It started in a sunny summer afternoon in a beach town in California. It was laundry day for Brendan when he caught the eye of one of our members. He walked in, set down his dirty clothes and absentmindedly began filling the washer with his laundry. Unbeknownst to him, one of the patrons began discreetly taking pictures of his tanned feet.

Soon, these pictures began circulating among our group. Pictures of Brendan, his legs stretched out in front of him as he focused on his phone, waiting. One showed a view from behind where his slender ankles were flexed, a little bit of his heel showing. But one picture stood out to me that lead me to decide that I wanted his feet, then and there: a view of his left foot, crossed over his leg, sole prominently displayed for all the world to see. His sole exuded a look of rugged masculinity, rough but not worse for wear. His medium arch was pale in contrast to the pink blush of his well-rounded heel and his long toes were tipped with nice round pads. Other pictures showed the tops of his feet. They were a bit hairy, but not in a bad way, and his toenails, though not pedicured, looked to be well taken care of. The group had decided its next target.

Thus the stakeouts began. Brendan’s movement was observed, day in and day out. The group came to find out that he worked as a fitness trainer in a nearby gym. As part of the stakeout process, I signed up for gym and requested him to be my trainer. I got to know Brendan well. He was quite friendly, always up for a conversation during our workouts. At some point, we talked about hobbies. As an outdoor person, he loved hiking. He called it “taking in nature’s sublime glory”.

At some point, he was in such a hurry to leave that he hadn’t noticed his socks fell out of his bag. I looked around to make sure no one was looking and grabbed them and put them in a ziplock bag to preserve the scent. The next group meeting, I shared the prize with my brothers, and everyone was desperate for a way to get to Brendan.

The stakeout continued for another month when Brendan gave us the perfect opportunity. He talked to me about his upcoming hike next weekend. It was a trail that he described as “unsullied by humanity”. He explained that it was rarely visited due to its dangerous nature, being a cliffside trail by the sea, and only a few people are brave or crazy enough to go through it. He thinks that it’s not that much dangerous as there haven’t been any confirmed fatalities so far. He was wrong.

When I relayed this information with the group, they were delighted. It was simple enough to stage an accident. It was a very plausible reason for Brendan to disappear. A misstep in the cliffside trail, and his body washed away by the waves into the open sea. It was too easy.

And that was that. Brendan’s disappearance was reported by his manager when he didn’t show up for a straight week. The authorities believe that he got into an accident and recovering his remains would be extremely difficult due to the strong currents. It was impossible to predict where a body would end up. No indication of foul play. Case closed. The trail was shut down after that.

Since I was the one who got information on Brendan, I had first dibs. Brendan was restrained on a table, mouth gagged, feet locked in wooden stocks. I had the honor to undress his feet, fresh from his hike, and I went to town with them. After taking in the scent, I traced his arches with my tongue, sliding up all the way to his toes. I took his big toe and sucked on it hard. I made my way down his toes in descending order, snaking my tongue in between before moving on to the next toe. After that, I went after my favorite part: the fleshy round heel. I sucked on it, feeling the roughness on my lips and tongue. I sucked, and licked, and kissed, til I could not taste any more of his salty feet. Satisfied, I left and made room for my brothers to enjoy him before the gathering. That was the last time I saw Brendan alive.

After my brothers had their fun, it was time for the banquet. They cleaned him up and wheeled him in the middle of the gathered crowd. I had a great view of his soles, as they were pointed toward me. He lay there naked, in the same metal table, but this time there was a guillotine on each end. We waited expectantly for the blades to drop as Brendan lay there, tears in his eyes, begging for life. One member shouted “FIVE” and the countdown started.

“FOUR”
“THREE”
“TWO”
“ONE”

The first blade fell, and Brendan’s head dropped to the basket below. His feet spasmed, and his toes wiggled in response. Another countdown and the second blade dropped, separating his feet from his legs. The violent impact sent his severed feet flying through the air, landing in a low thud. An attendant gathered up his feet and wheeled his body to the kitchens.

An hour later at the banquet hall, a large covered dish sat in the middle of the table. The chef lifted up the cover and there was what used to be Brendan, skin brown and crisped to perfection.

Another smaller platter was put next to where Brendan’s head should be. The chef lifted up the cover and revealed Brendan’s head, nestled between the arches of his feet, preserved and ready to be put up for auction.

He was the first of my collection. And probably the last. The other members of the Sole Society are much richer than I am. But I am content. Brendan’s feet are such nice things to play with, and I don’t see myself getting tired of them any time soon.