Without warning, the sweat-slicked sandal beneath you begins to buck and jerk at the whim of Jen’s toes. Disoriented by the random, violent motion, you do nothing to prevent being slammed into her waiting foot.
For a moment you’re pressed between the relatively unyielding foam of the insole and the plush, clammy underside of Jen’s foot. You sink into the rubbery flesh and are immediately plastered by its thin coating of drying sweat. When the sandal retreats, your body remains stuck to the ceiling of footskin for a moment before you peel away.
The sandal bucks beneath you once again, and the trial repeats itself. This time, you are pressed into Jen’s sole much less intensely. The mercy is lost on you; by now you’ve processed the otherworldly smell and taste. It is a confusing cocktail of salty, bitter, and sour, assaulting your senses on many fronts.
You’re spared your next meeting with the titanic sole of Jen’s foot, and are instead met by her reaching fingers. Each appendage is twice as long as your body, further driving home your insignificance. The enormous hand warps around your starkly fragile twig of a body and lifts it up at a dizzying speed.
You stop moving and close your eyes, waiting for your head to clear. When it finally does, you look up to see the Jen’s wide-eyed face, framed by her obsidian hair, and animated by a newfound curiosity.
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