Most days, Melinda passed the second-hand shop without even bothering to look in the window. A diorama of out-of-date dresses, threadbare chairs, and yellowing books, it was beneath notice for a female executive on the go, just another landmark between her stop and the office, between home and work and home again.
She only stopped because of the woman at the window. Pushed and pulled by the current of the after-five crowd heading home, her own long strides were brought short when she suddenly found herself nose-to-cheek with a handsome woman in her fifties, fogging up the window of "Previously Lu<3ed Stuff" like a kid at a toy display.
Melinda cleared her throat. No response.
"Excuse me," she said, a little louder than necessary. The other woman blinked once, twice, shook her head, and looked at Melinda. She flushed, stammered an apology, and vanished into the crowd. As the bodies of commuters swirled and eddied around her, Melinda glared disapprovingly at the nose-print on the glass. Nothing behind it seemed especially out of the ordinary: tall tarnished brass lamp with fading paisley shade; ratty rattan chair with matching ottoman; ragged-eared copy of "Valley of the Dolls" splayed open in the seat; and a pair of
pink, perfectly pink
heels on the ottoman, one perched atop the other. The bright slash of colour stood in stark contrast to the rest of the faded, yellowy offerings. They were taller than any shoes she owned, standing
dominating
on at least four inches of heel, with a big
sexy fun cute
bow flopping over the peep toe. Melinda shifted uncomfortably and looked down at her own serviceable
boooo-ring
black ballet flats. Good for
nothing
work, but definitely not
fun sexy cute
as flamboyant as the shoes in the window. Those were
perfect, perfectly pink
party shoes, weekend shoes
fuck-me heels
for girls who
know what they want
had the time and money to throw away. She shuffled her feet again, suddenly feeling every grain and particle of pavement through the thin soles of her flats, oblivious to the crowd swirling around her, to her hand prints on the plate glass.
"I wonder how much they are?"
* * *
Melinda sat on her bed, turning the shoe box over in her hands, feeling vaguely foolish. Where on earth was she going to wear these? She glanced at her open closet, surveying the wide array of black, beige, and grey fabrics hanging there. A single forgotten summer dress hung forlorn in the back, unworn, unloved and terribly out of style.
She ran her hand over the lid. "What was I thinking?" Her brow furrowed, trying to piece together how she had gotten from the storefront to the cash to the train to her car to home to here. It was all excited, blurry, unclear, like an early morning drive before fully waking up. She knew she'd gotten from point A to point B and all points inbetween, but...
What did they even look like?
She settled the box on her knees, and slid her hands around the edge of the lid, heart skipping.
Just a look. A quick one. They were her shoes, after all.
"Moooo-oooom! You home?" Melinda jumped and snapped the box shut again. Her face felt hot.
"In here, Jakey." She settled both hands over the box, crossed at the wrist. Moments later, the door popped open, admitting her lanky son.
"Mooo-ooom, how many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?"
"Sorry, sweetheart--"
"Or that."
"--honey pie--"
"Or that."
"--baby bear."
"Now you're doing it on purpose." He scowled, she pouted. They both laughed, completing the ritual. "What's in the box?"
"Oh, uh, nothing. Just something I picked up on the way home from work." Melinda tightened her grip on the shoebox.
"Looks like something. What is it?" He edged closer; she felt herself shrinking back. Why? Why shouldn't she
show him
her shoes?
"Jacob, I said it's nothing, and I meant it's nothing." Melinda trotted out her best "mom" voice.
He smirked. "Yeah? We'll see about that." He edged closer still.
"Jacob? Jake? Jakey? What are you doing? Jake!" His left hand shot out, fingers wiggling, and connected with her side, sending a giggly thrill through Melinda. Her fingers spasmed around the box-lid and her knees curled up as his right hand found her ribs on the other side. "Jake!" She laughed and kicked him in the thigh, pushing him away and sending the shoebox tumbling to the floor.
"See? I told you there was some..." his voice trailed off "...thing..." He stared. The
pink pink, perfectly pink
heels lay jumbled on the carpet. Jake's face turned
wonderfully adorably pink
and his eyes glazed over.
"See? I told you they were nothing, just a pair of
fuck me
shoes." Melinda uncurled on the bed. "I'm not even keeping them anyway. They're going right back on Monday."
He blinked, and gave her a stricken look. "Why? I mean, they look
hot sexy cute
nice. And way better than those old black ones."
"They don't go with anything I own for starters. Besides, I haven't worn real heels in years. I don't even know if I can stand up in them."
"Have you tried them on?" He went
down on his knees
and picked up her shoes, fingers sliding across the velvety material.
"No, I, uh, I haven't yet." Melinda felt her toes levering off one of her work shoes.
"You should. Just to um, make sure or something." He looked so
young adorable hot
flushed. Why? Melinda crossed one leg over the other, and pulled up the leg of her pants, exposing a dainty, bare ankle. She wiggled her toes. I should paint them
pink pink, perfectly pink
she thought idly.
"Well?" Jake's blush deepened from
wonderfully cute
pink to a full-on
sexy hot
red, and he took the proffered foot in hand.
"Ready?"
Melinda nodded, barely aware that she was holding her breath. His fingers trembled as he slid the shoe over his mother's foot.
As soon as her bare skin met the silky sole, an electric tingle shot through her spine, and she felt her nipples tightening underneath jacket, blouse, and bra. She exhaled, unable to stop herself from letting out a low moan. Looking down at her toes peeking out from underneath the floppy bow, she wiggled them again.
"Wooooow," she breathed. "They feel
exciting thrilling erotic
amazing! What do you think?"
Jake swallowed audibly. "They look
perfect
great! I think you should stand up, though. Walk around a bit."
"Good idea," she beamed down at him.
"First things first, though." Melinda flipped off her other
booo-ring
ballet flat, and bobbed her bare foot in his face. "If you don't mind, good
boy
sir." Jake licked his lips, and slid the second shoe onto her foot. His fingers lingered a moment longer than necessary on her ankle. He stayed put as she slowly rose from the bed, expecting one ankle or another to turn with the unfamiliar height.
Neither did. Melinda took a moment, pleasantly surprised to have found her balance with no help or adjustment. She looked down at her son, who stared
worshipped
up at her. She took a slow, careful step, then another, feet finding their own way, swinging naturally as pendulums, planting on the carpet one behind the other, hips finding a catwalk cadence all their own. The shoes were
perfect
weightless, cozy, comfortable. Melinda felt so tall, like a
goddess
model.
Turning on one four-inch heel, she saw Jake kneeling on the floor, staring at her feet, licking his lips. Arms akimbo, hips cocked, she posed for him.
"What do you think?"
"You're perfect." He said, distracted. "I mean, um, they're perfect. Great! You should totally keep 'em!"
She squealed like a girl. "You really think so?" She felt a tingling between her thighs, and had to consciously keep herself from rubbing them together.
"Yeah..." his voice trailed off again, and he stared openly. Melinda strutted over, bent at the waist, and kissed him on the forehead. Her lips buzzed. His skin was warm to the touch and slightly damp with a nervous sweat.
"Thank you, baby-bear. Now get out so I can get changed, and we can talk about supper, mkay?"
"'Kay mom." Jake quickly scrambled to his feet, and hurried back out, unmindful of the tent in his khakis. Melinda watched, unaware that she was staring until he'd scurried out. Her little boy was
hung and horny
growing up for sure. They'd have to have a talk soon to make sure he
knew his place
wasn't doing anything silly. She flexed her toes, and felt a sexy warmth radiate up from her feet.
"You guys are keepers."
* * *
Melinda squared her foot on the lid of the toilet, and wiggled her toes, inspecting her work. Diamond highlights in the pink polish caught the light and shimmered brightly. She unwrapped the towel around her hair and wiped the steam off the mirror over the sink. A long, hot, relaxing shower had been just the thing to wash away the week and this afternoon's weird nervous excitement. Also, the shower head had gotten a thorough test of its flexibility. Her thighs slid together, as she remembered with a delicious shiver.
