The boytaur thing is definitely catching on in South Beach.
Hot weather is bringing boytaurs to the beach in many-legged droves. You’ve never seen so many flip-flops! Some of them knock around volleyballs with their wristfeet. Others lay out in the sun, multiple legs sprawled, rubbing tanning oil all over each other’s many-legged bodies with slow, intent wristfoot massages. Still others fool around in the water, aiming huge splash volleys at each other with their wristfeet, and then swimming quickly away with the coordinated kicks of multiple pairs of legs and the strokes of so many large, beautiful feet and wristfeet!
New boytaurs are joining in on the fun all the time, whether they’re changed by the sweet boytaur come of the many boytaurs already on the beach, or by any of the various boytaur dishes—and drinks—served by the seaside restaurants, cafes, and bars. It’s so cool to see two new boytaurfriends come, laughing and stumbling, out of a bar, supported only by each other (wristfooted arms around each other’s shoulders) and by their many new pairs of stumbling bare feet!
At night, you’ll see the boytaurs cruising the beach-side strip, like that Latin boytaur there in his red convertible, muscular and bare-chested, silver chain around his neck, one bulging, wristfooted arm hanging out over the door, the other wristfoot resting lazily on the steering wheel. Suddenly, his boytaurfriend is at the passenger side, planting his wristfeet on the door and catapulting his barefoot, four-legged body into the passenger seat with a powerful thump that rocks the car. Half a second later, he’s got the driver’s face held fast between his wristfeet and they’re kissing, deeply, as the driver, with one of his four feet planted firmly on the brake, wraps one wristfooted arm around his boytaurfriend’s back while running the other wristfoot gently down his friend’s chest and stomach, wristfoot toes seeking the contours of his pecs and abs.
At the clubs, the salsa dancing has begun, the infectious rhythm spreading through the boytaur crowds. One boytaur dances, barefoot and shirtless, his four bare feet moving in the rhythmic pattern that makes his two pairs of hips swing and sway in motion that heighten the sexuality of his entire muscular, four-legged body, as he runs his wristfeet up and down his torso, teasing his nipples with his wristfeet toes.
The main attraction of the evening is a performance by Ricky Martin, and the boytaur crowd goes wild when he appears on stage, throwing their wristfeet into the air, as they see his four bare feet peeking out from under the hems of his baggy, black four-legged pants. The energy is instantaneous as he grabs the microphone in his hands and begins to sing, his four feet moving rapidly as they carry his four-legged body in his rhythmic, sensual dance.
The many-legged crowd goes wild again when the song splits into harmony, and they realize that the harmony is being sung live—by Ricky Martin’s boytaur clone! He appears at the edge of the stage, barefoot with the same tight black shirt and baggy four-legged pants as his original, but with a headset rather than a microphone, leaving his large, tan, sexy wristfeet free, but for a second headset dangling from one wristfoot big toe. With a cry, the original boytaur Ricky discards his microphone with the start of the percussion breakdown.
After quickly donning the headset, the two boytaur Ricky clones begin to dance together, palms against wristfeet soles as all eight of their feet move to the driving rhythms of the band. The two boytaur Rickys roll the heads back to add the occasional laugh or shout to the ever growing crescendo of the band as they continue their four-and-four-footed dance, but most of the time their concentration is on their eight bare, floor-pounding feet. Then a roar goes up from the boytaur crowd as they see that the original boytaur Ricky’s hands are slowly becoming wristfeet to match those pressed against them, the bones and flesh lengthening and growing into the large, sensuous boytaur wristfeet. Then suddenly, the transformation is complete, the band reaches its climax, the two boytaur Rickys plant all eight of their feet firmly on the floor and grab each other’s faces with their wristfeet, pulling each other in for a deep kiss before suddenly spinning away on their many feet to both face the crowd, all smiles, to launch into the final verse.
The crowd goes wild for their sexy coordinated four-legged dance, aided by gesticulations with the wristfeet at the ends of their muscular arms. Then their harmony grows into a chorus as dozens of shirtless wristfooted boytaur Ricky Martin clones pour out on to the dance floor, all their bare feet slapping and pounding the floor… dozens upon dozens of bare boytaur feet, dancing long into the night.