Feet in the Sand

By the time Jon woke up, he found that his biker friend had left him. The sun was still high in the sky, but it had moved a few degrees, letting him know that he hadn't slept all day, but rather had enjoyed a quick cat-nap in the sand.

Jon wondered why he'd fallen asleep in the first place. He hadn't tired himself out, not too much, at least. The big biker had indeed been suffering from some sort of medical condition. Whether blue balls was a scientific term, or if it was colloquial, Jon didn't know. What he did know was that his new friend was experiencing a major discomfort.

When the big man had unbuckled his belt and laid on his back, Jon had momentarily been unsure as to how he could help. This hesitation hadn't gone unnoticed. He'd known that bikers were know to be a rough and tumble sort, but when the man had, of course in his frustration in discomfort, snapped at Jon, he'd jumped.

"What are you waiting for?" Jon's biker friend sounded impatient, angry even. It was perfectly understandable. If the biker had offered to help Jon, then had made Jon wait, he would have probably done the exact same thing.

Then, in the kind of generosity Jon had grown to expect from the denizens of Girl World, Jon's big friend made a motion with his hands, his fist making an 'O' shape as he moved it in a smooth motion in front of his groin, giving Jon the hint he needed. The problem was in his pants!

Jon, being a polite kind of guy, and wanting to return the favour to the big man for being such a good friend, stammered a quick apology, dropped to his knees in the sand between the man's legs, and pulled the offending jeans off to diagnose the problem. Once the man was naked below the waist, all became clear.

It wasn't a mole. It was far to big for a mole. It didn't look like a tumor, either. It was, well, it was hard to describe. A large, stiff protrusion was sticking out from the man's groin. Below the protrusion was some sort of hairy sack, holding two round objects within. The protrusion was sort of banana-like, oblong, pointing upward. Jon could see veins pulsing on length of it, which reminded Jon that while the thing looked alien, it was, at least for the moment, a very real part of his new friend's body.

And a part of his friend's body that was causing him quite a lot of distress.

"Come on, baby," the big man moaned, "Don't just look at it. Big Daddy's hurtin' for you!"

Jim climbed to his feet, considering the next course of action. He couldn't just let him suffer, and there were no hospitals up and down the beach as far as he could see. Then he remembered his mother, and how, when he would be injured as a child, she would gently rub his back, making him feel so much better.

Inspiration achieved, Jon smiled and gently ran his leather boot along the inside of the big man's thigh, making the man close his eyes and shiver. He was unsure if this was the best solution to the problem, but it was all he could think of doing. Then he rubbed the other thigh with the same boot, this time, after reaching the groin with the soft leather material, he placed the point of the heel against the big man's skin and slowly dragged it down the leg.

"No rough stuff today, sweet-cheeks," Jon's biker friend instructed, giving Jon a great nickname Jon decided he'd have to remember, "I want you all sweet and tender-like."

Jon took the hint. He took a step away from the big man, turned so his back was facing him, then bent at the waist and unzipped his boots.

"Yeah, baby, I like the view from here!" The biker said, leaning up to slap Jon's leather-clad behind. Jon knew that he loved Girl World, but things like this made him love it even more. He'd always been a little self-conscious with his body, and to have such affirmation from such a masculine man made him feel better about himself.

Then, barefoot in the sand, Jon stepped back toward his suffering friend. As Jon rubbed his foot up and down the man's thigh, he couldn't help but notice the heat emanating from the protrusion as he got closer and closer to it with each movement of his foot. Finally, Jon had the courage to touch the offending injury. It was hard and rigid, pulsing with each touch of his foot. He could see the veins bulging and pulsing, as if it had a life of its own. The scent of sweat and leather filled his nostrils, making his heart race. Jon wasn't sure if he was helping or hurting, but since he wasn't being told to stop, he assumed that he was helping.

With a playful flick of his toe, Jon teased the hairy sack hanging between the man's thighs. The response was immediate; the man's body tensed and his breathing became even more ragged. It was an intoxicating feeling, the knowledge that he could elicit such a response from another person. He felt like a skilled surgeon, bringing relief to an individual who had suffered long without medical intervention.

Between his big toe and his second toe, Jon felt the length of the protrusion, pausing at the tip, wondering at how hot the thing felt. With dexterity Jon never knew he had, he balanced on one foot and rubbed the man up and down with the other, mostly on the protrusion, but pausing every once and a while to rub the man's stomach, chest, and even bringing his foot up to the man's mouth to let him kiss it, lick it, get it nice and moist so that it didn't chafe the man's skin, then returning it to the source of discomfort.

While improvised, Jon's medical intervention was most effective. Perhaps he should have been a doctor, Jon told himself. With no instruction, no information than what he saw in front of him, Jon had completely cured the man. After just a few short minutes of rubbing, a hot, sticky discharge shot from the protrusion, covering the man's stomach, soaking Jon's foot. Jon didn't mind. After all, the big man had been generous enough to take him for a ride on his motorbike, so getting a little dirty was the least Jon could do.

Once the man's discharge stopped, the protrusion quickly shrank to a fraction of its original size. Jon was pretty sure that the problem was gone, that what he was seeing was a remnant, a remind, a battle wound to remind the biker of what he'd suffered through and survived. Jon hoped he would wear it with pride. Just to emphasize Jon's happiness in the man's recovery, he once again knelt down and, just as his mother had modelled for him when he skinned his knee, kissed it better, the salty discharge covering his painted lips.

"Oh fuck," the big man sighed, "You're such a slut."

That's when the exhaustion had hit Jon. Maybe he had been balancing too long. Maybe it was all the fresh air. Whatever the reason, Jon stepped out from between the man's legs who, in his post-suffering bliss, had begun snoring away. Jon could barely keep his eyes open, and he knew that sleeping exposed to nature could leave your body in danger with the elements, so he curled up next to the man, intertwining one leg with his, draping one arm over the man, resting on the protrusion Jon had just helped heal, just to make sure it stayed safe and comfortable while they slept. The last thought that hit Jon's mind before he fell asleep was of the man's aftershave, and how it reminded him of something he used to wear...

The spirit glided over Jon's motionless body, drawn by a primal urge to take advantage of this opportunity. It would only take a moment, and with its victim primed as he was, the spirit had to take advantage. Jon's mind, thanks to the encounter on the Girl World beach, was open and susceptible. It was time for a change.

In the real world, Jon wore his mother's leopard-print leggings and a belly shirt, his bare feet a stark contrast to his otherwise flamboyant attire. Having Jon's feet bare in both Girl World and in reality made the spirit's job so much easier. Reaching out with an invisible tendril of energy, its touch gentle but insistent as it caressed Jon's feet. It felt the subtle shift as they began to transform, the once large and masculine size twelve feet shrinking down to a dainty and feminine size six.

Delicate pink hues began to blossom on Jon's toenails. It carefully chose the perfect shade, not too hot or bright, but rather a soft, sweet pink that would complement Jon's newly feminine feet. It knew that when Jon woke up, he would want his outfit to match his body, and it wanted everything to be perfect.

With a final flourish, the spirit reshaped Jon's feet, smoothing out the rough callouses and molding them into a perfect, cute form. They were the kind of feet that would make anyone with a foot fetish go wild with desire, their every curve and contour imbued with sensual energy.

Satisfied with its work, the spirit withdrew its power and let Jon slip back into consciousness in Girl World, confident that its influence would linger and shape Jon's perceptions for the rest of his journey in this strange, fantastical realm.

Jon would have been lying if he had said that he wasn't disappointed that his friend had left him alone on the beach, but he had to keep things in perspective. He was still on vacation, he was still at the seaside, and it wasn't as if it was the first time during his trip that his companion had left him to his own devices. Jon would figure it out.

For now, he was enjoying a lovely barefoot walk on the beach, his boots slung over his shoulder, his cute pink toenails glistening in the sunlight as he left dainty imprints in the sand behind him. Sure, he didn't know what he was going to do next, but just like everything else in Girl World, he was sure it would work out great.