That day, I was craving something new. I joined a few local WhatsApp groups and dropped my invite link—the same one I use on QR codes I hand out on the street. A few guys showed interest, but nothing serious.

Until one of them messaged:

“I’m like 1km from that spot you mentioned. I’m down. Can I come now?”

I said, come through.

First thing I noticed? Flip-flops.

I usually prefer sneakers and socks—better for filming, better for that layered scent I love.

He parked his bike, we grabbed some beers and water downstairs, rolled up, and went to shoot.

And when I got near those flip-flops—boom, a strong, salty foot smell. He’d just finished five hours of deliveries. I spent what felt like forever lost in that scent, his size 12 feet, his worn flip-flops. Pure trance.

Later, he told me it was his first time doing anything foot-related. But he’d filmed adult stuff before, and said he’d love to come back. Should I bring him back?