My Buddy-The Pilot

Untitled Part 1

here's a lot to envy about Brant's life. He travels the world for a living, lives in a big beautiful house and has a great wife and family. He's got the American Dream, "Jealous?" he asked me with a loopy grin. "God Forbid." I replied. Brant rewarded with me a chuckle. He liked to tease me about being a "confirmed bachelor". I threw him an elbow, "I resent that innuendo!"

"Any trouble while we were away?" he asked, "The place is still standing, so I'll assume you didn't have any orgies."

"Only one," I said, " it was pretty lame."

I'd been house sitting for Brant and his wife. Her job entailed lots of travel. Brant was a pilot and their twins were studying a semester in Rome. I kept my opinions to myself, but Brant looked great in his pilot's uniform. From the hat atop his head to the black shoes on his big feet; look up "pilot" in the dictionary and you'd see Brant's photo. "After spending a ten days here, you're little apartment's gonna seem a lot smaller.." he said. It was lost on Brant that I liked my life as it was. I didn't want for anything, nor did I want what most guys my age like him had. On the flip side, I had my freedom. Brant envied me my freedom more than I envied him his life. That said, I liked Brant and the feeling was mutual. "You can stay here another night if you want." he said, not wanting to be alone in his thirty-five hundred square foot house.

"I'm sure you want your peace and quiet after living in a hotel the last couple days."

"Rome is great." he sighed, "You should go sometime."

"I've been there."

"Really?" he sounded surprised.

"Yeah," I replied, "it's Europe, not Saturn."

"You want a drink?"

"Sure." I said

"Get me one, too." he smirked.

I made two Old Fashioneds at the wetbar. "Hey" he said from the armchair." What's this?"

"What's what?" I asked, muddling an orange slice with a maraschino cherry.

" This book...Fundamentals of Massage" he leafed through the book.

"It's a book on massage." I replied.

"Smart-ass." he flipped the book open to the pages I had marked; the section on feet. "You studying to become a masseuse?"

"Last time I checked, I'm a dude. Masseur." I corrected him, "Here-" I handed him his drink." Glad you didn't crash." I winked.

"Me too." Brant smiled. He scanned the pages."You any good at this?"

"There's only so much the book can teach me." I kept my cool. The book was a prop, the marked pages were bait. Brant took the bait, "I have to get hands on practice. I put up a notice at my gym for anyone needing a massage." he said, "Where the hell am I gonna find somebody to let me rub his feet?" I shook my head, bewildered.

"I've got feet." Brant put his feet up on the ottoman, kicked off his black oxfords. "Have at it, brother." he grinned.

I pride myself on being the single guy at all their parties. Married types talk about the seriously mundane, but sometimes they reveal great information. Brant's wife mentioned her husband was really ticklish "especially on the feet." To which, Brant, manning the grill wearing shorts, polo shirts and flip flops on his incredible feet, admitted, "True, very true. Drives me nuts."

That information rooted itself into my mind. I imagined a million ways to tickle his feet. His wife gave me the idea. Brant, home from a round of golf, kicked off his shoes and said to his wife, "How's about getting over here and rubbing my feet?' Her reply made me laugh out loud, "Not even if a genie pops out of them."

"That's cute," Brant smirked, "I'm in agony and you two got jokes."

A week later, I saw the book on massage at a used bookstore and made the purchase. I marked the pages pertaining to feet, left the book on his end table and waited for him to get home.

Brant wore navy blue nylon socks. They hugged his feet, accentuating the shape of his toes, heels, and high arches. Brant loved attention. Clearly, he loved being fussed over."Ohh that feels sooo good..." he moaned. He untied his tie, loosened his collar. "Ohh, that's the stuff..don't stop..ohh yeah.."

"Knock it off." I ordered, giving his feet the gentlest tickle.

"Hee hee hee-whoa there, tiger." he giggled

"Seriously, dude, enough with the ohhh.." I said sternly, giving his arches another passive tickle.

"Hee hee Jimmy-Jim-easy..I'm very ticklish on the feet.." he chucked, eyes closed, hands resting on the arms of the chair.

"Is that all?" I asked," Why didn't you say so?' I tickled two fingers to the bottoms of the feet.

Poor Brant jerked as if electrocuted. His laughter came out in a startled surprised burst, "No-no-please-easy-hee hee-c'mon!" he giggled, squirmed. "If you 're gonna rub my feet, you can't do that..c'mon." he reprimanded me with a nervous grin," I'm really ticklish."

"Stop moaning like a bad porn star." I continued to rub.

"I can't help it.." he said bashfully. "It feels good..hell, I'm gonna ask you to practice on my feet more often.." he rested his eyes.

He kept his moaning to a minimum. Brant allowed me to peel the socks from his big feet. I kneaded his toes. "Mmmm..." he said.

"Dude, don't start." I replied. I gave the toes a slow gentle caress.

"Hee hee..Jimmy..quit.." he giggled boyishly. "Ohh that's nice..." he sighed."When I win the lottery I'm gonna pay you to play with my feet full time..ohhh Jimmy... "

The heavy moaning drove me crazy. I resisted the urge to tickle his feet. I studied every contour, the soles the toes, the fine brown hairs atop the feet, the veins....the veins. I traced the veins gently, "It's ticklish.." he giggled.

I used that light passive touch to tease the bottoms of his feet. Brant twitched and squirmed. When he found it unbearable, Brant would move to pull away. At that moment, I'd resume rubbing, "I want you to do this to my big feet all day tomorrow.." he moaned

"You like?" I asked.

"It feels sooo-hee hee hee- Jimmy-hah hah hah.."

I put his ankles in an armlock. Methodically, I tickled one, two three fingers up and down the arches of the feet. I tickled gently, enough to render him breathless, speechless, with laughter. I strummed the tops of his feet, strummed the bottoms."You've got the softest feet.." I said without thinking.

"Hah hah hah-thanks-" he giggled.

The man's feet were made for a feather. Almost in a trance, I teased and tickled a fingertip to the arches. Brant gripped the arms of the chair, shook, shuddered. He howled with laughter. I tickled faster, employed two three fingers, tightened my grip on his ankles. His perfect feet accidentally batted me in the face a few times. Brant's desire to escape won out. He broke loose and somehow ended up on the floor, "Damn-that about killed me!" he giggled, breathless." Sorry." he apologized.(What For?!)

I pulled his feet to my lap, gave them a slow tickle. Brant giggled. I segued into a massage. He moaned and sighed. We reached a silent compromise; He loved my rubbing his feet and I really loved tickling his feet. It was an unspoken agreement. I was allowed to tickle as long as I massaged his feet. "Thanks." Brant said. He walked me to the car in his uniform and bare feet. "Get home safe..Tomorrow I'll bring you lunch."

The next day, Brant brought lunch. He was on my doorstep with sushi. He wore deck shoes on his pale sockless feet. "I bought you a present." he handed me a bag. I pulled out a bottle of baby oil. He grinned, wiggled his eyebrows expectantly. "Get in here.." I said. Brant sauntered into my apartment, plopped on the sofa, kicked off his shoes and put his feet up, "Come to Papa." he grinned, waved his feet teasingly.