Okay, okay, the challenge was to write outside our comfort zone, and I tried it with fantasy and horror. Mystery wasn’t such a stretch as I have written a couple of murder stories. But this last week I’m beginning to think the draws for who does what genre are rigged. You wouldn’t do that, would you Carol?
Erotica? Give me a break. Sorry it's so long, I kind of got into it. LOL
Erotica: Fiction that deals with sex or sexual themes, generally in a more literary or serious way than the fiction seen in pornographic magazines..
A Shoe Story
Needing to update the shoe store window, he had to ask himself, how many ways could you display a pair of shoes?
Bored before he’d even begun, he glanced through the store window. The minute she walked out of the coffee shop, he was captivated. Her face was beautiful, framed by sable coloured hair that fell in waves down her back. She wore one of those skinny tops with the skinny straps that left her arms and shoulders bare. Tall, she had legs that seemed to go on forever, shown at their best in the short red skirt and matching red pointy toe sling backs. City, her clothes and manner said city.
With her drink in hand, she meandered between the wrought iron bistro tables crowded together on the sidewalk. The outdoor patio was new. Something the owners had added hoping to attract customers to sit and enjoy a cold beverage on a hot summer’s day.
She found a table to her liking in the corner, and sat, her back to the window, seemingly oblivious to the glances sent her way by people passing on the street. And who wouldn’t look? She was stunning.
He took his time with the display, paying more attention to the view across the street than to the one in front of him. He watched as her eyes scanned the window, finally connecting with his through the glass. She shook her head and gave him a look of disgust.
What was that all about? He saw her point a finger in his direction and looked at the plain brown brogue he was adding to the display. He held the shoe up and saw her mouth the word ‘no’.
He was intrigued, and couldn’t look away as she stretched one long shapely leg out in front of her. She reached down to touch her shoe and sat back, slowly drawing her hand up her leg in a sensuous caress.
He eyes opened wide and his mouth gaped as he watched, unaware he’d dropped the shoe he was holding. Then he laughed, and turned back into the store to select another pair of shoes and returned to the window. This time he held a python print sandal, with a 4 inch heel and criss-crossing ankle straps.
She nodded her approval, raised the glass of iced coffee and took the straw between her lips. He could see the slight movement in her mouth as she sucked on the straw, in her throat as she swallowed, her eyes holding his captive.
With the slightest hint of a smile she released the straw, her tongue licking away a lingering drop of coffee from her lips. In one fluid movement she stood, set the glass on the table and walked away. He was inspired, and suddenly decided the window display was going to get a whole new look.
Tuesday morning he stood in the window, fiddling with the display he’d left half done the day before. As he glanced across the street he saw her immediately, sitting in the same chair, drinking that same iced coffee.
Today it was a sleeveless top, tied at the waist, teasing him with a hint of skin when she moved. His eyes trailed down the expanse of leg to the wedge heeled denim sandals that matched the denim cut offs. “Who wears short shorts?” he murmured, the words to an old song immediately coming to mind. “She wears short shorts.”
Again, she seemed to stare across the street, maintaining eye contact, keeping his attention on her and her alone. She raised her hand and slowly undid the top two buttons of her blouse, spreading the collar wide, as if feeling the heat of the afternoon sun.
She picked up the glass of iced coffee, and tilting her head back, slowly rolled the cold glass across her neck. He swore he could see the drops of condensation transfer to her skin and drip down her chest to disappear between her very ample breasts. He knew it was impossible, his vision wasn’t that good, but his imagination was excellent.
As she had the day before, she set her glass on the table and strode off down the street, never looking back.
He was hooked plain and simple. The next morning he kept his face glued to the window at every opportunity, hoping she’d be back. Customer service be damned, he hurried his clients on their way, irritated that they were interfering with his watch at the window.
As he ushered his one and only customer out the door he saw her, the same air of mystery, the same chair, the same iced coffee. Today she wore some flirty kind of dress, a barely there kind of dress. Short and strapless, it was stark black, the only colour a red sash tied around the waist.
She smiled openly this time, and he knew he was grinning like a fool back at her. No window display, no glass between them today. He could feel the heat rising off the pavement, and with some embarrassment realized that was not all that was rising to the occasion. He was completely under her spell, enticed and enthralled.
He watched as she unwrapped the sash from her waist and placed it across the back of her neck, the ends hanging down in front. Her hands were in constant motion, pulling the ends of the scarf down on one side then the other, stroking across her breasts each time. He was hard, and so in lust, it took everything he had not to rush across the street.
Sitting, legs crossed, she tossed the scarf out, letting it drape across her ankle, and the black peep-toe pump dangling from her foot. Ever so slowly she gathered it back, sliding it up her leg. When she had it in her hands, she raised her arms to tie the sash about her head, holding that magnificent mane of hair off her face and neck. Fascinated, he watched her unencumbered breasts sway with the movement of her arms.
The spell was broken when a couple of kids raced ahead of their mom and into the store. They bumped into him, knocking him back to his senses. He turned to follow his customers into the store, and caught a glimpse of her feline smile as she walked away.
He’d been in a state of semi arousal since he’d first seen her on Monday. If he didn’t find some relief soon he was going to go out of his mind. The chair across the street remained empty all morning and he wondered if she’d be back. As he worked he ran through the names in his mental ‘black book’, wondering who he could call last minute. He couldn’t go another night like this. He’d even spring for dinner if it bought him some relief.
Just when he thought she was gone for good, he saw her. Dressed all in black, she wore ankle high boots, a short leather skirt and a bustier, her bosom rising over the top, barely contained. She was standing on the curb, hands fisted on her hips, legs apart, looking like some modern day Xena warrior.
He made his way to the door of the store, needing to see her with no glass to blur his vision. He was immediately hard, aware of nothing but her, his breathing ragged his heart pounding.
He watched as she waited for traffic to clear and boldly marched across the street to stand before him. She smiled and edged close, their bodies touching. “You’ve been waiting for me, haven’t you?” she said, her voice raspy and low. Sliding her hand between their bodies, she wrapped her fingers around his throbbing erection. “Ready and waiting?” she purred.
He couldn’t speak, couldn’t move.
With a quick shove, she pushed him back into the store, and laughed as she turned to close the door, turned the ‘Open” sign to ‘Closed’ and locked the door.
She grabbed hold of his tie and led him through the store to the backroom. Shoving him in a chair, she placed one booted foot in his crotch, applying gentle pressure.
“I have a bit of a foot fetish,” she admitted as she began to release the buttons of her bustier. “And I think you may just be the man to help me with my problem. Do you think you can make my feet happy?”
He took hold of her foot and slowly drew the inside zipper down, rubbing his hands over her ankle and caressing her foot as he pulled the boot off.
“Black leather, 4 inch stiletto heels, ankle strap Jimmy Choo’s,” he said and felt her tremble.
He thanked the shoe gods that new stock had been delivered only the day before. He watched her undo the last button that bared her breasts, at the same time he freed her other foot from the black boot.
He reached for the stilettos on the shelf, teasing, holding them just out of reach, and looked at her in question. She smiled and reached for the zipper of her skirt. “Anything, for you Jimmy.”
And to think he’d been bored with selling shoes, he thought, watching his now naked customer slip into the sexy designer shoes.
He just needed to find the right shoe, and match it with the right customer.
And when the shoe fits….