Backseat Foot Games

It was a hot July Saturday, and I had a full day planned. I would meet my sister at the park district’s soccer field after running my usual weekend errands to watch my 9-year-old nephew and his team play in a regional finals game. I was going downtown with a couple of my friends in the evening. We had tickets to see Garth Brooks perform. I’ve never been a fan of country music, but my friends persuaded me to go. He was performing at a large outdoor venue near the lake. I agreed because I thought the experience would be enjoyable.

My nephew and I were kicking the ball back and forth on the field after the soccer game (his team won!). I made a quick move to block a shot and ended up twisting my left knee. I suppose that at the age of 26, I was already too old to act like a kid. I was ashamed of my injury and pretended it never happened.

Anyway, it was about time for my friends to pick me up. Brad, Matt, and I had known each other since college. I was the only gay one of three of us, but it was never an issue in our friendship. We shared many interests, such as sports teams, movies, music, and so on. We have remained close friends since college.

Brad had obtained tickets for tonight’s concert through his company. He had four tickets, but since none of us were seriously seeing anyone right now, the fourth would go unused. My knee was in bad shape. I decided not to call and beg off the concert because I discovered that I was fine if I kept my knee straight. It only hurt when I was bent. I knew we’d be standing the entire time the concert started. I’d be just fine. I could take the back seat in the car and stretch my leg straight across the seat. No worries.

We would face heavy traffic and difficult parking if we drove into the city on a Saturday night. We decided to take just one car, and they would pick me up around 5:00 p.m. after my nephew’s game. As the clock approached 5:00, I said my goodbyes to my sister and her child and hobbled over to the parking lot.

Brad was behind the wheel of his Honda Civic. Not much space, but stretched out across the backseat, I should be fine. As I approached, I noticed Matt was already in the shotgun seat up front, as expected. Thus far, so good. Maybe I could get through the evening without having to tell everyone about my embarrassing injury. They were deep in conversation and didn’t notice as hobbled closer. When I arrived, I was surprised to see that the passenger side of the backseat was already occupied by a stranger. He appeared to be our age, but who was he? I pushed open the driver’s side rear door and slid into the only empty seat. I evaluated the stranger standing next to me. I could tell he was over 6 feet tall even though he was sitting. He had dark hair, a well-groomed beard, piercing blue eyes, and a well-muscled physique.

Brad introduced me to his cousin, Jack, who was unexpectedly in town and had nothing to do, so Brad offered him the forth ticket. Great. In a bent, painful position, how would my injured knee survive the car trip? With summer weekend traffic, getting into the city would almost certainly take at least 90 minutes, if not more.

We were on our way when Brad pulled out. It didn’t take long for Jack to notice my fidgeting and grimacing next to him. He questioned if I was okay. The volume of Brad’s music in the car was pretty loud, and it seemed to be centered more on the front speakers. I didn’t think he and Matt could hear us from the back. I told Jack about my knee injury and how the only tolerable position was to stretch it out straight. But what could I do in the cramped backseat?

“Why don’t you turn sideways, straighten your leg, and put your foot in my lap?” Jack suggested.

Surprised, I cocked an eyebrow and asked, “Really?” Are you sure? That’s a big imposition.”

“It’s not ideal, but it’s a long drive into town,” Jack replied. You’ll never make it if you don’t get a chance to straighten your leg. It’s fine with me; I don’t mind.”

I thanked him, unbuckled my seatbelt, turned 90 degrees, and gingerly placed my left foot in his lap. I knelt and placed my right foot flat on the seat in front of us. I sighed in relief and thanked him once more as the pain subsided.

“You know, I’ve had a few sports injuries myself and I’ve had to go to physical therapy a few times,” Jack said after a few minutes. Those experiences taught me a few things. Would you like me to try a little massage on your knee to see if it helps?”

“I don’t think-“

He interrupted me. “I don’t mind at all. We are in for a long night. This could be useful. It can’t hurt, at the very least. Just let me know if I cause any pain.” He didn’t wait for my response. He started gently pressing and massaging my bad knee with his left hand. I was a little hurt at first, but in a good way. It was helpful.

As the car accelerated toward the city, Jack continued to rub my knee. He had leaned back and closed his eyes, which I noticed. Despite the awkward situation, I was beginning to relax a little and closed my eyes. Over the next few minutes, I noticed him incorporating his right hand into the massage. He gradually widened the area he was rubbing. I opened my eyes slightly and noticed that his eyes were still closed.

I was wearing shorts, so the entire length of my bare inner leg was facing him and available to him. His focus continued to gradually broaden. At this point, I started asking myself a few questions. Was he aware of what he was doing? Was this unintentional? Did Brad inform his cousin about my sexual orientation? Is Jack gay as well? Is he putting me to the test?

His left hand moved up my thigh more, while his right hand moved down my calf and shin. His left hand’s fingers worked their way under the leg of my shorts, and the light tickle of his touch made me quiver. His right hand massaged lower and lower circular motions. He had bare skin all the way down to my shoe because I was wearing low cut ankle socks. He drew concentric circles around my ankle bone for a minute after reaching the end of the line, then began working his way back up toward the knee. Meanwhile, his left hand was still up my shorts, and he grazed my scrotum a few times with his fingertips as he darted around my underwear. The sensation caused me to gasp and twitch, and I felt a flutter in my crotch. He was aware of what he was doing, but why was he doing it? Would he dare to play this game if he didn’t know I was gay?

“Your shoes are kind of dirty, and I just remembered that I’m wearing brand new shorts,” Jack said as he opened his eyes. I don’t want to ruin them, so do you mind if I take your shoe off?”

“I, I don’t…” I stammered.

He cut me off once more. “Look, I’m doing you the favor here letting you straighten out your injured leg. I think doing me this small favor is the least you could do. Just close your eyes again and relax.” Jack was taller and stronger than I was. I didn’t get the impression he was going to hurt me in any way, but he was strong and commanding. He appeared to have made a decision and there would be no further discussion. This was taking place.

Jack began untying my sneaker without waiting for my approval. I was slightly concerned. I had decided to wear my most comfortable shoes because we would be doing a lot of walking and then standing all night at an outdoor concert. That was my oldest and most worn-out pair of classic Reeboks. They were worn and comfortable, but because they were tattered and overused, they left a slight odor behind. There was nothing I could do about it right now.

He completed the lace untying, loosened the shoe, and slipped it off my foot. My foot was a little sweaty from being trapped inside my shoe all day. Through my damp sock, I immediately felt the air-conditioned coolness of the car. Jack removed my shoe and began massaging my socked foot with both hands. He had powerful hands and was doing an excellent job. I flushed a little in embarrassment when I caught a whiff of my own musky stink. What was it like for Jack, with my offending foot 9 inched below his nose, if I was noticing it across the car? I observed him, but he made no response. Jack continued the massage, which felt really good. The music was still blasting, and I was certain Brad and Matt had no idea what was going on behind them.

Jack decided it was time for me to take off my sock. My sock was obviously not going to get his “new shorts” dirty. He was in charge and doing whatever he pleased. He snagged my foot with his finger and yanked it off. He didn’t ask for permission, and I didn’t object. He tucked the sock neatly inside my shoe to keep it from falling out. What a gentleman he is. He took a moment to assess my newly exposed foot, perhaps planning his attack. He did not, however, attack my foot. He tickled it lightly, but not painfully. With his fingers, he drew lines up my arch. He massaged my feet. He lightly scratched the calloused heel of my foot. He’d tease my foot before massaging it some more. This total stranger was being intimate and sensual. While all of this was going on, I noticed Jack had a crotch swell that matched mine.

“Your right leg looks awfully uncomfortable bent in that position,” he said when he appeared to have finished. We need to get you straightened out before you cramp.”

He wasn’t asking again. He grabbed my right ankle, lifted my foot, and extended my leg onto his lap. He started untying my shoelaces right away. He must have realized that these old, comfortable, worn shoes could be slipped on and off without untying the laces, but I believe this was all part of the act. He took off the right shoe and bent back the tongue to read my size before setting it down. He smiled at me and said, “Exactly what I thought, a perfect 10.”

The program on my right side mirrored the experience on my left. The sock was falling off without any foreplay. He peeled it off my foot inside out, still damp from my sweat. I caught him sneaking a sniff of the toe end, and his eyes widened in response. I, too, caught another whiff of my ripe scent and blushed in embarrassment.

My right foot was now poised to strike. It was moist and sensitive because it had just gotten out of its shoe and sock. Jack was rougher on this foot. I’m not sure if he was more careful on my left foot to avoid causing me to react in a way that would aggravate my injured knee, or if he was simply taking things to a higher level at this point in his game. He began with swipes and strokes that made me flinch and twitch. He was clearly having a good time, and I was concerned about what was to come. He did, however, stop short of tickle torture, and I was able to keep myself from laughing.

After teasing and tantalizing the new foot, he transitioned to a massage that had me closing my eyes and moaning softly in pleasure. His massaging hands eventually worked their way up my leg, and things ended the same way they had started.

I didn’t need to re-dress my feet as we got closer to our destination. Jack looked after me. He replaced my socks and shoes, even retying my shoelaces. It was as if I were his property. A toy that can be played with. A doll to be dressed.

Brad pulled over, and we got out of the car. My knee felt a little better, and I was able to walk to the venue without incident. We were arranged in the audience with Matt on the left, Brad, Jack, and me on the right. Throughout the evening, whenever Jack spoke to me, he would include some kind of physical touch. It was sometimes just a light touch on my forearm. Sometimes it’s a playful nudge or a light punch to the shoulder. He once placed his palm flat on my sternum and told me about his favorite Garth Brooks song.

Every time Jack had to leave for another beer run or a bathroom break, he would manhandle me as he passed. He once slipped behind me and placed his hands on my soft sides above and below the hips. He tickled and squeezed me there before removing his hands and walking away. Another time, he turned his body at a 45-degree angle to keep Brad and Matt from seeing what he did to me. He slipped his hands beneath my shirt and repeated the maneuver on bare skin. He then slid his hands around to my front, as if hugging me from behind. His hands probed my chest and stomach as if he were blind and using his hands to see. “I know you’re enjoying all of this as much as I am,” he said, pressing his lips to my ear. I’m sure Jack was aware of the goose bumps that his breathy whisper and groping hands fluttered along my sensitive lower abdomen caused. His dancing fingers eventually found my round, innie belly button and swirled it before removing his hands, disappearing into the crown, and leaving me all tingly and flushed.

Garth performed a cover of Billy Joel’s Piano Man late in the show. This was the only song I had heard all night. That song, of course, is a huge crowd favorite, and the audience was enthusiastically participating in the performance. “Sing us a song, you’re the Piano Man, Sing us a song tonight, Well we’re all in the mood for a melody, And you’ve got us feeling all right,” everyone howled as one arm wrapped around the person next to them and the other held up their beer. Jack took advantage of the situation by wrapping his right arm around my shoulder and pulling me into him. I reciprocated by embracing him with my left arm.

Despite my preference for almost any other genre of music other than country, it turned out to be a good show. Matt offered me the front seat for the ride back as we walked back to the car. I cast a glance at Jack, who gave me a wink. “Thanks man, but I’m good in the back,” I told Matt, winking at Jack.

Brad called three weeks later to say his cousin Jack was in town for the weekend again and asked if I wanted to come over for some pizza and poker. I promised to be there. I had no idea what the night would bring with Jack, but I knew I’d be wearing my old beat-up classic Reeboks.