Jennifer sat in the coffee house, waiting. Her hands kept touching the cup in front of her or her hair - reflexively adjusting it, stealing glances at herself in the floor to ceiling window by her table. Men walked by with furtive glances. This was new. She got her share of attention – early thirties, slim, pale blue eyes, and shoulder length auburn hair just like she wore in her early twenties. But something was different in these looks, and not just in their frequency. She smiled to herself. She knew why. Her eyes traveled to her crossed legs and the knee high boots she wore. Soft black leather gleaming in the light. A long, pointy toe and stiletto 4" heels. Never had she worn anything like this before, usually adorning her feet in sensible, low heeled shoes. But she felt, finally, like herself in these boots. As if something dormant had come alive when she finally put them on. Something had come alive. A desire or, more precisely, desires.
Things denied. Like when she found herself staring at her junior high algebra teacher's fashion boots. She would feel something stir. A longing. But it was wrong. Why? She couldn't talk about this. Not with her friends. Not in her conservative group of affluent teens. It was more than admiration of this woman. At night, in her bed, she would try to dispel the thoughts. The boots, the long legs of her teacher. The need felt between her legs. But this wasn't the first. No, she knew that. Even at age six, home from school early, she would play dress up. She didn't know why. She would steal into her mother's closet, slip on her hose and clumsily put on her go-go boots. Then some lipstick. Parade in front of the mirror. Her mother laughed once, when she found her. How cute honey. Yes, she was cute, but why did she choose the boots? Years passed. New interests and suppressed memories. When she grew up with her friends, the fashions came and went. Usually preppy. L.L. Bean clones. Athletic boyfriends. To be part of her crowd, she'd make the scornful comments about girls who dressed trashy in tall heels, leather.
She grew serious with a guy in college. He would perfunctorily perform his sexually duties. She would spread her legs. She tried to ask him about his fantasies. Nothing. But school, career, interests filled her mind.
Never married. A series of boyfriends. Her early thirties came with the blink of an eye. She needed change. Life was changing around her. Those long suppressed desires came back. The fashions of the day reverting to the bell-bottoms and go go boots. And then, the stiletto boots in style. A far cry from the flat bottom riding boot style of the Reagan era. Yes, this was it. Sitting on the subway, reading Vogue. Her eyes were riveted to the page. Tall, leather boots with high heels. Charles David boots. She tore the page out and put it in her briefcase. At night she would take it out, especially when stressed out from a long day. After one relaxing bath, she surveyed the graceful lines of the model. Her creamy, white legs against the gorgeous leather. Warmth spread in her loins. She daydreamed.
Yes, she could see it now. The model coming towards her with a knowing smile. I know what you want. What? I know what you want. Give into it baby. Here, touch them. I know you what you want. You want these boots, you want me. No…it wasn't true, she didn't want her, did she? Ohhh..the feeling surged within her. Yes, it was true, she wanted her. She wanted the boots, she wanted this lovely woman, too. She reached down to caress herself. Her soft fingers slipping her clit between middle and index. Up, down. Looking at her hands. Her nails glistening with her wetness. Slowly, she brought them to her mouth, licking. That's it. She would be bad. She could be. She would lick this woman, and rub herself on her boots. She could hold on no longer. Yessss. Her body convulsed with pleasure. I know what you want, the voice went on. You want me, you want these boots.
Shame after orgasm. But later, the desire returned. This couldn't go on. This is what I want. I should feel no shame. Shouldn't I?
The next day she was walking past the boutique. Many times she passed it before, but as with a mind of their own her legs went to her to the entrance. She walked in. The smell of leather in the air. Elegant, high heeled, stylish shoes. Boots. She slowly walked around. There they are. Her hands nervously picked up the nearly 20" tall boot. Her hands caressed the long heel. A voice broke her reverie.
"Can I help you with anything?"
She turned, and blushed.
"Umm, yes, I was interested in these."
Nervously, she put the boot down.
The striking brunette saleswoman smiled.
"The are nice, aren't they. The stiletto boot is hot this season. Would you like to try them on?"
"Yes, please."
She felt her heart pound. Would she notice how I feel about these boots? Would I wear my desires on my sleeve?
"What size?"
"Eight and a half."
The woman returned with the long white box with the Charles David logo type written along the top.
The boots held in the woman's long finger-nailed hands, taking the tissue taken out. Slowly, Jennifer extended her foot in the supple leather. It cradles her calves. Zipper griping the leather to her legs just below the knee. Ohhh. The wetness came. She could barely breath. Could the saleswoman smell her?
She stood and walked slowly.
"You don't wear heels often, do you?"
She blushed.
"No, I'm afraid I don't."
"You should, they flatter you."
The brunette's eyes caught hers. Taking her in. Oh my god, is she checking me out?
"Oh, um, thanks."
"Put your weight on your toes. That's how you walk in heels."
She tried. Yes, it was easier. She grew more confident. She strode about the store. Looking, no, admiring herself in the mirror. So wicked. That was the word. She felt wicked and desired and empowered. She turned back towards the saleswoman.
"Do they fit okay, let me check them." The brunette reached out with her long, manicured fingers to touch the toe area of the boot. Her hands lingered. She moved around Jennifer's ankles.
Mmm, yes, stroke the boots. Where did that thought come from? I cannot suppress it. She looked down at the saleswoman. They smiled at one another.
"Perfect. I think they suit you. You could really pull this look off. It works for you."
"I love them. I'll take them."
The brunette smiled again.
"Would you like to wear your boots out, or should I box them for you?"
My boots. She liked the sound of that.
"Yes, I would."
They walked to the register, packing her worn, office shoes in the bag.
A pregnant pause. Jennifer couldn't move. Why? Someone speak.
The lovely saleswoman smiled again.
"Would you like to see anything else?"
Her heart quickened. She reached to take the credit receipt from her. Hands touched. Electric.
"Umm, I don't think so. Actually, I don't know."
