Those smelly socks
This started out as a post in the Fetish forum, but I think I got so wrapped up in the memories that it lost its place in that thread with too many details. Here it is again for those who might not ever find the other thread.
Wearing a buddy's socks after one was used to wipe up our cum was how I got my first sexual experience involving a sock. I had already begun to fixate on them once junior high started and I began changing for gym next to my best friend, and in order not to get caught checking him out (or worse yet, pop a bone)l I would always keep my head and eyes aimed down at the floor, where I had no choice but to notice his feet and how his white crew socks hugged each toe so perfectly, and how they always seemed so new and tight compared to my much less-frequently replaced tube socks. When I would think about him during jack-off sessions, oftentimes he'd still be wearing those socks because that was the most detailed mental image I had of his body.
Fast forward 2.5 years to my first circle jerk (sadly my best friend never took the bait for any of those) and our house rule of shoes coming off at the door suddenly exposed some more teen feet, clad in socks, to my eyes. In order for everybody to have a good look at the porn mag I'd found, we sat cross-legged in a semi-circle on the floor of my bedroom, first with hands in undies, then at my behest, the undies slid down our three pairs of skinny, hairless legs and formed pile behind our circle.
I'm still amazed that neither friend ever mentioned how much I ended up looking at them jacking rather than the magazine, maybe because I was too engrossed to notice them doing the same. Anyhow, I came first, a few short spurts that barely cleared my socked ankles, and while I excitedly watched my friends finish themselves off, the thought occurred to me of what was to be done with the boyjuice dotting the linoleum, as the kleenex box was empty and I didn't want to be spotted traipsing off to the bathroom for a washrag with no handy excuse why. The problem solved itself though when the last guy to cum didn't shoot far enough and ended up with most of it on his sock. We all went "ewww" (even I hadn't thought of cum + socks as sexy yet) and he asked to borrow a pair of my socks to wear home and for me to hide then dispose of the now soiled pair. I agreed, as I did to most suggestions at that age, and told him that he should just use the cummy sock to wipe up the other two loads off the floor while he was at it, then stash them behind a box in my closet.
Strangely I didn't think much of our shared masturbation experience the rest of the day, our time together being otherwise quite ordinary, playing basketball in the driveway and tormenting my little brother and his friends. It wasn't until I crawled between the sheets that night that I remembered the socks in my closet, noticing a very faint smell of strange boyfeet still in the air. Thinking back to the thrill of not just seeing my first hard dicks but also seeing guys I had yet thought of sexually shoot their cum suddenly mandated my hand sliding into my boxers around my straining cock while I padded over the linoleum towards the closet to retrieve those socks, my foot actually sticking on a spot which obviously hadn't been wiped very well. Socks in hand I quickly got back in bed, boxers around my thighs, cock in hand and running my fingers over the socks, looking for any dampness that could be our boycum.
Finding it, I began to explore it with my fingers, trying to find each spot and thinking about which of us it might be from based on how it felt soaked into the material. I didn't want to smell the sock itself, thinking of my friend's unsavory foot odor now more distinguishable in the air, but I brought my fingers to my nose several times, seeing if I could smell the familiar bleachy scent of my own cum or discern any different smells from theirs. My fingers just ended up smelling like his sweaty feet so I kept them on top of the comforter at arm's length while my other hand (the left, even though I'm right-handed) went to town on my stiffy. Normally I'd lift the covers above my jacking hand to keep the precum from staining the sheets, but with my other hand busy exploring that one slightly cummy sock I could already feel a wet spot forming on the top sheet. Pausing momentarily, I realized I still had nothing handy for cleanup and didn't want to just toss the covers off me in case someone should barge it before I finished.
Not wanting to stop playing with maybe the hardest boner of my life thus far, I clutched that cum sock and dragged it under the covers with me, arranging it folded with the crew cuff under the sock itself, heel at the root of my dick, the toe and ball of the foot area (where most of the cum could be felt) pointing up to my ribcage. My right hand making the familiar tent in the covers, my other hand was flying up and down like every night for the last year and quickly brought myself over the edge as I almost silently shot a few good ropes of boycum out the end of my dick. The first shot went past the musty sock entirely, landing just below my nipple, so quickly I grabbed the toe of the sock, feeling a wet spot already in it and moved that wet spot over the smear of cum under my nipple, and kinda shivered at the feeling. The rest had landed neatly on the sock so with a quick wipe at my now puckered foreskin sticking past the tip of my shrinking dick the sock emerged from the covers in my hand, quickly joined its mate and flew under the bed where I hoped it would air out and become undetectable.
The morning arrived with no such luck, and there was no time to find a better hiding spot for them so nobody else would find another guy's smelly socks tucked in my room somewhere with crusty cum spots on one. I just wanted to get them back to my friend and away from my snooping family, so reluctantly I put them on my own feet, grabbed my longest pair of pants so my parents wouldn't see and slipped them into my sneakers. They felt awkward and a little disgusting, not at all soft like I was used to socks being like in the morning. I remember one crusty spot ended up situated over the knuckle of the big toe on my right foot, and I couldn't stop moving it in my shoe, feeling that spot as it moved against my skin. My friends took the bus but I got dropped off right before school, so I'd have to wait for hours in his socks until I saw him halfway to lunch. By the time I saw him at his locker, I was definitely ready to give him those socks back, and just prayed he had my socks to give back to me.
Luckily he did and we surreptitiously placed each pair of socks in the other's gym locker as they slid off our feet while changing for P.E. When we got back to the boys locker room and I put them on my feet my socks felt so much better, and I was surprised to feel a little turned on at how they were still a little warm. I watched to see if he would put his on, but apparently wearing his gym socks home was preferable to wearing our stale cum sock. I didn't say anything and with a regret I carry to this day, never mentioned those socks to him again. I did wear the socks I got back from him to bed uncharacteristically that night, turned on at the thought of his feet having been inside them like mine were now, and thinking that seemed sexy since sex was all about things going inside other things. I rubbed out another load like always that night, except once the mess was made, I reached down and pulled a sock off my foot and used it to wipe myself clean like the night before, hoping it would tingle again and be exciting, and it was!
Thus a fetish was cemented in a teen boy's mind, leaving in its wake a trail of crusty socks belonging not just to me, but every cute guy I could convince to share them with me, and occasionally pilfer from floors or hampers of new crushes over the years. Now it's one of my favorite feelings, wiggling my toes in a sock with cum, fresh or dried, remembering how they represented sex to me before my penis got anywhere near anyone else's holes. It morphed into a love of footjobs too, or rather sockjobs, as to this day nothing really turns my crank like white socks on a guy's feet when his hard-on is in view too.