by Herman Lande

Rubbing the scratchy gray cotton all about his face, Jimi purred lovingly. He let the sock travel all around his body and coil around his legs, snaking up to his arms. Both hands parted the opening as he plunged his nose into it. Jimi took in all the smells of who ever the foot the sock usually called home. Jimi smelled traces of butter and flour in it and figured his victim loved to bake pastries. Jimi had a sock fetish.

Taking a second whiff of the sexual cloth tube, Jimi remembered the chase. How scared his victim must have been! Sweet, savory sweat running down the victim’s ankles, pooling in the bottom of the sock. Jimi had been like a rhino in heat when he plowed through that alley, ramming his target with his seductive horn.

Reliving the moment excited Jimi all over again. He gripped the sock in his hands and his mouth foamed with saliva. He began to tongue the sock, letting the individual threads bump about his taste buds, like docile sheep.

“Oh god! Don’t rape me! I have an important dish to make. Don’t tare up my asshole!”

In the alley, Jimi had just laughed and laughed. He was like hobo who had found a preloaded IV needle in the dumpster. Jimi had clasped the man’s foot and gently wiggled off his shoes.

“Rock-a-by-baby, on-the-tree-top,” cooed Jimi as he fuddled with the laces. After a few moments, Jimi eased off the shoe and looked inside it. On the sole of the shoe, inscribed in bold letters, was ‘Big Papa.’

“Oh Big Papa, have I been a silly boy?” snickered Jimi. Big Papa could only scream in terror as Jimi played the ‘little piggy’ game while taking extra time to admire the thickness and color of the sock. Jimi was thankful it was cotton rather than wool, because he found wool socks were harder to clean after making love to. Jimi knew it was time to end his time with Big Papa. He wrapped his nose with a handkerchief doused in ammonia, making certain his mouth was shut. As soon as he was out cold, Jimi yanked off his socks and stuffed them into his shirt’s lapel pocket. He hid the body in a dumpster, but not before kissing Big Papa’s big toes.

He couldn’t take it anymore! All of the memories made Jimi go into a frenzy as he stuffed the sock into his mouth and sucked it like a kid with a lollipop. Jimi was in ecstasy.

For, you see, Jimi had a sock fetish.