“So why do I got to be barefoot?” Greg asked, slurring his words as he went for another drink of his cup.
“We’re on the dock about to get into my boat. You gotta be barefoot to ride in my boat, alright?” Keith answered. It was the filmiest excuse he had ever come up with to get Greg barefoot, and for a Keith held his breath to see if this would make sense to his drunk friend.
Greg sat there and nodded along. He took another drink from his cup.
“Alright, make sensh. Help me getsh them off?”
All too eager, Keith pulled the shoes and socks off of his drunk friend. How many times had Keith tricked Greg into getting barefoot when they hung out? How many times had Keith pulled off Greg’s shoes and socks while his buddy was passed out from a few too many beers?
Greg giggled to himself, leaned back and pointed to his feet while he took another drunk of beer.
“Look at that, I’m barefoot.” Greg put his drink down, burped, and started to giggle again.
“I know you love my feet. I know you loooooove them,” Greg teased, wiggling his toes back and forth.
“I… what… I” Keith started to sputter, but then Greg put a finger to Keith’s lips.
“Shhh… no no dude, sh’tokay. I pretends to be ashleep when you do it. When you suck my toes… duuuude…”. Greg leaned forward and put his hands on Keith’s shoulders to keep from falling over.
“You get me on dish boat, keep the beersh coming, and you can shuck my toes… s’okay?”
Keith didn’t need to be told twice. He put his arms around his drunk friend and hoisted him up.
“Let’s get you on this fucking boat.”
romaincrisis
