Felix Baron - Look at Me!

He turned his head to give Constance’s feet a pitying glance that made her want to hide them. To Shirley, he continued, ‘For work or for play, today, my lovely?’

‘For play.’

He giggled. ‘Well, shoes are foreplay, in my opinion. What fun! New man?’

‘No. That’s why.’

‘Good strategy. Four inches again?’

‘And a half.’

‘Well, that’s progress at least. I’ll get you up to six inches one of these days, you mark my words.’

‘I’m sure that you will, but I don’t want to tower over all the men.’

‘There are many men that love to be towered over, Shirl. I’m tall but it hasn’t hindered me.’

‘They’re not my type, Percy.’

‘Different strokes.’

‘For sure,’ Shirley said. ‘Shoes for clubbing, please, Percy. I’ve got two new outfits, one in liquid gold, the other in a silver mesh.’

The strange man disappeared into the stacks.

Constance whispered, ‘What did you mean, “liquid gold”?’

‘It’s a fabric, very thin, very clingy, that looks like metal has been melted and poured all over you. It shows off your nips, and you can even see your bellybutton through it.’

‘Oh!’ Constance thought about that for a while, and about what it’d look like on Shirley, and on herself. Was she ready for something like that? Maybe not – not yet, anyway. Still, the thought of being seen in something so revealing made her feel a glow, down there. And if Jeff ever saw her in anything like that, he’d go crazy with desire, for sure.

Shirley put a finger on Constance’s knee. ‘Heels are very powerful. A woman can be old and fat and ugly but if her heels are high enough, men will still look at her that way.’

‘You’re kidding.’

‘I kid you not.’

The shoes that Percy brought for Shirley to try had heels as thin and cruel as nails. The soles were like paper. The uppers were interlocking teardrops, one gold, one silver, and with gold and silver cord ankle straps.

‘Are those strong enough to walk in?’ Constance asked.

Percy’s eyebrow lifted. ‘If you’re looking for “sturdy”, you should try army boots,’ he sneered.

Shirley tapped Constance’s wrist. ‘Apart from a little dancing, I won’t be on my feet much in these. That’s the whole point.’

Constance thought for a moment, then blushed.

Percy squatted at Shirley’s feet. He lifted her left foot almost reverently, slipped her shoe off and eased a sandal on. One hand supported her arch; the other adjusted the ankle strap. Each movement was a subtle caress. When he’d repeated his actions with her other foot, he lifted them both to plant a pair of gentle kisses on the taut bows of her insteps.

Constance looked away and then back. It felt as if she was spying on lovers in an intimate moment. But she’d thought he was one of those ‘gays’. It was very confusing.

Shirley told Percy, ‘These are perfect. Your taste is exquisite, as usual. Now see what you can find for my friend, will you?’

Constance gasped, ‘What?’

‘You’re transforming yourself, aren’t you? A butterfly emerging from her chrysalis? Let’s move the process along, shall we?’

‘I didn’t say anything about …’

‘You didn’t have to. One day you’re a frump, the next day you look kind of pretty, and you aren’t wearing a bra. Draw a line from one to the other, and what do we have?’

Constance folded a protective arm across her chest. ‘What?’

‘Eventually, a very cute little sexpot, that’s what.’

‘I don’t know …’

‘I do.’ Shirley turned to Percy. ‘Conservative, for this time, dearest. Black, I think, and three inches?’

‘Does she have her learner’s permit?’

‘ Percy! ’

‘Sorry.’ He scuttled back into the stacks. He returned with a shoebox. ‘Plain black pumps. What could be more conservative?’

Shirley told him, ‘Help the girl try them on, then.’

‘Love to, but …’ His disdainful look at Constance’s scuffed loafers spoke volumes.

She kicked them off.

‘Thanks, Shirley’s friend. It’s not that those dreadful things are actually contagious, but …’

‘You wouldn’t want to soil your hands on them,’ Constance finished for him.

He squatted. From down there, he might be able to look up her skirt. Constance clamped her knees together but he didn’t so much as glance upwards. His eyes were on her feet.

‘What cute little piggies,’ he said. ‘Poor things.’ He looked up into Constance’s eyes. ‘They deserve better of you, you know,’ he accused.

‘Sorry.’

‘There, there,’ he told her toes. ‘Percy will dress you up nicely. I’ll be right back.’ He took tissue paper from the shoebox and used it to pick Constance’s loafers up and carry them away. There was the sound of something being dropped into a waste bin before he returned.

Shirley whispered, ‘I know he’s a bit eccentric, but he does know his shoes.’

Constance replied, ‘I guess I have the choice of either buying a new pair or going back to the office in my stocking feet.’ She grinned to show that she wasn’t really upset. In fact, she was quite enjoying the strange man. She’d never before bought clothes from anyone who actually cared what she bought.

Percy returned and put the pumps onto Constance’s feet with as much tender care as if he’d been wrapping Fabergé eggs. As his fingertips slid across the sensitive skin under her arches, she felt an answering subtle twitch of the tendons that run beside the hollows high on the insides of her thighs. The vamps were cut just low enough to expose half-inches of toe cleavage.

‘Walk, please,’ he announced.

Would she stumble and disgrace herself?

Shirley advised, ‘Get your centre of gravity above the balls of your feet. When you walk, your toes go down first. Remember, one foot in front of the other.’

‘You can do it,’ Percy encouraged.

It was like having a cheering squad boosting her. Constance set her feet firmly, shifted forward and concentrated on the sensations her legs’ muscles were feeling. It felt good – an elegant tension that rippled up her limbs.

And she was erect.

Constance took a short step, then another. Emboldened, she made the next one longer and stumbled but caught herself.

‘You’re doing fine,’ Shirley told her.

‘And now you are become a veritable swan!’ Percy exclaimed. ‘Look at what those shoes have done to your legs in the mirror. Pull your skirt up a tiny bit, there’s a good girl.’

Blushing with pleasure, Constance pinched the fabric just above her knees and lifted her skirt’s hem a few inches. In the mirror, her ankles had become more slender, her calves fuller. There were dimples in her knees and her thighs looked shapelier than she’d imagined them to be – not that she’d ever given much thought to what her thighs looked like.