Autobiography of a Bootman and Trample Enthusiast


I grew up in a small town, in a largely rural area. This was coal-mining country. Most of the local residents saw little value in education since it would be of no use in digging coal out of the earth. I was always a geek growing up. I never had any friends, only playmates. From about the time that I was five years old, play always involved my getting beat up. This continued as long as I was in school, from grade school through high school.

When I was about ten years old, I got beat up by a bully who was a year or two older than me. When he had me down on the ground, he stepped on my chest to hold me down in the dirt. I really don't remember what kind of shoes he was wearing, but he worked in his father’s gas station so they were probably work boots.

About the time I was eleven, the same bully beat me up, this time with another boy watching and laughing. The bully told the other boy to step on my chest to hold me down, and the other boy stood on me instead. They both liked the effect that this had on me, and then the bully stepped on my face, pressing it down into the dirt. This time I clearly remember he was wearing work boots. They both thought this was hysterical. Later the same year, the same thing happened again, but this time, while the one boy was standing on my chest, the bully decided to piss in my face. He unzipped his pants, pulled out his cock, and let go with a hard, long stream of piss in my face. The other boy loved this, and then took his turn doing the same thing. This was a riot to them. The bully then stepped on my face again with his work boot, forcing my face down into the mud made from the dirt and their piss. Again, this was very funny to both of them, both laughing almost to the point of pain.

When this kind of thing happens to you, you get a reputation. Soon, other boys were beating me up, stepping and standing on me, and pissing in my face. They loved it. Everyone started calling me a fag. School was hell. At about the age of thirteen, I got the same routine with a new twist. Three boys, one wearing dirty, beat-up work boots and the other two wearing engineers, beat me up and knocked me down in the dirt. The one wearing work boots stood on my chest, the second pulled out his cock to piss in my face. Just as he started pissing, the third kicked me in the balls hard. As I yelled in pain, the guy pissing directed his stream of piss right in my mouth. The third guy then stomped on my balls and ground his boot into my groin. As I lay, moaning in pain, the second guy continued to piss in my open mouth. His piss had a pungent smell and a bitter taste. All of them were busting up laughing. The one that stomped on my balls and crushed them while the other bully was pissing in my mouth told me that his boots were steel-toed. He said that I was going to lie there, mouth open, while he and the third guy pissed in my mouth. He said that if I didn't he would either kick my nuts into my throat or stomp them out of my asshole. I was scared and did as I was told. Again, they all loved this.

Where and when I grew up, boys didn't get in trouble for beating someone up. Boys got in trouble for not defending themselves. Getting beat up could often lead to punishment by teachers or principals for being weak and cowardly. I was beginning to feel that I deserved the treatment I was getting from the other boys.

In the early spring of the same year, we had a warm spell, leading to the last of the snow melting and the ground thawing. When the ground freezes and the water in it expands, it breaks up the dirt. When the ground first thaws, it is very muddy. Three of the older boys grabbed me after school and dragged me out onto one of the ball fields. They beat the shit out of me and then threw me down into the mud. As one of them stepped on me, it left a big muddy footprint. This only inspired the others. They said I should be a fucking doormat; "let's wipe our boots on him". They stood on me and wiped their muddy boots on my chest, they wiped their muddy boots on my face. When one wiped his muddy boot on my crotch, he noticed I had an erection. I didn't even know what one was yet. He said to the others, "the faggots got a hard-on". This was only more inspiration; each of them had to wipe their muddy boots on my erection, making it only grow bigger. One of them took his very muddy boot, ground it into my face, and said something to the effect of "eat dirt faggot". I got more of the same old treatment; lie in the mud with my mouth open as each pissed into my mouth. Then I got more of the new treatment; wiping their muddy boots on my chest, face, and crotch. Then one of them got another idea. Lifting his boot out of the mud, he placed the heel on my chest and placed the sole over my mouth. "Kiss my boot faggot." When I didn't respond fast enough, he stepped down on my mouth, forcing mud between my lips. Again, "kiss my boot faggot". Scared, this time I obeyed. The next one took his turn, but he instructed, "Lick my boot faggot". As I was scared and another one was standing on my cock and balls with his muddy boots, I did as I was told. I was an object of much amusement that day.

I had to sneak in the basement door at home that day and clean up before my parents saw me. I was scared, filthy, ashamed, humiliated, and confused. I had gotten an erection during this abuse and I didn't know why. I did know that it felt good. I was coming into puberty. I was confused enough already and this only made things worse. Now, I not only believed that I deserved this treatment, but I was beginning to like it as well.

I got my first pair of work boots when I was about thirteen. I loved those boots. They made me feel powerful. For a while, I slept in them every night. Soon, I was wearing them to bed and masturbating. I would fantasize that I was the bully. Then one night as I lay in bed masturbating, I thought of how I was being treated by the other boys. I was surprised when my orgasm was particularly intense that night. I was getting more confused, more sexually aware, and it was all mixed up. When I fantasized about being stomped, kicked, trampled, used as a doormat, lying in the mud and having muddy boots wiped on me, kissing them, licking them, my orgasms were more intense. I was confused, but I liked it. Next, I was masturbating while kissing and licking my own work boots. Then I would put them back on and sleep in them.

I rode my bike everywhere. When they were building a new school in town, I watched them moving the dirt around with bulldozers and big dump trucks (Terex) I loved to watch the men operating this equipment. It was best after it had rained, the worksite would be muddy. I thought they looked masculine in their dirty, muddy work boots. By this time, all the bullies at school were wearing boots—work boots, engineers, loggers. I was getting very confused; I began thinking that the bullies looked masculine too. I didn't mind being beaten up, trampled, stomped, kicked, and used as a doormat. I was fantasizing about it, masturbating to fantasies about it, and it felt good. More confusion, but I didn't care as long as the orgasms were good. I not only felt that I deserved such treatment, but I also looked forward to it and I enjoyed it.

I don't want to leave the impression that I was used universally as a punching bag or doormat. I was not. Only six guys did this to me. It was never more than two, or rarely three, guys at a time and rarely the same group. Often it was only one. This was good since they seemed to spur one another's creativity. It was mainly a crime of opportunity.

At fourteen, I made a wonderful discovery while riding my bike—a played-out strip mine. Due to a loophole in the law, if a strip mine owner left equipment behind on the strip, he could say that he was not done mining and would not have to reclaim the land. This mine had wonderful abandoned heavy equipment on it. There was a huge Caterpillar D-9 bulldozer, a Terex earthmover, and a Terex mining dump truck. These Terex's tires were ten or twelve feet high and the bulldozer was gigantic. All of these were parked in a depression in the tailing pile. The tailing pile is where they pile all the dirt from the overlay that they strip off to get at the coal. Because they were all parked in a depression in the tailing pile it was always very muddy. I would stomp through and around the mud, and then pretend that I was operating the bulldozers and other equipment. I would get my boots as muddy as possible. I would then climb into the cabs of this equipment and stomp on the pedals, move the levers, pretend I was turning the steering wheel of the dump truck. I would stomp and kick the mud from my boots on the pedals so it would fall on the floor. Then I would stand, wipe and grind my boots into the mud, pretending that I was doing this to myself. I would get my boots incredibly muddy, mud on the tops of the toes, mud stuck and packed to the sides, heels, and soles of my boots. This yellow clay mud stuck wonderfully to my boots. I would eventually sit in the cabs of this equipment and masturbate while wearing my very muddy boots. If I blew my load on the floor, then I would stomp in it with my boots. I would also piss on my own boots.

Having started masturbating as I licked my work boots when they were clean, I now moved to masturbating as I licked and wiped my muddy boots on myself. I would lick them clean when they were covered in mud. I wiped them on me as well as licking them clean. I would fantasize that I could have magic powers and be two of myself, one of me wearing the muddy boots, wiping them on the other me and the other me lying under those boots, and being a doormat for myself.

I was forced to suck cock for the first time. A guy who was about two years older than me grabbed me and took me to a park that was seldom used. He pulled me over to a picnic table and told me I was going to suck his cock. This idea had never occurred to me. He said if I didn't, he was going to do more than just hurt me. I was scared. He had me sit on the ground by the picnic bench. He unzipped his jeans, pulled out his cock and balls, and sat down. He told me to lick his nuts. As I started licking his balls, he placed his boot in my crotch and started rubbing my cock. Then I remembered him. This was the guy who told everyone that I had an erection when I was being stomped in the mud. He told me to lick his dick. As I was licking his cock and balls, he was working my cock and balls in my jeans with his boot. He told me to take his dick in my mouth and to suck on it. As his erection grew, so did mine. I liked the musky smell of his balls, the salty, bitter taste of his balls. I liked having his cock in my mouth, although I didn't know why at the time. Later, I realized that I liked it because he was making me get hard with his boot, while I sucked his cock. When he came in my mouth, I was shocked. I had never done this before and didn't know what to do. I swallowed. He said, "Good, I like a boy that swallows". No one else ever found out about this. I kept waiting for it. I figured that all the guys would be told that I was a cocksucker and it would be just one more thing that I would have to do in humiliation. The guy never told anyone. I have never figured out why. But, he was the one that taught me how to suck cock. I sucked his cock and swallowed his cum many times.

I was a photographer in college and shot many sports events. This is when I started to be turned on by cleats. I would imagine lying in front of the benches and having the football players and soccer players stepping on, trampling and stomping me with their muddy cleats as they came on and off the bench.

While I was in college, I would go out at night and stomp around in the mud on soccer fields and baseball fields, getting my boots as muddy as possible. I would masturbate while doing this. I would walk back to the dorm and track muddy footprints down the carpets in the hallways and elevators. I would stomp the mud off my boots, wiping my muddy boots on the carpets and grinding the mud into the carpets as much as possible. In the mornings, I could see my muddy footprints in the carpets in the hallways. This always made my cock hard when I saw it. I also pissed in the elevators; I loved the urinal smell that the elevators acquired over time.

Having now been turned on by cleats, already stomping around at night on muddy soccer fields; I bought my own pair of cleats and started playing intramural soccer. I purchased the cleats that I did for the maximum amount of extreme violence that I could inflict on my chest, tits, and hands. I tested this out in the store by stepping on the backs and palms of my hands before choosing one pair. I liked playing soccer and I was good at it. My main interest in playing though was to get my cleats and myself as muddy as possible. This opened a completely new universe. Now I was able to lick soccer cleats clean, wipe them on my chest and grind them into my tits. This was new. Digging a cleat into my nipple, twisting and grinding it into my tit, and scraping it across my tit opened a whole new world for me. This introduced pain into my being a doormat. It was somewhat like the pain of getting beat up, but much better. The pain intensified the doormat experience and made my orgasms much more intense. It was exhilarating to masturbate, dig and grind a heel cleat into my tit while licking and eating the mud from the cleats on the sole.

When the Frye campus boots became popular while I was in college, I really went nuts. I loved those boots and fantasized about licking them and being trampled by them. I did manage to get my hands stepped on by them a couple of times.

Oh, what fantasies I had. I didn't care, as long as I was stomped and trampled with either boots or cleats. I wanted to lick the mud from boots and cleats and be a doormat. I wanted men to wipe their boots on me and grind lugged boot soles or cleats into my chest. I guess this kind of gets back to the bully thing—a power transfer. I didn't think about it, I just wanted to be under those boots and cleats—licking them, being trampled by them, having them wiped on me as their doormat.

It wasn't all fantasy—I did get to fulfill my desires occasionally.

For much of my life, I dreamed of being under other mens' boots. I had such a strong physical, sexual attraction to boots that I thought people would know I was a boot fetishist just by seeing me wear boots in public. At that time I was ashamed of my fetish because I thought it outrageously deviant, hence I didn't want others to see the outward manifestation of that fetish by my own wearing of boots.

This began to change around 1995 as I went online with CompuServe. As an IT professional I had a need for the tech forums on CompuServe, then not available anywhere else. But I found more than just computer forums on CompuServe. I found the Usenet newsgroups on CompuServe. I found that there were newsgroups devoted to, among other things, gays, bisexuals, leather, BDSM, watersports, CBT, and, most importantly, BOOTS! This was a revelation to me. Not only did I find that others were turned on by boots, but they were open about it, even proud of it. I was not the only one attracted to people wearing boots. I was not the only one turned on by wearing boots. This was liberating for me. I started to wear my boots out of the house, to the store, around town, and eventually even to work. This is also when I began to expand my own collection of boots. I began buying boots that just turned me on. These included loggers, engineers, mountaineering boots (hiking boots on steroids), lineman's boots, rangers, L.L. Bean boots, tactical boots, combat boots. I had owned 1 pair of combat boots and 1 pair of engineers up until this time. Now my collection expanded to 16 pairs of loggers, 3 pairs of combat boots, 5 pairs of engineers, 2 pairs of leather mountaineering boots, 4 pairs of hiking boots, 2 pairs of L.L. Bean boots, 2 pairs of Timberlands, rangers, wellies, and a pair of wildland firefighting boots. More and more I was buying boots that turned me on, that I thought looked hot and that I was wearing. By 2002 I was only wearing boots, I gave up wearing trainers, tennis shoes, sandals, etc. Today I ONLY wear boots, all day, every day, for all occasions.

I like boots that are working boots. Real boots, worn by real men and women, doing real work and getting real dirty. This is why I own so many pairs of loggers. I take good care of my boots, oil them twice a year, but I am not afraid to get them dirty. Good boots provide good protection for one's feet and take them wherever they need to go, no matter how nasty the environment is. Whatever the conditions, I plow right through getting my boots dirty in the process.

In time, I learned that there are Top men interested in trampling and bootlicking. Some men, especially leather men, love to have their boots licked. They like to stomp and trample other men with their boots. This is what eventually led me to leather bars. What a revelation that was. Here were men who were unafraid to be seen in public wearing leather jackets, leather pants, leather chaps, and wonderful boots outside and inside their jeans. This was a place where men were comfortable in boots. This was a place that men wearing studded dog collars and wristbands that said: "submissive" were comfortable. This was a place that men were excited to have another man lick their boots. At first, I was back to my adolescence, being under another guy's boots and enjoying it. It was the power transfer again. It was doubly exciting to do this in public in front of other men. I found men that would trample and stand on me at the bar. Again, I was in heaven.

Then an epiphany, I found that men wanted to lick my boots in the bar. Suddenly I found myself in the Top role—and I liked it. Now I was back to my adolescence again, but now I was the one having a man lick my boots; I was the one stepping on a guy and trampling him. I was the one with the power. It felt good! I had always loved boots from the day I bought my first pair, and I had always preferred “manly” boots. I bought a new pair of boots about every year—loggers, engineers, lineman's, rangers, hiking, mountaineering. Just about every pair of boots I bought had Vibram lugged soles and steel toes. These were the boots that I sought out, heavy, heavy-duty, hard-working boots—powerful boots. I loved wearing these boots, they made me feel strong and powerful. These boots had a common, blue-collar look to them. I had been wearing them, and jerking off with them, for years. Now I had found men that appreciated and respected the power and authority of these boots. These men recognized my power and authority as the wearer of these boots. I like having my boots licked! I jerk off wearing my boots and fantasizing about a man kneeling before me and licking my boots. Now I can be the one to piss on a man and in another man’s mouth then expect him to lick my splattered piss from my boots.

So, eventually, I made the journey from a bullied child to a man fully confident and comfortable with his own masculinity and sexuality. Today I am 50/50, I trample and I am trampled. In my professional life, I have successfully managed or lead teams of hundreds of people. Today I can bring that confidence to the bedroom. I can focus that level of attention on the one man before me, servicing me and my boots. However, I have been in the bottom role and can appreciate the sub’s space and mind. I think I am the better Top for having grown into it from the bottom.

I am an insatiable boot hound. I love wearing boots, I love seeing others wearing boots. I especially like playing with other bootmen wearing boots that they honestly get dirty doing real work.

I sucked cock and drank piss to be a doormat and bootlicker for men wearing muddy boots. Eventually, I made several boot buddies at leather bars or on online sites such as Recon who are into muddy boots and having their muddy boots licked and wiping their muddy boots on me. I get to play with someone every 2 to 6 weeks. I also get to attend weekend play parties where I can serve all the boots, muddy boots, that I want.

Mat MacGregor

Mat MacGregor

4 Stories & Blogs posts