Camping Trip

Linda sat on the couch, sipping at a glass of apple juice. She licked refreshing droplets from her lips as she set the glass back on the coffee table, beside a second, full glass and her walking boots. They were old and battered, flecks of tried mud scatted around them. Although they were the last thing that belonged on a coffee table, they had a purpose.

On cue, she heard descending footsteps.

“Almost packed and ready, kiddo? We’ve gotta set off soon if we want to hike around with the rest of the group for a bit before making camp. Tardiness isn’t something they’ve come to expect from us over the years.”

Eric looked anything but ready. And she doubted there was a rucksack filled to the brim with supplies waiting in his room, unlike hers on the floor at her bare feet.

Stood at the bottom of the stairs, he met her stare and grimaced.

“Look, Mom, we need to talk. I—”

“There’s no sense in talking from across the room, silly.” Linda patted the couch. “Come sit here, next to me. I’ve even poured you some chilled apple juice. I know how thirsty you get on hot days like this.”

“Thanks,” he said.

Linda watched patiently as her son downed the whole thing, resisting the ever-growing urge to grin. Ice cubes pinged off the bottom of the empty glass as he set it down, eyeing the misplaced boots with bemusement.

“So, there was something you wanted to tell me?”

He looked nervous. “Yeah. About the yearly camping trip. I… I’m not coming along this year.”

“I see.”

She waited for him to fill the silence with whatever excuses he’d prepared. It didn’t take long.

“Look, Mom, it’s summer and I want to spend it with my friends. Driving to fun places. Going to parties and having a blast. The guys were wanting to hit the beach tomorrow and there’s no way I can miss that.”

“We do this every year, Eric. Me and you. Won’t you reconsider? Hanging out with your friends can surely wait until next week, right?”

“No. I’ve made my decision. I’m not the little kid I was when we first started going.”

“It’s the last thing we still do together.”

“We can do something else! It’s not that I don’t want to hang out with you. I love you, Mom, I really do. But I don’t like going on this trip. The rest of the group are your friends and I have nothing in common with them. And I’m definitely too old to be sharing that tiny tent with you.”

She frowned and exhaled slowly through her nose. Lifting her arm, she peered at her watch and that frown turned into a half-smile.

“Sorry, but you’re coming with me and that’s final.”

“What? I’m an adult now. I don’t have to do what you want all the time. Obviously I feel bad if you’re upset and I’ll make it up to you, I promise, but you can’t make me go.”

“Actually, I can,” Linda said smugly.

“Ha! No you… you…” His brow furrowed and he stretched his jaw. “You… can’t…”

“Is everything okay there, kiddo?”

No response, though his lips did tremble at the attempt. She leaned over and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, her maternal smile unwavering. His eyes flicked to her, down to his body, then back to her and narrowed. The silent accusation made her chuckle.

“Have you ever heard of the shrinking serum?” Linda asked. “Tasteless, originally. Spiking cases involving the drug were a nightmare, bad enough that the company had to give every new batch a distinct, bitter flavour to warn unsuspecting victims. It just so happens that I had an old batch lying around.

“First it paralyses; a precursory effect. Then, between five and fifteen minutes later, the body finishes processing and it enters the bloodstream. That’s when the shrinking happens.”

The accusation in his eyes had given way to fear.

Linda adjusted how she was sat, lifting a foot from the floor and resting it on the opposing knee, sole facing up and toward Eric. Her hand on his shoulder moved to his head and gently tilted it down for a better view.

“Don’t you think I have a sexy foot?” She ran the tops of her fingers along the sole, wiping off any floor-dirt she’d picked up walking around. “I went at both of them with a pumice to get rid of most of the hard bits. There’s still some on my heels, granted, and a bunch of dry, flaky skin hiding between my toes, but I did the best I could to make them all lovely and soft, just for you.”

She scrunched her sole, causing the shallow wrinkles to deepen and multiply, then stretched, turning them back into nothing more than lines across the arch.

Chuckling, she changed her seating position again, turning sideways, scooting back and placing both feet in his lap. His face twisted as she raised the closest and hovered it inches away, toes wiggling.

“I know what you’re thinking. You’re wondering what the condition of my foot has to do with you. Well, kiddo, for the next five days and four night you’ll be getting very familiar with my feet. The majority of your time will be spent in my walking boots, pressed against my bare soles in hiking socks. We could have done this the easy way, Eric. Now we’re doing it the hard way. For you, that is. For me, I imagine it’ll be quite fun!”

She laughed and toyed with his vulnerable features, smushing the ball of her foot against his lips, jamming his nose between her toes and waving them in front of his eyes. They must have had some scent, because his nose wrinkled up in disgust.

“Are my feet stinky? I’ve barely done anything since showering, cheeky! If you want stinky, I’ll show you stinky.”

The relieved twitches on his paralysed, placid expression as Linda swung her feet out of his lap was highly amusing. She reached out and picked up one of her walking boots.

They’d seen plenty of wear and tear over the years of hiking and they showed it—both inside and outside. Her head instinctively turned away as it came close and her nose caught whiff of the heady stench. Unlike Eric, she didn’t stick to one big trip outdoors every year. She went on several, throughout all four seasons.

And the balled up socks stuffed inside were from a long walk at the start of the year, woolly and thick to combat the cold. Completely inappropriate for a summer stint, of course.

Linda grinned as she fished one out, feeling the sweat-crusted fibres reluctantly squish in her grasp.

She gave the sock a cautious sniff and wrenched away, gagging. It was a brutal odour, like it had been soaking in a fetid foot-swamp. That’s what I get for leaving sweaty socks in smelly boots, I guess. Although, she’d provided herself with the perfect way to make this week unforgettable for her wayward-wanting son. His pleading eyes did nothing to stop her pressing sock over his nose, making sure that the tip—the crustiest part—teased at his nostrils.

The whiny groan that slipped out in protest would have likely been a horrified scream if he’d been able to manage such a thing.

“See? That’s stinky. This nasty thing and its friend were soaking when I peeled them off all those months ago. I kinda forgot about them, so they’ve been stewing in my smelly old boots this whole time. Speaking of my smelly old boots…”

Linda picked up the same boot she’d stolen the socks from and placed the opening over Eric’s nose. He could breathe nothing other that the stale, bitter aroma of long-dried foot sweat.

“There we go, kiddo. Breathe it in. That’s probably a decade worth of my foot odour you’re currently smelling. Dozens and dozens of hikes. In winter I’d wear thick socks, like the one you’ve just sampling, and my feet would be nice and toasty despite the weather. In summer, they’d be pouring with sweat no matter what I did. I can’t imagine how much your poor nose is suffering right now. Even passing under my nose the smell was strong enough to make me gag. Over my face? I’d be crying. Oh, wait, looks like you already are!”

For a several agonising—to Eric—minutes she held it in place, laughing at the muted sounds of disgust he struggled to make. His eyes continued to water from the sheer magnitude of the odour.

Linda returned the boot back to the coffee table when Eric started to shrink. She watched him with an excited smile, her foot flexing of its own accord, eager to feel him underneath it. He ended up no larger than her big toe, naked and staring up at her from the middle of the couch cushion.

* * *

“Night, Linda!”

“Goodnight, guys. We really pushed ourselves today! Have we ever made it to the creek and back on the very first day before?” Linda asked the retiring couple.

“That’s all down to you, I’d say,” the man said with a smile. “I’ve never seen you with so much energy before.”

The woman laughed. “Yeah, where did that come from? Shame Eric isn’t here to see it.”

Linda pressed her boot against the ground, feeling Eric’s tiny body sink deeper into the ball of her foot. She grinned.

“A shame indeed. Maybe he’ll join us all next year.”

Once they had returned to their tent, Linda was left alone—with the exception of her shrunken son, anyway. Every other member of the camping group had gone to bed, vacating the folding chairs set up around the campfire. She pushed her booted feet closer, feeling the heat of the flames grow, travelling up through the rubber treads and slowly cooking her feet within. Her toes wiggled against the crusty tips of her socks. A day of ceaseless walking under the hot sun had produced enough sweat to revitalise the wool, and her toes were hard at work on the tips.

She felt a cruel satisfaction simply thinking about the current state of her feet. Sorry, kiddo, but it had to be done. After this you’ll realise how important it is to spend time with me. She bit her lip. Otherwise we’ll be doing this more often!

Half an hour later, the fire was dying and Linda’s hot boots were steadily cooling.

“Better call it a night,” she said quietly. “We’ve gotta be up earlier for another long day of walking tomorrow, kiddo.”

Eric couldn’t hear her, of course. That hadn’t stopped her whispering teases to him all day.

Linda poured half of the pre-emptively filled bucket over the fire to douse it, poked and stirred the blackened remnants with a long stick to expose any embers, then dumped the rest of the water over it. She kicked the ashes and charred splinters around to double check, then stomped over to her tent, exaggerating the steps she took on Eric, holding the point of pressure for a couple seconds longer than necessary.

Once the tent was zipped up she sat on the floor and placed a foot out in front—the one Eric was under—and removed her boot. She hooked a thumb into the opening of the sock and it soon followed, parting from the reddened, glistening skin underneath.

As it peeled past the ball, her tiny son was uncovered, partially embedded into the plump ball of her foot, disrupting the wrinkles all around. The moment cool air touched his pink, bare back he started struggling, although was unsuccessful in freeing himself from her hot sweaty sole.

The sweat-drenched sock fell limp once it cleared her toes, which flexed to flaunt their freedom.

Linda found it impossible to hold in her amusement any longer. She turned away, hand over her mouth, trying to keep the laughter quiet as to not disturb their fellow campers, though Eric surely heard her. It was the thought of her son that caused such a reaction, thinking about how she could barely stomach her bare foot—even whilst full-sized and half-turned away—yet he had no choice but to endure, pressed flush against the weeping pores.

“Come on, kiddo, keep wriggling! You can do it!”

Her verbal encouragement didn’t work.

Deviously, she extended a finger and placed the edge of her fingernail against him. Slowly she started trailing it around, wiggling ever-so-slightly, dishing out the most effective tickling she could given the size difference.

Eric’s struggles became feral as she tickled. He’s always been so sensitive. Poor thing. I bet this is pure torture for the little guy. Yet, he was still unable to free himself.

After a few minutes spent lazily tickling her stuck son, Linda rolled her eyes.

“Looks like I have to do everything for you. Where would you be without me, eh? All the things I do for you and all I get is abandoned.”

She pinched his head between her fingertips and peeled him away from the moist embrace of her reeking sole. The front side of him was soaked and the same shade of red as the bottom of her boot-cooked foot.

Placing him down on the floor, he immediately fell to his knees, pleading in a voice too quiet for her to hear.

“I’ll be honest, I can’t hear a word you’re saying. And, even if I could, it wouldn’t help. The antidote is all the way at home. So until we get back you’re stuck like that. Now, you’re going to need your energy for tomorrow. Today was an easy day. Come and get your dinner.”

Linda’s foot waited, resting on its side, the out-step bulged up in contact with the ground. The foot dwarfing her measly-sized son was relaxed, yet she was eager for his attention. It had been far too long since a tongue had serviced her feet, which was a luxury she’d coaxed out of many a desperate man in her younger years. Though, none had ever been so desperate as to do it with her feet in such a foul state.

“There’s plenty prepared. A three course meal! No-one else in the group gets such a treat, out here in the middle of nowhere. Nibble on my dry heel for your starter, lap at those countless sweaty wrinkles for your main, and for dessert…” Her toes were lazily parted, giving glimpses of what lurked in-between. She leaned in for a better look and had to recoil, blinking away tears at the pungent odour akin to sour cheese seeping out from the crevices. The pockets of dead skin had fused with toe-trapped sweat, creating a nasty gunk. Getting up close and personal with that was an experience she was willing to leave exclusively to Eric. “…fresh, delicious toe-jam.”

Obviously, he made no rush forward to begin. If he was hungry, he likely thought he’d be able to last a while longer and spare himself the disgusting meal.

He was wrong.

Linda only smiled gently at his hesitation, placing a thumb on her sole and pushing it along, soft skin rippling in its path. When she reached the ball she started circling it, manipulating the firm wrinkles as she saw fit.

“I won’t force you, of course. You’re still my son and I love you. Fortunately, there is another way to motivate you. Every time you disobey me is another day tiny and underfoot. Let’s start off with an extra week to really drive the point home. That means even when we get home you’ve another week of my massive stinky feet to deal with. How exciting!”

By now he seemingly understood that she couldn’t hear his pleas, for he didn’t bother with any. He stumbled over to her foot, tiny expression a mask of despair.

“Don’t look so glum. It’s only a foot. A big, sweaty foot, but a foot nonetheless. Don’t be such a big—sorry, little—baby.”

Linda watched her son finally reach her foot. He placed his hands on the warm sole, staring into the porous eyeful that lay before him, breathing in the strong odour. She bit her lip as he extended his tongue and started licking reluctantly.

I’m going to enjoy this camping trip, she thought, imagining what lay ahead. Eric, eating the dry skin from her heel like one of those hungry little fishes. Him climbing amongst her toes, sticking his head between them to slurp up all of today’s filth. Then, once he’d eaten, she’d toss him in the bottom of her sleeping bag for a night at her feet, ready for another day underfoot tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after, and the day after, and the day after…