I am an avid sock fetishist, my absolute adoration for dirty socks started when I was very young, around the age of 10. I had an older cousin that I had grown up with, and he and I were very close. Handsome, blue collar, tattoos, smoked, drank, a complete heartthrob of a guy. And then there were his massive size 12 feet. He wore these absolutely trashed, beaten to hell Osiris Bronx in Lime Green and black. They were the most beautiful sneakers I had ever laid my eyes on, and I had truthfully fantasized about what it would be like to sniff his socks, fresh, steaming hot, out of those specific Osiris. As I got older, we became a lot closer, so I started spending a lot of time at his apartment, slept over a bunch of weekends. I remember the way I would plan out exactly how I could make sniffing his socks happen.

It was a Saturday night, my cousin came in late and I was lying in bed, pretending to sleep, as I had so carefully calculated my plan to get to his sneakers and socks. I waited to hear the door to his room creak, all I could think about was the act of finally being able to sniff his dirty socks! I had seen the pair he was wearing quite a few times that week, a ratty pair of white Hanes crew socks with the grey toes. Oh, what an incredible sight to behold, watching him slide his Osiris off at night, the smell of sweat, weed and cigarettes, and some really masculine cologne hung over him, and all I could think about was how strong his feet must smell. I heard him snore, so I made my move. I crept down the hallway to his bedroom, got on my hands and knees, and army crawled to the foot of his bed. The Osiris were lying on the floor next to his bed, and I could not believe my eyes. There they were! The sneakers I had fantasized about since they were purchased, how strong they must smell from the sheer power of his stinky socks! I would imagine at dinners some nights, being able to pull his Osiris off of his feet and feel the warm heat completely envelope my nose. The smell of his socked feet overtaking my nose and mind, completely. The way I lined for this man’s socked feet…I grabbed one of his Osiris, and I slowly, quietly brought it to my nose for a good, full face sniff. When I pressed my face inside of the sneaker, everything in my body began to throb, and race. The high tops were so warm still, the smell….the smell of potent, wet, mildewy socks soaked in hot, white vinegar for days on end, completely slapped me in the face. I pressed my face in harder, deeper, where I could feel the physical heat of his massive socked feet still radiating with odor from the reeking insoles of his sneakers. I knew it was time to finally act on what I had so long fantasized about; it was time to smell my cousins big feet.

He was snoring in his bed, his legs dangling off the side, cloaked in what looked to be at least 10’days of wear in a thinned out, but absolutely stained and beautiful pair of white Hanes crew socks….the way my heart pounded for those socks! I dreamt of him covering my face with them and telling me to sniff his socks! The pure ecstasy of my cousin, actually knowing that the smell of his dirty socks turned me on. I dreamt and fantasized and played it over in my head so many times, I could barely hold off on the excitement!!! His massive socked feet were hit a few feet away from my face, his Osiris sneaker still tightly pressed up against my face as I stared intently at his socked toes, wiggling gently in his sleep. I still wish that he knew the power of his dirty white socks….I leaned in slowly, so gently. This was it. I was actually about to experience my cousins foot odor, and the way my heart raced in my chest, my mind thought ONLY of his stinking toes and the possibilities of what his socks might smell like, for real, in real life. My nose grazed his socked toes, and I began to sniff. My nose was immediately assaulted by the intense stench of white vinegar, as pungent as if it had been left outside to steam on a hot summer week. His socked toes were so musty, so damp with mildew and foot odor, I had never experienced a smell so incredible. I leaned back to exhale, and went in for my second sniff. This time, it was even stronger. I sniffed from his socked toes, all the way down to his threadbare heel, which absolutely reeked of thick, musky corn chips. It was incredible, all my mind could think about was the fact that my cousins socks stink so incredibly bad, and I was privileged enough to sit at the end of his bed and inhale that ripe, dank odor all to myself. My pants were so tight, I began to massage myself, as I gently, hit very intently continued to smell my cousins sweat soaked socked feet. With each sniff, and each massaging tug, the odor intensified. At last….I was able to smell his feet. This feeling was just otherworldly to me, I couldn’t believe it. What I had plotted for and planned for 3 long years had come to fruition! I pressed my nose deeper into his socked toes, I needed to know what it smelt like in between his thick, meaty toes. The cheese, oh the cheese was incredible. The smell could only be described as extremely sweat soaked gym socks, dipped in hot vinegar and ripe Muenster cheese. My mouth began to water as my heart, and pants, continued to throb! My cousins socks stink! What an incredible truth about him to know. His feet stink, and I get the honor of being the one to actually smell them. I moved over to his other socked foot, still glistening with sweat deep in the toe pad. My nose grazed the sock, I could feel the cooling sweat on my face…it stunk so badly of mildew. My heart couldn’t take it anymore. I sat myself comfortably, and I began what I know call as a grown man, “true sock sniffing”. I kneeled before his size 12 Hanes socks. The smell was almost visible to me…I needed to do this. I had dreamt for so long. His socked feet were in front of me, and with my hand now firmly grasping at my crotch, I pressed my face into his socked feet, sniffing his toes first. I methodically sniffed each toe, enjoying the change in odor as I approached his pinky toe, which stunk of thick, tank cheese. Back and forth, my nose now completely damp with the sweat still perfectly glistening on his socks, though a bit dryer from how deeply I was sniffing them. I moved to the balls of his feet, where the most intense deep gray stains adorned his socks. My eyes were fixed, as was my nose. Sniffing deeply, I allowed his toes to grasp at my face as I inhaled the pungent vinegar that saturated the tops of his socked soles. I sniffed, and I sniffed, until that piping hot vinegar became a delicious and intense provolone cheese. As I moved down his massive socks, he would move, kick his feet, wiggle hos socked toes, sometimes, I would be luckily positioned, and his long, stinky socked toes would grasp my nose! Filling me with HIS foot odor! His heels were last…the Hanes had taken some incredible abuse…from the sheer stench of the insoles of his Osiris, I could only imagine the odor that awaited me here. I pressed my nose gently but firmly and continued to sniff…oh…the odor of musty corn chips, so sweet, so thick, oh it stunk! My mouth began to water as my grasping hand could no longer help but to do exactly…what I needed it to do. I continued to deeply sniff his socks, for what felt like several hours, but by the time my body completely shuddered in blissful ecstasy, that was truly caused by the smell of my cousins dirty Hanes socks, it had been an entire hour and a half of nothing other than my cousin, his rank socks, and my nose. Needless to say, that was not the first time I indulged my cousins pungent socked feet….

My nose burned for almost ten years on a very regular basis at the foot of my cousins bed. The Osiris he wore that were three years old…we’re sniffed the entire ten years I was given the chance. By the time I was caught, I had watched those sneakers endure countless hours of rancid socked wear, days of sweat, and my cousin is a very heavy smoker, his socks constantly reeked of mildew and strong vinegar, and experienced about 5 new pairs of sneakers that all turned out as rancid smelling as the original Osiris. Yes…after ten years, my cousin caught me deep sniffing his socked feet. We remained close as I grew into an adult, and an evening out at the bar, proved to push me to be overzealous. As I sniffed his socks and groped at my crotch as I had done successfully several thousand times before, (for ten years, my cousins socked feet were my near daily source of climax), I pressed my nose to hard and to deeply against st his sweaty white Nike crew socks, his toes flexed, he gripped my nose tighter than usual, and stirred awake, my nose still physically buried in his nasty socks…and my crotch dripping onto his carpet in full attention preparation for one of the strongest finishes I had built up to yet.

A long conversation and…some time apart later, we don’t speak of it, and he only believes tbh at I had sniffed his socks once. Thankfully, he will never know about the entire decade long evolution I was able to fully experience and enjoy, all at the intense stench of his socks.

My arousal toward men’s socks started when I was a boy. It seemed like a very natural attraction that I couldn’t understand or explain.

When I was around 10, my older sister had a boyfriend who was about 8 years older than me. He was a naturally musky guy and would produce a deep manly scent with little effort, especially his feet. He spent a lot of time at our house and in time would go on to get my sister pregnant. It became more common that his dirty socks would find their way to the laundry room in a hamper or in my sister’s bedroom. At this time, I was going through puberty and was a very horny boy—even more so than most boys that age, I think. Perhaps it was because I idolized the guy, but whenever I would find his clothes, especially socks, I would take advantage of the opportunity to touch them and smell them, which I found intoxicating and very pleasureful. Inhaling his musky socks would give me an instant, uncontrollable, raging erection and it was not long before I would nab a pair from the floor of my sisters room and sneak them to my own room once the rest of the family was out. I enjoyed those socks immensely and would get naked, rub them on my face, chest, belly and crotch. I’d put them on my own feet even though they were much larger than my boy feet at the time. Once my arousal got so high and I was only thinking with my penis, I ejaculated all over those socks—and I was (and still am) a heavy producer. The socks were soaked with my load and the feeling of guilt swept over me. I felt like such a disgusting pervert and was so ashamed of myself for letting my arousal take over and masturbate to someone I knew and looked up to. I panicked and ended up keeping those socks—not sure why I didn’t just wash them and return them to where I found them, but I was beside myself with guilt and fear of him finding out what I had done. I swore to never act on my impulses like that again. I’m sure it comes as no surprise, but I broke that promises within days of making it. The next time I was horny I went for those socks again—and now not only were they dirty and worn, they were stiff with my dried semen which added a new element to the experience—a sort of unexplainable sweet musk. It was probably only a day later that I was masturbating to them again and adding yet another load to them and ultimately repeating this pleasure/guilt pattern.

I think my young mind fixated on this experience over and over because I was hooked. I started looking at other men’s socked feet at family get togethers, at school in gym class, at the shoe store, anywhere that people would take their shoes off gave me the same rush that a dirty magazine would have to other boys my age. It was a blessing and a curse that my fetish was so accessible and I had to be careful not to pay too much attention to men’s socked feet or I knew I’d become erect very quickly and that would be humiliating to my fragile adolescent ego. But you can bet that I was taking a mental picture to think about as soon as I got home to masturbate to. By this time I was exclusively using socks to masturbate in/on. I’d pull one of my socks off and ejaculate in it before bed and then drop it between the wall and the bed. It’s funny how young men don’t think about their actions when they are horny because while I was at school one day, my mom found about 50 crusty cum socks shoved between the wall and the bed. Not my finest hour and she probably then understood why I would wake up every morning with only one sock on.

By the time I was 16-18, I was very aware that my fetish had progressed and due to some extensive late night searching on the family computer, I had discovered that having a sock fetish was real and other men also had it. I’d scour the web for pictures of men in socks and spend all night edging my penis—sometimes until 4-5am on a school night. I couldn’t get enough.

To say I would anticipate times when my family would be out of the house was an understatement. I’d get those horny butterflies in the pit of my belly if I knew I was coming home from school to an empty house and the second I’d get home I’d strip naked, go to my dads hamper, pull out a pair of his worn black dress socks and put them on. I’d masturbate wearing only his dress socks for as long as I could—sometimes ejaculating 6-7 times in one day or until my penis and balls became too sore.

Throughout my life my sexual interests have been a fluid journey but as a 37 year old man—the one thing that has been a constant is my immense arousal for socks. I fully embrace it and still to this day spill my seed in and on worn socks in my own or my partners hamper.