A beautiful blond walks into the store.

I try to stop staring, but it's almost impossible. This is a most pleasant interruption to the mind-numbing boringness of my day. She has long athletic legs; her skirt falls to her knees.

Long athletic legs! Did I already say that? Nylons and high heels, but her shoes are looking a little worn. Hence her walking into this shoe store. I notice shoes.

And legs. And stockings. Yeah, she's got breasts too, but I'm a leg man. A blazer over a cream blouse. Makeup, including soft pink lipstick. She could be a model. Maybe she's a businesswoman – she looks confident.

Waaaay out of my league.

She starts looking through our shoes. She's interested in high heels. I study her ass. And her legs – did I mention her legs?

So I'm trying to look busy when she turns to me with a pair of heels in her hand. I ask, "Can I help you?" Worst pickup line ever.

"I'd like to try these on." She's looking at the shoes, not me. She's still thinking about them. She wasn't trying to boss me around, like I get from customers. She was just being informative.

I can feel my cock twinging. Some women try on their shoes without my help. Some want me to put their shoes on. It's really a lot more efficient if the customer puts on her own shoes. I think some woman just want to lord it over me. Most good-looking women apparently don't want my hands on their feet. To be honest, I thought she would just buy a pairof shoes and leave – she has to know her shoe size.

But some shoes can be off-size and customers really should check. Or maybe she wants to see what they look like when they're at the end of those long athletic legs. I know I do.

I gesture for her to sit. She does, still looking at the shoes she has in her hand.

Meanwhile, I'm staring at her legs. Right in front of me. I wait for her to kick off her heels, wait another beat, but nothing happens.

Oh my God – I get to take off her shoes. Show time! I can feel my cock starting to get hard. Down, boy, down.

I hold her ankle, feel the nylon, and then with my other hand take off her shoe. I try to be gentle. Or sexual. Or whatever, but she's still just studying the shoes, she doesn't notice me. Or care. In her world, I'm a nobody. I hold her other ankle, and pull of the other shoe. Nice feet under her nylons, pink nail polish.

I clear my throat, she looks down at me, and hands me the shoes. Same operation, except now she's watching me. I gently hold one ankle, carefully slide the shoe over her toes and then foot, then a little pressure to get her foot in. Then the other foot.

She stands up. She looks at them. I'm supposed to be selling shoes, not looking at legs, but her legs are still just in front of me.

"They don't go well with tan."

I look – her nylons are tan. "Maybe a dark blue. We sell actual nylons, if you're interested." Finally, I'm trying to make a sale. I think I will, she seems to like the shoe.

"I'd like to try them on with the dark blue nylons you suggested."

I can feel my stomach churning. I can't open a package of nylons just so she can try on shoes she might not buy. Well have little slippers for trying things on. And they're all tan. So, no, she can't just try on the shoes with a new pair of nylons.

But she's beautiful. Maybe if she bought them first? Can I ask her that? No.

But she's beautiful. "I'll be right back."

When I get to our nylon selection, I realize I've committed myself to dark blue. I have no idea if that works, it was just the color that best matched her shoes. I take a package. Should I rip it open here or there? Maybe she'll pay for it if she sees me opening it.

I walk back to her. When she looks up at me, I hold up the package. "Got it," I say. And she smiles at me. It's the first time I've seen her smile. Big smile, showing teeth. I could assassinate people to see that smile again. I sit down in front of her, and instead of standing up to go change in our bathroom, she lifts up her skirt.

Lifts up her skirt!

More leg! More beautiful leg. I'm in heaven.

And she has garters, and she unsnaps her nylon from her garter. As I watch, transfixed, her hands unsnap her nylons from her garters.

Heaven is going to be anti-climactic.

Then she snags her fingers under her nylons, and one by one, slowly pulls them off of her legs.

So I am looking at bare legs.

She sets her tan nylons down on the chair next to her.

And looks at me.

And my mind goes blank. There's no script here. What am I supposed to do?

Her phone rings. I stare at her legs while she answers it. "Sylvie! Where are you?"

I don't know what to do except hope this is a very long conversation.

"Shoe shopping."

She waggles her foot. Am I supposed to put her stocking on her?

I think so.

I can't. I just can't. What if I'm wrong?

"Of course. Where should we go?"

She looks down at me, looks irritated, then waggles her foot again.

"Sounds good. I can ask Tom to come, but you know he won't."

I open the pack of nylons, but she doesn't even notice. I rub my hand on the soft material.

Then I hold her bare ankle, feeling the warmth of her skin on my hand. And then I start putting the nylon on her foot.

"He's been, I don't know. Low energy."

I slide the stocking up her bare calf.

"Yeah, probably work. It better be work." She laughs a little.

I slide the stocking over her knee.

"It's . . . you know . . . not as much." She sighs unhappily.

I slide the stocking up her bare thigh. I'm careful not to touch her skin, I just push on the stocking.

Now what? I take out the other stocking.

"I tried that. No help."

I hold her ankle and start putting the second nylon on her foot. She pulls it away, shakes her head, and says to me "One is enough." Damn, I really wanted a sequel.

She stands up. She looks down. Her one stocking has fallen down and looks wrinkled.

"Ugh." She sits back down and lifts her skirt abover her garter.

"No, not to you. Trying on shoes."

I think . . . I can't believe it, but I think I'm supposed to fasten her stocking to her garter. I again pull the stocking up as high as it will go.

"What about you, Miss Sex Machine?"

And now I have to touch her skin, and my hands are on her and all over her, and I fasten the stocking to her garter.

She laughs out loud. "You have got to be kidding!" She's not paying any attention to me.

And I finish fastening her stocking to her garter.

"I didn't know that was even possible."

I have taken my hands away from her leg. That's a flashbulb memory I will have for the rest of my life. I'm just staring.

"You're either crazy or a genius. I'm thinking genius, but the jury is seriously out on that." She laughs again.

Then, still listening on the phone, she stands up. She looks down and smiles.

"Okay. Love. See you tonight."

She sits down, rummages through her purse, takes out her wallet, and hands me a credit card. "I'll take these. And two more pairs of nylons, this color."

"Yes Ma'am." She starts undoing her garter. I try to look down; I pack her shoes back up in the box while I try to see as much leg as I can.

She drops the dark blue stocking on the floor. I pick it up, I pick everything up. "I'll be right back." She's already rummaging through her purse.

I ring up her purchase and run her credit card. I take the stocking she wore and set it aside to take home. The I open a new pack so it will look like the one she tried on, and get two other new ones. I see her reapplying her lipstick. The pink matches her toes and fingers.

She's calling someone now.

I tell her, "I need you to sign this."

"Hi Tom," she says in a real sexy voice. She signs the pad, turns away, and walks towards the door.

"Because I was thinking of you," she coos as she opens the door.

And she's gone. Leaving me with a memory. And the stocking she just wore. I smell it.

A shoe store! Perfect – I'm here, it's here, and I need new heels. I walk in.

Just one clerk, some plain-looking guy. I see dress shoes half way down the store on my right against the wall, and I start looking through them. To my surprise, there's a pair I actually like! I take them and turn around:

He's standing right there, waiting like he's my servant. "Can I help you?"

"I'd like to try these on," I explain to him. I look at the shoes again. Maybe not perfect. Close enough?

He gestures for me to sit, and I sit down. He spaces out for a second – is he smoking marijuana on the job? No, I don't think so, just a temporary space-out  – and then takes off my shoes and puts the new pair on me.

I stand up and look down. Sad to say, not quite right Pity. I say, thinking out loud, "They don't go well with tan."

"Maybe a dark blue hose. We sell nylons, if you're interested."

Hmm, dark blue nylons might work; I didn't think of that. "Okay, I'll try them on with dark blue nylons."

He thinks for a second. Spacing out again. I shouldn't get annoyed, but I do. One of the disadvantages of being beautiful is that I expect guys to give me whatever I want. I shouldn't be that way. But one of the advantages is that they do. I try not to look annoyed, then he says, "I'll be right back."

Giving me what I want. But I don't see any problem. He wants to sell me a pair of shoes. He's the one who suggested dark blue, not me.

I can't stand cheap pantyhose. It's rough and it can be scratchy. I love nylon stockings. They're smooth and sensual. Tom accuses me of having a nylon stocking fetish. But it's not a fetish, I just like the feel. I wish he had a nylon stocking fetish.

The clerk surely doesn't care, he just wants to sell a pair of shoes. Did he say nylon? I love nylon.

I see him walking back to me, holding up a package of dark blue nylons. Good boy I want to say, and I give him a big smile. He sits down, I take off the nylons I'm wearing.

Then he doesn't start putting on the new nylons. Am I supposed to do something? Ask nicely? Give him a tip? Isn't it just his job to put on shoes and whatever?

My phone rings. I look at the caller ID – it's by best friend Sylvia. I answer. "Sylvie! Where are you?" I think the clerk's just staring at my bare legs. Dweeb.

Sylvie answers, "At work, of course. Where are you?

"Shoe shopping." He's still just staring at my legs. Ugh. I waggle my foot – I don't have all day, can you get going?

"Did you want to do lunch?"

"Of course. Where?"

He's still not moving. He better not have an erection, but I'm not looking. I waggle my foot again.

Sylvie says, "Ezekiel's Tea Shop. I'm dying for one of their danishes. "He starts opening the pack of nylons he brought. Finally!

"Sounds good. I can ask Tom to come, but you know he won't want to." He looks like he's fondling the nylons. I do NOT want to think about it.

"Are things okay between you and Tom?" Sylvie asks. Finally, the clerk starts putting the nylons on me. I love the soft feel against my leg.

Tom hasn't had sex with me in a week. "He's been, I don't know. Low energy."

It's the way he's sliding the stocking up my leg. I once dated a man who had a stocking fetish. One shared fetish does not a relationship make, and we didn't last long. But I recognize the feel. It's a little exciting, to be honest. I deserve it.

Sylvie asks, "Maybe he's too busy at work?"

"Yeah, probably work. It better be work." I laugh, but it's a hollow laugh. It better not be another woman.

I feel the stocking sliding over my knee, and his hands on my bare thigh, and I suddenly realize what I've done. I'm letting him do – basically forced him to do – is extraordinarily inappropriate.

"Is sex still okay?" At first I think Sylvie means the clerk and his hands, which have moved up my thigh. But she means Tom, and she hit the bullseye.

"It's . . . you know . . . not as much." I sigh, then my attention goes back to the male who is exciting me, no matter how inappropriate that might be. Sigh, one small favor for the male losers in the world.

"What about fixing him a romantic dinner?"

"I tried that."

He takes the other nylon, to put it on my other leg. He looks like an eager puppy, but I really don't want his hands all over my thigh again. "One is enough." All I want to see is how they go together.

"Have you tried a strip-tease?"

I stand up, and my stocking falls. "Ugh." Because he forgot to fasten it to my garter. Sometimes I get so tired of male incompetence. I mean, it's hard enough to feed their egos when they do something right.

Sylvie says, "Bad idea? Not your style?"

"No, not ugh to you. I'm trying on shoes."

I sit back down. I want to keep talking to Silvie. He can do it right this time. I'm pretty sure he won't mind.

And apparently I won't mind his creepy hands all over me again. I really shouldn't be so needy, that's Tom's fault. "What about you, Miss Sex Machine?" Her turn to reveal.

I feel the stocking again sliding up my thigh. The cool, soft, sleek feel. Sylvie answers, "Oh, nothing much. Just a little REALLY HOT bondage."

I have to laugh out loud. "You have got to be kidding!" And now he's snapping my nylon to my garter. I can feel myself getting wet. I do have a fetish.

"How did you think of that?" His hands are back on his lap, where they belong. He looks stunned.

"Just trying different things."

I stand up and look down. "You're either crazy or a genius. I'm thinking genius, but the jury is seriously out on that." The shoes look really good.

"Okay, got to go. Kisses."

"'Love. See you in an hour."

I sit down and give him my credit card. "I'll take these shoes. And two more pairs of nylons, this color." I'll look great.

"Yes Ma'am." I take the nylon off myself. I know he wants to watch, but he just gathers everything together. Then he says "I'll be right back," and walks towards the cash register.

I reapply my lipstick and give Tom a call.

The clerk comes back. "I need you to sign this." Meanwhile, Tom has answered: "Hi Ella." Like he's at work, that's good to hear.

"Hi Tom." I sign what the clerk wants me to sign.

"Why are you calling?"

I need a reason? That hurts. The clerk gives me a large bag with my shoes, and I walk out of the store and put on a happy face. "Because I was thinking of you."

"Whatcha up to?"

"I had a long photo-shoot this morning. I'm having lunch with Silvie in an hour at Ezekiel's Tea Shop. Do you want to come?" I'm walking down the street.

"Too busy, Sorry, hon."

"Oh, and I found a new pair of shoes. To replace a worn out pair." How did I almost forget that – I'm carrying them in my hand. I can still remember the feel of the clerk's hands on my leg. I try to remember what he looked like.