Workboots to Opera Pumps, Chapters 1-4.

A beardy, muscley menswear influencer who seems to enjoy taking pictures of his socks and shoes.

Jock to Dandy | Sweat & Smells | Suited Embarrassment

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I co-wrote this novel with the horny and naughty Jack Sockman. A big, jockish country bumpkin goes on an important business conference, loses his luggage, and is forced to buy a whole new dandefied wardrobe with sheer socks and fine loafers that he just can't seem to keep on his huge feet. One of his well-dressed superiors takes notice.

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Chapter 1

For the fourth time, the phone alarm played something from Jeb’s country-bro playlist. He grabbed the phone and stared at it, then squinted to make sure the phone actually said the time that it said. Then cursed.

“Fuck!” The bed rocked beneath his stark naked ex quarterback frame as he jolted out of the sheets. His heart pounded beneath his hairy pecs. He slung his suitcase on the twisted bedsheets. It was 4:30 AM. He originally planned to get up at 4:00. If he didn’t get his suitcase packed half an hour ago, he’d miss his flight.

Jeb was in his first month at his new job as a financial consultant after graduating with his MBA. So far, things had not gone quite as well as he’d hoped. A lot of his colleagues thought he was a big, dumb hillbilly. It’s true that he grew up on a farm in rural Louisiana, and had the twangy accent to prove it. He was also the “big” one in his family: 6’3”, 230, naturally muscular, and with big, size 13.5 EE feet that really didn’t want to stay in shoes. He hated most clothing, actually. Most clothing made him feel really confined. Especially shoes. So at very least he would constantly kick off his shoes, or try to. The most clothing he could stand sleeping in was his chunky gold chain necklace pillowed between his hairy pecs.

“Fuck fuck fuck” he kept muttering to himself as he grabbed things from his closet. The conference was at an exclusive resort hotel in Miami, but he had to get there tonight to deliver his presentation. So he went over the details in his head. Day one was the presentation, so he would need his blue suit for tonight. Days two and three were a whole bunch of workshops and corporate team-building bullshit. He could get away with something casual, so he wadded up his bulky cargo pants and couple of baggy polo shirts. But the evening of day three made him nervous as hell. That was a formal banquet, so he’d have to squeeze his bulky frame into a monkey suit again. A black suit was formal, right? Luckily he still had the one he used for his uncle’s funeral last year. He tried to fold it in as carefully as he could, wadded up two ties and some cheap white pocket squares. He always heard from his frat bros in college that pocket squares made a huge difference. Didn’t need to pack anything to sleep in, since he hated sleeping in clothes. Put in underwear and undershirts only because his dad once told him he couldn’t skip those. His dad always told him he had to stay in his shirt, and keep his shoes on. He hated that… He shoved some toiletries in and smashed the suitcase shut.

Didn't bother shaving--didn't have time. He had to buzz down that stubble of his twice a day sometimes. His dad always said it was his Scottish roots, how hairy he was. A dense pelt all over his calves and forearms. Curls of it making a large "t" across his pecs and abs, fine fur all over his hands and knuckles, on the tops of the arches of his feet and the knuckles of his toes. Some on his back, too. The frat bros used to call him sasquatch.

He stuffed his meat into his tight undies, slid into his baggy cargo shorts, and shrugged on one of his sleeveless flannel shirts. It was snug around his chest and he hated buttoning it, but it was one of his hunting shirts, soft and comfortable like a blanket. After his biceps peaked past 22 inches a year ago, he "accidentally" burst one of the sleeves. But, of course, it felt so comfortable that he kept it around. So he just cut the sleeves off all of his flannel shirts. Made them more comfortable, better for showing off his gains too. Same with his t-shirts. He cut the sleeves off all of them, and cut the sides way down to show off plenty of side pec during his workouts, letting in some air from the side. Sun's out, guns out. Only his dress shirts had sleeves--well, all except the one whose sleeves he ripped last week. He could make that one a workout shirt, too.

He put on some standard white crew socks and shoved one of his huge feet into one of his slides; had to find the other under a pile of unlaced construction boots. Tangled boot laces were all over the floor with piles of torn jeans. Whenever he was off work, he'd normally wear his ragged jeans with his sleeveless flannel shirt and his unlaced construction boots that he could easily kick off his feet. He was flying to Miami today, and was a little worried that it was going to be hot as hell down there, so he needed shorts and his slides. He wrestled his shirt buttons shut over his beefy pecs, left only the top button open as he slipped his thick socked toes into his other slide. Kicked aside one of his loose-tied dress shoes as he hauled ass out the door.

He made it to the airport just in time. Checked his luggage and his carry-on in a rush. Slid out of his slides at the security checkout, and luckily it was carpeted. The feeling of cold tile was a little too much for even him. He slipped them back on and walked to the gate, even though he was late. These slides were so loose that they couldn't stay on his feet anyway; would've just fallen right off his soles if he tried running in them. The most "shoe" he was willing to wear today. Almost a protest for having to dress up for this whole conference thing. He clopped up to the terminal, his slides dragging on the floor with each step.

"Sorry," he apologized to the gate attendant, getting to the gate, slipping his feet in and out of his slides. They were plenty loose from being a little big for him -- size 14 was all that would fit, which is why he had trouble walking in them -- but even so he kept sliding them halfway out, so his beefy heels hung halfway off the back.

The flight attendant checked his ticket and noticed he was first class. "Not to worry, sir. You made it just in time. Enjoy your flight."

He rushed in, toes gripping his slides as he shuffled up the loading dock just as the flight attendants were checking the overhead compartments. Stuffed his carry-on bag in the compartment. It just had his lifting belt, a jock strap, a pair of his trusty loose boots, headphones, protein powder and a drink shaker along with his laptop. He was going to try to get a chest day in at the hotel before his presentation tonight.

Finally, he thought, he could maybe relax a little.

Chapter 2

Jeb was still catching his breath as he sidled his bulky body into his seat. The plane took off, and he started thinking about it. This was his first big presentation for his first "real" job. He was amazed he didn't manage to botch it already. Missing this flight would've been a disaster.

The "fasten seatbelts" light turned off, and the flight attendant came by with her drink trolley. "Hey, could you please get me an old-fashioned?"

She glared at him. Must have been odd to see someone in first class wearing a sleeveless shirt, but there was no dress code these days. "Yes, sir," she said, cracking open a mini bottle.

He relaxed in his seat, spreading his knees. "Thanks."

He sipped his drink, staring out the window. There was nobody in the chair next to him, so he sprawled even further out, propping one leg on the seat cushion, finally relaxing his toes and letting them slip just a little further out from the loose slides, just barely resting the edges of them on the insole.

Why did he hate wearing shoes? And why did he specifically like dangling and playing with his shoes and wearing them so loose? He crossed his other leg on the chair, flexing his toes so that the slide dangled crookedly off his arch. It was almost instinct for him. They were a little heavy, and he loved the way they felt naturally sliding down his socked feet. Guess that’s why they’re called slides, he thought.

Jeb always hated wearing shoes. When he wasn't just hanging around his place in his socked feet, he was in ragged jeans and construction boots, unlaced and so loose they might as well have been slippers, easy for him to get his huge feet in and out of. But he also knew he wasn’t supposed to do it, and he hated getting caught when he was.

That all began with his hunting trips with his dad back in high school. He hated how tight his hunting boots felt, so he tried tying them looser and looser, letting his laces sag out. His dad kept telling him to tie his boots, so he got good at kneeling in the woods and loosening them whenever his dad wasn't looking. He also would intentionally cut the laces to make them shorter, and only able to lace up one eyelet or two. At that point, the laces weren’t really doing anything functional, and Jeb could, and would, let his heel pop out and let the boots slide off, at least a little bit, whenever he could (meaning whenever his dad wasn’t looking).

Later in high school, Jeb started playing football. He asked his mom to make him one of those cut-off t-shirts that the other football players wore. He started working out, and started getting more tank tops. He wanted to show his teammates how big he was getting. The only thing he loved more than watching their bare biceps bulging was watching his own. So he started cutting off the sleeves of his t-shirts, and cutting the sides way, way down. His dad scolded him a few times for wearing one of those “faggoty ass shirts” with his nipples slipping out, so he’d slip on a hoodie on the way to the gym and then let loose as soon as his parents’ driveway was out of sight. He would pull off the hoodie, kick off his boots, roll down the window, and keep driving. He loved how loose and comfortable his shirts felt, without constricting sleeves, with hardly any fabric at all covering his nips. Loved the feeling of the air from the rolled down window blowing occasionally across his exposed nips, and playing with his unshod socked feet as he drove. Loved the jealous looks he was getting from his teammates, too. He practically lived at that gym, pumping iron every day he could.

Jeb finished his first old fashioned and ordered another. As he felt his slide working its way down his foot a little more, it reminded him of a time in high school.

For his senior year, there was an athletic banquet and the dress code called for shirt and tie. So he had to borrow his dad's shirt and tie and some old lace-up shoes that were a 13 EEEE, a little wide for his 13 EE feet. His dad had to go with him. His dad wasn’t a churchgoing man, but he had one “Sunday” suit and a pair of tassel loafers. Jeb remembered his dad cursing in the mirror as he tried getting his tie all the way up his collar, how snug the dress shirt was over his dad's beer gut. Less than half an hour into the awards ceremony, Jeb remembered his dad gagging and unbuttoning his shirt behind the tie, trying to tug the knot just slightly loose. His dad was also complaining about the hot, uncomfortable loafers, letting them slide off his big socked heels, bouncing his knees and sliding his heels in and out, in and out of his loafers the whole time, a little further each time. The ceremony dragged on, and finally his dad just lifted his feet out of both shoes and placed his socked toes out of them and started playing with the tassels between his toes. Jeb remembered sneaking off to the bathroom at one point in the ceremony and untied and re-tied his lace-up shoes down one eyelet, kind of like he did to his hunting boots, making sure the shoes, which were already loose on him, were as loose as possible so that they fell off his heels with every step. He had to curl his toes to hold the shoes on as he walked back to the table, and he loved the feeling of it. When he returned to his seat, his dad had already jerked his tie a little looser and more sloppy, spreading his knees as he fidgeted with his second shirt button.

Jeb spent the rest of the ceremony trying to see how far off his heels he could get those dress shoes. He did exactly what he saw his dad doing, popping his heels out of his shoes a little, then a little more. Now and then he would pull his socked foot all the way out, and loved how it felt, but he was extra careful not to get caught. His dad would have been mad, even though it felt so good. But the thing he loved the most was the feeling when he crossed his ankles in front of him and let one of the loose shoes slowly start sliding off his foot. First off the heel, then gradually down the arch. It almost felt like he was slowly undressing...but nobody else knew...and it felt good!

His dad continued pawing at his tie the whole time, nudging the knot looser and looser, squirming out of his suit jacket and rolling his sleeves, crossing his legs and rubbing his socked feet together. Jeb remembered the smell of his dad's sweaty feet through those thick goldtoe socks, “fluffies” he remembered his dad calling them, meant to insulate in weather much colder than this. Blots of sweat soaked between the toes of his dad's socked feet, reeking worse (or better) than any locker room Jeb could remember. He only slid his feet back into his loafers when they had to get up from the table at the end. When he and his dad got in the car to go home, his dad kicked his tassel loafers off, cursing about how much he hated wearing that monkey suit was and throwing the loafers in the back seat, then jerking his tie as loose as it could go and unbuttoning his shirt all the way, so that his beer gut stretched through his undershirt. “When you go to college,” his dad said, “don’t let ‘em make you wear one of those damn inhuman monkey suits or faggoty ass loafers. And lace up your damn shoes and button your shirt. You don’t undress until you get home.”

Jeb remembered his dad saying all kinds of shit like that. He gulped down his second whiskey, letting his slide wiggle slowly farther down his foot, closer to the corner of his big toe, and also noticed how this shirt felt so snug on his chest, how close his nipple was to peeking out of the ripped arm hole, and how his other slide slowly slid down his arch, barely hanging on his toe, rocking back and forth...

Jeb was straight, of course. One of the biggest guys in high school. Took a cheerleader to prom, and remembered borrowing that pair of his dad's loafers. He remembered being just like his dad while they were sitting at the banquet table...popping his heels out, and taking turns letting each slowly slide down his foot when he crossed his ankles in front of him under the table.

He majored in business at LSU on a football scholarship, and joined a frat. Loved every minute of it. Some of the bros were bigger than him, so he had to step up his lifting game. Went to the gym every day, even during finals. Every time his mom got him a new t-shirt, he’d cut the sleeves and sides off. Only his one dress shirt and his hoodie had sleeves. Took the laces out of his construction boots, too. In the spring and summer, he’d whisk his shirt off between classes. In the classroom, since he had to stay confined in his shirt, he’d slide his heels in and out of his boots, flexing his arches out of the unlaced tongues, slouching at the desk.

He graduated, applied to the MBA program there, and went right back. Only this time, he was with professionals. His cutoff shirts and ragged jeans and unlaced boots looked out of place. So that was when he needed to start wearing shirts with sleeves again. That was when the polos and cargos started showing up. Harder to keep up with that, too, since his arms and chest were bulging. What he hated most of all was his first pair of dress shoes. Tight, faux leather lace-ups that strangled his huge 13.5 EE feet. But he put up with it, tying the laces as loose as he could get away with. Initially, he would barely make it to the end of the day, kicking his shoes off whenever he’d get in his truck after his evening classes, and squirming out of his polo shirt. Over time, he got pretty good at keeping his shoes looser, and surreptitiously popping his heels out. He could hear his dad yelling at him to keep his shoes on, but he just couldn’t help it. It felt so good to just slip out of them a little. He would usually sit in back so that people wouldn’t notice him as he secretly pried his heels out of those tight sweatboxes on his feet. When nobody was looking, or especially when the lights went down for video clips they had to watch, Jeb would be able to go a bit further and pull his feet halfway out, sometimes leaving just his toes in those shoes. The best was when he got those shoes off completely, even if only for a second. It felt almost like being undressed...in public! But no matter how long he got some relief, as soon as he slid his heels back in he couldn’t wait to pop them out again.

Jeb was starting to really relax on the plane. He crossed his arms, and reached two fingers into the arm hole of his shirt, just barely stroking his left nipple. He was straight, of course. But he loved that feeling. Loved feeling his shirt slide off, exposing his nipple. Loved seeing how close his slides (or any shoes) were to falling off and exposing his feet, seeing how little of a shoe he could wear.

After the MBA, he applied to this position. He’d always been able to get by on brawn and good looks, and his dad was proud of him for landing his job. His mother had pictures made of Jeb in his first pinstripe suit and tie, all sharp and professional and clean shaven receiving his diploma with his crisp white shirt and navy tie, right next to a picture of him slouching next to the first buck he ever shot, in his cutoff jeans, unlaced muddy boots, holding his rifle across his shoulders and airing out his sweaty armpits, his cutoff shirt sliding off one of his hairy nipples. The two sides of Jeb. Nobody would’ve guessed he was an accountant at his day job. The corporate world wasn't the same as high school and hunting, which maybe was why his coworkers teased him when they caught him the first time he came to the office on casual Friday in a polo, cargo pants, and unlaced boots falling off his wide hairy feet. Maybe financial consultants worked like that in rural Louisiana, they said. Always wore lace-ups and thick, polyester, gold toe fluffies dress socks, too, though he ended up getting size 14 shoes, because they were a little looser, and kept the shoes laced as loosely as he could get away with and kicked them off in his office whenever the door was shut. His coworkers once remarked how his office always smelled like sweaty dress socks. He attributed that to the type of socks he wore. His dad always wore gold toe fluffies when he dressed up, so when it came time for Jeb to do the same, he invested in pairs of gold toe fluffies in every color. They were soft and cushioned, but they really didn’t absorb any sweat. So he would kick off his shoes to air them out when he got the chance. Whenever he was off work, it was no different. All that said, he was very handsome and hardworking, and that must have struck a soft spot with the hiring group.

Jeb could feel the alcohol buzzing now. He was massaging his nipple as his toes then twitched, as they always did when he felt something particularly good, and one of his slides tumbled to the floor with a soft *thud*. He took advantage of the suddenly exposed socked foot to start stroking the arch of one foot with the toes of the other, making his nipples perk up, and developing more than a little bit of a chub as he dozed off.

He woke up to the flight attendant nudging his shoulder. “Sir, the fasten seatbelt light is on. We’re about to land.”

With a yawn, he muttered an apology and straightened up in his seat, one socked foot exposed and the toes of the other just barely resting barely in the on the heel of his slide. As the plane landed, he found the other one and placed it under the ball of his foot, only bothering to slip it on when he had to get up and get his carry-on bag.

Miami was hot as hell. As soon as that humid air hit him, Jeb undid a button of his sleeveless flannel shirt. Felt good to let his pecs breathe. He Ubered his way to the hotel, checked in, brought his luggage to his room, then beelined it for the hotel gym. Protein powder, shaker, headphones. He crushed the free weights, working arms and chest, sweating through his flannel, so he unbuttoned the shirt and just shrugged it off. No one else was at the workout room anyway. Slung his shirt over one shoulder as he swaggered down the hall, ready to destroy this presentation. But first, a relaxing shower.

Chapter 3

Well, this was frustrating. Jeb was digging through his suitcase, and no matter how many times he looked, he couldn’t find his shoes and socks. He knew (thought?) that he had packed them. And he needed them for dinner, coming up soon!

Jeb kept digging through his suitcase, but his dress shoes were still missing, and so were his socks. He rummaged through his luggage on the hotel bed, and everything was there.

“Shit” he said, scratching his junk through his bath towel. He squatted at the bedside, his towel falling open on one of his beefy hairy thighs, making sure his shoes and socks didn’t just fall out of the bag somewhere. Still nowhere to be seen. “Fucck!” He was getting nervous now. He had his presentation in less than an hour and he had no shoes except his flip flops. He was already the big hillbilly jock of the office, and he wasn’t going to give a presentation in his suit with his boots. He’d already gotten enough grief about that on Casual Friday. Cursing under his breath, he took out his phone and searched for shoe stores. There was a men’s store two blocks away.

“Thank God and baby Jesus,” he said, hitting “directions.” Undoing his bath towel, he sponged off his pits and packed his meat into his tight underwear, reluctantly put on his stuffy cotton undershirt. White dress shirt with cheap cufflinks (his dad said he looked like a “real CEO” with cufflinks), white pocket square, red and blue tie, tie bar. Each button, each stifling layer of cotton made him more nervous. He hoped he wouldn’t break a sweat out in that heat. Just calm down. He took a few breaths and thought about how his mom gushed about how handsome he looked when he first tried on this suit a month or two ago. But then, underneath, there were his large, hairy, bare feet.

He stared at his boots, fully clothed now. “I guess better those than my slides. Well, at least my feet will be comfortable.” He slipped on his socks and boots, grabbed his bag, and walked out the door.

The directions said it was a 10 minute walk, but he was already sweating in 30 seconds of that heat, heart pounding as he noticed people noticing. With his huge quarterback build and his sharp suit, he was hard to miss. And his huge, white socked feet slipping out of his boots with every step. That was about the only thing he could tolerate, the feeling of those silky wool trouser cuffs swishing around his socked ankles when he would pull his socked foot out. At each crosswalk he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, lifting his heels out of the hot boots, letting them hang on the edges of his toes, pretending to adjust his tie as he felt beads of sweat gathering around his collar. Finally he saw the menswear store--the closest shoe store he could find--and stepped into the air conditioning.

The sales associate noticed him instantly. “Good afternoon, sir. I see you’re dressed for--oh. Your shoes . . . “

Jeb felt his cheeks flushing. “Yeah, I know. I left my only pair of dress shoes at home.” He gulped. “I have a big presentation tonight. Do you have anything in my size?”

The salesman took Jeb to the shoe department, measuring his feet. “You will need a very large size, sir. 13.5 EE is not a standard size we carry.”

Jeb remembered hearing that from the men’s store back in Louisiana when he first bought this suit. “Do you have any lace-ups in my size?”

“I’ll take a look,” said the salesman.

The minutes passed, and Jeb crossed his feet in front of him, trying not to look awkward in his crisp suit, his boot dangling closer and closer to the edge of his broad, socked toes. He nervously twitched his toes, and one boot fell completely off. He always did enjoy it when that happened. A few other employees glared at him as he fanned out his shirt, so he pinched his tie knot and pretended to straighten it. It felt so good to have the air conditioning hit his exposed socked sole like that, so he slipped his socked foot out of his other boot, just barely resting the edge of his big toe on the hot neck of the boot. Almost shoeless in his suit and tie, nobody would've guessed he was an accountant. But everything would be okay. He’d get a shiny new pair of lace-up shoes and walk back to the hotel and work on his presentation, and everything would be fine.

The salesman returned with three boxes of shoes. “So, the bad news is that we don’t have any lace-ups in your size. The good news is that we have these three pairs in 13.5.”

“Fine,” said Jeb. “I’ll take them. All three.” Jeb paused. His dad wouldn’t approve of getting three new pairs of shoes just to show off to a bunch of office workers. But this was Jeb’s first professional conference, and he had to make a good impression. “I’m here on a conference, so I’ll need different shoes each day.”

“Why don’t you try them on first,” said the salesman. “Just to see how they’ll feel. I also found some socks in the back. I had to go to the special order section of hosiery, since most socks would be too snug on your feet.”

Jeb checked his watch. “I don’t have time to try on all three.” He grabbed a pair of socks and tore open the package. “If they don’t fit right, can I return them?”

“These are special order, so all sales are final.”

Jeb was about to bark something back, getting nervous now as he stretched the fine black hosiery around his wide toes. He noticed something strange about these socks. He could see his toes right through the silky hosiery. “What the fuck? Are these pantyhose?”

The salesman bit his lip. It was intimidating seeing a large man like Jeb getting agitated. “Like I said, they’re from the special order section. They’re a kind of sheer sock from Japan. They’re the only ones we have in your size.”

Jeb growled as he stretched the hosiery around the ball of his foot, up past the heel and ankle. The silky fabric grew more and more transparent as he stretched it around his beefy calf. Every hair of his calf muscle, every hair on top of his foot. Just like pantyhose. Just like his mom’s pantyhose. He could already hear his dad groaning about these girly ass socks.

Yet they felt cool and silky around his large feet, caressing his arches with their luxurious texture. The sheer hosiery was breathable and soft, unlike any socks he’d ever tried. And as the salesman said, they fit his large feet perfectly. He gulped, trying to pretend he didn’t notice the sensation. “I, uh, guess they’re not too bad.”

“They won’t be too noticeable during your presentation. And they’ll certainly be comfortable,” the salesman said as he pulled out one pair of black, tasseled loafers. “What are those?” Jeb asked, looking at the dainty shoes. “These are Bally loafers, sir,” said the salesman. “They are very fine shoes, from some of the best shoemakers around.” He helped guide Jeb’s silky, sheer-socked foot into one. Jeb noticed the socks seemed to make his feet even more sensitive. When the salesman helped him on with the loafer, he brushed against Jeb’s sheer socked arch, and Jeb gasped suddenly; it was like a little electric shock...but a good one. Jeb bit his lip, pinched his tie knot, pretending he didn't notice how good that felt, the salesman's fingertips guiding his sheer socked foot into that buttery soft leather. It cushioned the balls of his feet. Jeb lifted one foot and noticed how the shoe naturally slid down and slightly off his heel, revealing a peek of his arch. Soft, loose, comfortable. But they were still faggoty-ass loafers. Jeb could never let his dad know he was wearing shoes like this. They felt prissy, like bed slippers, Jeb thought.

"Uh, are they supposed to feel like...this loose?" The loafer fit just the way Jeb liked his shoes, and not at all constricting like the rest of Jeb’s work shoes. Maybe even...a little big? The salesman then said, “I’m sorry, all of the 13.5 loafers we have are EEEE. But I hope that they will make your feet feel more comfortable and less confined.” Jeb had to admit they didn’t feel confining, which is what he was really dreading about wearing dress shoes. They almost reminded him of how loose his lace-up shoes were at that banquet ages ago, and how loose his dad’s tassel loafers were, too. These were also tassels, and Jeb admitted to himself it made him feel like an adult getting his first pair of them to wear like his dad’s. Maybe he could wear these to the office after the conference?

He put the other one on, and it felt just as good. “What are the other two pairs?” he asked. “One is a slightly more casual style that they call a Belgian loafer, and the other is a pair that is best suited for a formal event,” said the salesman. Jeb perked up, “Well, actually I have to wear “formal” on my last night, so that’s perfect. I’ll take all three.”

He walked out of the store, a little self conscious in the sheer socks and dainty loafers he was wearing. He pinched his tie as he walked, smoothing his tie to try to distract himself from the sensation on his feet. He could feel his heels popping up and down the lip of each shoe. It was warm, and he could tell his feet were sweating in those socks; it was like they made the sweating worse. But, strangely, every time he took a step and his heel popped out just a little, it was like there was a rush of (relatively) cool air that he felt on his foot that gave him a momentary relief from the heat. He hoped he could just make it through his presentation and the night without any major issues.

He got back to the hotel, dropped his bag with the two pairs of loafers and his boots and white socks in his room, and went back downstairs to the banquet hall where the conference presentations were about to start.

Chapter 4

Jeb clicked through his presentation on his laptop one more time in the lobby, knees spread in his chair, one knee bouncing nervously. Why were his feet still sweating in those weird new dress socks? Must be because he was so nervous, he thought. After being back in the resort hotel, the rest of him was finally cool and dry from his walk to the menswear place, but those socks were still damp. He wished he could slip out of those loafers for just a moment to air out his sweaty soles and toes.

He glanced at his watch. T-minus ten minutes. The presentation was tight. He just needed to get to the room and deliver. As soon as he got in, a few of his coworkers waved at him. One of them, named Tabitha, catcalled. "Well, well. It looks like the country boy cleans up real nice."

Tabitha made fun of Jeb's accent all the time. He noticed her eyes darting down to his shoes. Hopefully she wouldn't think he was wearing pantyhose or anything like that. He pinched his tie again. "Uh, thanks. I mean, uh, I wanted to make a first impression and all."

"With brand new shiny shoes, too," said Rick, another of Jeb's office mates. "Jeb's getting all sartorial on us."

"Aw shucks," said Jeb, blushing, country accent twanging in full. They laughed. Did they really like Jeb's suit and shoes? These were the same people who teased Jeb for wearing flip flops to casual Friday last month. It didn't help that Tabitha made fun of Jeb's "sasquatch feet." Jeb adjusted his tie needlessly. "I mean, uh, thanks. It's my first presentation like this, so I, uh, really need to focus."

"Well, you're looking sharp, Jeb," said Tabitha more gently, patting Jeb's laptop bag. "Kill it."

"They're having a cocktail reception on the rooftop bar afterwards," said Pete. "We'll catch up then. Knock 'em dead, Dapper Dan."

Jeb had to admit that the compliments made him feel a bit lightheaded. He set up his laptop, had a few more handshakes from his supervisors (each of whom commented on his new shoes), and the conference panel began. He was thankful the table of panelists had a heavy tablecloth, so that nobody else would notice his feet in those silky sheers. So many people had complemented his shoes already--and he was sure they meant it--but that meant they also noticed those faggoty sheer socks he was wearing that looked so much like pantyhose. Maybe he'd be able to slip one of his heels out just to get a bit of air on his sweaty soles? But he couldn't risk it. What if somebody noticed his thick feet in those thin dress socks? So he kept his soles planted to the ground, hands folded in his lap as he waited for the first speaker to finish.

It got worse when he was called on stage to present. His heart was pounding, and he could feel a cold sweat all over his calves and feet, dampening the leather of his beautiful new shoes. As he stepped up to the stage, he had a jolt of panic when he felt a cool rush of air on his sheer socked ankle, so he skipped a step as he tried desperately to keep his loafer from skidding off his heel. Whew. That was close. Slowly, pretending it was all deliberate, he walked across the stage to the podium, letting his thick heavy feet click across the stage in his crisp new leather soles. He steadied himself behind the podium and started his speech, going through the powerpoint slide by slide. Normally he would pace confidently across the stage, but he was suddenly very aware that the stage would put his new loafers and sheer socks on eye level with the front row of his audience, so he kept his feet glued behind that podium. He'd already nearly lost one shoe along the way. Hopefully they didn't notice that. Did they notice that? Shit these spotlights are like a sauna up here. Jeb could feel the back of his shirt clinging to the lining of his suit jacket. Sweat soaking through his undershirt, dampening his dress shirt, sticking to the lining of his jacket, his undershirt getting spongy around the pits. But it was especially bad in his socks, the sheer silky fabric concentrating his sweat. It felt like his feet were marinating in those shiny new shoes. But he kept his soles glued to the ground, feet shoulder width apart, trying to do a power stance. Between slides midway through his presentation Jeb found himself pinching his tie. But that was one of his tells. He knew that he couldn't do that again. All the videos he'd ever seen about how to give an effective corporate presentation said always to know your tells. So he stepped away from the podium, just a half a step to the left to point out something on a chart, raising his right foot up a few inches, and that was when it happened: his sheer-socked, sweat-slicked heel just slipped right out, leaving his sweaty, socked arch and heel completely exposed, and the dainty loafer barely on his toes -- oh shit my shoe can't come off my foot in front of all my coworkers, all my supervisors and the corporate branch and everyone at the conference--shit shit shit--just keep talking, keep explaining the figures on the graph--the halfway slipped out foot was still behind the podium, so he slid himself back in place and quickly slid his heel back in. He then surveyed the audience. They all seemed none the wiser.

The graphic animation on the next slide gave him a second to think and regain his composure. But all he could think about was his feet. The soles of his feet were baking and sweating most of all. How could shoes that are so damn loose end up making his feet feel so hot and sweat so much? And as terrifying as it was when his shoe slipped halfway off a few seconds ago, it sure did feel good to let the cool air in, even if for a second. It almost tickled his sweltering foot. He wished he could just kick these shoes off right now. For now, he did the best he could by shifting his weight from one foot to the other, letting just a gap of air come in through his arches. Fuck but if he did any more people might notice him shifting, and he might risk losing a shoe again and he was already sure he was showing sweat on his forehead. If he could just get through this last slide--

Okay. He was on the last slide. But he knew from all the times he'd practiced this presentation that he was supposed to walk out to the front and center of the stage to make his closing point. Shit. That meant leaving the podium. Maybe if he did it slow and deliberately? He had such huge feet after all, so that would make him sound authoritative. Executive. But with sheer socks that looked like panty hose.

(No, he kept that thought back. He might as well own it.)

So he stepped up to the center of the stage, one step at a time, letting his heels click across the stage with that wonderful sound of crisp new leather. The loafers stayed on his sweaty sheer socked feet for all but the last step, when he dragged his foot to line up with his shoulder, and his sweaty heel popped out again. So instead of a power stance he seemed to be leaning a little to one side. He felt it again: that breeze of air-conditioned air hit his arch and instep and sent a little shiver down his spine. The audience applauded their approval. Fuck what a relief. It was over. That same loafer threatened to slide off his foot as he stepped down from the stage amidst the applause. He tried not to seem like he was collapsing into his seat as the next presenter got up. Tabitha patted him on the shoulder, saying something about how it was a “tight presentation” and all, but all Jeb could think about was what a relief it was not to be in front of the room. His knees sagged out to the side, and he shoved his loafered feet under the tablecloth. He wanted to just slip his feet out completely. It felt like he could do that so easily if he wanted to, just like with his unlaced hunting boots, or even his loose-laced dress shoes at work, but someone might notice him with his translucent dress socks. So instead he rested on his toes, slipping his heels just a quarter of an inch out, letting just a little bit of arch gap open up in the soft leather to give his sweaty soles some relief. It felt so good...being done with the presentation, the applause after, and now finally giving his feet a little air. He wasn’t sure what exactly did it, but he started to feel that little shiver down his spine and noticed he was starting to get hard. Must just be because I’m so relaxed, and I haven’t had a chance to relieve any tension in weeks leading up to tonight he told himself.

There were only two more presentations--plenty of time for Jeb to keep relaxing his feet before the conference chair invited everybody to cocktails at the rooftop bar afterwards. By the start of the last presentation, Jeb definitely felt like he was relaxing more. He allowed his heels to come a little farther out of his loafers, and it felt great. At one point he crossed his leg under the table and the loafer, just as on stage, just like back in high school, slid right off his heel and dangled from his sweaty toes. A little shocked at how far and how fast it slid down, he was thankful he caught it in time. He had never worn shoes this loose before, and if his reflexes had been just a little slower, that loafer would have been out in the aisle somewhere…. And once again his nervous response was interrupted by how fucking good it was to feel that cool air down on the ball of his foot. He decided to leave it there for just a second. Nobody is looking, right? Now, with his whole arch out of the shoe, though at least under the cover of the table and tablecloth, the cool air swirling around his socked foot that has been in the sauna of that shoe all night, it was the best feeling he had felt in a long, long time. And he had the boner to prove it. But why?? Yeah, he would get a chub now and then when he kicked his shoes off after a long day at work, or maybe at the bar in his boots when he would have a few drinks and let them slowly slide off his feet and dangle there when he was sure nobody was looking, but that had sort of always happened to him. He just assumed that was what happened to everyone when something felt good. But this was taking things to a whole new level….

Applause jostled him from his reverie and startled him for a moment, and again the loafer almost went flying. He quickly got his feet back on the ground under him, shoved his feet back in his loafers and joined the applause, and the crowd as everyone moved to the rooftop for cocktails.

Jeb noticed as he moved out with the crowd and got a few more congratulations on his presentation that he finally felt like he had done well. He was finally feeling like he fit in.