Cumshining My Boots

Nothing pleases me more than to feel a boy grinding his hard cock against the instep of one of my Wescos. I love the sight of his muscled ass pushing against the oil tanned leather, his buttocks tightening with each thrust. My boot rapture culminates with my command to shoot his load. And he invariably complies, humping the shank of my boot while he holds on with both hands.

My Wesco Boss boots are a register of more than a decade of such encounters. Layers of cum worked into their buff surface by eager boys. I am a Bootman. Boots are the foundation of my Leather and my play as a Sir. They are my Fetish.

I was given my first pair of boots decades ago, a pair of Vietnam combat boots with canvas sides and high shine toes and heels. I wore them daily, even at work. Almost one year after receiving them, I was asked to choreograph a new ballet as the recipient of an artistic fellowship. The heft of the boots gave the steps a heaviness that was appropriate to the folk-inspired music by Bela Bartok. I felt compelled to wear them while working out the rhythms with my feet, my creative vision translated into a weighted, stomping dance.

These boots lasted me for almost a decade. They became a register of my first years in the Leather Community. They became the archetype of fetish, objects of rapture and devotion.

Boots are the nexus of masculinity. Their heavy sound against the floor, their accentuated size often large enough to add inches to the height of the wearer, their identification with blue collar and working class professions, their association with the rebel and the outlaw, their vital role in the uniform of authority figures, the sheer heft of them experienced by the wearer, their essential construction of Leather. They are the ultimate phallus.

Late on a Saturday afternon a number of years later, I picked up my first Wescos in San Francisco. After a late night at the Loading Dock, I returned to my hotel room, a hot man close by my side. “Strip naked,” I growled quietly. Then, standing back, I watched as he removed his tight t-shirt, chaps, and jeans. A man whose firmly muscled physique honored the Leather he wore.

Without a word he squatted at my feet and placed the toe of my right Boss firmly against his asshole. Then he stroked until he shot on the arch of my boot.

“Shine 'em up,” I commanded instinctively. And I watched as he spread his cum with his tongue over the buff, Leather surface, spreading the translucent ooze until it disappeared.

I am a Bootman. My Boots are the foundation of my Leather.

I am proud to present Bootweekend from May 6 – 8, in Portland, Oregon, together with Northwest Community Bootblack 2011, Dylan. A weekend for Boot fetishists. For more information regarding this celebration of Boots, Bootsex, and Bootplay, see the event website..