We wander into the sex shop in the gay part of town. It is a rather conventional shop, by most standards, but oh, they have shoes. Stripper shoes a mile high, with clear heels and diamantes, platforms in white, red and black, ribbons and shiny leather.
I search through sizes while he idly browses beside me. I point some out to him, “Look, look at these, these are fabulous!!” He smiles and nods approval, “Yes Ma’am”. I find a size 13 and beckon him over. It takes him a second to realise that they are for him.
“Try them on”, my voice is loud in the small space.
He looks around, there is a gay man behind the counter, another browsing, a woman also. He nods and takes them from me, placing them on the floor. He slips his shoes and socks off and tries, awkwardly, to squeeze his foot into the right shoe. It is so high, it throws him off balance. He grabs onto the shelf to steady himself. I crouch in front of him to do it up, and help him get the left shoe on, I roll his jeans up so that I can see them. He towers above me when I stand, probably 6’6 in these crazy heels. He totters, like a stilt-walker, trying to balance.
I laugh at him, he blushes and smiles back, he is concentrating on not falling over.
I hold out my hands to him, “Come on”.
He takes my hands and I encourage him to walk to me. He teeters precariously, barely able to take a few steps. The man who was browsing is watching, an amused smile on his face.
I catch his eye over my boy’s shoulder, “Don’t they look sweet on him?” I ask.
He grins at me, “Oh yes, yes they do… he needs some practice, though, love…”.
“He does, doesn’t he?”, we are complicit in embarrassing him, both amused.
The other man comes out from behind the counter, to have a look.
“What do you think? They’re pretty on him, aren’t they?” I ask him.
He looks my boy up and down, a quick assessment.
He nods, “They ARE pretty,” he smiles and leans against the shelf, happy to stand there and watch.
I keep an eye on my boy’s face to see how he is taking it. They are behind him and he pretends he hasn’t heard, looking down at his feet, his brow furrowed as he tries to take a few more steps, holding my hands for support. His concentration is incredibly sweet, and finally he looks up at me, a sideways half smile on his face. He is embarrassed, and proud, and I can see he is a little glazed, like he gets when he is caught up in doing things for me.
“Hard isn’t it?” I ask him.
I see the momentary flash of confusion when he thinks I might be referring to his cock (a thought that nearly makes me laugh out loud).
He nods, “Oh god, yes Ma’am.”
I make him take a few more awkward halting steps, like a baby giraffe, then lead him slowly down the aisle and back. One of the men offers advice to me on how to improve his walk, make it more confident, sexy… it involves him swaying his hips, we discuss him as if he isn’t there. Finally, I relent and indicate that we are done. The men drift away when they see that the show is over.
I help him take the shoes off and he steps down from them like a stepladder. I stand close to him when he is back on solid ground, he has dropped into his space and I love that, adore it, it is like a beacon for me. I lean up to him and rub my cheek against his, he presses against me for a moment and I hold him there, a hand around his neck.
“That was difficult for you, wasn’t it?” I whisper into his ear.
He nods against me, “Yes, Ma’am.”
I hold him close and he softens into me, “Good boy.”
I feel him smile against my cheek, “Thank you Ma’am.”