This affliction of mine started when i was young. I sat in the floor alot at family gatherings. The gatherings were once a week, next door - at my grandmother's house. The men in my family, all of them cocky, arrogant, and ignorant, all had good looking very large feet. I dreamed desperately of being under them since they never paid attention at all to what they were stepping on. I had been placing things under the rugs for years to test my therory. Instead, they would just come right in - on top of whatever was under there, and give it the absolute flattening of a lifetime.
One Saturday, I was with my grandmother spending the weekend. She'd just gotten a phone call from my uncle saying that he needed to come use her washer and dryer since theirs was out. Of course she said yes, but that she needed to take a shower first - so I waited until she shut the bathroom door, and got immediately under the front door rug. I got as flat and as still as possible. It wasnt long till i heard the van door open. It was then I knew it was too late to chicken out - uncle was going to open this door and step on me, so I'd better get ready. And fast.
I heard his bare soles smack the concrete porch (he never wore shoes). Smack, smack, smack on the porch, then smack on the step. The door flew open. I saw his legs then watched as his soles, one by one, lifted and came soaring inside, then on top of me. I felt his heel first, then the sole as it spread out, then the pressure of all his weight spreading out upon me. I felt his toes dig into me as i laid completely still. As I'm getting squashed, I saw the other foot lift up and felt it crash on top of my head. As before, I felt the heel first, then the crushing, flattening power of a full weight crush.
Just like that he stepped down and off me, stomping into the hallway and sitting that bucket of clothes down. He then turned around and headed back towards me - this time he stepped down hard, with purpose and meaning. See, every time grandma put something under the rug to help counteract the sagging in the floor, my uncle made sure to let his feet enjoy it by standing on top of the rug, crushing whatever was beneath almost flat.
Today, that was probably going to be me. it usually takes about 3 hours to wash, dry, and fold laundry - and grandma was still in the shower as he finished a big footstep off of me and smack, smack, smack back to the van for the next load. Smack smack, open door, a full weight crush from both uncle's big soles, then off down the hallway with another basket, back toward me, crushing me flat as he stomps back down to the van, and then it starts all over again.
For 3 long loads of laundry, I quivered under that rug. Of course, it hardly moved at all. I dont know where she'd gotten this rug but it was big, heavy, and i couldnt move with it weighing so much on top of me. It kept me perfectly still and flatter than paper as he came back, shut the door, and just stood around while perched on my insides. Uncle pulled his phone out and started grinding his big soles into me, applying intense pressure with each rub.
I just knew I was close to becoming the very ground under this rug, and I probably wouldn't be found until grandma was dead and gone. To believe this is what my sick little mind wanted - to be underneath male feet, getting absolutely crushed beneath his size 10 male feet and almost 300 pounds of weight. The fact that he had no idea I was even there at grandma's, much less under his feet... he unknowingly paced up and down my body, then stood grinding his soles into my body and head. Every inch of me was tenderized beneath him.
I was starting to black out when grandma miraculously came out and told him to go load the first basket. He stepped off my head and then off my back with painful, slow rolling steps, walking into the kitchen and down the hallway. When I heard him loading the washer I breathed a deep sigh. And just as i thought I was going to be ok, he walked right back to the rug, full weight crushing me again and catching me off guard. What is his obsession with this damn rug?! He continued talking on the phone. When whomever he was talking to said something he didnt agree with, he would pick his sole up and slam it down on top of me! Fuck! Combined with the pressure from his weight, I'm suddenly feeling crushed flatter and struggling to breathe.
Grandma invited him to come sit down, and he did. For like a moment. I rested until I suddenly heard Uncle say, "It's in the van," before treading on me harshly yet again to go retreive whatever it was. The return trip was a painful trample as the sole of his foot came skidding roughly across my rug-covered face. Fuck, I was getting sore. Uncle just couldn't stay fucking down for long, hopping back up and stomping across the house to go switch the clothes into the dryer. His return trip bypassed the living room, in favor of standing on top of me to look out the window.
At the door, he starts stomping his feet softly, mumbling to himself "Something feels different." I try not to groan or scream, eyes watering, praying for him to get off. Uncle stood there before stepping off to plop on the couch, waiting for his clothes to dry. 20 long minutes passed, so my bones got some much needed recovery away from his 300 pounds and Size 10 soles. When the time came, he got up and stomped past me, the ground shaking tremendously with his weight as he walked to go retrieve his clothes.
Some time later, he stomped back toward the entrace with a heavy basket of dried clothes, plopping them down hard on my lower back beneath the rug. Ow. Back he comes to swoop that basket to his van, before coming back in with a crash landing of both feet on me. "Thanks for lettin' me use your washer," Uncle says, grinding his bare soles into the rug while standing at the door. Finally, it's almost over.
Just as he was about to leave, I hear another car door slam. Then flip flops. Great, who could this be? That's when I heard my cousin Chris's voice. He had great size 11s. Before I can react, I felt both of his big feet depress my head as Uncle trod down to my lower back then out the door. Chris just stands on me, one foot on my head, one on my back. Swaying back and forth and crushing the fuck out of me. But what could I do? Nothing but lay there and take it.
"Stretch your legs," grandma says. Gee thanks. He obediently stands in place. He'd been driving all day apparently. Chris's feet had much more power to them, and it felt as if I was being flattened, fused into the very carpet fibers I was hiding under. 3 hours under 300 pounds of uncle, and now how long do I have to survive under my cousin?
I felt like my head was going to explode before he finally stepped off the rug and went to sit at the couch. At this point, I just didn’t feel human anymore - more like a bug that’s been crushed and smashed beyond measure. I got mere minutes of rest, before I heard him stirring again. Fuck. "I need to get up, my back and legs are hurting..." Here he comes, walking back over to me - and once again, I'm under pressure. Sore, broken. Mangled, probably. He hugged grandma, and left, leaving me the parting gift of his final prints. I almost let a whimper escape. I laid there as grandma went to the bathroom. When the coast was clear, I crawled out, struggled onto my feet, and locked the door behind me.
Shower, before laying down. I felt like a trampled rug - and looked like one too.