolutely done and I had to work quickly, but I didn't want to leave him hanging. "I think..." I started, as I turned off the burner and picked up the pot with mitted hands, "or I worry, that the only way it would get 'weird' is if I told you how you made me feel."

Arms closed around my waist from behind as I finished pouring the spaghetti into a colander in the sink. A chin rested on my left shoulder. "Maybe you should risk it," Troy said.

My heart raced. I placed the empty pot in the sink, tossed the mitts aside, and turned around to face him. "Caught off guard, kinda nervous, and not sure what to think," I listed, avoiding staring at him.

"You like knowing what to think, huh?" he smiled.

"Comes with the job I guess," I returned, looking at him now. "For right now though, I think dinner's ready!" I segued, winking cheesily.

"Anything I can help with?" he asked.

"Eating it!"

He laughed. "Okay, dad! I mean... dad joke, you know." He scratched the back of his head and did the crooked smile thing again, trying to kill me, apparently.

I heaped most of the drained pasta into a couple of oversized bowls, ladled sauce and two meatballs on each, and took them to the dining table. I usually liked sitting next to guests, rather than across from them, and that's how I had arranged things. The silverware and parmesan were already set out.

"Y'know I think Chimay would be fantastic with this, unless you wanted something else," I offered.

"Twist my arm!" Troy agreed. He went to the fridge to grab the beers while I got the glasses, and we ended up back at the table, tucking into the meal.

"Mmm, I bet you already know how good this is, but holy fuck," Troy said, between bites. He could eat, and I was glad there was extra.

We slipped into steady conversation between bites, and he started to tell me more about his family. Our email chats had been fairly light in the few months we'd been talking, usually focusing on what the day held for each of us, things we were dealing with - I realized I had never asked much about his family or his background. I had been curious about his sexual experience too, but I wanted to let him tell me when he felt like it.

He had a younger sister, like I did, and a relatively happy childhood. Of course he was into sports and an accomplished athlete, but he wanted to focus on academics. His parents lived not far from where he went to school, and mom's cancer was still in remission, thankfully. He had told me he was bisexual in our first conversation, but I had never asked more about this; in fact he had been with a couple guys in college, and there was one guy he thought he was dating, who had even come home with him to visit on break, but they never really named it. He tended to have crushes on his younger professors. His parents suspected his sexuality, and he had hinted at it, but as his uncle had died of AIDS, the topic was a bit of a "no-fly zone" (his words) at home.

We also talked about recent relationships. I told him there was a guy I had been seeing, but not seriously and not for a little while now; he had an on-again-off-again girlfriend, currently off. He was a top in the pseudo-relationship he'd had with a guy, and they had sex a few times, but it "was pretty awk." I wasn't sure how that made me feel, but jealousy and a sense of competition (recalling how surprised he seemed at how I had made him feel last time) were in there somewhere.

"So... what do you want?" I found myself asking him.