You look down at the options and bite your lip, niether appealing to you. You look down at your mom's pumps, remembering your first trip in them, her massive foot tapping to music while you bounce against her arch. And then your eyes traveled to the loafers, which took you back to when your dad sat in his office, his shoes off and mighty socked feet massaging you into the carpet under the ball of his sole.
You sit their quietly, unable to answer, when you dad's bare feet pad along to the door. "Why not my shoes, honey? You had it last."
It?
"Aw, okay!" She gives you a little kiss, her massive lips almost sucking you in, and then, with a wink, she drops you down onto the sole of the loafers. You slip onto your back, the sole still slightly moist. Panicking, you stand to run, making a dash to the end of the shoe.
"Oh no you don't, son." Your dad says, his bare foot slipping into the shoe, pushing over you. You fall against the warm flesh, ending up with your head under the space between your dad's big toe and the next, and the rest off your small body under his next to toes. He curls them ontop of you, wedging you up under them. "Ok dear, we are all set." And with that, the walking began.
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