Duncan had been walking for what felt like hours. He kept thinking he should turn back, but the farther he went, the harder it was to convince himself to abandon whatever progress he'd made.
The first sign of civilization was an old dilapidated half pipe. It was covered in graffiti, badly weathered, and half overtaken by weeds. It looked like some local skater ruffians had used it a long time ago and left it to rot.
Duncan was sure he would see a building or a city street soon, but all he found was more and more disused skate equipment. It was laid out sparsely at first, but the farther he walked, the bigger and more impressive the equipment got. It was all around him now, stretching out for miles in every direction. There were random piles of snapped skateboards littered among huge ramps, enormous bowls, stairs, rails, spines and banks all crowded together and layered within the dense forest like a veritable skating jungle. It was like nothing he'd ever seen. He almost thought he could hear a hundred sets of skateboard wheels rolling around in the distance, but surely that had to be the persistent drone of insects or something…
The skate features had grown so dense now, there was no longer any clear path to follow; he'd have to start climbing and crawling over them to continue on, but while he was trying to decide on the best path forward, his leg brushed against a thin trip-wire that triggered an improvised alarm system. Metallic clanging and rattling sounds echoed through the tunnels and off the walls, followed by the distant hooting of teenage voices. Duncan's long-suppressed feeling of unease suddenly jumped to the forefront of his mind. He had tried to push it aside and rationalize it away for far too long, but now it was impossible to ignore; he was trespassing where he didn't belong and he had just gotten caught…
The distant shouting grew closer and closer. It was coming from almost every direction. The tubes around him reverberated with the menacing sounds of an approaching throng. He looked around frantically for a place to hide, but there was very little cover for a man his size. He was as conspicuous as a neon sign in a blackout. Just then a green-haired teenage boy popped out from behind one of the birch plywood barriers and looked right at Duncan.
"There he is! Chubbs is MINE!" He shouted.
Any doubt Duncan had that he was in serious trouble immediately vanished. He lurched around backwards and settled into a strained run through the stark, uneven terrain. He could hear more than a dozen skaters behind him emerging from the concrete jungle, each declaring their personal claim over the "fatsack" intruder, and even more skaters emerged in the distance to his left and right. Just on the edge of his vision he could clearly observe their effortless movements. They were airing over obstacles and maneuvering across towering verts like they were nothing. Some of the teens seemed to be holding back, acting more like spectators, but there was a definite minority of focused pursuers that were closing in on him like a wolf pack. It didn't take long for them to close in on him, and even Duncan's apologetic shouts and desperate cries to be left alone did nothing to slow them down. "I'm sorry! I got lost and I can't find my girlfriend! Please!"
One of the skaters was almost on top of him. He was wearing boat shoes with no socks and had a look of gleeful excitement and hunger.
"DUDE!" somebody shouted. "Somebody stop Captain Oxford! He's almost got him!"
Duncan turned to see a pack of skaters descend ruthlessly upon the boy and trip him up in any of seven different ways until he was lying on the ground.
"You know you're not allowed out here, Captain. Nobody wants more of your retarded boat shoes around!" They shouted in his face.
Just then, the hairs on the back of Duncan's neck pulsed with electric tension. Somebody was right on his heels, If he didn't act fast they were going to collide. He picked up as much speed as he could manage, pushing his underused body close to its limits, and dove at the last second into a wide gap between two ramps. He landed with a thud at the bottom of a grassy ditch and quickly glanced back up to see the young skater boy ollie across the gap, cursing that he'd blown his chance.
"You got him in the weeds Beanie!" One of the closer spectators cheered. "Take him out!"
The skater made a quick recovery using an aggressive kick turn and took renewed aim at Duncan's vulnerable position in the grassy trench. The rattling of the skater's wheels grew louder and higher pitched, betraying the boy's speed and distance, but there was no time to dwell on that threat because a sudden violent jolt from his side caught Duncan completely off guard. One hundred fifty pounds of teenage skater had landed on his shoulders and was clutching valiantly to stay attached, sending the spectators into a fit of supportive cheers.
"Oh shit, Rick. He's yours!" - "You got him, Rick." - "Nice one" - "Kick off your shoe!" - "That's it! Sock too!… Now go for the face!"
All of Duncan's efforts were consumed with trying to maintain his balance. Of course he wasn't going to let the kid stay on him, but he didn't want to force him off carelessly and risk severely injuring the guy, and the kid was struggling and flailing around so erratically, he couldn't really make sense of what was going on.
With a great deal of effort, the kid finally worked his left leg over Duncan's shoulder and clumsily placed his cool, naked foot against the man's face. Duncan couldn't believe what he was feeling. This kid was actually trying to stick his foot in his face?! The idea that he was in serious trouble for trespassing seemed ludicrous now. This was more like a hazing ritual. Everyone was egging the kid on and cheering for him to get the "geezer" to smell his foot. Duncan was deeply disgusted and personally enraged by their childish behavior. He thrashed his head from side to side with the firm intent to deny the kid any perceived sense of achievement, but after a few more violent adjustments and failed attempts, the boy finally got his toes to curl over Duncan's nose.
He tried to turn his head in any direction but his attacker had enough control to keep his toes planted firmly in place. His air reserves were nearly gone after so much physical effort, but there was no way he was going to go down like this… He held onto his breath and shut out the jeering crowd while he collected his thoughts… He had to get low; get the little brat onto the ground…
While he was thinking through his plan, he was already putting it into action. His two hundred sixty pound body slowly sank to its knees and gently caved into the grassy floor. Then he rolled on top of the kid who immediately lost purchase on his face and started to struggle to unpin himself from underneath the grown man's full weight. Duncan snatched the brief opportunity to twist away and make his retreat before the kid had much of a chance to right himself and cling back on, much to the crowd's displeasure.
"Dude, you had him!" - "Did he take a whiff?" - "He musta got a little…" - "Sucks, bro." - "No, I think he might've got him…?"
In the midst of the confusion, a tall skater with thick sideburns yelled down to Rick: "Hey, kid. Are you a trench-foot?"
"No." He replied with flat dejection.
"Looks like it's still on, boys!" He cheered.
With that, the entire crowd of pursuers immediately snapped back into action. They weren't just going to let Duncan go, and the little distance he'd won in the confusion wasn't going to amount to very much, considering the way the skaters could move on their boards. Duncan wasn't a violent person by nature, but he was really running out of options. If only he could get his hands on some kind of weapon, even if he just used it to threaten the crowd, he might have a chance to get away. He scanned the area for anything useful and caught sight of a pile of broken boards nearby. He hoisted himself out of the ditch and made a b-line for the nearest board.
Meanwhile, a shirtless skater listlessly coasted by. He was standing up straight, hands in pockets, feet firmly planted on his board. He just let his momentum carry him to his goal like some kind of Zen master… When he was just a few yards away, he stepped off his board and allowed it to continue rolling out of his control. Next, he took a smooth step out of his shoe and with another half-step, pinned the toe of his sock to the ground allowing him to step out of that too without even using his hands. Just then, the free-wheeling skateboard found its way under Duncan's legs and tripped him up, sending him sprawling onto the ground. The shirtless skater took that moment to drop his full weight onto Duncan's chest, knocking the wind right out of him.
The next thing Duncan felt was a soggy foot being smeared over his mouth; the big toe was splayed out wide so that it caught his nose like it was a wedge; the sight of a thin, hairy ankle filled his view. He didn't have a choice anymore. He had to breathe, he literally NEEDED to breathe, but despite his willingness, his lungs refused to respond after having had the wind knocked out of them. He was immobilized, and beaten; there was nothing he could do now but wait for the inevitable along with the rest of the spectators and endure the impending shame of his very public humiliation at the hands of the hazing throng…
It came as a bit of a surprise, the exact moment his lungs finally decided to allow themselves to draw in a new breath. The inrush was so forceful, he wasn't even sure he could smell anything at all, but as the humid air had a chance to percolate and settle into his nasal cavities, the true depth and impact of the scent slowly made itself known.
The strong odor had an indescribable mellowness to it that hung around for just a fleeting moment before fading away… Even if he hadn't been forced to, Duncan was almost certain he would have taken a second sniff voluntarily. The smell was so oddly complex, yet intimately familiar. With each breath it seemed to go in and out of focus, and in those brief flashes of focus, his brain exploded with clear recognition and deep feelings of satisfaction, only for the feelings to fade just as quickly… It seemed like no matter how many times he was reintroduced to that stink, he couldn't hold onto the memory. He had to subject himself to another whiff if he ever wanted to relive that brief moment of ecstasy, and he did want to… He had to… If he could just get one more good sniff, maybe he could piece together the strikingly familiar allure of that sublimely funky odor…
At this point Duncan was no longer aware of anything beyond the mighty thrall of skater foot stink, but the crowd was erupting in celebratory cheers all around him. Most of the boys were pulling out their cell phones to record the event.
"Nice one, Freenips!" - "That was insane, like, the best I've ever seen!" - "Congratulations, man." - "How many does that make?"
"Fourteen." He said with a slight smirk.
"Dang, you're a stud Freenips!" - "How many you got, Rick?"
"Shut up," the boy replied, running his fingers through the chubby spikes of his light blue hair. "I thought I had him; he would have been my first."
"That sux hard, bro." - "Yeah, you practically had him!" - "Hey look, he's starting to lick!"
It was true. In the midst of the revelry, Duncan had grabbed the skater's foot with both hands and began exploring the tender arch with his whole tongue. The taste was totally different from the smell, not at all pungent, but mild and salty, and no matter how much he drooled and lapped at the skin's surface, the flavor never diminished. His mind couldn't comprehend how that salty savor could persist so stubbornly, surely it should be dissolving away, but somehow it was so deeply embedded in the skin, such an innate part of the foot's essence, that it was simply inexhaustible.
"Yeah… All my boys are eager lickers". Freenips said with a cheeky grin. He was having the time of his life basking in the crowd's adulation, to say nothing of Duncan's increasingly sensual slobbering. He couldn't wait for him to start sucking his toes! In the meantime, he wrenched off his other shoe and peeled off the sock so he could give his helpless thrall yet another noose to hang himself by.
At this point, Duncan had lost a good forty pounds, but that fact was hidden by the way he had also shrunk from his initial 6'3" to 5'11". Also, it wasn't evident to anybody else, but Freenips could feel a drastic change in the texture of Duncan's face as the hair follicles thinned and receded. It had started out feeling like coarse sandpaper all over, but now the cheeks were almost completely smooth and the chin barely felt mossy.