My story about just liking socks is when I was dating a guy who would wear white Dri-Fit Nike socks and he would let me play with them & do everything with them. It was so hot and he had really nice feet. Never took the socks off.

Always loved playing games that involved mates taking of their shoes…would always end in sock sniffing and often socked feet pressing or rubbing each other. At school I found a number of other boys that shared in an interest in smelling socks under the desk or during a game on the oval. This grew into a silent but healthy engagement with a number of mates up until my late teens when I thought I shouldn’t behave this way anymore and be interested in girls. Obviously that was a faze as I couldn’t keep my mind or eyes of male socks. This interest played out in many ways over the years…and also with mates that surprised me with their similar interest..only to loose their friendship after very intense experiences. It’s something that’s always there regardless of how hard I’ve tried to surpress it…now I just enjoy🧦

I’ve always been drawn to the look of socks when they’re sweaty—when they stick to the feet, clinging like a second skin. There’s nothing hotter than when a guy curls his toes and the sock wrinkles at the bottom, stretched over his sticky, stinky soles. White socks show it best—the dampness, the texture, the perfect mix of clean and dirty. And while the visual’s amazing, nothing beats hearing a man casually talk about stinky socks or feet. Words like “stinky” or “sweaty” hit different, especially when he’s descriptive. It’s even better if it’s not in a fetish context—just teasing, joking, or complaining about the smell.

In high school, I played football and ran track, and back then, it was all innocent fun. Guys would joke about stinky socks sometimes, especially on the bus ride home or after practice. I’d discovered my fetish by the time I was 14, and I secretly started wearing a thin pair of ankle socks under my regular socks—either school socks or game socks. I’d wear that same pair of thin socks for days until they reeked of that perfect, corn-chippy stink. When they hit just the right level, I’d savor them during private moments—one in my mouth, the other over my nose—and the jerk-off sessions were unreal.

At that age, whether it was because of teenage hormones or those stinky ankle socks I wore underneath my regular ones, I got a bit of a reputation for my stinky feet. A couple of teammates on the football team teased me, saying my feet smelled like Fritos (they weren’t wrong), and even a few girls on the track team joked about it. There was one fellow d-lineman who teased me relentlessly about it. He said my feet were “rank” every time we sat near each other in the locker room. Looking back, I wonder if he had his own stink kink—but at the time, I was way too shy and naïve to even think about testing that theory.

That kind of teasing never really stopped. Just a few weeks ago, I was with some friends watching football, and one guy started heckling another about his stinky socks. It wasn’t mean-spirited—just playful banter—but it caught my attention instantly. I couldn’t smell them from across the room, and honestly, I’m not attracted to those friends, so it wasn’t erotic. But hearing the teasing? The way he dragged out the word “stinky”? That definitely got to me.

As I got older, I realized how much this kink shaped the way I noticed people. In my 20s, I’d sometimes spot a guy’s socks left on a bench in the locker room, usually stuffed into sneakers. If I thought he was cute—and if there was no one around—I’d sneak a whiff. That musky, sweaty scent was irresistible, especially when it came with a warm, stale smell that lingered on my skin after I’d touched the fabric. I never stole a sock, but I’d take a moment to commit the smell to memory, rub the toe of the sock against my face, and carry that memory home with me to fuel a session.

When I started hooking up online, that side of me opened up even more. It felt amazing to connect with guys who shared the same interests, especially ones who didn’t mind me getting up close and personal with their sweaty, stinky socks or feet. There’s nothing better than knowing a guy’s been in the same pair of socks all day, or for days, and seeing how much they’ve molded to him—especially if they’ve gone from slightly damp to completely soaked.

I’ll admit, the thrill of risk still gets me. The idea of catching a guy’s attention with my own stinky socks, or just the teasing comments about my feet, always stuck with me. Better yet if I’m around the guy who’s feet loudly emanate that innocent, pungent, stinky-sock scent. Even now, if you’re a cute cub with nice looking sweaty feet in a pair of hot worn sneakers and well-worn socks? I’ll probably be sneaking glances at you and those socks, wondering what you *and* your socks taste like.