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alien_ov@yahoo.com

===

RESPECTING MOTHER'S FEET

In high school and college, I lived alone in a townhouse with my mom.
She has a home office and mostly works mornings, so by the time I get
home from classes, she is usually stretched out on the living room
couch, relaxing and watching TV.

One afternoon there was a movie on cable I wanted to watch and asked
Mom if I could change the channel away from her program.

"No way," she scoffed.  "I'm in the middle of watching this."

"C'mon, please? I hardly ever get to watch any movies!" I wheedled.

"Okay," she sighed, "I will give you the remote control so you can
watch your movie, if in return you come sit over here and give me a
foot rub.  I was out and about in pumps all morning, and my feet
ache."

I glanced down at mom's feet; she was wearing her worn old dirty grimy
pink open-heeled house slippers on her bare feet, the same she wore
every afternoon and evening.  I gave Mom a puzzled look, shrugged my
shoulders and agreed to rub her feet.

I sat on the floor by one end of the couch and took off her slipper.
Her wide, fleshy size 9 feet were visibly moist and sweaty, and they
were STINKY.  I wasn't sure how I felt about the strong foot odor.

The movie came on but it was hard to concentrate with Mom's wide
sweaty footsoles so close to my face.  I diligently rubbed her
wrinkled arches and long fleshy toes.  Her feet really stank, it came
in waves sometimes when she would spread her toes or rub the sides of
her feet together.  Whenever my attention started to waver too much
from the foot massage, Mom would nonchalantly clear her throat and
wave her toes in time with the film's background music until I
returned my focus to rubbing her feet.  I rubbed her feet in silence
for over an hour before she got up to figure out what to do for
dinner.
 
A couple days later I came home and Mom was on the couch with her legs
stretched out.  I asked her to move her legs so I could sit there and
see the TV better.  She glanced down at her slippers.

"Smell my feet," she said, off-handedly, with a smug grin.

"What?" I balked.

"You heard me, I would like you to smell my feet.  I work long and
hard to provide you with a roof over your head, and furniture to lay
around on watching TV.  I'm tired of you being rude and inconsiderate.
I had a busy morning and I'm really enjoying stretching out on the
couch.  If you want me to move my legs, show me a little respect.
Smell my feet."  Mom was laughing as she spoke - she was mostly giving
me a hard time and playing around - but she also wasn't in any hurry
to move her legs.

"Go on, smell," she urged.  "They're not getting any fresher in these
slippers

And then, for whatever reason, without speaking, I went down on my
knees next to the couch, cradled Mom's wide bare heel in one hand,
removed her worn rubber-soled slipper, and smelled my mother's foot.
It didn't occur to me to just give them a symbolic sniff -- I straight
away pressed my nose up against the sole of her foot, my nose rubbing
into the sweaty groove between her first two toes, deeply inhaling the
full-on sharp cheesy smell of Mom's tired, sweaty feet.  It disgusted
and exhillerated me.  I wrinkled my nose and took deep breaths,
pressing my face close to her pale wrinkled soles, still damp and
sticky with bits of lint from the old slipper stuck to the curves of
her arches and the bottoms of her sweaty toes.  I think Mom was a
little surprised by my enthusiasm in obeying her order, but she did
not make any sign for me to stop.

"Do you want your Mother to rub her sweaty feet in your face?" she
teased, grinning a pleased, superior grin.  I blushed and whimpered
and nodded my face against her foot bottoms.  "Yes please," I mumbled.

And rub she did, wiping those wide, wrinkled, sweaty, smelly footsoles
and arches all over my cheeks, forehead, eyes, nose, and lips.  She
clenched and wiggled her toes, pressing the gaps between her toes
against my nose and urging me to sniff.

"That's a good boy, " she laughed.  "That's how to show respect to
your mother."

Since that day things have changed.  I give Mom lots of foot massages
- LOTS of them, as many as she wants.  Usually as soon as she hears me
step in the door she'll call out "Foot massage time!" and that's where
the next two hours are spent, before worrying about anything like
homework or dinner.

Mom has gotten very bossy about ordering me to smell her feet.  She
likes to do this at random, when I'm getting ready for class in the
morning, or eating a meal, or whatever -- I have to drop everything to
go down and smell Mom's feet.  They stink, too, and Mom knows it and
loves it.  "You know you like the smell, " she teases, "so you have no
right to complain" She has taken to wearing her rancid old leather
tennis shoes and hiking boots around the house during the day, always
without any socks, so that her feet will be extra ripe and smelly when
I get home in the afternoon.  Mom has not washed her feet with soap in
weeks.

Several nights a week Mom has me be her footwarmer when she sleeps; I
crawl down under the covers and she rests her fleshy bare soles
against my face all night.  I love waking up with Mom's smelly feet in
my face.