Matthew was... a strange guy, really. He was popular, but not obnoxious; sporty, but not obsessive; cool, but not detached. But the main thing about him was his sheer level of hotness. His body was lean - the body of a swimmer, virutally hairless and fairly well tanned from head to toe. Most of his muscles were well-defined, but not supidly large. But one thing that was stupidly large, was his shoe size.

Of all your friends, Matthew was the nicest. When he found out about your foot fetish, he really didn't say much - though in your last gym lesson together, he did 'accidently' rub one of his socked feet against your thigh. Had you not spent the rest of the lesson trying to cover your impressive tent, you might've found a chance to see how he felt about your foot fetish.

Today, that chance would come again. Matthew had invited you to the local pool - it was a school day, but your afternoon lessons had been cancelled. Thus, there were very few people at the adult pool. As you watched a group of kids from your class pack up their stuff to leave, you glanced out across the water. Matthew was barrelling through the water, moving with seemingly no effort. You'd lost count of exactly how many lengths he'd done, but it was definitely above ten. You leaned back on your deck-chair, squinting up into the sky. A nice, warm day - good for sunbathing; just what you needed. Bearing your chest, arms and legs to the sun, you settled in for a relaxing day.

Minutes later, you became aware of the wet slap of feet on the tiles surrounding the pool. A shadow crossed your vision, and your eyes fluttered open. Standing above you was Matthew, his tanned chest a sight to behold. His cool, blue eyes staring down at you while a smile played across those thin lips - his mid-length blond hair saturated, and hanging down like tendrils creeping down his forehead.

"Uhm... hey..." you say, smiling up at your ideal man. It was all you could do to not throw yourself at his feet. "Hey" he replied, his lips curling up into an even bigger smile. And with that, he turned on the spot, and sat himself down in the deck chair to your side. You tilted your head slightly, noting that the deck chair he had sprawled himself out on was, in fact, facing yours - so that they made a T-shape.

The slabs of meat he called feet entered your view - full on sole action. The tops were nicely tanned, while the bottoms looked soft and inviting - perfectly formed toes and a nice, thick sole. One thing you had always noted about Matthew's feet, apart from their size, was that they were always clean - no muck stuck to them, never did he get toe-jam, and no noxious gasses were ever holed up inside his socks or shoes. His toes flexed, and he rolled his right foot around at the ankle. Gently, he lifted one leg and crossed it over the other, causing the sides of both feet to rub up against each other. He continued this rubbing while separating and wiggling his toes every now and then.

He was giving you a show.

And the growing wood now occupying your skimpy swimming trunks was evidence of just how good that show was.

"Oh, god! Not here!" You mutter, trying your hardest to control your hard-on, but to no avail. There were still a few guys left at the pool – some could even be from the school!