It's difficult for me to remember my previous life. I can barely open my eyes. Nothing interesting to see anyway. All my memories are nothing but pain, suffocating pain and the smell. Sometime almost imperceptible, sometime a powerful stench but constantly present, permeating my surroundings and my body. I don't think I will ever come out alive from this nightmare but if I would probably I would have this smell for the rest of my life.

My legs and arms are tightly bound to the surface where I lie. I can still move my head, trying to figure out if is night or day in the outer world. But is just an habit, a reflex to remember I can still control a small part of my existence. The torture I'm enduring every day follows an excruciating pattern with small variants.

The sounds are muffled. I feel the texture under my back vibrating because the light traffic in the near street. I ear my light breath and my joints squealing, trying to return in place before the next day begins. But over all those sounds there is a low rumbling. Rhythmic, haunting my uneasy sleep. Like a predator breathing. I've learned to listen and understand any variation of this sound. For now it seems fine, I can permit my body to relax again.

Probably this will be my last day. My miserable existence will end and it's a comfortable thought. Only I would really like to write my own memories before my death. Again I'm rising my head, the night seems still young. I can't see too much though. After my sore body the floor continues for about three meters and then start rising. The surface is textile, red and the outside is out of my sight. I let my lungs to breath deeply, despite the smell. I remember when I loved this smell. Nylon and female foot. My old passion is now my worst nightmare. It's quite ironic how it happened. I can't say if by accident or by purpose. But some time ago I was free. I want to remember that time before the end. Yes, when I was still a man, before being confined in a smelly woman's slipper. Before becoming my aunt's living insole.

As far as I can remember I was constantly fascinated by the female feet. I had some experiences with my mom's slippers and heels when I was a child. Growing up I found the thought of sniffing my own mother's feet not nice and my attentions were directed on my mom's sisters. One in particular captured my fantasies. She was statuesque, blonde hairs, blue eyes. Constantly well manicured nails and of course, terrific legs and feet with long toenails, encased in beautiful nylons. She had many high heel shoes she wore at any time. Her name was Lynn, but everyone called her Blondie. I started visiting her at any occasion when I was 12. Helping my aunt at home when I was off from school and taking the occasion to slip in the bathroom and sniff her beautiful shoes. Sometime I stayed for dinner watching a movie on the sofa. One of this evening my aunt without knowing stretched her legs and kicked me on my nuts. I almost felt no pain because the pleasure of having her foot on my lap. Trying to hide my hard I grabbed her feet and started massaging them. Since then every day I massaged my aunt's feet. Until the day my entire world was turned upside down.