You approach the tall shoes' soles and lay two hands on them. "Um.. Dad? ..What am I gonna, uh, polish them with?"
Your dad looks up from the papers he's reading, his brow furrowed seriously, and orders in no unclear terms: "You LICK THEM! I swear, Jack, the only thing you teenagers know how to do for yourselves is get into trouble. Now get to work cleaning my shoes for me like any grateful son would, and the next time you open your mouth I'd better see that tongue being swiped across my shoes."
If it weren't for the way your dad barked at you, you might have been inclined to argue. But now you're trembling pathetically, and you swipe hair out of your eyes, bringing your face right u[ to the huge wall that is your dad's shoe sole. The smell of dirt, dust and leather is strong. It could almost be a brick wall that you're about to lick, only the warmth of the man's huge feet emenates out of the big shoes and reminds you of exactly what you're doing.
As you stick your tongue out, close your eyes and force your face against the flat surface, a dozen thoughts run through your head.
What if Dad expects this kind of treatment even after your size is restored?? What if you're forced to get on your knees when you're in trouble, and lick your dad's shoes clean while he passively reads the newspaper and Wayne laughs at you so hard that you can never look him in the face again. What if your friends are there to see it happen? And, worst of all, what if your size never is restored? Your dad might lik ehaving control over you so much that he decides to keep you as more of an easily-intimidated pet than a son.
Your tongue slides over the surface of your dad's work shoe, picking up dirt, and other fragments of filth. You swallow it down, feeling the lump slide in your throat. You hadn't even noticed him watching you, and you're startled when he says in a calm, deep voice: "Good boy.. Keep it up, Jack."
You nod your head humbly and go back to licking, with the smell of Dad's leather shoes swimming around you. You realise, with a shock, that you were actually happy for a moment, when your dad just called you a 'good boy'. The thought that you're getting used to being patronised and ordered around so quickly scares you.. Are you on your way to becoming 'Daddy's little pet'?
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