Journal entry, August 17, 2002
It had been a long day. Because the mall was new, there were few customers, and the shoe store where I worked was at the end of a side corridor where few shoppers ventured. As closing time neared, I swept the floor, lost in thoughts of the football game and cool beers I would enjoy after work. As I swept near the entrance, I nearly ran into you. I jumped back, apologizing profusely.
"Are you closing?" you asked.
"Not as long as I can be of assistance," I replied, leaning the broom against a rack. I watched as you moved gracefully toward the display against the back wall. Your red hair flashed as you moved beneath each light fixture, drawing my attention to your every movement. You knew you were being watched, and I was sure that you added an extra wiggle here and there for my benefit. I appreciated the thoughtfulness.
As you browsed the display, I moved beside you in case you needed assistance. I stood near your elbow so I could discreetly observe your features without being intrusive. Your lovely hair shimmered with gleaming highlights. From where I stood I could tell you were smiling, probably quite pleased with yourself for the effect you were having on me. Your full breasts thrust forward beneath the form-fitting blouse that clung to every contour. Your long, trim legs stretched floor-ward below the hem of your stylishly short skirt. Your aroma reached my nostrils, immersing me in a mixture of perfume and sensual musk. I closed my eyes for a moment to enjoy the nearby warmth of your form and your luscious scent.
"I like these. Do you have them in my size?,"you asked, rousing me from my reverie. I glanced at your feet before going into the stock room to retrieve the style you requested. When I returned, you had taken a seat in one of the chairs at the back of the store facing the back wall.
Some women like trying shoes on without assistance, but I sensed that you wanted me to assist you. I knelt before you, glancing up into your green eyes and smiling briefly before I turned my attention to the fitting.
I grasped your left foot by the ankle, lifted it off the floor, and slid the new shoe easily onto your foot. You wiggled your toes, testing the fit, then stretched out your leg so that you could see how the shoe looked on your foot. When you did, your skirt shifted subtly up your leg, and you made no effort to adjust it. I took your other foot and put on the other shoe, but you made no effort to stand. Instead, you simply put your feet back on the floor and looked at me. I smiled, and you returned the smile, but you said nothing. An awkward moment passed, before I said, "If they do not feel right, perhaps we should try them without the stockings." I know that was a strange thing to suggest, but if you agreed, I knew it would provide an opening that might lead elsewhere. At this point I was still not sure of your intentions.
"You're the leg-spert," you said. A coy smile spread across your face and your eyes flashed as you delivered this pun. We shared a moment of laughter before returning to the task at hand. Instead of rising to remove your stocking, as I expected, you simply slid your skirt up slightly, and I could see that you were wearing a garter belt and stockings. Without hesitation, I moved my hands up under the edge of your skirt and released the stockings, first one leg, and then the other. As I did so, I noticed that you allowed your body to slip lower in the chair.