Ok this is a story of an unusual style but yes it may seem a bit unconscionable. However, I would like to stress my purpose for using this theme. For one, I do not in any way condone sexual molestation of children nor do I think incest is (by any standards) normal or healthy. The two primary reason's for me doing this theme are

1.) because the woman portrayed in this story is meant to resemble an ideal woman from the 50's (the suburban motherly type)

and

2.) to stress "natural" size differences and domination.

So having said that then I call on the reader to block out the image of his/her own mother and replace it with Lucile Ball from "I Love Lucy" or some other variant thereof. And if you do otherwise..I suggest you get help.

My name is Jimmy, I was born March 9, 1945 in Chicago, Illinois. My real parents abandoned me at birth but I was one of the lucky orphans who found a home before I turned 5. My new step-parents were a wonderful, young middle-class couple with already two adopted girls and a passion for family life. My step father, whose name was Ted Garner, was a big-shot insurance salesman (in other words scum---->that's not part of the story) who traveled a lot and my step mother, Lucy was a beautiful, red-hair, house-wife skilled in all of the arts of domesticity.

My first few years of "family-life" were fairly pleasant. My new step-sister's Jill; age 10 when I was adopted and Betty; age 8 took to having a new step-brother with little difficulty. We all lived in a nice yellow house in the suburbs, I started school at Washington Elementary and everything was peachy-keen. But then my step-father was offered a job in San Diego, Ca. and by the time I turned 8 we packed up and headed for the next suburb; Shadyside. Although, the neighborhood did not look much different than it had in Chicago there was still something strange and different about it. But that may just be because of what occurred there.

Allow me to account to you how my life changed after moving to Shadyside. With the new job my father spent less and less time at home sometimes going out for months at a time and only stopping in for no more than a week or so. This was beginning to become a hard-time for me as I watched all the other boys play catch in their front yards with their fathers and brothers while I stayed home with my two step sisters and mother. Having nothing else to do I began to withdraw into my room and read comics and books. My step-mother, concerned, began to speak with the other mothers in the neighborhood and despite repeated attempts to use the other boys to get me outside I just didn't feel like going. This was a bad choice for me because in the absence of a "Super-Husband Father figure" my step-mother began to rely solely on the advise of the screwy mothers of Shadyside.

One day the mothers came to a consensus (after reading that boys are stimulated to be boys through their olfactory senses) that I just needed to be exposed to smelly feet. Understanding that to have the other boys in the neighborhood have me smell their feet might make me seem abnormal in the eyes of my piers, my step-mother and the other mothers of Shadyside began to divvies subtle ways that I could make to smell their foot odor.

Now before I continue I think it pertinent to mention that despite their primped appearance, my step-mother, and those other "domestic engineers" of Shadyside were often on their feet all day wearing pumps and hose and so their feet could pack a powerful punch and match any hard-working man's in potency. Now having made the reader aware allow me to continue were I left off.

It began subtly and unbeknownst to me when my step-mother began to get me to so chores for her close to her feet. For instance, one day she was preparing dinner as she asked me to clean to baseboards by her feet. While down on my hands and knees below my step-mother I couldn't help but notice that her feet were perspiring so much in her pumps that there was wet sweat stains around the opening edges. I soon began to get subtle whiffs of a vinegar-like odor off and on as I wiped the baseboards. As I moved down the way to do the baseboards my step-mother would follow me and I would continue to get faint whiffs of that same salty, vinegar odor which began to be mixed with the smell of the meatloaf she was preparing up top. While down there I commented to my stepmom that the meatloaf smelled good. Thinking that I was not smelling her feet my step-mom slipped off her pumps right by where my face was and a waft of salty air passed under my nostrils giving them a slight tingle. Having caught such a potent smell in my nose I slowly turned my head away as my step mom pushed her pumps under my chin with her foot. With the pumps in my way I had a hard time getting the details of the baseboard so I moved them aside. My step-mother told me sternly though,

"put those back where hey were I want them by my feet so I can slip them on in case I need to go into the pantry".

"But mom", I replied, "there in my way".

To which she suggested that I get my face in closer to the boards so I wont have strain trying to reach. Well, this brought my face closer in to her shoes and the smell was a little heady, but as long as I put my face to the side I was alright. Finally after having finished I got up and requested that I be excused to the bathroom. My step-mom backed up, took a look and told me that I had missed a spot. When I inquired as to where she pointed her foot to a certain area that looked fine to me (and indeed was). And so I responded "I don't see any spots...where". To which my step-mother ordered that I look closer. As I inched my head closer to where her toes were pointing she continued to order me close and closer until me nose was nearly touching the tip of her big toe. The smell of her feet was now becoming a bit too acrid and my nose twitched and I wanted to get up on account of the pungent odor but with every attempt to move my head away my step mother said..."keep your face there till you see the spot." Of course there was no spot and my face could have stayed next to her smelly stockinged foot forever, but I finally agreed that I had seen a spot and wiped it clean, to which my stepmother moved her foot back onto the floor and slid her pumps to her feet and back on.

After having wiped the spot I could still smell a little bit of that vinegar odor deep in my nostrils but within a minute it went away. Although that want the first time I had smelled my stepmom's feet (for I had done so on occasion accidentally), it was the first time that I felt as though I was forced to smell them against my will. The second time occurred later on that week. After a long day of house chores, errands and preparing dinner, my step-mother, step-sisters and I all sat in the living room to watch a special new two-hour program on the television. To my chagrin my step-sister both go the davenport and my mother, of course took her chair and because my father was so rarely home did not have a chair leaving me to sit on the floor. A few minutes before the show started during the pre-show commercials my step mother rested her feet up on the foot rest and asked me if to do a favor for her. "Jimmy, do me a favor and take of my shoes and rub my feet for a little while will you please they're aching so bad". Although I knew her feet were bound to smell I really had no choice and because I didn't want to be sent to my room I complied. That day my mother was wearing her old black smelly pumps (she only had 4 pair...black, white, green and dress).

When I grasped her huge foot in my little hands I could feel the heat that they emitted and began to detect faintly her distinct vinegar-like foot odor. As I slipped off the first shoe a wave of heat and acrid stench filled the air space around where I sat. I turned my head from the source of the odor when my step-mother...eyeing my actions carefully ordered me to keep my face centered on what I was doing. So with a crinkled nose I turned my face head-on into the salty smell and removed her second shoe releasing even more stench. Placing her pumps on the floor next to me I prepared my poor fingers for their smelly task bending them back to crack my knuckles. With the tips of my fingers I slowly touched my step-mom's hot, sweaty foot. The sticky wetness of her stocking soles made me all the more unwilling to touch her feet but just then my step-mom ordered me to rub her feet and not play with them. So with a hearty grasp I clutched her smelly feet with both hands and massaged away. The smell was awfully strong and made more so as I spread around the odor with my rubbing. When the program finally started I quit rubbing but was instantly told to keep rubbing. It was about mid-way into the program before I realized that all I had to do was breathe through my mouth. I was only able to do so for a few minutes at a time though because every so often my step-mother would tell me to close my mouth because it wasn't proper. So for the rest of the program all I could smell were my step-mom's salty feet.

The following events were only the beginning in a series that increased in intensity and frequency. By the time I was 11 my mother had begun to get the other mother's of Shadyside involved, at first subtly and later aggressively. By the time I was 13 it was well known that I was such a foot toy and many of the single, or often alone mothers of Shadyside, as well as my own step-mom began taking their aggressions out on my nose with their feet. As bad as this all was, it was intensified as my stepsisters were soon brought in on it. My life between 10-16 was an endless sea of feet.

In part II I will account to you...the reader.....the nature of this foot torture and how it evolved from a rehabilitation process to a neighborhood punishment. so stay tuned for part II...........

---write to ----------> Ivanhoe5@hotmail.com