Laura took a systematic approach to most new experiences. Starting on the Monday after her encounter with Don, and after she finally sent her reply to his e-mail, she spent ten minutes each night wearing high heels. Other than putting on the shoes, and cushioning them slightly with sheer nylon toe socks, she did nothing unusual. She just walked from one place to another, doing whatever she normally did on a weeknight in her studio apartment. She wanted to get used to the feel of them on her feet, the adjustments she made to her balance and foot placement, and the muscle exertion to stabilize her ankles.
She hated high heels, in both theory and practice.
Many people wouldn't even use the term 'high heels' for what she was wearing. The heel of each foot rested maybe an inch and a half higher than the sole, not a big change for a size-7 foot. The heel of the shoe was roughly a square where it touched the floor, about an inch on each side. For Laura, these shoes went as far as she intended to go in what she considered footwear irrationality.
That was before Don had professed great passion for high heels, worn by a woman.
Or was he kidding?
She and Don were in relaxed pillow talk on Friday night, after having fucked each other to highly satisfying orgasms. She had praised his taut buttocks. He then praised her legs, and said if she put skyscraper stilettos on them, he'd drool like puppy.
When she stood, her slightly higher perspective reminded her that she was a relatively imposing figure even when barefoot, in a standard male judgment. She was 5' 8". Don was less than an inch taller. With skyscraper stilettos, she'd look down at him. Did he have a giantess fetish? Or did he just want her legs to seem more prominent? Despite being slim and a bit curvy, Laura found fault with herself. She had long believed that her torso was too long, and legs not long enough, for her body to be ideal.
As she walked from her desk to the kitchen alcove, she could feel even in these shoes some of the carriage alterations that arise from what amounts to tiptoeing. Her calf muscles bunched and rounded at their tops. Her butt flexed and extended more to the rear. Her back arched a bit to keep her head and torso upright. Her bosom thrust forward slightly. Her hips swayed as she walked a thin straight line to maintain balance. The posture and motion could make a man think that a woman is declaring her availability.
Silly me,
she thought acidly.
I've always 'declared' with spoken language. Especially 'no' and its many related expressions.
Her hookup with Don had left her with more affection for him that she'd expected, or wanted. Laura Canfield was a quintessential yuppie, doing well at a financial planning firm, enjoying her work, relegating sex to short-term, one-and-done excursions with men. On the morning after, however, she and Don both felt that their hookup had left a few hooks in them.
Don Pelfrey, just as work-driven, suggested that they spend a month communicating when they liked, but staying physically apart. Laura had agreed. This maintained a connection with a guy she liked, without getting them in too deep physically, or taking up time they ought to spend on the work they brought home at night. She hoped to pay off her student loan in two years. Career came first.
But did no-sex-with-Don mean no-sex-at-all? She had brought up whether they would sleep around during the month. She couldn't quite remember if she'd said it, or asked. She had thought about it both ways. He had said something about whether they'd have time, in a witty remark that got them back to their initial mutual attraction: sense of humor, incisive cleverness. So had they agreed on sleeping around, or ducked the topic?
As the week progressed, Laura got edgier, even as her walking in the heels became smoother. She had thought about Don more than she wanted to, which amped her physically. But did she want another Don-like guy? Her other lovers had also been poised, witty guys who grooved on poised, witty gals. Don was the alpha male among them.
Would it feel less like cheating,
she wondered,
if I went after an anti-Don?
Text traffic among her lady friends indicated that things would be different this weekend if Laura wanted to run with the same crowd. At Hazlett's last Friday, when Laura and Don discovered each other, Marcie Blevins had hooked up with the guy Laura had pegged as Brash Boy, because he had done most of the initial talking for his crew and didn't mind being taken as a figure of fun. Marcie shared that she and this guy, named Arnie, were going to dinner and a movie, in an actual two-person date.
Dana Fortenski, with her lean height, fashion-model looks, and maybe-really-blond hair, was on a work trip.
On impulse, Laura texted to the remaining two from that group, Lesley and Neris: 'I want something different. Can I talk you into a sports bar?'
Neris quickly responded, 'At last! Men who sweat!' Lesley followed with 'Sure' and a shrug emoji. A few minutes later, though, Lesley voice-called Laura and asked, "Is something up with you?"
Laura winced, and hoped it wasn't detectable. "No," she tried.
"I would have thought," Lesley drawled, "that you would have been more likely than Marcie to end up with a steady. I watched you trading punchlines with that guy—Don, was it?—and thought, my God, he's Laura with a prick. Did something derail the soulmate express?"
Hoping she didn't sound frazzled, Laura said, "Must be fun, Les, watching other people pair up and ignoring the men who might get interested in you."
There was a dark chuckle. "Okay, change the subject, but I gotta tell you, the whole Les-must-be-a-lez thing has gotten pretty tired. If you don't want to tell me what a disappointment Don was, fine. It'll be fun watching you look for a jock wannabe who meets your standards."
As she got ready Saturday night, Laura put on flats and stowed the heels in the closet. Reserving the heels for Don seemed to her like an act of fidelity towards him.
***
Laura picked up Lesley on Saturday night. Neris would meet them at their destination, a bar called Goalpost.
"I'm pretty sure I've found your guy Don on SylviBase," said Lesley, gazing at her phone.
Laura groaned. "Isn't that just women lying about men, making things up?"
Lesley gave her a dead-serious look. "SylviBase is completely reliable information. I've shagged four guys who were described here, and the reviews were spot on. So I'm pretty sure the scary reviews mean that those guys are trouble."
"I'm all in favor of warnings about stalkers and rapists," Laura conceded. "But I can do without kiss-and-tell."
Lesley read from the phone screen. "About 5' 9", straight light brown hair close cut on the sides, long nose, narrow chin, clean shaven, no eyewear, smart and witty but saves his wit for the right moment, listens more than he talks." She looked up "SylviBase doesn't use names or show pictures, but that sure seems to be him."
"So are you going after him?" Laura asked. "You probably won't find him where we'll be tonight."
"Every review of him here is good. An attentive, generous lover, eager to learn how to please his partner."
Laura allowed the corner of her mouth, on the side away from Lesley, to lift.
Yeah, that's Don,
she thought
.
