The Shoe Salesman and the Beauty

A woman’s foot is the most gorgeous thing in the world. In fact, I consider it the basis of all human endeavors. Yeah, I have a kink but it doesn’t hurt anybody.

Let’s start with this. I work in a shoe store. One day this woman came in. Not well-dressed, not very pretty. Her practical loafers with their poly soles were so down at the heel, it was affecting her gait. It was obvious she didn’t have much money.

She’d seen some shoes in the window, could she try them on? “Of course,” I said, “that’s exactly what I’m here to help you with.” I flashed her my brightest salesman’s smile. She smiled back at me in a hopeful way.

She showed me the shoes she wanted to try on and I went into the storeroom and pulled her size. As I came back with the boxes, she was sitting there staring across the room at our display of dressy shoes.

I sat down on the fitting stool and put the boxes off to one side. “Shall we try these?”

“I’m not used to this service. I usually buy my shoes at Target but I was looking for something…I’m going to be on my feet all day in my new job.”

“Good for you! Congratulations.” I said as I lifted the top box and flipped back the tissue to reveal the shoes.

“It’s not such a big deal,” she said. “It’s just being a picker for Amazon and it’s just temporary but maybe I’ll get full time.”

“These have great arch support. See this cushiony insole?” I pressed the foam down and it sprang back up. She smiled and nodded.

When she slipped off her loafers, her socks were so worn they were just shy of having holes. They’d been washed so many times the Lycra was gone and they were baggy.

As she tried the shoes, I tried to get an impression of what her feet might look like. I squeezed the toe of the shoe to judge how much room there. Then I pressed my thumb and forefinger across the widest part of the ball of her foot.

“These seem a little tight. Do you want to try the next size up?”

“They feel good to me and won’t they stretch a little?”

“It won’t hurt to see if a half-size up works better. What kind of socks will you be wearing? Thicker socks might help if you’re on your feet all day, especially if you’re standing on concrete.”

“I will be. It’s this huge warehouse.”

I went back to the storeroom and pulled out the larger sizes of the shoes she’d tried on. And then I grabbed an eight and a half, black calf Elvira, the most beautiful high heel we had in stock. Italian-made, hand-crafted, the leather creamy as butter. Carrying the boxes back to her, I jabbed the cardboard corners into my side to take the edge off my anticipation.

I offered her one of the practical styles to try on. She slipped her feet in and I tightened the laces and tied them. She walked around in the shoes and said they felt okay. Then I opened the next box in the stack and flipped open the tissue.

“Oh, this box must be mismarked. These are heels. They would be totally useless for being on your feet all day.” I made a show of looking at the code numbers on the box, tipping it slightly towards her.

“Can I see?”

I briskly pulled back tissue and revealed the 7-inch heels with a delicate strap across the instep. At the heel, a stiff curve of leather held up another equally thin strap that secured the ankle with a tiny gold buckle. The barest of shoes, hardly there at all.

Her face lit up. She sat up straighter and she squeezed her shoulders together in a delightful way. “They’re beautiful!”

“Would you like to try them on?”

She glanced around to see if anyone was looking.

“It doesn’t cost anything,” I said. “And besides my boss is always telling me I’m supposed to sell up.”

“I wouldn’t have anywhere to wear them.”

“Maybe that will change. You never know. Slip your socks off. I’ll get some peds so you can try them on.”

I went to the counter and grabbed a couple beige footies. I handed them to her as I straddled the fitting stool, grabbed the right shoe and positioned it on the slanted surface between my knees.

I wondered why she was still wearing her socks. Was she hiding something? I’ve seen some hideous feet and I steeled myself for the reveal.

“My feet are always cold.” She said as she pulled off those dreadful socks.

I almost gasped out loud. This woman’s feet were absolutely smooth, her toes straight. No bunions. No not a corn or callous in sight! Her middle toe was in line with the four others, making a perfect arc, not sticking out like some obscene gesture. And her toenails! So perfectly smooth, with small, white moons peeking out from their cuticles. My heart raced and I began to sweat.

I had to reign myself in. I had to act nonchalant. I asked if she had just gotten a pedicure. She laughed and said, “No, are you kidding? I don’t have the time or money for that.”

Such natural feet! I held the right shoe firmly as she slid her foot in. It brushed ever so slightly against my thumbs sending a jolt through me and then I felt the weight of her foot as I cradled the shoe in my hand. I knew I couldn’t linger. I quickly grabbed the thin ankle strap and buckled it in place, the warmth of her skin tingling against my fingertips.

I know you’re wondering what my fetish has to do with the advance of humankind. I have this theory about my kink. I come from a long line of men like me. I’m talking about a long, long line.

Back in the day, before my student loans began to crush me, I was studying anthropology and was introduced to the Mitrochondrial Eve, the woman we are all descended from.

Eve stayed on my mind. How could we all be descended from just one woman and her daughters? What happened to all the other females and their daughters? Why was Eve so special?

Special. That seemed to be the key. While I sat there in those stuffy lecture halls, listening to instructors droning on, I had plenty of time to muse. Maybe Eve had feet that were special. Maybe they didn’t flex well, and maybe her toes didn’t grab well. Maybe she couldn’t climb trees as well as the others. Maybe Eve was a freak, an outcast in her group, reviled and picked on, the lowest in the pecking order without any chance of mating.

Then along came a guy like me, who looked at those stiff, ungainly feet and fell in love. I reasoned that it wasn’t a slow evolution, it had to be a leap.

I speculated that Eve’s foot was bound by ligaments that created the first transverse tarsal arch and the first medial longitudinal arch. It would be seem to be deformed by group standards. Not good for climbing, but those ligaments gave her flat foot and arch the ability to store and return energy. They also allowed her to push off without falling over, giving her the ability walk more than a few steps without using her knuckles.

Trying to be brisk and professional and not betray what that was swelling up inside me, I buckled the left shoe. The woman got up, tottered a bit as she got her balance. I thought for a moment I might have to catch her but then she squared her shoulders and sailed off across the room, literally on her tiptoes.

The shoes transformed her. Suddenly she was no longer careworn and down-trodden, she was elegant. She sashayed up to the low mirror, hiked up her pant legs and admired her gorgeous feet in those gorgeous shoes. She turned them this way and that.

The shoes were speaking to her--of the red carpet, of designer gowns and paparazzi.

She lingered there, admiring the shoes, letting her fantasies wash over her. I got up from my stool and moved closer to get a better angle on the mirror. I was enraptured by her graceful instep, her beautifully formed toes, the aching perfection of her arch. My heart was racing. Both of us, together, were focused on her exquisite feet.

Just as I was about to speak, she gave a deep sigh and then spun around to face me. Her smile was tinged with sadness. “Not today,” she said.

She turned back to the mirror and admired the shoes once more before executing a runway model turn and clomping back to her seat. I was in a daze. By the time I got back to my stool she had unbuckled the shoes and was handing them back to me. Then she began to slip on those flabby socks, hiding those magnificent feet from me again. It was like a knife in my heart.

I could feel tears welling up in my eyes. To cover, I picked up the utilitarian shoes she seemed most interested in. “So it’s just these.”

“Yup, I’ll take the eight and a halves.”

“Do you want to wear these home?” I pulled myself together as I fussed with boxes.

“No, actually I want to wear those home.” She laughed and pointed to the heels resting seductively in their tissue nest. For a crazy minute I thought about buying them for her but decided that she would definitely think that was creepy.

At the counter, she pulled out cash. I realized without plastic, I would never get to know her name.

“I could hold those heels for you for 24 hours.”

“You really are a good salesperson. Your boss should give you a raise.”

“Please tell him that. I’ve been trying to get a raise for months now.” I slid the shoebox into a bag and handed it across to her.

“What’s your name,” she asked, “I’ll give you a good review.”

“It’s Tim.”

“Thanks, Tim. You’ve been great.” She shuffled her purse and the bag into a comfortable carrying arrangement.

“If you have any trouble with the shoes, let us know.” She nodded then opened her hand and revealed two beige globs.

“Oh, what should I do with these?”

“Give them here, I’ll take care of them.”

She gave me a little wave as she went out the door. I didn’t know her name but at least she knew mine. She might ask for me again. I watched as she crossed the wide front window and then disappeared.

She really was a beauty.

Instead of throwing the peds away, I tucked them in my pocket.