Billy dropped to one knee before the throne of Dad's easy chair. Dad began to smear Billy's young face with the sweaty, pungent sole of his outstretched foot. He stuck his big toe into one of Billy's nostrils. Humiliated, Billy half-heartedly swatted at the muscular man-foot, but to no avail; Dad laughed and put his wiggling toes into Billy's mouth. "Put my slippers on my feet, sissy boy," came Dad's gravelly, macho voice, "Stop trying to suck my feet and put 'em on. What kind of wimp do I have for a son?" Billy managed to break his mouth free of the stinky foot and put the blue slipper over it, taking note of his own saliva glistening on Dad's toes. Billy felt ashamed. He knew what was coming next.
