It was her boots that I noticed first. I'd found a table to myself, away from the bar, and I had a habit of watching people. Not in a creepy way, people are just interesting and if you're by yourself at a bar there's really not a lot else to do, at least for someone with my lack of confidence. The boots were usually where I started looking at someone. I wish I could say it was because you could learn a lot from someone by their boots, but you can't, or at least I certainly can't. They were nice, I could tell that, with a slight heel and something that looked like proper leather. But the reason that's the first thing I saw was simply my habit of generally looking down for fear of making eye contact with someone. I saw more of her soon enough, as my gaze moved up her body. It was hard to tell in the dim light, but when I reached her face it seemed like she was looking right at me. I quickly turned my head back down to my drink. It was after a few seconds that I heard a voice over the chatter of the bar. It took me a further second to realise she was talking to me.
'Is this seat taken,' she said, taking the seat.
By the time I'd gathered myself enough to reply that it wasn't she'd already sat down and pulled the chair right in. She was quite good at small talk, and had a firm handshake. I think I ended up buying her a drink, maybe two. She seemed slightly bored by all of my stories, and never really laughed at my half-hearted jokes, but still she sat and talked to me. Perhaps I should have wondered why. I was halfway through an anecdote and she was halfway through a drink when she put it down interrupted me.
'Do you like boots?' she asked, 'you were looking at my boots.'
I was taken aback, 'not particularly,' I replied, 'I was looking at the floor, really. I didn't mean anything by it, honestly.'
'That's a shame,' she stated, 'come outside for a second.'
I didn't hesitate to follow her, still a little confused, and we stood side-by-side in the smoking area as she talked about the weather. Once we'd finished our drinks she turned to me. With her boots she stood slightly taller than me, and looking down on me. Up close her eyes were a piercing green, and she really was up close. I almost felt I shouldn't look away, I almost couldn't. In my peripheral vision I saw her hand extended for another handshake. I took it and then my memory is a little hazy. I remember knowing that I had to follow her, trailing a little behind, just watching those boots rhythmically pounding the pavement as I walked in lockstep, blind to anything else. One-two-one-two I followed along in silence.
Eventually the boots stopped walking, and I dutifully copied them. They stood still as I heard a distant jingling of keys and a click of a lock. The boots began again, beating their one-two rhythm onto a hardwood floor as I followed through the doorway. I vaguely remember hands grabbing me and pushing my body down into a chair as though I was a big unwieldy doll. Soon enough I had a glass of water in my hand and it felt like I was still at the bar, looking into my drink as I thought about taking another sip. After a minute I heard her speaking across the table from me and I perked back up, hanging on her every word. I answered when she asked where I lived, and listened carefully as she described the route back home from the bar. I thought it was strange at the time; I'd been to this bar plenty of times, so surely I would know the route back. Still, I listened, and soon enough she started her goodbyes and we got up to leave. As I headed for the door she called after me, in a tone that was almost mocking.
'Aren't you forgetting something?'
I turned and saw her holding a large shoebox. I was confused until she reminded me that it was the box I'd brought to the bar with me. I thanked her as we arranged to meet up again at the bar tomorrow night, and I stepped out into the night air.
The route home felt strangely unfamiliar, and it definitely took longer than normal. Perhaps I shouldn't have drunk quite so much. I read the words carefully written on the shoebox with marker 'UNIFORM'. I didn't even think it was strange. When I finally reached home it was much later than normal and I fell asleep almost instantly, dropping the shoebox at the bedside. I awoke early next morning, and went about my Saturday routine as normal, breakfast, shower, dress. It was a while before my eyes strayed to the shoebox from last night. As soon as I read the words I felt mortified; I wasn't wearing my uniform! Scrambling for the box it didn't occur to me that I didn't yet actually know what was in it. Soon enough I saw the black leather of two lace-up thigh-high boots. I put them on swiftly and efficiently before noticing the other item in the box, thrown in haphazardly, almost as an afterthought. I put it on, it was a plain nightdress, a little too small (like the boots), and the frilly bottom edge barely reached halfway down my thighs, but I felt much better knowing I was fully uniformed.
The rest of the day I clacked around the house with that same one-two rhythm. It just felt good to be wearing my uniform, I felt so smart, so disciplined. Soon enough the evening arrived and I was marching down the pavement back to the bar. The bartender looked bemused as he handed me my drink, and as I took my seat and started people-watching, I noticed they were watching back a lot more than usual. I didn't have time to think why before I heard her voice as she took her seat across from me. For some reason she was smiling slightly. She spent less time on small talk now, or at least it felt like it, and I was halfway through a story when she just got up and began to walk away. As I watched her walk away, the click clack of her boots cut through the murmur of the bar, drawing my eyes downwards. My gaze locked in place and all I remember is those boots swinging and the synchronised sound of heels on tarmac.
Soon enough I was sitting back at my table, with my glass of water, although the bar seemed quieter now. We were talking about my uniform. I went on about how it made me feel smart and disciplined, and she agreed that those were exactly the words she would choose. Before long she said she had to head off, standing up and offering a handshake goodbye. After that I can't recall much, at least not much that feels real. It was as though I was in a sort of dream. I remember her standing next to my chair, reaching down as I stared straight ahead. There was the sound of a zip and a crumpling of fabric and I felt my trousers bunched up around my uniform boots. I vaguely remember her whispering in my ear, and I hardly reacted when she took my cock out, slowly stroking it, bringing it to attention. The she would stop stroking, still pouring her words into my ear as it shrank back down. The dream continued, over and over, like the one-two click of my uniform boots.
We were sat back at our table, it turned out she didn't have to leave after all, and were still making small talk. Then suddenly her demeanour changed, she sat more upright, just for a moment, piercing me with those green eyes.
Her voice was, just for that moment, harsh and commanding, 'Attention!'
