By Donny Mumford - Laureate Author

Published on Jan 6, 2024




Wednesday, after their first-morning sex in Wyoming, Andy gets down to business by telling John he needs to begin dealing with his memories, starting with his cell phone. The phone's battery was dead as a doornail yesterday, but it had been on a charger all night.

Still lying on the bed, John is partially on Andy's body, his fingers rubbing through Andy's hair as he says, "I think I liked your ponytail better than this haircut."

"You're just saying that to change the subject and avoid confronting your memories, although I must agree that this is a shitty haircut."

John says, "But why can't I ignore my memories and continue the way you and I were doing it? I'm happy with that, happier than I can ever remember being in the past," emphasizing the fact he's remembering."

"Didn't you promise me that you'd cooperate with me?"

John makes a face, muttering, "Well, yeah," and Andy says, "And i there is anything I can help with, I will."

"We showered last night, but I need another one as I'm sweaty after that fantastic sex you laid on me, and I need to use the potty, too."

Andy mutters, "Okay, but you don't need to tell me about it."

Wiggling and squirming on Andy's naked body, John grins, saying, "I know, but It's fun pretending you're this wicked important person who I depend on for everything and who I need to keep informed of my every move. Plus, I'm used to doing that with Brian because he sort of insisted on it."

"I hope the fuck you're joking about that, Darling! If not, I might need to kick Brian's ass for treating you that way."

Getting his arms around Andy's neck, John rubs his face on Andy's, then murmurs, "I don't want you trying to fight Brian. You're stronger than me, but Brian is a lot stronger than you. He gets jealous, too. Oh man, if anybody tried flirting with me in the LGBTQIA+ club we belonged to at Duke, Brian would go nuclear on his ass. I liked it when guys fought over me, but I don't want YOU getting beat up."

Andy laughs, "That's quite an acronym for your college club. That's the longest one I've heard about. Anyway, didn't you tell me this prick Brian is my size? How's he going to beat me up?"

"He is your size, but, as I already said, he's a lot stronger. He was on his high school wrestling team all four years. He'd routinely beat me at wrestling with one of his hands tied behind his back. He liked to do that. Wrestling is awesome! It's the second-best way to have a ton of physical contact with a hot guy's body. While wrestling, we always got painfully hard boners, and he'd get me in a wrestling hold where I couldn't move, and then he'd measure our boners. Mine was always five inches, and his seven and an eighth. He always included the 'eighth' part, too."

"Holy fuck, he sounds like a sick weirdo. Why were you so enamored of him?"

"I don't know; I wasn't in love with him or anything like that. I liked that he paid so much attention to me but kind of dominating me... heh-heh, I guess most guys wouldn't like that, but I did... um, and still do, kind of."

Andy, moving quickly, gets an arm over John's head and far shoulder as his other arm goes between John's legs, locking his arms, and then flips John over on his stomach, totally incapacitating him. John goes, "What the fuck...?" and struggles to get free, but can't do anything, so he stops struggling.

Andy says, "You want to go to Duke University to see Brian, don'cha?"

John struggles again, then giggles and stops trying to get free, lisping, "You're my man now. I do what you want, Andy."

Still tightly constricting John's movements, Andy says, "Maybe I'd like to go to a meeting of the LGBTQIA+ Club," and he snickers, adding, "I'll bet you can't tell me what each letter stands for in that acronym."

"Please let me go, Andy; I'm claustrophobic."

Andy chuckles, "First, I need to measure your dick, and you need to tell me what each letter of LGBTQIA+ stands for."

"I don't know them all. I only went to club meetings because Brian made me. Um, I guess they included all those letters because they don't want to leave anybody out. I support them, though. You've seen my gay rainbow bracelet tattoo, right?"

Jihn suffers from claustrophobia for real, and it makes him ramble on, "Ah, Brian and I, the two of us were known as a gay couple at Duke, but not a single person in Wyoming knows I'm gay. I never did anything even slightly sexy with a guy in this state. Now, can I please breathe!"

Andy mutters, "You're breathing fine," but he takes his arms off John; both boys are naked with boners. Andy takes hold of John's boner and, pretending it's a leash, says, "C'mon, we'll take a shower together."

John says, "Stroke it, Andy," but when Andy pulls on it, John slides off the bed, going, "Ah, ah, no, Andy..."

Letting go of John's boner, they walk to the bathroom. John asks, "Are you going to watch me doing number two?"

Making a face, Andy mutters, "Why? Do you want me to?"

Playfully, John takes hold of Andy's arm and puts it across his shoulders, snickering, "As my full-time nurse, you're supposed to always be in contact with my physical being to keep me from wandering off and getting hit by a bus. And I don't care if you watch me doing number two."

Going into the bathroom, Andy mumbles, "Saying 'number two' is creepy, Darling. You're not three years old. Anyway, I don't want to look at you on the fucking toilet."

As John sits on the toilet, Andy gets the shower running. When the water is at the perfect temperature, he says, "I'm getting in the shower. When you're done with that, join me."

"Okay, Andy."

After showering together, they brush their teeth; then John puts on his girlie silky panties, then his western shirt, jeans, and cowboy boots. Holding his cowboy hat, he says, "We'll get you some proper clothes after breakfast, okay?"

With his cowboy hat on his head, John drives them in the pickup to a diner where they have a big breakfast. On the way back to the house, Andy says, "I've gotta admit the views around here are stunning, Johnny! Wyoming has those grandiose, um, majestic mountains everywhere and that beautiful big sky. Whew, these views do something to my psyche."

Talking with his noticeable Wyoming twang, not his lisp, John says, "Ya know, after living here all these years, I tend to take the spectacular views for granted, but you're right... everywhere you look, the view is mind-blowing."

At the house, John brings his Wyoming cell phone downstairs, and then he and Andy sit in the family room listening to Brian's messages in voicemail and then reading his text messages. There are six messages from Brian, then four voicemails. The first call and first text sound demanding but friendly. Then they get more and more belligerent as John continues not answering Brian's calls or returning his texts because, for one thing, he was in a coma and then amnesia after the coma and, for another thing, the phone was in Wyoming, and John was in Boston. The last call from Brian ended with, 'Find another roommate faggot! I'm done with you.'

Andy looks at John and sees his face scrunching up; then, two tears run down his cheek as he turns his head away. Andy puts his arms around John, "It's just that your roommate was wicked disappointed you didn't return his calls or texts, Darling. I could hear that in his voice. Call him and explain why you couldn't do either. It'll be okay."

Shaking his head, not looking at Andy, John cries for a few seconds, then wipes his eyes and mumbles, "Can we visit him at Duke, Andy? Brian looked out for me when I was wicked shy and didn't make friends easily at college. He had tons of friends, and so I finally sort of had friends there, too."

Andy notices that John has calmed down, "Are you okay now, Darling?"

Nodding, "Yeah, Andy. So, can we go see him? He deserves an explanation in person, and maybe the three of us, um..."

Taking his arms away, Andy says, "Sure, we can go to North Carolina, but don't count on the three of us working out as buddies. Look, you need to register for your senior year anyway, right? That's a reason to go to Durham right there."

John takes a deep breath, then asks, "Would you mind if I listened to Brian's messages again? In the early ones, he said, 'I hope you're having fun in Boston.' He was tough on me, but he knew I needed that. You should be tougher on me, too, Andy. I'm a flake when I'm on my own... a shy flake."

"No, you're not a flake, whatever that means! He brainwashed you into thinking that. Anyway, it doesn't matter if you're a shy flake or not because you're so cutely good-looking, people will naturally gravitate to you, and they'll make friends with you. Brian probably prevented that because he wanted you all to himself."

"What? No, Andy! That is not true. Brian was always looking out for me."

"Whatever. Go ahead and listen to his messages again if that's what you want."

John mutters, "No, that's okay. You're mad at me now. I'll listen to the other messages."

There were a couple of messages from someone named Gordie and two messages from Dickie, both asking how John liked Boston. John tells Andy, "Gordie and Dickie are friends from high school. I'll send them a text that I was in an accident."

Andy smiles, not wanting John to think he's mad at him because he's not. He's disappointed that John still has obviously feelings for Brian. In his head, he thinks, 'I should ask him if he still wants to continue just him and me as he said he did earlier?'

There were a few solicitation robot calls, he erased. John smiled at Andy and brought his phone with him, squeezing into the same armchair Andy's sitting in, "Don't be mad, Andy."

"I'm not mad!"

They read the remaining text messages, which were surprisingly few. John nods, "In one way, I'm surprised there were this many calls and text messages because this phone lost its charge a few days after I left. The service provider for my plan will hold messages for a while, waiting for my phone to charge, but they won't hold anything for a year!

Putting the phone on a table next to their chair, John murmurs, "In another way, I'm kind of disappointed there weren't more people who noticed that I was missing."

After depressing himself a little by saying that, John lies his head on Andy's shoulder, and his arm goes across Andy's chest as he murmurs, "Brian looked out for me all through my sophomore and junior years. After sophomore year, he spent a month with me here in the summer, and we had the best time doing Wyoming things."

"What are Wyoming things, Darling?"

Instead of answering that question, John rustles around, getting a knee on either side of Andy, then he puts his arms around Andy's neck, sitting on his lap, his face moving in for a sucking, tongue-involved twenty-second kiss. After the juicy kiss, he settled the side of his face against Andy's and murmured in Andy's ear, "I love all you guys. My best buddy, Dickie, too. Please don't be mad at me."

Andy's arms went around John without him consciously thinking to do that. He quietly says, "I already told you I'm not mad at you. I'm kind of mad at Brian, though. He took advantage of how sweet and naive you are."

Also ignoring that, John says, "Ummm, I like how you smell, Andy," and he kisses Andy's face in four places. By now, both of them have hard boners in their pants.

Andy mutters, "If you get off me and run upstairs to put some K-Y jelly where it's needed the most, then run back down here, I'll give you a good hard fucking to prove that I'm not mad at you."

John hops off Andy's lap, '"What a spectacular idea," and off he goes running up the stairs. Andy stands and drops his shorts and jockey underpants, then pulls them over his sneakers and strokes his firm penis, grunting, "Ahh, oh...!

Carrying the western clothes that he'd been wearing, plus his girlie silk panties, John's back. He drops the clothes on the armchair next to Andy's shorts and breathlessly asks, "How do you wanna do it?"

Andy humps his junk against John's slightly smaller junk, then mutters, "Hands on your knees," and John turns around and bends forward, putting his hands on his knees as Andy swings his arm from way behind him and smacks John's butt cheek, "SMACK!" John yelps, and Andy snickers, then mutters, "A friendship smack, good buddy.

Andy rubs his boner on John's bare ass, and it gets insanely hard, sticking straight out from his pubic hair. Holding onto John's hips, Andy rams his cement-hard boner up John's ass. John yelps louder than before, arching his back as Andy pushes his cock the last two inches up inside John's rectum, then humps against John's smacked ass.

John takes his right hand off his knee and strokes his hard cock, stroke, stroke, stroke as Andy thrusts his harder-than-hard boner back and forth in John's ass fast and hard, John grunting, "Umpt, umpt, umpt!"

Quickly, it becomes way too much stimulation, and in less than a minute, John's climax explodes with him screaming like a banshee. Stroking, screaming, and shooting cum straight out with fireworks going off in his head. John shakes and shudders as Andy pours cum inside his bowels, groaning at the almost painful pleasure vibrations throbbing all around and spreading out from his cock and balls.

Pulling his cock out, Andy steps back, almost stumbling over a footstool, muttering, "What? What was that?"

John looks pale, shaking his head, murmuring, "Omigod, Andy, I never climaxed so fast or so hard before in my life. Whoa, that felt otherworldly good. Jesus, I'm still shaking. What the fuck?"

Andy's cum is drooling out of John's ass and slowly rolling down the back of his legs, but he's more concerned about his cum shot that hit the lampshade, already staining it a dark wet color. He goes, "Oh, fuck. That's going to leave a mark."

They clean up in the downstairs half bath, Andy muttering, "That was awesome random sex, Darling. You're pretty much irresistible. Did Brian find you irresistible as often as I do?"

Drying the back of his legs with a hand towel after swiping Andy's cum off with a wet washcloth, John says, "Are you asking if Brian fucked me as much as you do? Um, I'd say, yeah, he did initially, but after a few months, he made me ask for it. Well, sometimes I needed to beg for it because he could go a week or two with just me blowing him a couple of times a day. I'd get hot and horny as hell from blowing him, so I'd start nagging him to fuck me."

Andy's getting steamed, "That motherfucker! I can't believe you let him treat you that way!"

"No, I'm not telling it right. He said he was worried that too much fucking wasn't good for my rectum, my ass."

Shaking his head, Andy says, "What bullshit! That was a way to keep control over you. Making you beg for some affectionate sex... Omigod! He's a monster."

John finishes drying his hands, hangs the town on the rack, and asks, "Are you jealous of Brian? There's no need to be; I already told you I like you more. Um, but please stop saying bad things about him... and he is NOT a monster."

They walk out of the little downstairs bathroom as Andy starts to say, "I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't mention that assho..." but John's Boston cell phone rings and cuts him off.

John, with a slight lisp, says, "It's Sara. I see her called ID." Then, his lisp getting more pronounced, he says, Hello, Sara..."

Trying not to show it, Andy's pissed off at John for defending Brian's behavior. He doesn't want to admit that he's jealous of him, but he is. While John talks to his attorney, Andy walks around the living room, looking for more family photos. He's surprised there aren't more pictures of John at various ages. There are some on the fireplace mantel, but they're the only photos of the family he's seen in the entire house.

He admires what he thinks is the family's classy furniture that looks expensive, although what he knows about expensive furniture is almost nothing. A huge picture window in the family room shows off the magnificent view of mountains and sky, the likes of which Andy's never seen before.

John comes to Andy, holding his phone against his chest, saying, "Sara wants me to come into her office tomorrow, Andy. It's right in town here, a ten-to-fifteen minutes drive. Should I do that?"

Exasperated that John needs to ask that, Andy tries not to show he's exasperated, smiling and nodding, "Sure, Darling. Of course."

John asks, "Is eleven o'clock in the morning alright, do you think?"

Wanting to shout, 'Of course it is!' He instead says, "Sure, that's a fine time. Perfect."

John grins, looking excited, saying, "Thanks, Andy." Then, speaking into the phone with a very pronounced lisp, "Um, yes, Sara. Eleven o'clock tomorrow. Andy said that's perfect." He listened for a few seconds, and then, looking worried, he lisped, "No, I need him with me. I won't come into the... Oh, okay then. Eleven o'clock. We'll see you then."

Andy's not surprised that Sara is suspicious of him. For one thing, John didn't have a lisp until spending a week with Andy, who is obviously gay. So now Sara understands that Andy has a lot of influence on John. Plus, she knows how clueless John can be, and then there are all those billable hours she racked up on John's dime flying to see him even when he was in a coma, so some of those billable hours could be questionable. Well, Sara probably figures nothing would be questionable to John Darling, but to Andy, they likely will be questioned because he's not as trusting or as clueless as John.

Andy's mostly correct. Sara was hoping to get John to sign all the necessary paperwork without needing to get into a lot of detail about it. Andy might have a question about some of it instead of letting her just skim over the facts as she intended to do with John.

John says, "Oh man, I'll be glad to get that legal shit out of the way, ya know, Andy?"

"What I know is you should have a lawyer with experience in wills and estates and whatever to make sure you're not getting screwed. I don't know shit about it, but there are professionals who do know shit about it. Hire one of those guys."

Making a face, John says, "What? Sara wouldn't screw me out of anything. She's been very helpful right from the start, even visiting me when I was still in a coma."

"That was stupid, by the way. Why did she do that?"

John shakes his head a little, then says, "I don't know why she did that, and I don't care, but why are you being like this, Andy? First, you don't trust Brian, and now you don't trust Sara. What's up with that? You don't seem to like anybody who is looking out for me."

Andy says, "Whether you realize it or not, I've been the only person truly looking out for you since the accident, but I'll keep my opinions to myself if that will make you happy. I only care about you, Darling. Well, that's not a hundred percent correct, as I care about myself, too, but I care about you first."

John comes over and leans against Andy, murmuring, "I know, but why, all of a sudden, are we arguing?"

Shrugging, Andy says, "I'll stop if you will."

John says, "No more arguing. Let's buy you some cowboy clothes."

Driving to downtown Cheyenne, John says, "The Wrangler is a store where we can get everything you need. Nowadays, it is just another boot barn, sort of a tourist attraction because of its old cool building, but it offers a lot of ranch clothes and boots and hats, so it'll be fine."

In The Wrangler store, Andy has fun trying boots on until finally, John gets impatient and talks him into Ariat Sport Western boots for $209. They buy two western shirts for him, two pairs of tight western ranch jeans, a leather belt with a big buckle, and put the $497 total charge on John's Visa card. Then, he pays cash, $129, for a cowboy hat, which he wears when leaving The Wrangler store. John chuckles, then pulls off the price tag hanging off the back rim of Andy's cowboy hat.

Every place they've gone in Cheyenne so far has been less than a twenty-minute drive from John's house. Back at the house, Andy puts his new Western clothes and boots on. Then, feeling wicked self-conscious and a little stupid, he mutters, "I feel like I'm dressed up for Halloween."

John grins, reaching over to pull off a tag from the shirt, muttering, "Nonsense. You don't look like you're going out for Halloween. You look like a tourist who is wearing cowboy boots and a cowboy hat for the first time."

"Oh, it's shows, huh? Where are we going now, ballbuster?"

They both laugh. John says, "Okay, um, if you were here for two weeks in July, I would have taken you to Cheyenne's Frontier Days festival. That's a festival with carnival rides and all the stuff that makes a carnival a carnival, plus nightly performances by popular country and western singers, but mostly it's the world's largest outdoor rodeo and western celebration. I go three or four days every July..."

Grinning, Andy mumbles, "Not to argue about it, but instead of telling me where we can't go, maybe you can tell me where we're going to go."

"Heh-heh, yeah, Andy, good point. We'll drive to the Terry Bison Ranch and take the train through the 2500-acre ranch, completely within the city limits. The ranch is only seven miles south, off I-25."

Andy asks, "Are there actual bison on this ranch, or is Terry Bison the name of the person who owns the ranch?"

Going outside, John says, "I don't know who owns it, but it's a resort, and, yeah, there are like 2300 live bison roaming around in a big herd on the ranch."

Andy says, "Bison are buffalo, right?"

"Nope, they're distinctly different from buffalo. I'm not sure how, but they're different."

Both dressed like young local guys wearing cowboy hats and boots, they get in the pickup, and John drives, saying, "As I said, there's a train ride around the ranch. The train ride is ninety minutes with a half an hour stop so people can see the docile bison up close and even feed them."

"How much does this cost?"

"Not much. It's $15.00 for the train ride."

They do that with John pointing out interesting spots during the ride, and Andy is sincerely impressed with the views... unbelievably beautiful, especially to a lifelong city dweller. They both had a beer with their lunches at The Senator's Restaurant and Brass Buffalo Saloon... a part of the resort ranch. It's a full-service old-style western saloon and restaurant with modern slot machines as a gaming option. The whole experience was touristy as hell, but Andy really had fun.

Next, John drove them to the beginning of the Cheyenne Street Railway-Trolly system. Waiting for the next ride, they smoked cigarettes with Andy saying, "You're getting me in the nicotine habit again, Darling."

Exhaling smoke, John says, "Jesus Christ, Andy, this is the first cigarette we've had today! That's hardly a habit!"

Andy's like, "Hey, we're arguing again, and you started it." Snickering, he adds, "Let's kiss and make up," and makes fake kissing near John's face.

John moves his head back, mumbling, "We should probably cool our gay act for a while."

"Whaddaya mean our gay act?"

John looks around, drags off his cigarette, and says, "Our lisping and hanging on one another is flaunting the fact that we're queer. Flaunting it in all these straight peoples' faces, and what's the point of doing that?"

Andy frowns, "No point, but we're not bothering anyone."

John mutters, "Neither was Matthew Shepard. He was just being his gay self when twenty-five years ago, two twenty-one-year-old guys beat him senseless because he's gay, then left him unconscious, hanging on a fence in freezing weather. Of course, he died."

"Are you serious?"

John nods, "Yeah, I'm serious, and he was a really cute blond-headed boy, just like me. It happened fifty miles from here in Laramie."

Andy shakes his head, "Holy shit, that's the worst thing I've ever heard. No, that's not true. As horrific as that was, there are even more horrific things happening in the world today, mass killings in schools, for one example, but that's the worst gay hate crime I've ever heard of. Did they get the killers?"

The train/trolley pulls up, and the guys stand in line to get on it. John murmurs, trying to keep his lisping to a minimum, "Yes, they caught them quickly, and both are in prison for life. It happened before the Federal government designated certain crimes as hate crimes. The two murderers would probably have been executed by now if the Federal government had tried the case a year or so later. The Feds still have the death penalty, and if anyone deserved it, those two homophobic fuckers did."

That discussion put a somber tone on things for the next fifteen minutes. They were quiet during the tour of Cheyenne until Andy had to ask, lisping, "What are the big tall cowboy boots supposed to be? I see them at various spots all around the city."

John says, "Oh, yeah, I've seen them for years and almost don't notice them anymore. They're eight-foot-tall cowboy boot statues decorated by local artists as a, I don't know, a nod to Wyoming's western heritage, I guess. It's something like that. There are thirty-five boot statues scattered around Cheyenne."

Andy goes, "Oh," and doesn't mention that he thinks they're hokey as hell.

They arrive back at the house a little after five o'clock, dusty and tired. Getting out of the pickup, Andy says, "Seriously, Darling, thank you for this fascinating day. It was an eye-opening blast! Big country, for sure..."

Inside the house, John gets them cold cans of A&W root beer, saying, "I need to grocery shop, Andy. Get some real beer, too. There isn't any here because my folks weren't into drinking all that much. Well, they drank and had parties downstairs in the basement, so there's whiskey."

Andy mumbles, "I'm not a big drinker either. Let me ask you something, Darling. Um, no offense, but how the hell did you get admitted to Duke University? I mean, as an average white American male, it's nearly impossible to get accepted to universities like Duke. That is, unless you were a brainiac president of your private high school senior class and you were weirdly handicapped somehow, plus both your father and grandfather were Duke graduates... then you'd have a twenty-five percent chance of being admitted. If you were a minority of some kind, or from another country or a relative of someone famous, there's a much better chance of someone like that getting accepted."

John chuckles, "Plus, you didn't say it, but I don't seem very smart, right? Well, just because I have some social issues, Andy, don't think I'm stupid. I was in the top five percentiles of graduates at Mountain Academy of Teton in Jackson, Wyoming. And, yeah, it's a private school, and of course, not only my father and grandfather graduated from Duke, but so did my mother. That's where they met... at Duke. Plus, my ACT, SAT, and CLT scores were in a wicked high percentile. I always score wicked high on tests. No, I don't have much common sense, but I can memorize like a motherfucker for tests, plus I'm not confident enough to take anything for granted, which is why I pay close attention in class and study my balls off."

Now Andy's chuckling, asking, "Seriously? No, actually, I believe you. You know yourself pretty well, huh?"

"I'm honest with myself. Um, how are your feet feeling in the cowboy boots?"

John was taking his boots off when he asked that, so Andy said, "My feet are sore. It's the high heels on boots, ya know? It's hard getting used to that."

They both have their boots off, wiggling their toes, and John gets an idea. He says, "I want to do something special for you, Andy. You like it when a guy messes around with your feet, right? You said it's a foot fetish, right?"

"Yeah, my foot fetish is sexy hot, but I'd much, much rather be the guy doing stuff with your feet, especially since they're been in uncomfortable cowboy boots for the last five hours and, consequently, should stink in the way only feet can stink. I find that delicious."

John says, "Wow, that's strange. Do you know why you get turned on by feet?"

"No, I have no idea, but I do get aroused. And there are different aspects to the fetish. Some people like shoes and things associated with feet, some people with a foot fetish only get aroused by the feet of people they're fond of, others like anyone's foot or feet, and some get sexually excited from the shape and size of feet, some like clean-smelling feet, while others like me get turned on by strong foot odor. The scientific name for foot fetish is podophilia, and one in every seven people have some form of it."

John looks aghast, "One in seven? That can't be true!"

"Well, it's what I read online. Somatosensory homunculus is a map along the cortex of where parts of the body are processed in the brain, and it shows that feet neurons in the brain are located right next to genital ones. When your genitals neurons are sensitized, the ones in your feet get fired up, too. Don't quote me, though. I'm probably getting terminology mixed up, although that's the essence of the matter."

Looking doubtful, John mumbles, "Whaaat? Um, are you breaking my balls making that mumbo/jumbo up?"

"Nope, I've got a wicked foot fetish, so I looked up whatever information I could about it, trying to understand it. The mumbo/jumbo, as you call it, didn't help me understand it, but it is what it is. For a while, I was thinking I'd get a job in a big sneakers store helping guys try on sneakers, but there isn't a store where it works like that. In the big sneaker stores, people try on their own sneakers."

John shrugs, "Whatever, Andy," and he holds his sock-covered foot up, mumbling, "My feet are eager for your adoration, although they feel sweaty and probably stink worse than a Zorrilla."

Andy slides off the chair onto his knees and picks up John's left foot, muttering, "A Zorrilla? You made that up."

"No, I didn't. It's a disgusting animal that gives off anal fluid when threatened by a predator. Predators normally hold their noses, or at least cover their noses with their tail, and flee!"

They both laugh and then John says, "Actually, it's a fact. I didn't make it up. Zorilla's stink bad!"

Holding John's foot in both hands, Andy tentatively sniffs the sock, shudders, and murmurs, "Mmmm, that stinks good." Pulling the sock off, still holding John's left foot off the floor with one hand, Andy presses the sock to his nose and swoons, his eyelids fluttering as a low moan comes from his throat.

John frowns because it's hard to believe Andy's serious, although he's totally serious.

Andy mumbles, "Oh man, my friend, JR, in high school, would have cum in his pants by now smelling your foot. Bunches the sock into a tight ball in his fist, Andy smells it. Nodding, he takes a long, long inhale and then shakes his head, dropping the sock. "That is the best-smelling sock ever. Honestly, it is Johnny!"

It's fascinating and a little bit scary, but John nods as if what Andy said makes any sense. Andy lifts John's foot as he lowers his head to press his nose on the top of the foot and then does an inhale that goes on longer than seemed possible, Andy's face getting as red as a ripe tomato. This was a little bit scary, too, although Andy didn't seem any worse for wear as he pulled his zipper down and out poked an impressive boner that looked longer than six inches.

Moving John's foot against his nose, Andy's shoulders shook, and a drool of precum rolled down the shaft of Andy's steel cock, eventually rolling onto his scrotum. Andy paid no attention to that as his tongue came out, and he licked the bottom of John's foot from the heel to the back of the toes, then rubbed the saliva-moistened bottom of John's foot against his nose, up and down, up and down. Now he's sucking on the toes as he strokes his boner, once, twice, three times, making long, Oooohhh, ooohh," sounds as he shoots off an impressive wad of cum that fired up from his nuts like a rocket. The cum shot hits John in the crotch, "Splat!"

Andy, making animal growling sounds, stroked drooling bubbles of cum from his hard cock, keeping the bottom of John's foot pressed against his nose. John's eyes were opened as wide as he could get them, hardly believing what just happened. Andy quickly got over it, dropping John's foot, and muttered, "Fuck, that happened too fast. I've never smelled a stinky foot that was as perfectly stinky in the most perfect way as your foot, Darling. Excellent foot stink."

Pulling at it with both hands, John's trying to lift his own foot as close to his nose as he can, hoping to sniff the foot smell that caused Andy to climax. "I can't smell anything so bad, Andy. A little smell, but that's normal, isn't it?"

His eyes closed, Andy's squeezing his softening penis, moaning, "That was so good. Thanks, Darling..."

Shrugging, John lets go of his foot, picks his sock up, and smells it. He mutters, "That doesn't smell bad." Then, looking at Andy's wet cum spot on his pants, he mutters, " I gotta change my jeans now."

Andy stands, rubs John's head, and mumbles, "Your feet have a perfect foot fetish scent. If you could bottle it, you'd make a fortune."

Rubbing his junk, John takes off his other sock, then follows Andy into the kitchen, saying, "That was very different, but you getting aroused as you did gets me aroused, so..."

Andy opens the refrigerator's door and gawks inside at the almost empty refrigerator. Closing the door, he says, "Let's go grocery shopping."

John said, "Can't we eat out again tonight? And what are you going to do about me getting sexually aroused? You're my full-time nurse who is supposed to be taking care of me, right?"

"Yes, you're right, and I will. We'll buy beer, sodas, and breakfast stuff. I can cook breakfast for us tomorrow morning. After grocery shopping, we'll have a beer, smoke a cigarette, and discuss what we'll do tomorrow. Next, we'll take a shower together, and I'll fuck you in the shower with K-Y jelly's help; then we'll finish showering and go out for dinner."

Nodding, John makes a face, then mutters, "As hard as I try, Andy, I cannot find a single thing wrong with what you just said. Brian never fucked me in the shower... that sounds wicked cool."

Andy mumbled, "Yeah, well, I'd rather not hear any more about him. Ah, get something on your feet. I'm putting sneakers on, then we'll go to the supermarket."

To be continued...

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Next: Chapter 15

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