
28/05/2025 23:02:03 by sockcubnyc
The first time I ever thought about socks in any meaningful way was when I was a kid. My dad would be on the couch and I’d be on the floor underneath him. He’d play footsie with my face, pedal pumping in his black socked feet. I don’t recall them smelling particularly strong, and nothing sexual happened, but I suppose it did plant the seeds of SOMETHING in there. I’m sure it’s the reason why I’m exclusively attracted to dads and older men, and particularly their feet and socks. Unlike that experience, though, I grew a taste for the absolutely pungent, reeking, cheesy, worn-for-weeks socks. The idea of just sniffing and smelling, taking that foul air into my lungs, letting it scramble my brain and my senses – it just sends a jolt of electricity all the way down to my cock. Fill my lungs with sock stink and I’ll do just about anything.