The brick wall stood tall, its rough surface warmed by the afternoon sun. Perched on top was a man, his legs casually draped over the edge. He leaned back on his hands, his posture relaxed, as if the world moved at his pace. On his feet were a pair of Jordan 1 UNC Toes, the blue and white leather catching the light with every slight movement. The soles of the shoes faced outward, hovering just above eye level for anyone standing nearby.
It was then that the sub noticed him. The sub had been walking aimlessly, his mind wandering, but the sight of the Jordans stopped him in his tracks. The shoes were pristine, the soles barely touched by wear, and the way they hung in the air, so close yet so out of reach, was mesmerizing. The sub’s breath quickened, his eyes locked on the shoes. He couldn’t look away. The texture of the rubber, the faint grooves in the soles, the way they seemed to glow in the sunlight—it was all too much. He wanted to step closer, to inspect every detail, to run his fingers along the edges. Better yet, he wanted to kneel and clean them with his tongue, to feel the rubber against his lips, to taste the faint dust that might have gathered on the surface.
The man shifted, lifting one foot and resting it on the wall. The sub’s heart raced as the sole of the Jordan 1 pressed against the brick, the rubber flexing slightly under the weight. He imagined what it would feel like to have that sole pressed against his face, the weight of the man’s foot pressing down on him. The thought sent a shiver through his body, his hands trembling at his sides. He wanted to serve the man, to worship his Jordans, to prove his devotion in any way he could. But he stayed frozen, his feet rooted to the ground, his mind torn between desire and shame.
As the sub stared, his gaze drifted upward, taking in the rest of the man. He was tall, his frame lean but strong, his jeans fitting snugly around his legs. For a moment, the sub’s eyes lingered on the man’s crotch, and a flicker of curiosity sparked in his mind. What lay beneath the fabric? The thought was fleeting but electric, sending a jolt of heat through him. He wanted to know, to see, to touch—but he quickly looked away, his face burning with embarrassment. What was wrong with him? Why was he like this?
The man stood suddenly, brushing off his jeans and adjusting his backpack. The sub’s heart sank as he realized the moment was slipping away. He wanted to call out, to beg the man to stay, to let him serve in some small way. But the words caught in his throat, and all he could do was watch as the man walked away, the Jordans gleaming with every step.
The sub stood there, his body trembling, his mind racing. He wanted to follow, to chase after the man and his perfect shoes, but he couldn’t move. The spell was broken, but the ache remained, a hollow longing that he couldn’t shake. He didn’t look back. He couldn’t. But as he disappeared into the crowd, one thing was certain: those Jordan 1 UNC Toes would haunt him for a long, long time.
