I went to the local mall to run a few errands. I wandered around with my list in hand. I’m going to be needing a few things in couple of weeks and I didn’t want to do them last minute.
During my meanderings, I passed a large discount shoe store. I’m not big fan of shoe shopping. I find them absurdly expensive. I often resent the expense when I end up having to replace a pair. As I was passing this store I saw what seemed to be an entire aisle dedicated to abnormally tall boots. My god! Are those OTK boots?!?! Here in a mainstream shoe store?!?! I had to go in. There I found, after I picked my jaw up off the floor, one entire side of a not-inconsiderable aisle with nothing but fetish boots. Roughly half of of which were OTK.
Now, to be fair these were all pseudo-leather but (deargodImusthavethem) that only made them dangerously affordable. There were several groups of women handling these boots and laughing. Comments of the Who would wear such a thing? variety spewing from their lips. I found this ironic as I was trying to figure out how I could take at least three pair of them home. I stood there, fidgeting, chewing my lower lip raw, contemplating if it would bother me to be laughed at because I needed to try on at least one pair… and I wasn’t sure if I could stop at one.
I waited for the aisle to clear of most of its foot traffic and reached for my favorite pair. I wished myself invisible as I found a place to sit down. I opened the box and found … only one boot. OK fine so it must be the display. Nope, the display is a different size. No matter. I’ll probably hate them anyway. I don’t really do heels and these were at least three and a half inches, probably closer to four. I zip this thing onto my foot/calf and I’m in love. So in love that I don’t want to take it off.
I’m so enamored that I’ve now forgotten I’m wearing a fetish item. I’m not thinking. I only want the other boot. I need to wear them both. I’m now hop/skipping around – a probably four-inch heeled OTK boot on one foot, a sock on the other. I feel like Golem My Precious! Where is my Precious?! There are no sales people to be found. I go the the register and ask about my (yes, I’m already calling it my) other boot. I’m informed that boots of this style are a high-theft item. They will have to get the mate from the back.
Fine. I Golem my way back to my seat and wait. The clerk is gone for quite a while. The aisle is now nearly full of people crowding around the fetish section as if they had never seen boots before. How do you even walk in those?! Can you imagine? -insert scandalized laughter here- Of course, this is when the clerk shows up with Precious. I’ve come back to myself enough now to be embarrassed that I have one fetish boot on. I recognize I’m going to make a spectacle of myself if I don them both.
I sit there, right boot on, left boot in my lap, chewing my already raw lip, trying to decide if I can leave without knowing what I look like in these boots… corsetted under my tight, short-sleeved black sweater … my wide black belt … keys on the right … collar in full view. I have to know. I duck my head, my face on fire, doing my best not just to avoid eye contact with anyone but attempting to keep them out of my line of sight altogether. I slip on the left boot and can only get the zipper up half way … apparently it’s not only my left thigh that is much larger than my right.
I do some mucking about with my left pant leg and make the zipper work. OK Good … where’s the mirror? How are there no mirrors? I’m now mortified but I press onward. I take the path of least population to the register, drawing stares all the way. Excuse me, where might I find a mirror? … Oh Honey, they’re at the end of every aisle.. All the way in the back of the store. Well fuck! I’ve come this far. I’ll be damned if I don’t see it through.
I make my way back down the aisle through the pack of G-ma’s giggling over the fetish collection … until they see me coming. They sober up, after a moment or two of catching flies. They look as if they are waiting for the Earth to swallow them up. I consider joining them if such an orifice should appear. I locate a mirror … the only one available, at the end of the heavily populated (does no one stay home? Ever?) men’s department. Of COURSE it is!!
I have somehow acquired an audience. What is wrong with these people? Have they never seen OTK boots .. with drool-inducing, criss-crossed straps and scrumptious zippers? I am not about to miss a beat, though I do grit my teeth hard enough to make my jaw hurt. I stand in front of the mirror and proclaim the boots amazing. They aren’t even leather and I’m in lust over them. I now have enough of the male clientele watching me that I feel as if, at any minute, someone is going to break out wad of singles and ask for a lap dance. Has someone dipped these things in pheromones?
I head back to my seat. I don’t want to sit down. Sitting down means taking these off. I do that pacing walk that women do when they are trying to decide if they should take home a new pair of footwear. There is a woman in the aisle with me trying on a pair of ‘nilla boots. I feel her watching me. I fight against eye-contact. I last about sixty seconds. I glance at her. She smiles. You should get them. They look great on you. You look so slender. Geez, lady, hit me where I live, why don’t you?
I look good. Really good. I know I do. I know what buying these boots will mean. It will mean at least one less gift for LM for Christmas – at least one and probably closer to two or three. I also know that they aren’t great quality and won’t stand up to much play before they are destroyed.
I take them off and carefully pack them back up. I bring them to the register and let them know there is a complete pair of boots in the box so I didn’t want to leave them in the aisle. I leave without my boots and finish running my errands.