Four Feet

Everyone was away at home for the weekend, and the dorm halls were dark and quiet as I walked along quietly, listening for signs of life. I'd gone for a walk by myself after dinner, and for the heck of it I decided to walk the empty hallways of all the floors of the dorm. The place was dead save for the occasional rattle of a small dorm-room refrigerator starting up, muted behind a closed door. On the second floor, I saw a light under the door of Ed's room as I approached, but there was no answer when I knocked. I didn't know Ed well enough to try the door, and it didn't matter anyway, since we were only schoolmates. He was a nice enough guy, but nondescript, and we weren't in any of the same classes.

On the fourth floor, I could hear Tom giggling, from his room at the end of the hall. I was immediately glad - I'd always had a thing for him because he was built and beautiful and didn't know it, and he liked me. So we always took walks together or did our library work or our laundry or our trips into town together. He was one of those guys with the really smooth but mobile features that you couldn't take your eyes off, always alive with the beauty of a star. He had a voice to match, fluidly musical and both feminine and masculine, but honest and innocent, with a laugh that ranged from raucous to that boyishly masculine giggle.

And when he giggled his big smooth feet seemed to grow heavy and helpless. They were beautiful feet, so fluid and agile yet virile, astonishing to see from either their smooth ankles as they hung helplessly when he laughed, or as they danced over the floor when he played his music, or as they rested comfortably when he sat cross-legged. Their soles were heaven to touch, as were the beautifully gentle toes, but the feet had an athlete's size, strength and maleness. I fell in love with his feet on first sight; I've never felt my own feet come alive like they did when they first touched Tom's.

"Hey, what are you doing?" I asked as I knocked on Tom's door, interrupting his giggling.

"We're playing flopsy," Tom said. "Ed and I. Come on in."

I opened the door. Ed was sitting on a chair and Tom was leaning back on his elbows, his long legs crossed, barefoot on his bed, then doubled over in laughter, his beautiful feet helplessly limp, flopping his big pretty feet like a couple of landed fish. He sat up and tried to stop laughing, tossing his head back to get his hair out of his eyes.

"Actually, Tom's playing flopsy," Ed explained gamely, looking bored. He looked ready to leave. "I'm just going out to see a movie or something, and I don't think Tom wants to see one right now." He stood up to leave, appearing glad I was there to give him opportunity to excuse himself.

I looked again at Tom. I was not seeing what I was seeing, or it wasn't registering or whatever - Tom's luscious feet were a little larger than before. He was looking at them, and flopped them back and forth a couple times on the bedspread.

"See you guys later," Ed said. He moved toward the door, between Tom's bed, and me when Tom reached his foot out and gave Ed a gentle kick in the rear.

"Enjoy the show, and don't get too footloose," Tom joked.

"Yeah, right," Ed said, seeming startled by the touch of Tom's foot and pulling away. He left.

I asked what was that all about, and Tom explained that they had been talking about dreams, which made Tom remember a recurrent dream he'd had all his life. In the dream, he would play a simple game with his feet, flopping them back and forth and saying, "flopsy, flopsy, flopsy," and the more he did it, the more feet he would have. When he became a teenager, when the dream recurred it became his first wet dream (although there was nothing overtly sexual in the dream, it sounded to me.)

"I don't think Ed liked my dream," Tom said, looking at his big feet, his beautiful features in a slight but poignant pout, with just a touch of humor in it.

"I do," I said, meaning it. Leave it to Tom to have the most off-the-wall, impossible dream, and to be totally unselfconscious about it.

Tom's features lit up, and he held up his beautiful feet to show me, turning them from side to side and having them feel each other.

"I think I could do it," he said. "My feet get really big whenever I have that dream. I know, because I have to go barefoot since even my sandals are too small all of a sudden."

He tried to shove his foot into one of his shoes, to demonstrate. In my mind, I kept thinking to myself, they are so beautiful, so beautiful.

"It's strange," Tom said, his beautiful eyes locking with mine, then looking back at his big smooth feet. "I can also run faster, and I've noticed it's easier to come when they're big like this."

"Wow," I managed to say, not able to manage much more, but I tried: "Your feet really are pretty big right now. Did you have that dream or something?"

"Omigosh, no!" Tom said, his eyes wide in astonishment.

"We were only talking about the dream. It felt so real when I started playing flopsy with my feet to show Ed. I almost could have done it, but Ed was so disgusted. It kind of killed it for me."

"So that's why they're so big," I said, as Tom smoothed his feet over each other. It boned me to see Tom looking at his feet that way, like he wanted more of them. That would be hot, I couldn't help think. Tom with four of his beautiful feet.

I thought I would suggest he try it, but my throat went dry. What would he think of me, taking literally a stupid dream. But then, he might laugh about it, making his big feet go limp and helpless, I tried to tell myself.

"Why don't you try it," I heard myself say, my voice shaking just a little.

His beautiful eyes locked with mine, stopping my heart, and just as quickly they looked away into middle space, then they looked at his big feet.

"I should," he said. "I've always wanted to. And you don't mind. So why not."

"Go for it," I said, feeling that, um, tingle that I got from the thought of Tom with four feet.

"Flopsy, flopsy, flopsy," he said, flopping his big feet back and forth. It became kind of a chant, a wish, a command; I don't know, in his sweet musical voice it sounded nice, and he sort of got into a groove with it, letting himself bounce along with the rhythm, his hair in and out of his eyes as the bed rocked a little to the ritual of his feet. They were beautiful to watch as they flipped and flopped, so lithe and smooth and heavy. You could tell it actually felt good to flop them. They seemed to color slightly and they definitely grew a little.

"This is work," Tom laughed. "My legs and hips are getting sore doing this. But my feet feel so good! Flopsy, flopsy flopsy. . ."

And then the feet made slapping sounds as he flopped them back and forth, and were too big to flop easily when all of a sudden Tom said "Omigosh!" and held up his right foot. There were two of them hanging from the ankle, perfectly matched beautiful right-foot twins. He flopped his left foot a few more times, hard, saying, "Flopsyflopsyflopsyflopsy," and the left started making the slapping sounds and suddenly there they were, two of them, Tom's big strong handsome left feet, two of them, heavy on his ankle.

"I don't believe it!" he laughed, looking up to the ceiling and rolling back and forth in his cross-legged position on the bed, his four big new feet helplessly limp as he laughed and laughed. I couldn't tell if his laughter was nervous laughter, but it didn't seem so much nervous laughter as amazement that he could actually multiply his feet like in his lifelong dream. "I did it, I did it! Here, check them out!"

I knelt on the bed next to him, my hands nervous because I was excited and aroused.

"Let me see," I said, feeling flushed and aroused by the sight of Tom with four feet. He showed them to me and gave them to me to hold. I took them in my hands, amazed at their weight and their perfect beauty, the doubling of Tom's already-awesome feet. I couldn't believe what I was seeing and now feeling. I was greedily holding both of Tom's ankles, feeling the swell of two big heavy male feet growing out of each of his strong ankles.

Perfectly sculptured toes touched my hands as I lost my hands among the four of Tom's feet, his four feet so masculine and beautiful. I felt obsessed and crazed by his having four of them, so beautiful on him, so expressive and gentle and strong and absolutely fitting for a gifted youth of his beauty. I was kissing all four of them, holding them in my hands, running my fingers among the twenty of his toes, loving the weight and flexibility, the perfectly smooth skin, the muscularity and beautiful pads of his toes and soles, and I ran the four of his feet along my cheeks, through my hair, pressing them to me, kissing them . . .

I was suddenly embarrassed and I wanted to apologize, mortified at being so forward with his four beautiful feet, but his beautiful eyes countered my embarrassment with understanding, and I realized he loved me holding his four beautiful feet and kissing them. I couldn't get over how wonderfully masculine, muscular, smooth, heavy, strong, gentle and beautiful they were; I was holding them to my face, his four large feet gently resting on the napes of my neck and cradling the sides of my face and chin.

So many feet, so many of his beautiful toes, his four well-developed big toes gently squeezing as his four magnificent feet gently clasped my shoulders. I pulled and he yielded them to me; I kissed all four of them, loving their amazingly beautiful male foot shape, and creamed right there in my jeans, creaming over and over as I held his four beautiful feet to my flushed cheeks and lips, kissing them, pressing them to me, and kissing them till he creamed, which I could see him doing through his jeans as his big penis pumped and pumped, no doubt making a hot soaking mess of come inside his pants like I had just made inside mine.

"I'm making you a couple of foot sandwiches," he smiled gently, his breath sweet, his flushed, beautiful face lit with a boy's joy as his four beautiful feet - their touch was magic - placed my feet between themselves.

I turned on my side and faced him as he lay on his back, looking at his four feet. I rested my hand in the cleft at the top of his hip. As I snuggled, I felt the cleft in his hip deepen.

"What's with your hip?" I asked.

"What?" he asked, feeling the hip, finding the growing cleft. He felt the other hip and found the same thing happening.

"We better get these pants off of you," I said. "I think your legs are splitting into four."

We both sat up and checked his ankles. Sure enough, you could see a cleft running up the ankle, starting from where the two feet hung from it, and no doubt continuing along the leg all the way up to the cleft in Tom's hips.

"No wonder my legs and hips felt sore while I was playing flopsy," Tom said, getting up and rummaging though a desk drawer and pulling out scissors. "These pant legs are getting too tight to take off, because I don't think I can fit my four feet back through them."

"I don't either," I agreed. "Here, let me help."

I was glad to do the honors of cutting his legs out of the suddenly constricting long pant legs. As the scissors cut the pant legs, they freed what were now two complete legs that had been trapped inside each pant leg. All four legs were perfect copies of Tom's beautifully muscled long legs, with two perfectly muscled sets of hips butting up against each other, Tom's hindquarters now doubled. Each of his four feet now had its own long-muscled leg, and his four newly naked legs wrapped themselves around me as I struggled to remember to put the scissors down safely on the desk.

We got the rest of the pants off him, and it was deja vu all over again as we kissed. Then he let me lose myself among his four feet. I couldn't stop squeezing his four legs, loving the double hips, loving the feeling of squeezing a leg and feeling another leg behind it. I was aware of Tom's four beautiful legs squeezing me back, amazed at the feel of four of his feet all over me.

"I want to play flopsy some more," Tom said, nudging me with his four big feet.

"Please do!" I begged.

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written by martinboyar