Builder Bob (Patreon)

It's not a particularly fancy apartment, two rooms, kitchen and a bathroom, and the building is a bit run down, but the location is decent. Since it is a condo you get more stable neighbors, in all senses of the word. People tend to stay at least a year or more. I myself is on my fourth year and don't have any plans to move.

The layout is such that from the elevator, or stairs but who is that weird, you can go in three directions. Three corridors with apartments behind three glass doors. My apartment was in a short stub of a corridor, just me and until recently Rick on opposite side of the short corridor. Rick left a while ago to move in with his girlfriend, and after a week of it being empty Robert Lewis moved in, according to the door sign.

He didn't knock on the door to introduce himself, but after a few days we happened to meet as I was heading out for some fast food. He looked like he returned from work. Tall and muscular, short black hair and beard, brown and white plaid carhartt shirt, blue jeans, and sturdy sand-colored boots. "Howdy neighbor," he said and gave a firm handshake. "Name's Bob". "I'm Chris. Pleased to meet you," I responded. That was enough small talk apparently, as he let go of my hand and begun to unlock his door.

His schedule was fairly set. He left at five or six in the morning, returning in the afternoon, and then sometimes be out again until nine or ten. I had moved to work mostly from home, so I only left the apartment for shopping or the occasional walk. We did meet a few times a week, usually when I was leaving and he coming home. I would say "hi" and he would nod in response.

I don't remember exactly when it started, but it was some days after we first met each other. I opened my apartment door one day after he had returned home and the stench of damp feet hit me. Vinegar, cheese, and leather mixed together. As I looked down the corridor I saw Bob's work boots outside his door, with one sock sticking out of each. Though the corridor is short, it has a decent volume. The problem is that it isn't well ventilated, and completely enclosed with doors. I hasted out through the glass door and out to do my errands.

Unfortunately this became his habit. Every time he wasn't at work his boots and socks would stand just outside his door stinking up our corridor. Even when he was at work you could smell feet in our shared space. I considered putting something to hold the door at the end of the corridor open, but it's against the fire code and there probably isn't enough circulation to swap out enough air. Besides, he would just put out his boots next day. I didn't want to tell him either. It's not like it really affected me. It was just those few steps just outside my apartment.

Again I can't pinpoint exactly when it happened. I guess it was gradual, but I started to have thoughts about touching his socks and boots. Smelling them close up perhaps. Putting them on. I can't really explain it. It still smelled awful to me in the corridor, but there was that weird attraction to it too. Almost sexual.

It took several weeks and one aborted attempt before I worked up enough courage to do it. He had come home as normal and stayed at home all evening. Still I waited until ten to make sure he wouldn't leave that night. Quietly I opened my door and looked down the corridor and out the glass door. No one. I calmly walked up to his boots, grabbed the socks, and quickly dashed back into my apartment.

I could feel my heart pounding. There really wasn't a need. No one had seen me. If Bob would walk out right now and find his socks missing there wasn't anything indicating me. Anyone from any apartment could have stolen them. Or perhaps some food delivery boy that had been buzzed in.

The smell was certainly in my apartment now. I could feel wafts of it from my hand holding the socks. They were thick, grey wool socks with a red border around the top. I was getting hard. It didn't surprise me, but somehow I hadn't anticipated it. I hadn't planned out anything after snatching the socks to be honest. I sat down on one of the kitchen chairs, removed my own socks, and put on Bobs. I pulled them all the way up the shin, as far as they would go. Then I stood up and walked a few steps in the kitchen, not sure really what to do. My dick loved it though, so I walked to the bathroom, opened the toilet lid, and started to masturbate. I closed my eyes and tried to think of as little as possible. Just me, my dick, and the faint smell of feet. It had me going almost to climax, when flashes of Bob's boots and flannel shirt flashed by in my mind just before I cummed into the bowl.

Not knowing what else to do I dried my dick, replaced the socks with my own, and repeated my stealth operation from before, only this time I was putting the socks back. All was over in under half an hour.

It had me sated for the time being. Every time I saw Bob's boots, or just smelling the air of the corridor I felt something different. Like I was somehow part of it now, but already the next week I wanted more. It was a repeat heist, almost like the week before, only this time I grabbed the sand-colored boots with the socks in them. It only hit me once back inside my apartment that the boots looked like army boots I've seen in photos from the middle east. Perhaps Bob was a veteran? Somehow that made my dick even harder. I didn't intend him to ever find out, but in my mind this shifted the risk-reward balance to higher risk. This time thought the full force of the smell followed me into my apartment.

As before I replaced my socks with Bob's. Then I put my right foot in the right boot. It didn't really surprise me that the size was wrong. He was a big guy so he was bound to have bigger feet than me. I left the lower part of the lace alone and only pulled the boot as tight I could on the top part. I didn't want to make it obvious to him someone else had used them. I did the same with the other boot. My walk was a little wobbly as the boots didn't fit properly.  They almost felt damp, though that probably was just them being cold.

I decided to go and lie down on top of my bed. My feet felt heavy to move. To accentuate that point for myself I was waving the toes of the boots side to side, rolling on the heels. I began to stroke the bulge of my basket shorts. My feet started to feel warm, and the air in my bedroom filled with the smell of feet.

In shock I sat up. I had fallen asleep. I was parched and sweaty, and had a headache. What's the time? Where was my phone? I jumped out of bed and dashed into the kitchen. 03:51 said the phone. Still time to get the stuff back into the corridor, unless Bob would do something out of the ordinary. Quick as I could I undid the knots on the boots, fought to get them off, pulled off the damp socks, put on my own, and rushed to the door. My heart was again racing. Quietly I again opened the door, quickly returned the boots to where I stole them, and hurried back into my apartment.

Fuck, that was close. Was it worth it? If anything my apartment now smelled worse than the corridor. Well, at least I got an experience, I thought as I downed a big glass of water and returned to bed in the hopes of getting a few more hours of sleep before the first zoom meeting.

It felt like no time at all had passed when the phone alarm went off. One hour until zoom. I must have fallen asleep immediately, though it confused me for a second why I was dressed and had been sleeping on top of the bed. At least the headache had gone, but I was still thirsty and the stench of feet hang in the air. Feeling clammy I decided to take a shower before the meetings, and stood up next to the bed. Something felt off, like I had stepped on something damp.

I looked down on the floor and shifted my feet to see if there was something under them, and was intrigued to see two damp imprints of my feet. No, not my feet. These feet were perhaps an inch longer than what I went to bed with. I sat down on the edge of the bed again and removed one of the socks from my foot. I winced as the smell was worse than anything Bob's socks and boots had ever filled our corridor with.

Without even removing the other sock I went straight into the bathroom, threw off the rest of the clothes, and then showered myself and the two socks while staring at my feet. Jumbled in my head were a few thoughts that kept fighting for mental space. The first one was that this is impossible. The second one was this is just punishment. The last one was if my foot now is a foot long.

The next time I saw Bob was four days later. He was on his way out and I was headed back home with some take-away Korean bibimbap. I said "Hi" as always and he nodded back as always, as if nothing had happened. Perhaps for him nothing had happened. Perhaps he didn't notice I was wearing my brand new Nike sneakers size 13, up from size 9. He certainly couldn't know my feet sweated like sieves now, keeping my socks damp, forcing me to drink water all the time, and keeping my apartment smelling as fresh as an infantry boot locker. I can only thank zoom for keeping my job. But I guess he knows something because I haven't seen his boots in the corridor for days.