Monday, July 11, 2011


By Jimmy the Family Footstool

Hi. My name is Jimmy, I was born March 9, 1977 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 Lisa; age 10 when I was adopted and Ann; 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, white, green and dress).

When I grasped her huge size 12 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. She wiggled her toes in relief. 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. It was disgusting and I was on the verge of being nauseated. 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. Removing 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. It was very unbearable. She then commanded me to retrieve her athelete's foot cream and to rub it between her toes. Reluctantly I did so.

When the program finally started I quit rubbing but was instantly told to keep rubbing. As bad as this all was, it was intensified as my stepsisters (Ann and Lisa)were soon brought in on it. Both had humongous, fungus infested feet. Wanting the same treatment, my stepmom suggested that I rub their feet too. So they began peeling off their soggy wet gym shoes and socks. Then it got even worse. A corn-chippish foot odor filled the room. My dog even groaned! I couldn't believe anything smelled this bad. Ann wore a pair of gym socks with a weeks worth of wear (I could tell by the yellowish dirt stains and toe prints) while and my Lisa wore Sacony's without socks. I was in total shock!!! As punishment, my mom commanded me to lie across the floor while they used my face as a footstool. So here I was with my mom, my step-sisters getting ready to out there feet on my face. They did and of course Ann's were as hot by then as my moms and sister were. My moms feet were extremely smelly but not as much as Ann's though, but my Lisa's damn her feet smelled worse than moms and worse than Anns. Ann said "My god Lisa your feet smell like dead horses, how can he survive smelling your feet?" My sister said "These shoes are very old and they smell rotten plus I have worn them all day long without socks". My mom said "Lisa your little brother will never smell feet again after all of ours in his face, especially yours".

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.Ann and mom removed their feet from my face and forced my dog to start licking their retched feet. But my sister did not. She said "Jimmy you will never want to smell feet again after mine". I was getting really really sick at my stomach. I told my mom "ok ok ok, mom I won't smell feet ever again" I said told her I was getting really sick she said it is up to your sister. Then Lisa said " have you had enough little brother?". Spreading her toes constantly, all I could see was the toe jam oozing out between her toes. At that point, I was feeling really sick and and then I threw up right there on our living room floor. Lisa's feet made me throw up. Ann said "He has been smelling feet for the last 30 minutes, no wonder he got sick". My mom said "it was his sisters feet they are like rotten eggs. Let's get out of here". The rest of the program all I could smell were my step-mom's and my step-sister's salty feet. I never recovered from that evening. I had to smell Anns size 9's my moms size 12's and Lisa's very very potent size 10's that evening. I fell in love with my sisters feet and always would sneak and smell all of her shoes after she wore them, damn my face still smells to this day.

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. My life between 10-16 was an endless sea of feet.


  1. this is stupid. you are stupid. I feel stupider afte I having reading it.. oh ma god!?

  2. I was working and suddenly I visits your site frequently and recommended it to me to read also. The writing style is superior and the content is relevant. Thanks for the insight you provide the readers!
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  3. It was a good story but it changed halfway through.