SENSIBLE SHOES

     I am a shoe salesman.  I work at GERARD'S, which is a  small up scale
independant shoe store in west L.A.  We sell women's shoes, and, in order to
compete with the big stores we have to give the customers reasons to come in to
our store rather than going to the competition.  One of those reasons is our
policy of service to the customers.  The boss says, "Treat 'em like they just
bought a dozen pairs, whether they ever spend a dime or not."  That meant
measuring every foot, and helping them on and off with shoes, which means my
sitting on the low stool
in front of the ladies while they put their feet, one at a time on the slanted
surface between my knees.  Now my position, as opposed to the lady customer's
position, makes it almost impossible for me not to look up their skirts if they
are wearing skirts.  Personally I have no problem with that.  I like to look at
ladies panties with ladies still in them, but, I didn't figure it would be too
good for business to have the salesmen ogling the customers, so I tried hard to
look 'em in the eyes rather than in the panties.  Turns out I was wrong.  I
discovered that lots of the ladies expected me to look; were almost offended if
I didn't look.  Those that didn't want to show me their panties wore trousers.
     I discovered this was true through the observation of Arthur, my friend
and fellow salesman.  
    One day a lady wearing a nice pants suit came in.  She was no flirty young
girl, but she was hardly a crone either.  Her hair was long, ash blond, and
combed smooth.  It lay heavy and glistening on her shoulders in sharp contrast
to the dark blue of her suit top.  Art was busy with another customer so I
asked the lady if I could help her, making sure to smile my warmest, but least
threateningly male, smile.
     She looked right into my eyes and smiled back, her gray eyes warm and
frank.  "I'm looking for a descent looking pair of walking shoes," she said. 
Her voice was a throaty contralto
with a sexy hint of laughter in it.  
     "Certainly," I said.  "Athletic type walking shoes?"
     "No, I don't think so." she answered.  "Maybe. . ."  
     We discussed it a few moments then I seated her and measured her and began
bringing shoes.  She finally decided on a pair of black, soft leather shoes
that were like athletic shoes.
She was happy with what she bought and as I was ringing her up she smiled her
warm smile again.  For some reason that smile made me go all buttery inside and
I felt my maleness stir.       "You're very nice," she said.  "Thank you."
     I thanked her back and watched her hips sway gently as she left the store.
     "She'll be back," Art said.
     "Hope so.  She didn't even blink at the $200 those shoes cost.  I could
use a few dozen regular customers like her."
     "Not exactly what I mean," Art said.
     "Huh?  So what do you mean?"
     "I mean she'll be back to see you, sure as bread falls butter side down."
     "Ah Bullshit," I laughed.
     "Bullshit yourself,"  he said.  "Haven't you noticed how many of your
customers come back just to try on shoes?"
     "Oh hell, that is just women.  They like to buy shoes. I mean look at
Imelda Marcos.  She had thousands of pairs.  They come in to try 'em on and
maybe they buy and maybe they don't.  They do it for amusement."
     "Um hm, and because they like to have you wait on them."
     "Bullshit!"
     "OK, if you say so, but watch.  You get a lot of repeats, and a lot of 'em
come back wearing dresses.  Just mark what I'm saying to you here," he
insisted.
     I just looked at him, trying to figure if he was kidding. I thought he
was.  I mean after all, I'm no hunk.  I'm too tall, 6'5", too long in the arms
and legs, and my face is nothing to write home about.  I do work out and run to
keep the fat off me, and I try to stay clean and dress nice, but hell, Art did
that too, but he wasn't saying the women were coming back to see him.  He said
they were coming back to see me.
     "Ah bullshit," I said again.    
     Art shrugged and let the subject drop, but it didn't disappear from my
mind.
     Over the next several days I took note of who and what came into the
store, and who and what came in to see me.
     At first it seemed pretty much as I had thought.  Art and I split the
customers about evenly, and he sold about as many shoes as I did, but I did
notice that an awful lot of my customers did seem to be repeats, and an awful
lot of them seemed to be wearing skirts.  I didn't quite know how to handle
that. Did it mean they wanted me to look?
     It seemed as though they did, but I didn't want to start ogling them like
some damn teenager looking through a knot hole into the girls john, so I began
to carefully take note of what I was being shown.
     It was amazing!  I had always tried to keep my eyes on the customers faces
before, but I began glancing down more as I sat on my little stool.  I would
turn my eyes down between the upraised knees and see the satiny Vee of panties
above  stocking tops.  I was astounded that so many women of all ages were
wearing stockings that needed garters, or garter belts to keep them up.  I had
thought most women had gone to panty hose.  Now, don't get me wrong, not every
woman that opened her knees for me to see was wearing stockings and garters and
sexy panties, but a surprising number of them were.
     After I had looked down at what was being shown I would look up into the
ladies face and, without fail, she would be smiling with just the tiniest touch
of wicked amusement.  And none of them fit any profile.  They were young and
old and middle aged; they were white and black and brown and yellow; they were
skinny and fat and just right.  The only thing they had in common was that they
liked to come to GERARD'S Shoes to open their legs and show me their panties.
     So I looked.  I figured if it gave them some kind of thrill and made them
come back to try on shoes more, what could it hurt.  Besides I liked it. 
Especially the ones who went out of their way to show me something.
     One day a girl, and I mean a girl, about thirteen or fourteen and just
beginning to blossom into womanhood, came in.  She was tall and coltish with
long legs and that break-yourheart grace that most girls that age have.  Her
hair was black and shiny and straight, cut Prince Valiant style, and her eyes
were forest pool green.  She was lovely.  She was wearing jeans, tee shirt and
sneakers.
     I asked if I could help her.
     "I'm looking for a pair of pumps," she said.
     "OK," I said, seating her and moving my little stool in front of her. 
"Let's just get you measured."
     She looked at me rather oddly as she put her right foot up and let me
untie her sneaker and slip it off.
     "What color would you like?"  I asked as I measured her.
     "I'm not sure."
     We discussed it for a moment then I brought a pair of black patent leather
pumps out and slipped them on her.  She kept looking at me in that odd,
speculative way the whole time.
     At last she said she liked the style, but she need them in a green that
just had to match the outfit she was buying them for.  She would have to think
about it a little.
     I shrugged and smiled.  "Bring the outfit in and we'll match it
perfectly," I said as I helped her back on with her sneaker.
     "Maybe I will," she said, and left.
     A couple of hours later she was back, wearing an olive green mini-skirt
and gray high heels that showed off those coltish legs to perfection.  The
heels matched her long sleeved gray satin blouse that draped softly over and
between her firm, unconfined, uplifting, little titties.  Her nipples showed
through the shimmery material and it was sheer enough to showthat her aureoles
were crinkled with excitement.           
      "Very nice," I said, seating her.  I didn't go through measuring again. 
Instead I went to the back, held tight to one of the storage shelves, clenched
my teeth, and told myself,  and my hardening penis, FIFTEEN WILL GET YOU TWENTY
BOY!  LOOK BUT DON'T TOUCH!  Then I carried out four pairs of green shoes for
her to choose from.
     I sat myself on my little stool and she lifted her right foot so that I
could take off her shoe.  When she did she let her left knee fall open.    
     I did not pretend not to look.  I sent my eyes right up the opening to
find that she wasn't only bra-less, but panty less too.  She was wearing high
reach stockings and a garter belt, and that was all.  
     Her pussy did not have much hair on it yet.  There were some soft looking,
wispy curls on her mons, but there didn't seem to be any at all on the lips. 
My cock was throbbing and trying to crawl down my pants leg to get at it.
     I looked up into her face.  A little apprehension showed in her green eyes
and that made me smile.  
"Very nice indeed," I said and slipped a shoe onto her foot.
     Her not-quite-woman, but not-little-girl-either face beamed. "I'm glad you
like it," she said.  
     "Oh yes.  Definitly." 
     "It's wet," she said.
    "I can tell that from here," I said, and it was no lie.  The fleshy pink
outer lips of her pussy were being pushed open by her swelling coral inner
lips, and those were as shiny as if they had been oiled.
     "These are just a shade darker than your skirt," I said, trying to keep my
mind on business and off the micro-shocks of desire running from my heart to my
balls with a beat as regular as a clock's tick.
     She frowned; pretty, even with eyebrows drawn down.
     "The shoes," I said, dry mouthed and trying not to show it.
     "Oh," she said
     "Would you like to try another pair?"
     She hesitated a moment, still puzzled by what was going on, but then she
smiled and decided to play along.  "Let me walk around in these for a minute,"
she said putting her right foot down and lifting the left.  In changing feet
she rolled her hips a little and the mini-skirt slid a little higher up her
thighs.  I could see from the top of her slit down almost to the connection
between the bottom of her pussy and her anus.  Just the thought of that
puckery, cinammon brown flower growing slippery with leaking love nectar almost
made me moan.
     When the shoes were on she stood with the sensuous,stretching grace of a
cat rising from a nap, and walked across  the room exaggerating the sway of her
slim bottom. The silken hiss of her stockinged thighs brushing together was
like a warm  smooth finger stroking my balls.  She turned and posed like a
model, left foot forward, knee bent, pelvis thrust toward me.
     "How is that?" she asked.
     "They look fine.  They are a little darker, like I said, but the contrast
is good."
     She frowned again, still not believing I could be talking about shoes
after what she had shown me.  She could see that I had a hard on which even my
tight jockey shorts could not keep under control.
     "Would you like to try another pair?"  I asked.
     She smiled, full of mischief and desire, and came back to me.  "I think
so," she said, sitting down and lifting her right foot up to me.
     I took that shoe off, then the other, put them back in the box and took
the top off another box.  The girl had left both her feet on the slant board
and allowed her knees to drop open again.  The inner lips of her pussy were
swollen and flared open and her open knees made them separate the width of a
finger.  The button of her clit was red and protruding, and begging to be
kissed.  
     I slipped the right shoe of the next pair onto her foot.
     "Now these," I said, licking my lips, "Are so close to the color  of your
skirt that I think they match perfectly, but you'll have to get in better light
than we've got here to really tell."
     The girl's perplexity showed a lot now.  "Don't you like what you see?"
she asked.
     I couldn't help but smile at that.  "Sweet thing," I said "I have never
seen anything more delicious in my life.  I envy the man who gets to kiss that
someday, more than you'll ever know."
     A shiver went through her.  "You could kiss it," she whispered.
     Now it was my turn to shiver, but, though my mouth was  watering to run my
tongue from the base of her spine to her navel, I shook my head.  "I would love
too, but you an I both  know I can't.  Besides, if I were to start I'm not sure
I could stop, and you'd look pretty silly sitting in class with some old guy
like me with his face buried between your legs."       Her smile was so wicked,
and at the same time so merrily innocent I had to laugh. "Come back in five
years," I said. "I'll do anything you want then."
     "Promise?"
     "Absolutely."
     She put her feet down for a moment then put them back on the slant board
and rocked her pelvis forward to show me all she could show me without being
naked.  Her skirt rode up beneath  her thighs and the honey oozing from her
delicious portal darkened the upholstery of the chair.  "I'll take the last
pair you showed me.  Put them on me now.  I'll wear them home."
     After she had paid and left Art said, "You look like you could use a
break."
     He wasn't lying.  I went to the restroom in back, locked the door and
relieved the pressure.  It took about three strokes.  Then it took me ten
minutes to chase down the cum globs and wipe them up.

     A couple of days later, a few moments before closing, the ash blond older
woman came back, and, just as Art had predicted, she was wearing a skirt.  A
business suit actually.  Jacket and straight skirt in gray, the severity of
which was eased by a soft cream colored blouse with a waterfall ruffle at the
throat and lacy cuffs that draped her wrists.
     Neither Art nor I was busy, but when he saw who it was her handed her over
to me and went to the back.
     I swallowed against a slight constriction of desire which had gripped my
throat.  There was electricity between the woman and I without a word being
said.
     "How may I help you this evening," I asked, seating her.
     She swallowed and, with a burr of nervousness in her voice she said, "I
need a pair of black high heels."
     "OK.  I'm afraid I don't remember your size. . ." I gave her the chance to
simply tell me, but instead she said, "Perhaps you had better measure," and
lifted her right foot for me to slip the black mid-heel pump off.
     She was more shy than the girl had been, and didn't simply let her left
knee drop open, but she did swing it a little to the side as I measured her
foot so that I got a glimpse of pink panties above her stocking tops.
     I excused myself and went to the back to bring out a couple of pairs in
her size.  In the stock room Art was waiting for me.  "I told you she'd be
back, and wearing a skirt," he said.
     "Yeah, you did."
     "I'm going to punch out of here.  Everything is done except the cash
register and I'm going to do that now.  All you'll have to do is lock the door
behind you," he said.
     "What do you mean?"
     "Come on man, you ain't that stupid.  She didn't come back to buy shoes. 
Just be a little careful, OK?"
     I blinked at him a couple of times, turning over possibilities in my mind.
 "Yeah," I said.  "OK.  Thanks Art. I'll return the favor some time."
     He grinned.  "From your lips to God's ears," he said.
     I carried the two shoe boxes out.
     There was a shy smile in her eyes when I straddled my stool again.  There
was nothing bold about her at all.  Not like the young girl.
     I took the top off a box and brought out the shoe.  She lifted her foot
and I put my hand under the heel to hold it while I slipped on the shoe.  The
dark tunnel up to the pink Vee was more open than a moment before, but still
not wide. I glanced from that up to her face and a stab of hurt went through
me.  Tears had taken the place of the smile in her lovely gray eyes.
     "I'm sorry," I stammered.  "I didn't mean to offend you."
     "No, No!" she said, leaning forward to put her hand on  my upraised knee. 
"It isn't that.  I want you to.  It' just that. . . I was afraid."
     "Afraid?  Of what?  I wouldn't hurt you."
     "Afraid that you wouldn't look," she said and put her hands over her face.
     "Wouldn't look?  You must be kidding!  I've been dreaming about you coming
back, hoping I'd get a chance. . ."
     "Really?"
     "Really," I said and took my handkerchief from my pocket and handed it to
her.
     "It's just that It has been so long since a man wanted  me," she said,
dabbing at her eyes.
     "I find that hard to believe.  I wanted you the second you smiled at me
last time.  I can't feature any man not wanting you."
     "But I'm so old and dried up," she said. 
     "Old?  You're what?  Thirty--thirty five maybe?"
     Those deep gray eyes widened at me, disbelief clear inthem.
     "I'm fifty," she said.
     "If you say so," I answered.  "But you are one luscious looking fifty. 
Who ever told you different was blind, or stupid."
     "My husband," she said, almost as though she were challenging me. . . .or
giving me an out.
     "I don't care.  I still want you," I said, and to prove  it I reached
forward and slid my hand gently up the inside of her thigh, stopping when I
felt the silky, yielding flesh   above her stocking top.  
     She gasped.
     "Shall I stop?"  I asked her.
     "No," she answered after a second's thought.
     I moved my fingers up to the smooth nylon Vee and began circling the tips
over it.  I could feel the wealth of curly pubic hair on her mons and lower
down the Vee the panties were  damp with the humidity of her.  "That doesn't
feel very dried up," I said.  She didn't answer, but the tension in her thighs
eased and she opened them more.  A shiver went through her.
     Art came out of the Stock room and I quickly snatched my hand from beneath
her skirt.  Art didn't so much as look our way, but went directly to the cash
register.
     The lady looked as though she were going to cry again and I lifted my hand
to her cheek.  "Don't," I said.  "I want tomake love to you, but I don't want
to make a show of you.  Lets go somewhere private."
     She looked into my eyes, trying to see if I was sincere, or just
bullshitting to get her in bed.  I was sincere and  she saw that I was, because
she nodded, took my hand and kissed my palm.

     We went to the Arcadia House Hotel.  Very classy place.  I didn't wait
until we got to the room.  We were alone in the elevator and I pulled her too
me.  Her mouth was soft and yielding and hungry, and her tongue tip fenced with
mine as we kissed.  I slipped my hand down her hip to her thigh and lifted it. 
Her tight skirt stopped her thigh from coming too far up, but her position made
her pelvis thrust harder against me.  
  "Oh God," she whispered.  "You're already hard."
  "I've been that way since I first saw you tonight."
  I could feel the quiver of her hip flexors through the material and the layer
of flesh.
   In the room we locked the door and she began to shrug out  of her coat, but
I said, "No," and she stopped.  "Let me do it."
     "Alright.  Undress me."
     I began by kissing her again, then trailing my tongue round  and round her
half open lips.  She lifted her chin like a  greedy little bird begging to be
fed.  I made a path of tiny love bites down her throat to the waterfall ruffle
then helped her slip off her jacket.  Her breasts were delicious globes
beneath the satin of her blouse, and I gently ran my palms over them.  Her
nipples were hard as iron spikes, and they poked  against my caressing hands.  
     Suddenly I was hungry to see her naked.  I unbuttoned the blouse, slipped
it off her, and undid the front clasp of her bra.  Her breasts were heavy and
they sank a little when the support of the bra was gone, but no more than a
finger's width.
She had tan lines above and below, but the spheres of her breasts had never 
been touched by the sun.  They were creamy white.  The cleft between them was
tan at the top, but faded to the same whiteness deeper down.  The nipples were
rosy pink, as though she were a young girl, and they strained up, begging to be
kissed and suckled. 
     I ran my tongue tip between her tits, then beneath the  right one and back
up around, then repeated the process,  spiraling in toward the nipple.  It grew
harder and the aureole  crinkled at the touch of my breath.  
     She moaned as I sucked nipple, aureole, and part of the flesh surrounding
it into my mouth, and moaned again as I sucked harder.  I moved my mouth to her
other titty, suckling like a starving baby, at the same time, pulling down the
zipper
at the back of her skirt.  I undid the button, and let the skirt drop around
her feet.  After a moment she stepped out of it and kicked it away.  She was
left wearing stockings, garter belt, and lacy pink panties. 
     I stepped back and ran my eyes from her thick ash blond hair, to her heavy
breasts, and on down to the slight swell of her mons beneath the pink panties. 
"Your husband is a fool," I said and fell to my knees to bury my face between 
her legs.  I kissed and licked her panties until they were wet and transparent,
and I could see the curly pubic hair beneath.
     "I've never been kissed there before," she said.  She was looking down
between her breasts, and the expression of surprise and desire sent electric
shivers through me.  
     "Spread your legs a little more," I said.  She stepped  a little to the
side, bent her knees and thrust her pelvis forward. 
     I pulled the leg of her panties aside and ran my tongue  down between the
lips of her pussy from her clit to the opening of her womb.
     "Oh my God!" she gasped, shivering and humping my mouth. "Do that some
more!"
     I tried to pull her panty leg open more, but it was too tight.  By now I
wanted nothing more than to shove my tongue as deep into her as I could make it
reach, and panties would not stop me.  I tugged hard on the leg which pulled
her pussy tighter against my mouth.  The seams of her panties burst andI ripped
them off of her, then brought my hands up to her bottom. My fingers found their
way to the crack and between them, forcing  them apart.  My finger found its
way down to the tight puckered star of her anus.  Already it was wet and
slippery with her love juice, and I gently teased it, inserting the tip of my
index finger to the first knuckle.
     She cried out with pleasure and began humping my mouth so hard and fast
that I could hardly lick, so I stood, picked her up, carried her to the  bed,
and threw her down.  
     I stripped off my own clothing and saw her eyes widen as she looked at my
raging cock.  It was as hard and long as it had ever been in my life.  The head
was purple and a clear drop of lubricant clung to the tip like a drop of syrup.
     "Lift your knees and open your legs," I commanded.  She did as she was
told, and I saw that the darker blond pubic curls from the top of her slit down
the outer lips were wet and clinging to her flesh as though they had been
painted there.  Her juice  and my saliva had oozed down the insides of her
thighs and made them wet and shiny too.
     Her eyes were still glued to my swollen cock.  "Put it in me," she begged.
 "I want you in me now."
     I smiled at her desire and shook my head.  "Not yet.  I want you to cum
first," and as I said it I knelt between her spread legs and put the middle two
fingers of my left hand  deep into her womb.
     Her eyes opened wider and she groaned.
     I put my thumb on top of her mons so that the length of it pressed tight
against her clit then moved my fingers inside her pussy, feeling for the slight
thickening of tissue that would tell me I found her G Spot.  After a moment I
found it and began massaging and pressing there as I flexed my thumb  up and
down to pinch her clit against her pubic bone.
     She was panting and groaning in rhythm with my fingers now, and when I
eased the pressure of my fingers a little she cried out, "NO! Don't stop! Don't
stop!  I'm so close!"
     I returned to the same rhythm and motion and she said, "Yes! Yes! Like
that!"
     I smiled.  My own breath was coming in short gasps of excitement now.  The
agonized rapture on her face, the scalding wet slipperiness of her pussy
coating my hand like hot oil;  and the scent, Oh God! the scent of her! mixed
of bitter perspiration, salty-rich feminine musk, flowery Joy perfume, and that
indefinable smell of desire!  I drew it into my nose  and felt it stroke my
cock like a velvety tongue.  I groaned and licked my lips.  The taste of her
pussy was still on them and the mixture of smell and taste almost made me come,
but I clenched the muscles behind my balls and the feeling receded  a little. 
To take my mind off my own climax I reached up with my right hand and began
rolling her left nipple between my thumb and forefinger.
     She cried out. "AHAHAHAH," and the muscles of her pussy clamped down so
hard on my fingers that it hurt and I couldn't move them inside her any more. 
A gush of liquid squirted out  around them into my palm and onto the bed.
     "Now," she begged.  "Put it in me now, please.  Oh please!"
     I leaned forward and caught her legs upon my shoulders,  lifting and
pushing them up, tilting her hips up.  My cock was throbbing and my balls were
screaming with pent up need.  The  feeling as her pussy engulfed the head of my
cock was like I had dipped it into hot wax; excruciating pleasure that only 
increased as I pushed deeper.
     "Oh yes! Oh yes!"  she moaned as I drove myself again and  again into her.
 She threw her hips up to meet my thrusts.  It drove my cock so deep into her
that I touched the back of  her womb.
     A few more thrusts and I felt my climax begin like two waves of
electricity racing from my head and from my toes toward  our joining.  In a
moment the waves crashed together with  spurting white like lightening,
erupting from me deep into her.
     She screamed and shuddered in every muscle of her body as she climaxed a
second after I did, and we collapsed together like two lumps of wet clay
melding themselves into one.

     I saw her one time after that night.  She came into the the store about a
month later.
"I'm divorcing him,"  she said.
     "Good move," I answered.  "He's an asshole and you deserve better."
     She smiled.  "I'll tell him you said so."
     I shrugged.  "Tell him if you want."
     She lifted an eyebrow in wicked mirth, for a moment, then became serious. 
"I'll never tell anyone," she said.
     I lifted my hand and caressed her cheek.  "Very gentlemanly  of you," I
said.  "How can I do anything less?"
     She stretched up onto her tip toes and kissed me.  "Bye, and thanks"  she
said.
     "Any time," I answered.
     She turned, tossed her heavy blond hair back and left the  store.
     A little later Art said, "Al Bundy's got it all wrong doesn't he?"

THE END