Date: Mon, 25 Aug 2014 13:29:33 -0700
From: Ronald Frobnitz <moose91762@yahoo.com>
Subject: Barefoot Dreams

This story is mostly true.  It took place when I was in high school, back
in the 1960's.  If you're looking for hot sex, look elsewhere.


BAREFOOT DREAMS
By Dick Zucher



	Last night I dreamed I went barefoot in the grocery store.  That's
right, me.  Barefoot.  Can you believe it?

	My grandmother seemed to believe that any guy that went barefoot
outside the home was indecent.  I remember when I was in the fifth grade,
my best friend Chuck came over to play, and he was barefoot.  Gran, who was
babysitting that day, pulled her glasses down to the end of her nose and
asked, "Where are your shoes?"  It was clear she disapproved.

	Consequently, I grew up with the understanding that we just didn't
let other people see our feet.  And since we didn't show our feet to
others, it was impolite to look at others' bare feet.  As though there was
something shameful about them.  Needless to say, bare feet held a
fascination for me.  Mine, somebody else's, it didn't matter. Bare feet
were sexy!

	Anyway, last night, I dreamed I went to the store for my mom, and
right in the middle of the canned vegetable aisle, I stopped the cart and
took my shoes off.  Then the socks, which I tucked neatly inside the shoes
and put them in the little space where small children are supposed to sit.
Then I continued walking down the aisle, shopping in my bare feet.  Man,
did that feel good!

	When I woke up, I had a boner that wouldn't quit.  The very idea of
being barefoot in public really had me turned on!

	I rubbed my feet together, enjoying the sensuality of skin against
skin, snapping one little toe against the others by pulling it out from my
foot with the other foot.  Such a sexy feeling, and this was just my own
feet!  I could only imagine what it would feel like touching another guy's
feet.

	It was summer vacation, so I was alone in the house.  Mom and Dad
had gone to work, leaving me to sleep late.  I got out of bed and padded to
the kitchen (barefoot, of course) to grab a bowl of cereal and some milk.
My dick still tented the front of my pj's, and I thought, good for me.

	 As I ate, I thought about the dream.  I wondered what it would be
like to go to the store barefoot.  Would I dare?  Should I dare?  It all
seemed so risky to me.

	I finished my breakfast, put the dishes in the dishwasher, and
headed for the living room.  My morning ritual usually consisted of
watching old reruns on TV.  But I couldn't keep my mind on the program I
was watching.  I kept looking down at my feet, wondering if I could dare to
expose those newly-found sex organs to the world.

	Finally I decided.  "I'm going to do it!"

	I went to my room and got dressed.  White jeans, blue t-shirt, and
. . . no shoes!  There was a whole new world out there, and I was going to
find it.

	Michael's Market was a small local chain, and there was a store
about a block from my house.  I stepped out the front door and cut across
the lawn, enjoying the sensation of the grass under my feet.  "In your
face, Gran, I'm not wearing any shoes!

	The sidewalk was warm, but it was still only mid morning, so I
didn't burn my feet.  The asphalt of the parking lot was another matter,
though, and I had to run to the shaded front of the store.  The concrete
felt much better.

	I walked though the automatic doors and grabbed a shopping cart
from the line.  The cool tile floor soothed my burning soles as I went up
one aisle and down another, selecting a few things as I went.

	Man, did this feel different!  Very self-conscious, I felt as
though I might as well have gone with my dick hanging out.

	I picked up some Spahgetti-o's and some ice cream, then went to the
produce department to look at the fresh fruit.  At one end, near the plums,
was the magazine rack.  There, casually reading a Mad Magazine, was a boy
about my age.  He was blond, tan, and barefoot, wearing jeans and a tank
top, something else I wasn't allowed to wear.

	I picked up a hot rod mag and pretended to look at it as I really
looked past the magazine, staring at his feet, occasionally glancing up to
look at his cute face and bare shoulders.  I looked at his tanned feet,
then down at my own, which were stark white.  I was a little jealous.
Never having gone barefoot, my feet never tanned.

	I glanced up at his face again, and saw he was looking at me!  As I
tried to avert my glance, I noticed he looked down at my feet, then back to
my face.  He smiled.

	I smiled back, then put the magazine back on the rack and went to
pay for my groceries.

	I never saw that boy again, but for a quick moment we had
connected.  Two barefoot boys in the supermarket.  A common bond of
flaunting society.  At least that's the way it felt to me.


Well, that's about the way it happened, all those years ago.  If you've
read any of my other stories here on Nifty (going back to about 2010), now
you know the origins of my mention of foot fetishes in most of them.

Comments are welcome at moose91762@yahoo.com