Content Warning: This story contains scenes depicting foot fetishism, and mild blood. Reader discretion is advised.

I suppose some context is needed, as this was originally the fourth part of a series titled “The Problem With Smelly Feet”, but it sort of got away from me and evolved into something of its own.

I’m Gigi Vander, just your average nineteen year old college student, and part-time journalist who ran into a bit of a problem recently. Me and a couple of friends from school were doing a study group at one of their houses. My friend Kiki gave me a key and told me I could get set up and make myself at home. I arrived at her house and took off my shoes, as is normally the polite thing to do, and settled down on her couch while she and my other friend Felicity arrived with snacks. Perhaps I had rushed earlier that morning and grabbed the wrong pair of sneakers or completely forgot to change after my gym class. I had been too distracted with music and browsing the web that I didn’t notice the weird look on their faces when they entered the den. It took a very loud scream from Felicity to get me to acknowledge them, and it was then that she informed me that my feet had been stinking up the place. It was extremely awkward to say the least, and Kiki had to ask me to go wash up and wear a pair of her socks, in hopes that the smell would dissipate from the study area.

Now imagine your most awkward moment and magnify it times a hundred. I could feel the wave of discomfort and awkwardness fill the room as we continued studying, and I slowly started to feel horrible for my slip-of-the-mind carelessness. Over the next couple of days the incident stuck with me and I couldn’t get it out of my head. I even tried to wear sandals and had an entire wardrobe change to match in hopes that it would alleviate my smelly feet issue. I avoided both Kiki and Felicity for a good while, and I explained the entirety of the incident to my best friend Hitomi.

Hitomi and I had practically grown up together, but she had moved away when we were both entering high school after her parents had a nasty divorce, and her mother barred her father from ever seeing her. We communicated through various forms of social media but preferred the app VidTalk the most. She had mentioned that she had been involved in an emerging industry where men paid for photos of women’s feet, and that some (not all) that were into this fetish also paid for dirty, smelly socks. She told me not to fret about my issue, and that it could have its uses, and suggested I try out one of these websites, possibly finding a few buyers that would be interested in my putrid feet.

I mulled it over for a while and even had strange dreams where men would follow me to a local Laundromat and clamor around me, reaching for boxes upon boxes of my dirty, used socks, sticking them on their faces and inhaling the odorous stench. One morning after waking up in a cold sweat, I hopped on my laptop and initiated a search on Boogle Private Mode for websites where I could dip my toes and find prospective buyers. In no time I found a website, haphazardly filled out the information page and submitted proof of being of age, and waited for any takers. Moments later a man who called himself Roger requested to message me on the website. We talked, and I got to know a bit about him, he was middle aged, a professor of sorts, and a lover of feet and socks. He requested that I send him a sample photo of my foot and lauded the picture. He submitted an order for ten photos in various types of socks, and for me to mail a pair of my choosing. I completed his requests posthaste, bundled the socks in bubble wrap (various layers) and placed the package in a cute chocolates box I had under my bed. I then took a train to another city, so that in case anyone saw me depositing my dirty deed, they would ask no questions and wouldn’t know who I was. Roger had been kind to pay for postage, as well as my train fare. In my nervous state, I must have told the self-service kiosk that I needed it promptly delivered, because a few hours later he sent me a message that the package had arrived along with $500 via CashPal. A strange feeling of pride overcame me, and I treated myself to some boots, a shirt, and some delicious strawberry/vanilla swirl ice cream.

Later that night I talked to Hitomi and mentioned my little excursion, and she felt happy that I felt happy. I logged off soon after, and was heading to bed when I received a Personal Message from Roger via the website. To my horror it was an image set of the pair of socks completely covered in Grade-A man juice (semen). Needless to say, I was extremely livid, but too tired to really say anything, and thus we’re all caught up. The story begins below. Happy reading!

~Gigi

It seemed there was nothing I could do to shake away the anger I felt after seeing Roger’s photos, and what he had done to the socks I sold him. The images were embedded in my mind, and the only thing I could think of was to call Hitomi and vent to her, but in a small way I also felt she was at fault. Why hadn’t she told me that a man would defile my socks in such a manner? That he would use them as masturbation tools and ejaculate all over them. I had several dozen pairs of similar socks, and wearing them now felt dirty, and I shuddered every time I put on a pair.

That evening after returning home I logged onto VidTalk and sent her a message asking her to call me when she was available to talk. A few moments later the screen lit up and the familiar calling tone played, I ran over, headset on and answered the call.

“Evening Geeg, what’s up?” she asked, sipping on a cup of tea.

“How dare he ... How dare you not tell me he would do something like this?!” I said, enraged. I grabbed my phone and went to the messages section of the app I had used to find people to sell my dirty socks to, and showed her one of the photos. She seemed bemused at my anger, and gave a slight chuckle while looking at her screen.

“I thought you knew something like that could happen,” she said. “I guess sometimes I forget you’re not that knowledgeable about sex.”

“From what he said, I figured the most he would do is smell them and store them somewhere with other socks in his collection, or something,” I said, exhaling. She was right, however, about me being ignorant of sex. I was probably one of the few nineteen year olds who hadn’t even been kissed yet, let alone sleep with anyone. I did know a bit about sex, after all every high school student is required to take a Health Class, but they just touch on the basics of sexual education: condoms, semen, this is a penis, this is a vagina, this is what intercourse is like, etc. But I wasn’t expecting something like this to happen to me.

“Well, most guys do smell dirty socks, the ones into the fetish anyway, and some like your Roger like to show their appreciation in other ways, hence the pics,” she said pointing into the camera. “You should talk to him, let him know that made you uncomfortable. With the amount he paid you for them, it seems he’s likely to buy again, and if not just add that in a disclaimer section in your bio, and find other buyers.” She shrugged and sipped her tea.

I smacked my forehead with my hand. The bio! Why didn’t I write anything there? I thought. In my defense I had done everything in a rush. The dream I had after talking to Hitomi that night had made me curious, and I had jumped into the industry headfirst, but I didn’t understand why. After all, I was still shaken from the awkward smelly feet incident at my friend Kiki’s house, and the way my other friend Felicity had reacted to the smell had made me ashamed, and worried that they wouldn’t talk to me, let alone invite me over. It had also made me wonder if other people felt uncomfortable at any time in the past since I was too timid to shower in the girl’s locker room after gym, and often changed to flip-flops after changing into my regular clothes.

The way Hitomi made it sound was that my feet’s fragrance could have its uses, and that while she didn’t say hers was bad, she was making some decent money from selling her socks online, which meant she had to have had some fans. Perhaps I sought out some positive attention after all the negativity, and mild depression I went through because of my feet.

“I should tell him how I feel,” I said angrily. “I’ll tell him what a disgusting pig he is!”

Hitomi was about to speak before I abruptly ended the call. I took out my phone and opened the app and began a new message to Roger. He was online, so I switched to a Private Chat instead:

FilmGrl123: Oh, you’re online. Defiling more women’s socks?

F00tlvr1: Defiling? I’m confused ... Oh, you mean the photos I sent you. Did you like them?

FilmGrl123: That was vile and disgusting, Roger. How dare you!

F00tlvr1: I had a few beers last night when I got home, and one thing lead to another. Your scent is so tantalizing and I couldn’t help myself. Had I known it would make you uncomfortable I wouldn’t have sent you photos of them. Please forgive me.

FilmGrl123: Drunkenness is no excuse to be a pig! Did you know that I can’t wear a pair of those type of socks the same way again???

F00tlvr1: I’m terribly sorry. I don’t know what to say. I can make it up to you if you want. I don’t want you to remove me, or block me, I love your feet and I want to buy more content from you. I mean I sent you $500 for your socks and feet photos. I hope that makes you realize how much I like them.

F00tlvr1: Your username. You like movies? We can go to a movie. Something rare, prestigious...

FilmGrl123: Yeah, right! Like a stag film??

F00tlvr1 is typing...

F00tlvr1: I know! The Pickford over in Willowfield. I’m quite sure I could get us in. Silent films are a rarity! Surely something like that would convince you that I’m not as horrible as you think.

FilmGrl123 is away.

F00tlvr1: Hello? Hello? Oh please! Don’t do this. Hello? Maybe you’re asleep. Fine, have a good night but think about it!

-Chat Disconnected-

I had to step away from my phone. The Pickford had been on my mind for two years since its announcement. The Silent Era Historical Society had gathered up a lot of funding to erect an authentic 1920s style movie theater in a city called Willowfield about an hour away by car from where I lived. I had followed the construction, all newsletters, and updates about it religiously, as I adored the medium of the silent screen. The only problem was they were only allowing screenings via invite only for about a year, since they figured it wouldn’t make a ton of money right off the bat from the average moviegoer. A part of me knew that there was no chance I would get to go there soon, and I was fine with that, since I had hope it would last beyond a year and I’d see a ton of movies then. Yet here was someone who had a way to get in, the only problem was that he was a creep, and I didn’t know him. I was in for a long night.

When I was finally able to sleep, I ended up with a strange dream. I was at the outside of The Egyptian theater in Los Angeles in what appeared to be the late 1910s, the only weird thing was that such a venue would not be built until a decade later, I shrugged off the inconsistency and explored around. To my amazement there were a lot of famous Silent Era stars just roaming about as well discussing D.W. Griffith’s Intolerance, remarking about the huge epic scale of its sets and cinematography shot by the famous Billy Bitzer. Mary Pickford saw me looking around and walked over to me.

“Wow honey, I love your dress!” she remarked. I looked down and saw a beautiful red dress, with matching slippers, and gloves on my hands. “You’re one of the IMP girls right?” I was starstruck, she was even more beautiful in person! I didn’t know what to say, except to tell myself that it was yet another inconsistency since that company, Independent Moving Pictures, had dissolved in 1912.

She smiled and brought me over to Douglas Fairbanks and introduced me. He bowed and kissed my hand, making me blush. He told everyone to watch him as he ran and climbed up a rope, and slid down a large pair of drapes with ease like he did in one of his adventure films. Everyone clapped and I joined in.

The group of people walked away chatting and I stayed there taking in the beautiful architecture. I roamed about for a few more minutes when my slipper got stuck in the carpet, as I tugged and struggled to get free I tripped, but had managed to dislodge myself losing my shoe in the process.

Suddenly, dozens of faceless men had descended on me and began reaching for my foot. I let out a scream and although the other people were rather close, none of them looked over to see the commotion. Eventually the faceless men became faceless tongues, lapping at my toes, drenching them with saliva until it dripped down my foot and left a spot on the carpet below.

I woke up in a sweat, trembling. I so desperately wanted to experience a real silent movie, but I was afraid that something horrible would happen. These dreams that became nightmares kept getting worse, and they filled me with fear making me think I could get kidnapped, or worse. I still hadn’t apologized to Hitomi for abruptly ending the call, angry as I was for what had happened, just when I needed a friend. I turned on my phone’s screen and saw it was half past ten. I made some coffee, and messaged Hitomi, profusely apologizing for the sudden call disconnection.

“I forgive you, Geeg!” said a voice from my phone. I disliked the walkie-talkie feature our video call app came with. I rang her on there, sans-video instead.

“So I messaged him,” I began, rubbing my eyes and taking a gulp of fresh coffee. It made me cough since it was still too hot.

“And how did that go?” she asked. I heard the sound of silverware and plates in the background. Was she at a Café? I couldn’t talk to her about this while she was in public! She noticed my quiet hesitation and giggled, adding, “Relax Gigi, I have earbuds on. Go ahead, spill the tea!”

I sighed.

“Okay, so I ‘yelled’ at him though PM, and told him how horrible his pictures made me feel. He said he was drunk,” I chewed on a microwaveable waffle stick while I talked, the sound of food plates had made me hungry. “What kind of lame excuse is that?”

“Being drunk makes you do weird things, Geeg,” she said after slurping some kind of drink. “Weird texts you regret, dumb selfies, etcetera. So did you block him?”

“No,” I said. And heard her sigh. “He said he wanted to make it up to me. I was about to end the chat but then he mentioned that he had a way to get into The Pickford, and well ... you know how I’ve been dying to go since it was announced!”

“And now you’re not sure if he’s pulling your leg, or if you should even consider his offer, right?” she said, and I heard the sound of a cash register ring.

“Right,” I said with a sigh. “I’d accept his offer, but there’s no way in hell I’d go alone.”

“So, I’ll go with you,” said Hitomi, and I nearly fell back in my chair. “I’ll have to be incognito, of course, and we have to act like we don’t know each other.”

“But your work,” I said. “Don’t you have like no time off?”

Hitomi chuckled. “On the contrary my dear Geeg, they’ve been asking me to take a vacation for a while now. I could use some time away from here.”

“That’s great! But how will this work? I don’t even know what he looks like. Do I use my real name? Gah! I’m so confused!” I buried my face in my hands.

“Message him,” said Hitomi in a somewhat serious tone. “Tell him, you’ll meet him at ... Café Lamont, that’s down the street from The Pickford. I’ll be there too, I’ll wear a gray sweater and red diadem. Just pretend you don’t see me or know me. If he tries anything ... I’ll sock him in the jaw!” She let out a hearty laugh, and I was sure I heard some people gasp.

“Okay, I’ll let you know what develops,” I said, rubbing my temples.

“10-4 good buddy! Hitomi out!” she said proudly, and the call disconnected.

I spent a few minutes gathering my thoughts on what to say to Roger, then I picked up my phone and opened the app. I began a new Private Chat and before I could type anything in a message came through:

F00tlvr1: I’m so glad you’re back on! I could hardly sleep last night thinking I had lost you!

FilmGr123: I’ve been thinking about what you said last night, about The Pickford. It’s been my dream to go there since I first heard it was going to be built. You have no idea how much I love silent films.

F00tlvr1: Then let’s make it a date, and I’ll show you that I really am a nice guy.

FilmGrl123: I don’t know ... I’ve never met anyone from here or anywhere else on the net before ... I’m just nervous.

F00tlvr1: You pick the time and place, and I will honor that. We will have a great time and head over to the venue. We won’t do anything unless you say we can. What do you say? It would be an honor to meet you.

FilmGrl123: Fine. Tomorrow. Cafe Lamont, say around 12pm?

F00tlvr1: Sounds like a date! I do have one small request though...

FilmGrl123: What’s that? It better not be anything weird or I will call it off and block you.

F00tlvr1: No, no, it’s not weird. At least I hope not. Do you have boots? If so, I’d love to see you wearing some. If not, whatever you choose to wear is fine.

FilmGrl123: That’s not a problem. I was looking for an excuse to wear the pair I bought with the money you sent.

F00tlvr1: Fantastic. See you tomorrow at noon at Cafe Lamont!

FilmGrl123: Yeah. Tomorrow.

-Chat Disconnected-

I had a headache. I was nervous, trembling, and I felt nauseous. I could back out, but that would be horrible of me. I wouldn’t like it if someone ditched me last minute. I drew in a deep breath, held it for a moment, and exhaled, but still didn’t feel any better. I went to my room and laid down, and grabbed one of the plush animals I had left on the table next to my bed and hugged it tight, something I hadn’t done since I was eight. My heart was beating fast and I sighed.

“Calm down,” I said quietly. “Hitomi will be there. Everything will be fine.” And stared at the ceiling until I fell asleep, the plush animal pressed against my chest.

I woke up at seven the next morning, and did my morning routine, showered, and had a glass of orange juice since the butterflies in my stomach wouldn’t let me eat. I chose to dress casually. Jeans, a plain blue T-shirt with a light-blue collar, and the boots Mr. Roger had requested. At first I wasn’t sure if jeans went with them, but I shrugged and attempted to fix the cowlick that always formed at the top of my thick brown hair to no avail. After a few minutes I gave up and watched VidTube until about nine.

There was a train stop just a few blocks from my place, which was the same one I used when I had to go drop off Roger’s “chocolates”. Getting to Willowfield meant I had to take two trains and a bus which would drop me a half a block away from Cafe Lamont. I packed my small travel bag lightly with my phone, my wallet, and a pair of gummy sandals in case my boots started bothering me and needed to change out of them. With all my nervousness, I had forgotten that I hadn’t broken them in properly.

As I waited, I took in the still warm breeze of the waning summer air. In a few short weeks it would be autumn, and all the trees in the area would start to change color. I smiled a bit and thought about what I could look forward to as a reward for making it through today, and reminded myself once again that Hitomi would be there just a few short steps away if anything happened. She was an odd girl, kind of brash, quick witted, and seemingly aloof, but she had a warm heart, once you got to know her.

The train arrived, I scanned my pass, and boarded. The car I was on was nearly empty, rather odd for a Saturday. I took a seat and stared out of the window as the train sped through the ever changing landscapes. These were new trains, faster, more efficient, and more roomy. My stomach grumbled, and I made my way to the next car where a snack bar could be found towards the end of the car. I bought a couple of candy bars, a can of soda and sat at one of the available small tables near the bar. I let out a sigh, tore open one of the candy bars, and ate slowly.

“Why so glum, dear?” said an oddly familiar voice. “Did he not like the chocolates?”

I blinked and looked up. It was the old woman from the last time I took the train.

“I-I think he did ... Would you like to sit down?” I said, getting up.

“Oh, no dear, I just thought I’d say hello, but then I noticed you looked sad,” she said leaning on her cane. “Keep your chin up, there’s plenty of fish out there, you know.”

“I-I’m fine, ma’am, thank you,” I said. “Just tired is all.” She winked at me and made her way to the other car.

The rest of the ride was uneventful, I was tired but the soda kept me awake. After hopping on a bus and riding for another half-hour I was finally moments away from meeting Roger. I could feel myself start to tremble again. My phone pinged with Hitomi’s personal message tone.

The bird is in the nest, I think I see the worm >:3, read the message. Pretty sure it’s the tan suit. Ew, tho. He’s old. I snorted and shook my head.

As I waited for the crosswalk sign to change, I couldn’t help but notice Cafe Lamont’s interesting architectural style. It was a small, standalone building built in the style of a Parisian Boulangerie. Its facade seemed to be made of white marble, with dome shaped yellow awnings over the door and exterior windows.

I entered the cafe about three minutes before noon. The cafe had a warm, homey look to it, the tables, booths, and chairs were all light mahogany colored, and there was a fantastic display of several kinds of breads along the wall behind the cashier area. I spotted Hitomi sitting at the corner, her black hair glistened with a ray of sun that came in through the window next to her. She stared at me, and I could see her emerald colored eyes looking to the left, I gave her a quick thumbs-up and made my way over to a row of tables that stood behind a long glass partition.

A man about forty sat at the end of the row sipping coffee and reading a newspaper. His salt-and-pepper hair was neatly parted to the left, with sideburns that ended right above the ear. As he read, he rubbed his chin with his thumb and forefinger. His face was slightly chiseled, and clean shaven. His attire didn’t strike me as someone who had been so rude and horrible just a couple nights ago, a nice tan suit, dark brown dress shoes, and a dark red colored tie. I looked over at Hitomi who kept gesturing to walk closer.

I inched my way towards him and I couldn’t think of the exact thing to say, so I blurted out some nonsense.

“H-hello! I am FilmGirl123Gigi! I am here now!” I smacked my forehead with my palm at the atrocious cringe those words had made.

The man lowered his newspaper and raised a thick salt-and-pepper colored eyebrow. He smiled, and then chuckled. I blinked. Maybe this was the wrong man.

“That was a wonderful introduction, FilmGirl123Gigi,” he said, extending his hand. I grabbed it and awkwardly shook it. “Quite the exotic name.” He folded his newspaper and set it next to his coffee cup.

“Gigi, y-you can call me Gigi,” I stammered. My knees were trembling and crashing into each other.

“Gigi, relax, it’s alright,” he said, noticing me shaking. “You picked the time and place, and now we’re here. I am a man of my word. Please, sit.” He looked me in the eyes, his eyes were like clear pools of water. His accent was interesting, but I couldn’t actually place where it could be from, and I thought it would be rude to ask.

I drew in a breath and let it out and took the chair in front of him.

“Scone?” he asked, pushing a small plate of boysenberry scones towards me. I stared at the plate and poked at one of them.

“So, F-- Roger, may I call you that? Sorry. So, what are you reading?” I said, and tried to avoid eye contact.

“Roger will do nicely, and it’s the local newspaper,” he said smiling. “It’s something I like to do. You know, you can learn a lot about a city or town just by reading their newspaper.”