Shoes Make the Mom Ch. 01

Most days, Melinda passed the second-hand shop without even bothering to look in the window. A diorama of out-of-date dresses, threadbare chairs, and yellowing books, it was beneath notice for a female executive on the go, just another landmark between her stop and the office, between home and work and home again.

She only stopped because of the woman at the window. Pushed and pulled by the current of the after-five crowd heading home, her own long strides were brought short when she suddenly found herself nose-to-cheek with a handsome woman in her fifties, fogging up the window of "Previously Lu<3ed Stuff" like a kid at a toy display.

Melinda cleared her throat. No response.

"Excuse me," she said, a little louder than necessary. The other woman blinked once, twice, shook her head, and looked at Melinda. She flushed, stammered an apology, and vanished into the crowd. As the bodies of commuters swirled and eddied around her, Melinda glared disapprovingly at the nose-print on the glass. Nothing behind it seemed especially out of the ordinary: tall tarnished brass lamp with fading paisley shade; ratty rattan chair with matching ottoman; ragged-eared copy of "Valley of the Dolls" splayed open in the seat; and a pair of

pink, perfectly pink

heels on the ottoman, one perched atop the other. The bright slash of colour stood in stark contrast to the rest of the faded, yellowy offerings. They were taller than any shoes she owned, standing

dominating

on at least four inches of heel, with a big

sexy fun cute

bow flopping over the peep toe. Melinda shifted uncomfortably and looked down at her own serviceable

boooo-ring

black ballet flats. Good for

nothing

work, but definitely not

fun sexy cute

as flamboyant as the shoes in the window. Those were

perfect, perfectly pink

party shoes, weekend shoes

fuck-me heels

for girls who

know what they want

had the time and money to throw away. She shuffled her feet again, suddenly feeling every grain and particle of pavement through the thin soles of her flats, oblivious to the crowd swirling around her, to her hand prints on the plate glass.

"I wonder how much they are?"

* * *

Melinda sat on her bed, turning the shoe box over in her hands, feeling vaguely foolish. Where on earth was she going to wear these? She glanced at her open closet, surveying the wide array of black, beige, and grey fabrics hanging there. A single forgotten summer dress hung forlorn in the back, unworn, unloved and terribly out of style.

She ran her hand over the lid. "What was I thinking?" Her brow furrowed, trying to piece together how she had gotten from the storefront to the cash to the train to her car to home to here. It was all excited, blurry, unclear, like an early morning drive before fully waking up. She knew she'd gotten from point A to point B and all points inbetween, but...

What did they even look like?

She settled the box on her knees, and slid her hands around the edge of the lid, heart skipping.

Just a look. A quick one. They were her shoes, after all.

"Moooo-oooom! You home?" Melinda jumped and snapped the box shut again. Her face felt hot.

"In here, Jakey." She settled both hands over the box, crossed at the wrist. Moments later, the door popped open, admitting her lanky son.

"Mooo-ooom, how many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?"

"Sorry, sweetheart--"

"Or that."

"--honey pie--"

"Or that."

"--baby bear."

"Now you're doing it on purpose." He scowled, she pouted. They both laughed, completing the ritual. "What's in the box?"

"Oh, uh, nothing. Just something I picked up on the way home from work." Melinda tightened her grip on the shoebox.

"Looks like something. What is it?" He edged closer; she felt herself shrinking back. Why? Why shouldn't she

show him

her shoes?

"Jacob, I said it's nothing, and I meant it's nothing." Melinda trotted out her best "mom" voice.

He smirked. "Yeah? We'll see about that." He edged closer still.

"Jacob? Jake? Jakey? What are you doing? Jake!" His left hand shot out, fingers wiggling, and connected with her side, sending a giggly thrill through Melinda. Her fingers spasmed around the box-lid and her knees curled up as his right hand found her ribs on the other side. "Jake!" She laughed and kicked him in the thigh, pushing him away and sending the shoebox tumbling to the floor.

"See? I told you there was some..." his voice trailed off "...thing..." He stared. The

pink pink, perfectly pink

heels lay jumbled on the carpet. Jake's face turned

wonderfully adorably pink

and his eyes glazed over.

"See? I told you they were nothing, just a pair of

fuck me

shoes." Melinda uncurled on the bed. "I'm not even keeping them anyway. They're going right back on Monday."

He blinked, and gave her a stricken look. "Why? I mean, they look

hot sexy cute

nice. And way better than those old black ones."

"They don't go with anything I own for starters. Besides, I haven't worn real heels in years. I don't even know if I can stand up in them."

"Have you tried them on?" He went

down on his knees

and picked up her shoes, fingers sliding across the velvety material.

"No, I, uh, I haven't yet." Melinda felt her toes levering off one of her work shoes.

"You should. Just to um, make sure or something." He looked so

young adorable hot

flushed. Why? Melinda crossed one leg over the other, and pulled up the leg of her pants, exposing a dainty, bare ankle. She wiggled her toes. I should paint them

pink pink, perfectly pink

she thought idly.

"Well?" Jake's blush deepened from

wonderfully cute

pink to a full-on

sexy hot

red, and he took the proffered foot in hand.

"Ready?"

Melinda nodded, barely aware that she was holding her breath. His fingers trembled as he slid the shoe over his mother's foot.

As soon as her bare skin met the silky sole, an electric tingle shot through her spine, and she felt her nipples tightening underneath jacket, blouse, and bra. She exhaled, unable to stop herself from letting out a low moan. Looking down at her toes peeking out from underneath the floppy bow, she wiggled them again.

"Wooooow," she breathed. "They feel

exciting thrilling erotic

amazing! What do you think?"

Jake swallowed audibly. "They look

perfect

great! I think you should stand up, though. Walk around a bit."

"Good idea," she beamed down at him.

"First things first, though." Melinda flipped off her other

booo-ring

ballet flat, and bobbed her bare foot in his face. "If you don't mind, good

boy

sir." Jake licked his lips, and slid the second shoe onto her foot. His fingers lingered a moment longer than necessary on her ankle. He stayed put as she slowly rose from the bed, expecting one ankle or another to turn with the unfamiliar height.

Neither did. Melinda took a moment, pleasantly surprised to have found her balance with no help or adjustment. She looked down at her son, who stared

worshipped

up at her. She took a slow, careful step, then another, feet finding their own way, swinging naturally as pendulums, planting on the carpet one behind the other, hips finding a catwalk cadence all their own. The shoes were

perfect

weightless, cozy, comfortable. Melinda felt so tall, like a

goddess

model.

Turning on one four-inch heel, she saw Jake kneeling on the floor, staring at her feet, licking his lips. Arms akimbo, hips cocked, she posed for him.

"What do you think?"

"You're perfect." He said, distracted. "I mean, um, they're perfect. Great! You should totally keep 'em!"

She squealed like a girl. "You really think so?" She felt a tingling between her thighs, and had to consciously keep herself from rubbing them together.

"Yeah..." his voice trailed off again, and he stared openly. Melinda strutted over, bent at the waist, and kissed him on the forehead. Her lips buzzed. His skin was warm to the touch and slightly damp with a nervous sweat.

"Thank you, baby-bear. Now get out so I can get changed, and we can talk about supper, mkay?"

"'Kay mom." Jake quickly scrambled to his feet, and hurried back out, unmindful of the tent in his khakis. Melinda watched, unaware that she was staring until he'd scurried out. Her little boy was

hung and horny

growing up for sure. They'd have to have a talk soon to make sure he

knew his place

wasn't doing anything silly. She flexed her toes, and felt a sexy warmth radiate up from her feet.

"You guys are keepers."

* * *

Melinda squared her foot on the lid of the toilet, and wiggled her toes, inspecting her work. Diamond highlights in the pink polish caught the light and shimmered brightly. She unwrapped the towel around her hair and wiped the steam off the mirror over the sink. A long, hot, relaxing shower had been just the thing to wash away the week and this afternoon's weird nervous excitement. Also, the shower head had gotten a thorough test of its flexibility. Her thighs slid together, as she remembered with a delicious shiver.

Finding the polish at the back of the medicine cabinet had been a pleasant surprise. Purchased for a long-forgotten Hallowe'en party, it was still good, despite some flaking around the bottleneck, and she had spent at least fifteen minutes dolling up her feet while her hair dried. There was a delicious, sensuous pleasure in painting each nail, feeling the slick wetness, wondering how they'd look with her new shoes.

"I wonder if Jake will notice?"

She wiggled her toes again. He was so

adorably sexy

cute when he blushed. Straightening up, she inspected the current state of affairs in the mirror. Forty had sailed by a few months ago without appearing to have left so much as a note with Melinda. She ran a hand through shoulder-length chestnut hair, watching the lazy curls bounce in their relaxed loops. She pursed her lips, then pouted, testing them, laughing inwardly at friends who had already been botoxed. Even without makeup, only a few laugh lines radiated away from her hazel-green eyes, belying her brief marriage, long, angry divorce, and bitter custody battle that ended in a two-thousand kilometer move across country.

"Just you and me against the world, Jakey." She said, a well-worn mantra that summed up the last ten years or so.

Melinda popped open the medicine cabinet, and drew out a container of cocoa butter. Sitting down on the edge of her tub, she unscrewed the cap, and slid one long leg out of her robe. She began by threading her fingers through those freshly-painted toes, and slowly, langorously, worked in the butter, relishing the chocolate scent, reveling in the smoothness of her leg, tracing the crease of her calf, following the musculature of her thigh right up to the top. The yoga was definitely paying off. Her taut skin shone dully under the glare of the bathroom lights. Melinda wiggled her toes again, and bobbed her leg at the knee reflectively. The only thing that would look better, she thought, would be a nice pair of sheer black

stockings.

Stockings? When was the last time she'd worn stockings? Had she ever worn stockings?

Melinda crossed her legs and started on the other, watching the

pink pink, perfectly pink

polish glitter. Yes, stockings were just the thing. And a nice

tall sexy dominating

pair of heels. She finished her legs and stood up on tippy toes, watching her calves bulge, feeling the new position of her hips, the way her back arched to accommodate the altered center of gravity. She ground her thighs together. Was that lingering slickness or was it new?

Her fingertips brushed against the junction between her legs, sliding in between. The other hand reached out for the sink and some extra stability. Still on her toes, almost oblivious to her posture, Melinda's thighs spread naturally, and she bent over at the waist, robe hanging open. An index finger, slippery and hot with pussy cream, found her clit with the ease of practice and ground against the erect little button.

She moaned softly and gripped the sink tight. Watching her knuckles turn white as her thumb took over for her index finger, letting that digit slide deep into her dripping cunt, Melinda idly wondered if she should paint her fingernails

pink pink, perfectly pink

to match.

* * *

Melinda sipped her coffee at the kitchen counter, watching the Saturday morning sun streaming in through the windows and basking in the afterglow of time well-wasted in the bathroom. Underneath her robe, toes traced a trail up one of her slippery smooth calves as she plotted out her day. Pink nails plinked softly against the ceramic.

"Morning Mom."

"Morning baby-bear."

"Mooo-ooom."

"Sorry Jake," she said, turning around. He was peering into the opened fridge, scratching his bare chest. When had he developed all those

sexy-cute

muscles? His hair was a tousled

freshly-fucked

just-out-of-bed mess. "What are you doing today?"

Jake grabbed the orange juice and shut the door. "Gary's momndad finally ponied up and bought him a 360. I figured I'd go over there. You?"

"Shopping, I think." Melinda hopped her butt up onto the kitchen counter, the sun warm on her back. She crossed one shapely leg over the other, and bobbed her foot gently. Jake's eyes locked on her sparkling toes, and slowly crawled upwards. He blinked.

"Shopping? What for?"

"Wellll," she dragged out the 'l' and recrossed her legs, refocusing Jake's gaze. "I was thinking that I need something to go with my new shoes, you know, the pink ones?"

"Ooooh," he flushed and looked at the floor.

Sooooo

sexy-innocent

cute!

"Did you wanna come with? I could use a second opinion."

"To the mall? With my mom? Seriously?" The pink in his cheeks retreated a little as he looked up, incredulous.

"Seriously." Melinda crossed her legs again, watching his eyes drop a third time. "Never hurts to get a guy's opinion, and you-" she jumped off the counter, and strode across the kitchen.

"-are the only guy-" glittering pink fingernails scratched at his bare chest playfully. "-in my life right now." She reached up and tousled his mop. They stood so close to one another that she could feel the heat from his body. "We'll even do lunch. My treat. What do you say, baby-bear?"

"Um, sure, I guess." Jake fumbled for words, flustered.

"Well, I don't want to make you." Melinda flounced dramatically into one of the chairs at the table, the flap of her robe falling open across those oh-so-long, buttery legs. "You don't have to go." Pink fingernails traced a pattern across her thigh.

"Yes! I mean, I'd love to! I mean, I'll go. I mean, I'll call Gary. Um, or something. Okay?"

"Thank you, Jakey!" She sprang out of the chair, and hugged him. "You just made me the happiest mom in the whole wide world!" The bare skin of his chest pressed through the ever-widening gap in her robe, and she felt him tremble a little. She kissed her son on the cheek, lips lingering just a little longer than she'd intended. He was blushing again.

"Now go get dressed, and we'll head out, mkay?" Releasing Jake, she gave him a playful smack on the behind. He left, orange juice forgotten. Melinda rubbed her thighs together. God, why was she so fucking horny today? Her hand dipped back between her legs as she polished off her coffee. Just a quick rub to take the edge off.

Twenty minutes later, she went back to her room, only dimly aware of the damp spot she'd left behind on the seat of the chair.

* * *

Unfettered by clouds or wind, the early spring sun drove temperatures way up. It was a day for the park, a day for a quiet stroll down the boulevard, a day to picnic or play frisbee or just lie on the grass and bask. Birds sang. Tiny flowers peeped out from among the branches of the trees. Summer hearkened, and thus, of course, the mall was packed.

Strolling inside,

pink pink, perfectly pink

heels tucked safely in an oversized handbag, Melinda felt dowdy. Her capris had seemed like such a good, summery choice back home, but now they simply felt worn, plain

heavy, boo-ring, constricting

and above all, old. She couldn't even bear to look at her tired old Birkenstocks. Those poor pretty pink toenails seemed so sad trapped underneath that fat ugly leather strap. Why had she even bought them? Birks were for

fat stupid dull

old maids and university profs.

Compounding the issue were the legion of teenage girls who had descended on the mall that afternoon. Tiny skirts flitted around perfectly smooth young thighs, free of blemish or particle of cellulite. Skintight jeans folded lovingly around pert little behinds that bounced with all the energy of youth. Camis a size too small worn under paper-thin tees pushed and nudged and encouraged creamery-smooth cleavage to burst out. All eyes were on these hot little

sluts

tarts, and they knew it. Even

her

Jake couldn't help but look!

"C'mon, Jake." Melinda hooked her arm in his and half-steered, half-dragged her son across the concourse. She fought against the rising tide of

jealousy

emotion. Yes, he was only a

man

teenager, but he could at the very least not make it so obvious he was staring at those

bitches

girls. Just look at them! All tarted up, dressed to attract all that male attention. How could she compete, looking like

an old maid

this?

"This'll do, I think," she said as they crossed the threshold into Victoria's Secret.

"Here?" Jake looked around, panicky, suddenly surrounded by luxurious, skimpy underthings he'd never quite contemplated. "Are you sure you want me to--"

"Of course I am, silly," she said, patting him on the arm. "I told you I wanted a man's opinion. We're here for clothes, not underwear." She pressed close to him. "Unless you really want to help your mom buy underwear."

Melinda heard his breath catch in his throat.

"No! I mean, no. I mean that would be -- I mean, I don't -- um, yeah." She giggled as her son floundered, and then parked him on the boyfriend bench next to a rack of leopard-print bra and panty sets outside the changing area.

"Don't wander off, I'll be back." Racks of dresses beckoned to her from across the store. They squeaked and squealed in protest as she pored over a wealth of fun, bright fabrics. Peeling a floor-length

pink pink, perfectly pink

halter dress out of the pack, she held it up, wondering if she'd got the colour right.

"Hiiiiii Jake," two voices, speaking in stereo wafted over. Glancing back over her shoulder, Melinda spied two girls, one short, one tall, both

dyed

blonde, standing not five feet from

her

Jake.

"Oh, um, hey Beth, hey Miley."

"What are youuu doing here?" The tall,

scrawny bitch

skinny one asked, leaning in.

"Oh, you know, just, um--"

"You're not here with anyone, are you?" Jake looked at the short one as she spoke, and Melinda could see his eyes glaze over as he looked down into her tits. She wasn't even that pretty! Just young and overendowed. Couldn't he see that big muffin top pouring out over her shorts?

"No, nobody, just, um, my mom."

"Your mom?" They spoke in unison again. Melinda snorted. Vapid

whores

girls.

"Jakey?" She called out, a little louder than necessary. "Jake? Jacob!" When he finally turned his head, she held up the halter dress to her body. "What do you think?"