Three pack

by Martin Boyar

Those three-packs of socks aren’t mispackaged, dude. They’re meant for guys that need three socks, if you get what I mean. (Or guys that, deep down, want to need three socks.)

Added: Aug 2004 4,893 words 7,933 views 5.0 stars (1 vote)


The first time I saw the three-pack white socks at the shopping club warehouse, I could only shake my head.

“How cheap,” I thought to myself. But guys were buying them by the shopping-cartful. They had just been introduced and heavily advertised and marketed as the hottest sports item for the young athlete. Since the shopping club had my age and zip code and all my demographic information, I'd been getting mailers and emails advertising the three-packs of white socks.

And while I wear white socks exclusively and have untold number of them, and while I'm a young athletic type and all my friends are young athletic types who happen to wear white socks, I just couldn't cave in and buy three-packs of white socks on the strength of endless mailers and emails. Or other forms of targeted marketing, for that matter. Had the world gone insane? Why three? In case you lost one?

“Idiots,” I thought to myself, looking incredulously at the handsome young guys who were showing each other their three-packs of white socks, and carefully reading the labeling, and in some cases saving each other's places so they could run back and get more three-packs before they got to the register.

How could they think they were getting a bargain? Sure, the third sock was a little less in the three pack than it would have been if you'd bought a separate pair, the way they priced it, but who wants a third sock? And some of the three-packs cost more than it would have cost to buy separate pairs, probably because of the brand or something. Was I missing something? Hello? Don't socks normally come in pairs? If I want odd numbers of socks, I'll just launder them. Most washers and dryers are mainly good for eating socks. I can generate odd numbers of socks with every laundry load. Don't try to sell me a three pack of socks. I guess it irritated me more than it should have, but hey, how stupid do things have to be before people notice?

But again, the check-out lines, the hundreds of mile-long check-out lines of the warehouse shopping club, were thronged with athletic young guys smiling and seeming pleased with themselves for buying the three-packs of white socks. Total strangers would smile at each other and compare their three-packs of white socks, and have enthusiastic conversations about them, and about giving them to their friends, and have animated wishful discussions about guys they'd like to give them to.

“Give me a break,” I could only think to myself. What a dull world it had become, where strong young men, good-looking young athletes with everything to live for, were excited about three-packs of white socks.

So it was a little embarrassing later on when my roommate Brian, just back from the gym, said he had a surprise for me, and from behind his back pulled out a three-pack of white socks and gave them to me.

“Dude, you need these socks!” he smiled, running his hand through his highlighted hair. “I thought of you the minute I got these.”

The moment called for lightness and gratitude, which I amazed myself by fabricating on the spot, although I was only irritated and actually thought my otherwise cool roommate was kind of stupid for falling for all the marketing hype, and thinking I would fall for it, too. But my actual performance was flawless:

“Oh, wow, thanks, Brian—cool! Can't wait to put'em on. So cool of you to get'em for me. I owe ya!” I smiled, appropriately turning the three-pack over and over and looking like I was really glad to get it.

I've never seen Brian look so excited and hopeful, although he seemed to be trying to contain himself. His eyes were brighter and he kind of flushed overall and actually stammered: “Oh man, you gonna p-put'em on? I wanna see'em on you!”

I was inwardly wondering what was wrong with Brian, but this was not the moment to show it.

“Yeah, right away, Brian. The socks I'm wearing I've had on since breakfast; I could use a change of socks by now.”

He looked grateful, almost sweaty with gratitude. He looked at me expectantly. “Well?” he said.

“Well what?” I smiled, still trying to keep up the lightness and gratitude, but feeling kind of pushed.

“So put'em on. C'mon, dude, I gotta see ya in'em.” He was being nice about it, but his eyes were pleading.

I tried maneuvering.

“Sure, but how come you don't have a three-pack of these white socks? It's nice of you to give me these, but don't you want a three-pack as well?” In fact, Brian and I didn't mind if we wore each other's socks, because we both have size 13 feet, so our socks fit each other. In fact, we've even complimented each other on how we look in white socks; we both happen to have the long second toe and we flatter each other about how nice our feet look in white socks. It's just a jock thing.

Brian looked a bit taken aback, but my question seemed to strike him as reasonable. “Yeah, well, I kept a three-pack for myself, too, and I'm definitely gonna put them on. I just thought you'd want to go first.”

Go first? Go first putting on socks? Like going first on a dare? First to jump off the high-dive? First to ask someone to dance? This was wacked. I just left.

“Yeah, I'll go first. But hey, wait,” I said, putting the threepack on the bookshelf nex to me, “I have to get back some DVD's I loaned Brad, because I have to return them before they close, or I get socked with late fees. Be right back. Sorry—” and I literally ran out the door. It bothered me that Brian looked so jilted—I'd never mean to upset him, he's totally cool (also totally hot, if you know what I mean) and we're more than compatible as roommates. But damn, all over socks? Maybe he was coming down with something. I'd apologize later and make sure things were cool again. But I kind of congratulated myself on how I thought up the DVD story out of thin air.

Besides, it wasn't a total lie. I had loaned some DVDs to Brad, and they were due today, but the guy at the DVD rental place was cool so it wouldn't be a problem. Besides, I really did want to see Brad, and badly. He was best buds with Brian, and might know what was going on.

Also, Brad might understand. He was pretty mainstream about most things, and he'd probably sympathize with Brian and get me to see Brian's urgency, which to me was totally unfathomable at this point. Brad was way into white socks, and also had the feet for them. I think he was probably the same size as Brian and I, and he even had the index toe, as Brian and I called it.

“You're such an idiot,” Brad told me, when I explained why I was there. He was wearing a shirt and shorts (he liked showing off his nice legs), with loafers over his white socks. “Don't you know what it means? It means Brian's totally hot for you, dude. You might as well have slapped him in the face. Guys give these to guys they're hot for, and it's more than that.”

“What do you mean more than that,” I asked Brad, more flummoxed than ever. Socks?

“Do you live on another planet?” Brad asked, looking at me like I was not understanding him, which I wasn't. “He's got a special thing for you 'cause he's hot for your feet, dude. You share socks sometimes, right?”

“RIght,” I said, feeling stupid by now but still confused.

“Do you realize that guys don't share socks? I mean, maybe in an emergency, but that's about it. He really wanted to see you in them, right? Face it, both of you have really sexy feet. I know good-looking feet when I see them, and your feet are definitely to die for, dude. Was he like begging and everything?”

“He practically put them on me,” I said, wondering how Brad had all this insight about Brian and about sharing socks and stuff like that..

“Dude, he's hot for your feet, do you see? He thinks your feet are hot. You walk out on him just as he gives you a gift that says he's hot for you. Dude, that's not cool.” Brad could see he wasn't getting through. I couldn't think of anything to say.

But I did think of a little bit of something to say. Not much, though. Although I did get rolling after a bit.

“I mean, I'm cool with him liking my feet and all,” I said. “I like his feet, too. In fact, I like all of him. We get along great, we each think each other's sexy, and I guess it is unusual for guys to share socks and to say how nice their feet look in them. So we're hot for each other. But so what about the socks? Who gives a you know what for a pair of socks? I've got socks. Dozens of them. So does he. This is the stupidest all-about-nothing I've ever heard of, and it's even stupider coming from you, with your brains. What do I care about a pair of socks, and what's more, what do I possibly care about a stupid three-pack of socks? Three? What does he care? What do you care? And why are the shopping clubs full of young guys buying three-packs of socks? I can't stand it anymore!”

“So you don't know about the three-pack?” Brad asked, grabbing onto that one fact as though it were the only thing I'd said that made sense.

“Only that I wish I had a cut of the business,” I said. “I could retire young. At the rate they're selling, guys'll be wearing them everywhere. Besides all the ads, guys will be like billboards walking around on two feet.”

“Three feet,” Brad corrected me.

I looked at him, irritated, not getting his joke or whatever it was.

“Excuse me a sec,” Brad said. “I need to change socks. I just bought a three-pack. You'll want to see this.”

It was all I could do to stand there and politely say nothing. I was solo bored by this subject. I wished at this point that I wore only argyle socks, or checkered socks, or executive support hose, or even German lederhosen at this point.

And it was indeed only a sec before Brad returned, carrying a threepack of socks and a shoe. Without a word, he sat down on the stylish little green cloth sofa he'd recently purchased, put the shoe on the floor, then took off his shoes and put them next to the other shoe. My eyes involuntarily went to his white-socked feet, so nice in their size and shape. Definitely a good look on him. He unwrapped the three socks from the threepack. He pulled the white socks he was wearing off his feet. As it usually does, it calmed me to see his bare feet. I like lots of kinds of male feet, but I couldn't help notice his index toes. Feet like that are really nice, and the sight of them always puts me in a better frame of mind, if you know what I mean.

“You may as well see this first here with me, since you're going to be seeing it everywhere,” Brad smiled, also calmer than before.

He crossed one leg and slipped the first white sock from the three-pack on. It fit like a glove, although since this was his foot, I should really say it fit like a sock. Something about white socks kind of highlights and smoothes out even the handsomest foot, sort of dresses it up in a sexy way. He smoothed his hands over the foot, pointing the foot this way and that and running his hands along it, up past the ankle to the shin, and lowered his leg, planting the handsome white-socked foot on the floor. Its barefoot brother seemed envious, I imagined, but now it was the barefoot brother's turn to get dressed up.

Brad crossed the other leg and fitted the second white sock over the bare foot, again smoothing his hands along the newly socked foot. I think Brad was hot about his own feet, and who wouldn't be, with feet like that. He was obviously quietly turned on by them, I could tell, the way he looked. It was cool that a guy with feet like that would point out that he liked my feet, I thought.

But then Brad lost me again.

“What are you doing?” I asked Brad. He was flushed and breathing a little rapidly, crossing both feet and pulling them up and putting the third sock on over both of them. Something about this seemed to be really turning him on. “Wait till you do this,” he said breathlessly, locking eyes with me for a moment. “You can't believe how good it feels.”

Then Brad gave a quick look to the instructions on the threepack wrapper without removing his hands from the third sock. It covered both feet because it stretched enough, but why!

I started to ask him. I had even formed the “w” of “why with my lips, but Brad said, “Not now!” He was still breathing hard, and he was flushed. So were both of his legs, I noticed. Then he said, with something like a subdued scream in his voice, “Almost! Almost!”

He was obviously now totally aroused. He was feverishly smoothing his hands over the third sock covering what looked to me like the lumpy combination of the two big handsome feet inside it. He was breathing hard and pouring off sweat, running his hands up over the wildly stretched third sock to where his ankles met and his shins parted ways. He put his hands on the outer sides of his knees, and with once sudden thrust, he forced his sweat-glistened knees together and kicked his sock-bound feet outward. “AAAAaaagggghhhhhh!!!!!” he screamed, but it was a scream of pleasure, as his white-stockinged feet landed on the floor in front of him with a loud thump.

Louder than I would have expected. I swallowed, amazed and now aroused. Because it was three feet that hit the floor. Three feet on three legs, sweat-glistened legs of Brad's. Brad with three sweat-glistened legs and three-white stockinged feet. Three big good-looking dressed-up white-stockinged feet. Brad with three legs, three feet. My mind was trying to get it, although my body already had. I realized I was breathing hard and that I had come in buckets inside my own shorts; I was still pulsing as the last ejaculations pumped. I wiped my forehead with my hand, stunned and amazed, catching my breath.

Brad was still breathing hard, catching his breath, his face, arms and legs shiny with sweat and a huge come spot spreading darkly through the fabric of his shorts. His shorts had ripped to shreds in the middle. There, a perfectly matched, sweating beautiful third leg now nestled between his sweating original two legs. It was a right leg, and its foot was a right foot, handsome in its third white sock.

After a couple hours of Brad showing me his three new legs and three beautifully white-socked size 13s, I went home to share my new enthusiasm with Brian. Well when I got home, I guess I shouldn't have been too surprised that Brian had taken my sudden departure as a rejection of his gift of the three-pack, and since the three-pack represented his attraction to me and love for me, he took it as a rejection of his love, and he had taken it pretty hard.

It was out of character for him, since he didn't have any vices, but when I got home I was surprised when Brian met me at the door with a huge swaying hardon, drunk and teary-eyed, leaning out the door off-balance, with his arms hidden inside behind the half-open door and the door jamb. His physical beauty struck me, especially when I noticed the change, half-hidden by the wobbling door as he leaned his sweet drunken body against it, swaying. His beautiful lips numbly tried to form the words, his tongue heavy and slurred as his sweet, tear-reddened eyes tried to focus on me.

“I wwwentt firs' for youu,” he said, his voice oddly musical in his drunken state, his highlighted hair disheveled and hanging down over his tear-reddened eyes, and his beautiful naked long-legged drunken body swaying and pitching this way and that on its three big new clumsy bare feet.

“See?” he said, sounding stupid as his drunken three-legged body swayed against the half-open door and the door jamb, his three beautiful feet unsure of themselves, stepping on themselves or clumsily knocking into the door.

“Three of'em,” he said, blinking drunkenly, trying to raise a couple of his three beautiful large drunken feet to show me and almost falling over as a result. His voice was still sexy, maybe even sexier since it was so slow and stupid sounding, although he was drunkenly sincere. And he was so beautiful and handsome, and he was the kind of guy who becomes strangely more erotic and oddly sexier when he's drunk, even more so with three legs.

“Three legs, long legs, three long legs for you,” Brian's sweet lips numbly said in that slurred, oddly melodic drunken voice.

“'N I got three of my big bare feet, big bare feet, all three of'em, I put on my three-pack and grew'em for you 'cause you'd like me this way, with three legs and three feet, 'cause you like my legs and my bare feet, so I grew three of'em for you,” he slurred. He swayed, seeming to forget what he had been talking about, and his eyes tried to focus on the three beautiful bare feet that were stupidly standing on each other, trying to keep his tall, handsome drunk nude body balanced.

I felt bad to have upset him, and I felt horrible that even in his helpless condition he was turning me on and I wanted to make love to his drunken three-legged body in the worst way.

“Brian, you look so sexy like this, and I'd love to see you in the three white socks,” I had to admit. “I love your three legs and the three bare feet you grew for me. Thanks for going first for me.”

His beautiful, drunkenly flushed face swung up heavily to look at me, from where he had been staring at his three beautiful big feet, which obviously aroused him, judging by the size of his stiff penis. His three legs swayed among each other, bringing the last leg into full view from behind the half-open door. I felt my own hardon stiffen to see that Brian had a second huge penis on the other side of his new middle leg, giving him one set of large male genitals between each leg. The second aroused penis had a white sock over it, still gluey with come.

He laughed drunkenly, both penises further enlarging aroused at seeing me aroused by him with two huge penises.

“You weren't here'n'I had to jack off so bad,” he slurred, a drunken smile on his beautiful lips. “'Cept afterwards my hands changed and I couldn't get the sock off my boner an' I couldn't put the other two socks back on any of my three feet. Shhh-hhh, don' tell anyone, but I don’ think you're s'posed to grow three legs when you're drunk,” he said in an unintentionally loud drunken whisper, “'Cause it makes you wristfooted.”

In his drunken forgetfulness he had intended to bring his hand from behind the half-open door and put a finger to his lips. But instead of a finger, it was a big toe, the big toe of a large beautiful white-socked foot, as big as his other three feet, but way out of proportion as it grew from his wrist where his hand used to be.

“See?” he said, bringing his other arm out, with its own beautifully huge white-socked foot hanging heavily from its wrist.

Without bracing his wrist feet against the wall and door as he had been doing all this time, Brian's naked three-legged body toppled drunkenly into my arms. Oh, did he feel good to touch, his beautiful muscular supple body warm and relaxed, drunk in my arms. I kissed his sweet-breathed lips, feeling him swaying and stupid against me, and I could feel his three big naked legs interlaced with both my legs, his two huge boners hot, one giant against each of my legs. His outer naked legs straddled my legs and his new long-muscled naked middle leg snuggled warmly between my legs, my boner hot against it.

He laughed drunkenly, his breath sweet in my face, and brought his white-socked wrist feet up to rest on my chest. They were huge. “Whoops,” he said in a slight rush of warm sweet breath. “I'm wrist footed.” He clumsily bit one of the socks and managed to slide it off his wrist foot. I felt its warmth radiating on my lips and face, so I kissed it. It was beautiful. I got boned thinking of my drunken Brian and his five beautiful big feet, on his three legs and two wrists. I was going to put socks on all five of them, and leave him naked. For now.

His sweet lips kissed mine again, and in a rush of sweet warm breath he said, tears forming in his eyes, “You like me this way, don't you?”

Before he could start to cry, I kissed both his beautiful huge wrist feet again and kissed him on his sweet, drunken, beautiful lips, gave my drunken five-footed Brian a really good kiss.

“I love you this way, Brian.” And I kept my lips on his as I turned and held his big beautiful drunken three legged body next to mine, feeling his three big beautiful drunken feet clumsily trying to walk with me. I kept our lips together, his sweet breath pouring over me, his eyes closed blissfully, as I walked him back to our room, my arm around his beautiful drunken body, my other arm pressing his big wrist feet to me, one of them white-socked and the other still naked. We would make love and then find enough socks for him. And then we would open my three-pack.

“You dance like you have two left feet,” I smiled at Brian as I held him close, slow-dancing with him. He was still getting used to having three feet, and so was I.

He looked down, just to make sure.

“That's because I do have two left feet.” he said. He didn't add the expected “silly” at the end of his sentence, but his look said it.

But I got him back: “Well, you've got three left feet if you count your left wrist foot,” I said, giving the large wrist foot a squeeze. I could feel his giant boners hot against either side of my giant boner. We both grew boners easily, we found, even at the mention of our extra feet, the mention of Brian's wrist feet, or if we touched or squeezed any of our feet or if I did anything with Brian's wrist feet. They were like erogenous zones.

We'd noticed that earlier with all the three-legged guys at the shopping club that day, as they were buying more three-packs of white socks for their friends. Like us, they were turned on all the time, it seemed, flushed and aroused, quite taken with their threesomes of legs as well as of those of every three-legged guy they saw. No doubt because of the novelty of being three-legged, every three-legged guy, including Brian and I, were in our white socks, shoeless, just wearing those sexy white socks that made the three feet that much hotter-looking. It was cool that all the guys who worked at the shopping club were now three-legged as well, also hot in their three white-socked feet.

As we'd stood in the endless checkout line among all the other throngs of three-legged guys, talking with them about being three-footed and about guys we'd like to see three-footed, we'd noticed a few guys who, like Brian, had been drunk at the time they became three-legged. You could tell because they were attractively wrist footed as well, just like Brian. And they all had interesting stories of how they'd been partying or whatever when they'd put on their new three-packs of socks, and of the wildly erotic reactions they and their friends felt when they became not only three-legged but wrist footed as well.

It turned out that Brian was rare for having grown two penises; from talking to the few other guys who'd become double-dicked, it meant that they were basically so in love with a guy that they had no choice but to become double-dicked. But it was cool if you didn't become double dicked, because when you fell in love with a guy you would. Even the thought of that turned me on, and I could see how I could easily become double dicked over Brian. I loved him, with a newly discovered love that he had brought out in me, and I was in a frame of mind where I felt that I could really fall for him any moment. He liked that, and he definitely got his two dicks huge and aroused over me, which turned me on, too.

And when we noticed in the crowd our pal Barefoot Stoner, a friend of ours from the Three and Four Legged Guys club online, he introduced us to his stoner buddies and showed us another surprise—his four bare feet. Never mind that it was a three-pack of white socks, if you were stoned when you put them on, you grew four legs, not three. But he liked that, which was cool because he looked good with four bare feet. Some of his stoner buddies had the double dicks and the wrist feet too, from partying stoned and drunk and being in love with a guy at the same time. Everyone got so boned looking at them that they felt double dicked whether they were or weren't. It was so hot.

And there was were few stoners who kept their four feet bare compared to those that wore four white socks, basically because they were so cool to each other that they shared the three packs among themselves, so three of the four-footed stoners would share four of the three packs to come up with twelve white-socked feet. That's why Barefoot Stoner was the only barefoot one among three of his closest stoner pals, which was cool because he not only liked being barefoot but it made all four guys feel closer to each other to work out their sock sharing that way.

And Brian and I had a feeling that it wouldn't be long until all three of Barefoot Stoner's white-socked pals were double dicked over him as well.

We'd talked about them as we were slow dancing, before we went upstairs to make love. Then he stopped slow dancing, so I did too, wondering why. It was because he had a question to ask me.

“Did you want me four-legged?” Brian asked, gently holding both sides of my neck with the soles of his huge wrist feet and locking my eyes with his.

“Nice of you to ask,” I smiled, turning my face left and right to kiss each of his wrist feet, “but I like you three-legged. Something about you in three white socks.”

“Me, too,” he smiled, and I could feel his three white-socked feet placing themselves against mine. The feel of his three white-socked feet against the three of my white-socked feet made his two hardons huge. It made mine huge, too, and sure enough, I grew a second giant hardon for him right then as we kissed.


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