I stared at the spot where the boots weren't. Quite clearly there were no boots on the circular stand. I had a fairly clear idea of what they looked like - calf-high, with chunky heels and a slight platform - but since there was nothing on the stand they had to be the result of an overactive imagination. Had I been anywhere other than where I was, I would have left it at that and walked away, scratching my head in confusion.
A few years ago, when I was a student doing research into goblins and other mystical subterranea, I stumbled across a magic shop. Not one of those tricks-for-kids places, but a real magic shop of the sort you hear about sometimes in stories but can only ever find by accident. This one was in Cockburn Street in Edinburgh's Old Town, ironically - and perhaps not entirely coincidentally - next to a modern touristy witchcraft shop selling crystals and dream catchers and the like.
Cockburn Street winds down from the Royal Mile to the station, and Edinburgh was at its sunniest and most festive. The were crowds of people milling about, enjoying the entertainments of the Fringe, relaxing in and around the pubs, and fighting for space in the shops, and yet there was this one particular shop that no one paid any attention to. In truth, I almost walked past it myself, unseeing, but a brush of something, a sense of the ancient, startled me and brought me to a halt.
It was fairly nondescript from the outside, the shop window being narrow and dark, and the shop door wooden and strangely forbidding, despite the sign in the window that read, "Open." I dared to open it, and stepped into the cool, shadowy interior.
Cool, but not cold, and not too dark either once my eyes adjusted. It reminded me a lot of a second-hand bookshop, a place undisturbed by time and with its walls hidden by shelves of aging hardback books - although these were mostly large, thick tomes full of arcana and often written in languages I did not recognise. Like in the shop next door, there were crystals for sale, but these were magnificent crystals, sapphires and fire opals, and diamonds that quite inexplicably reflected starlight. I held in my hands gemstones that would put the Crown Jewels to shame, and shuddered to think what they would cost. My soul, perhaps.
And then there were the boots. The boots that I couldn't see. But when I reached out to touch them, feeling more than a little foolish, my fingers touched soft leather, and wooden heels.
Invisible boots...
"Why don't you try them on?"
I gave a cry of surprise and spun round to find myself facing the old man. He had been sleeping in an armchair in the corner the whole time I had been in the shop, and I hadn't even been sure he was alive. He looked a hundred years old - he could easily have been two or three hundred years old, from the look of him - but his eyes, open now, were bright with intelligence.
"Hi," I said, with more confidence than I felt. "How much is this?" I showed him the book I had found with the curious title, "Cowe."
He glanced at it, and shrugged. "Fifty."
I winced. It was all the cash I had on me, and somehow I doubted the shop accepted credit cards. "Then I certainly can't afford the boots," I said with a wistful sigh.
He took my money and packed the book in a paper bag, handing it to me. "Try them on," he said. "I'm sure we can come to some arrangement."
What exactly he had in mind, I had no idea, but those invisible boots were fascinating. It's one thing to research magic, quite another to be confronted with something that was clearly impossible. And it wouldn't hurt to try them, would it? "Okay," I said, and slipped out of my sandals.
The boots eased onto my feet easily, feeling both firm and comfortable. It made me wonder what the point was of invisible clothing, and I remembered the tale of the Emperor's new clothes, but then I winked out of existence, suddenly no more visible than the boots. All that was left of me was my dress and handbag floating in midair. "Oh," I said.
There was a tall mirror nearby - a magic mirror, for all I knew - and I walked over and stood in front of it, searching for myself. I was there, and yet not-there. I dropped my handbag and pulled my dress off, so that nothing could be seen of me. I was an invisible girl.
An invisible naked girl. A very aroused invisible naked girl. Butterflies of excitement swirled within me as I stared at the apparently empty space where I stood. "Wow," I said.
I looked through myself at the shopkeeper who had walked up behind me and who was in the process of discarding his clothing, revealing a withered body that was little more than skin and bone. Skin, bone, and a sizeable erection that pressed suddenly against my cheeks. I moaned with a sudden, inexplicable lust and pressed back against that hard flesh.
"I haven't had a woman in years," he said. "Give yourself to me now, and you may take the boots."
Right at that very moment, the only thing I wanted was his cock. Inside me. I didn't care about the boots, I didn't care about the old man, I only cared about having that cock inside me. I reached down and guided him to my pussy and between my lips, even bending over to allow him to penetrate me properly.
Such a hazy, lustful need I have seldom experienced. He thrust into me with enthusiasm and was soon pounding me with a force and sheer energy that was astonishing in one so old. On some level I was aware that he didn't have a condom - and I never have vaginal sex without a condom - but I didn't care enough to stop. I needed to come. I needed him to come.
And all the way through I watched him in the mirror, his cock bending as it thrust again and again into my invisible flesh. I was not there. Only he was there, fucking the air with wild abandon. When he did come at last, I expected to see his cum jetting into the air and splashing onto the mirror, but instead it swirled about his cock like a messy cum-sleeve as I felt him pulsing victoriously inside me.
He withdrew at last, panting wearily, and the cum in my vagina faded slowly until there was nothing to be seen (though certainly not nothing to be felt).
The fire of my lust dissipated, leaving mostly confusion. "Why did I let you do that?" I asked.
Shaking with weariness, and seeming even older than before, he turned away from me and collected his clothes. "The boots are aphrodisiac," he said, so quietly I could barely hear his words. "They will arouse you and any who can smell you." He retreated to his chair in the corner. "Especially the first time..."
He had tricked me, of course. He had known he could have his way with me if I put the boots on. Not that I hadn't thoroughly enjoyed it, but it had left me feeling dirty - morally and physically.
As I tugged the boots off and returned to visibility, I argued with myself over whether to take the boots or not. Wouldn't giving him my body in exchange for the boots make me a prostitute? Then again, I would have fucked him with or without the offer of boots, so there was no need for him to have offered them to me.
Mind you, if I left them, he might use them to seduce some other poor innocent girl, so it would be wrong for me to leave them...
I popped the boots in the bag with the book, dressed quickly, and exited the sleepy shop for the vivid colours and everyday magic of the Festival City.
*
My lingering sense of shame, as much as anything else, kept me from wearing the boots again - except in secret in my bedroom on a few occasions. During these minor explorations, I discovered pockets in the boots, just big enough to keep keys and a bit of cash in, maybe even a few condoms, should I ever dare to wear the boots outside.
