This is an autobiography. This is a work of fiction. This is erotica. This is apocryphal.
This is my story.
Over the last twenty years, I have been many things. Out of high school, I went directly into a job at a retail outlet. I took a few classes while I was working and brought myself over from clerk to management. I met my husband and we were married. We had a daughter and I was happy.
I put my family first, my career second. Because of that, when my daughter was in an accident, I lost the best managerial job I ever had. I was spending time with my family, not with the store. I lost the job just three days after I buried my daughter.
I was devastated. My husband had a good job and he was able to hold us together both financially and emotionally as I worked through the crap that was in my head.
I want to make one thing clear. I am not a good housewife. Yes, I cook. Yes, I can do laundry. But the staying at home thing just isn’t for me. It took about a year for me to get back on my feet and by that time, the job market had fallen around my ears. So I was forced into being a housewife.
Several years went by. I ran my house like it was a business to keep my skills up. I had spreadsheets for the shopping. I made YTD reports on plantings and maintenance around the house. I... I was fooling myself into thinking I was being happy. But I kept busy.
I did not let myself slide into watching t.v. all the time. I found that I had the urge to turn to a certain channel at a certain time during the day and I stopped myself. I grabbed my laptop and found a coffee shop. The resumes were still going out, the rejections piddling in, when they thought to send one at all. I started to use the time away from home keeping myself away from the television to do research. About the jobs available to begin with. Then the skills I would need to catch up. And then about just about anything that caught my fancy that day.
I was able to get my husband off to work, do the chores that needed to be done that day and head out before lunch most days I didn’t have something actually scheduled. I would use several coffee shops, a few book stores and the library while I was out, trying to not go to any one more than once a week. I was still vain about not having a job and tried to make it look like I was just working on a project away from my office.
In the afternoon, I would get something to make for dinner and bring it home. I was very good at throwing things in a pot or pan and making it reasonably tasty. By the time my hubs was back from his commute, I was settled in with dinner ready, a show picked out and a willingness to listen to what he had to tell me about his day.
That didn’t change. Much.
I remember one morning when I was very agitated about something. I think it was about a problem with the car that had to be fixed, but the money had gone into something else. He left as usual, oblivious to the fact that I wanted to tear his head off. I fumed. I sat and looked at the dishes that needed to be done. I turned my back on the plants that were drooping by the window. And then I picked up my computer bag as usual and left.
I should also make clear that because we had to deal with just one car and he drove into work most days, I went to places that were either within about a mile of the house, or I took the bus. It is not unusual for people who work in the city to take the bus, so I did not feel odd doing this during the week.
The morning I wanted to rip off his head and see where he kept the pea-sized brain, I didn’t bother to put on the facade. I had my black yoga pants on under an oversized black shirt. No belt. No make-up. I had my hair up in a severe pony-tail and my shoes... Well, even before the rest of this story, I had this thing for shoes.
They were some of the last good shoes I had purchased before I was fired. $350 Sonja and Phillip stiletto strappy things that made my legs look gorgeous even if I felt as though the five inch heels were being rammed through the bottom of my foot within an hour of my wearing them. I had never stopped giving myself pedicures and the bright red toes showed through the Italian leather straps like a ruby among jet.
I brought out my punch card and had the luck that day to have a free coffee. After having a one-sided argument, having something go right made the day just a little better.
My ass was on one of the rickety wooden chairs, the laptop on the faux marble table in front of me. I had my legs crossed, the top foot flexing and circling as I had the first few sips of the thick coffee. It was not the best coffee, but the shop was only about a ten minute walk, even in those heels, so it was good enough.
A man moved through the coffee shop and sat near me. He had been near the front of the storefront and I had sat near the back. It is not unusual for people to wander around coffee shops and book stores, changing their seats to get better plugs or air-conditioning. I thought little about it, except he sat so that he could see me.
I have had years now of watching people in coffee shops. When people move to adjoining tables, the usual thing is to take the seat that looks away from the closest table, or to at least turn the chair so that it is looking at neutral territory, such as the order counter.
He did neither.
I ignored him. I was not in a mood to deal with strangers. If I had still been working, my assistant would have put a small red post-it note on my door to warn people.
My daily round of resumes and rejections only took a few minutes. That was actually nice. There were some days when corporate websites would take close to an hour to make me go through their hoops and accept the stuff I could have just mailed to their HR department. A simple email off to an ad I had seen in a local pulp paper and one turd in my IN box and I was done. I had run out of unemployment at least a year before, but it was a habit I did not want to let slide.
I hit StumbleUpon and looked at random things until something caught my attention and curiosity. At this point, I don’t even remember what it was. I started to delve into it, making notes and going deeper into the internet with each click. I was not paying attention.
I stretched after a while. I had been scrunched over the fake rock table long enough that my back was telling me to move. I reached up and back slightly, feeling things move and relax. My eyes met his and he smiled.
I don’t know why I smiled back. I moved in the chair and changed which leg was on top. I went back to the random research but paid more attention to him than I had.
His eye went down and stayed down. There was a small motion of his legs going together and apart. He looked around as if he were checking to see if someone was watching him, though his eyes did not go back up to mine. I moved my foot and he was riveted.
I sighed. I looked at the screen of my laptop and tried to look bored. I knew I had some sort of a pervert looking at my shoes and wanting to... At that point, I did not know what could be done with shoes, other than wear them.
I was feeling frustrated. I leaned back and crossed my arms over my chest. I motioned with my toe and his eye went up to mine again. He seemed to be more excited than embarrassed at my catching him. I was flippant and said, “Either kiss them or go the fuck away.”
By all that is holy, I swear he came in his pants when I said that.
He looked towards the front of the storefront and had big eyes when he looked at me again. He stood and I could see that he was pushing the fabric of his pants out, and not with something in his pocket. He dropped a pen which rolled conveniently under my chair. He knelt. There was a pause and his lips were on my shoe.
I was stunned. He was gone out the front of the Coffee shop before I was able to actually react.
I turned back to the table and stared at my laptop. I wasn’t actually seeing whatever was on it. I was trying to work out what had just happened. I could not think of anything else. I tried to concentrate on things, but couldn’t.
I made it home early that day. I was able to put something into the oven to slowly cook before I just sat on the couch, staring at the blank television.
My husband didn’t even notice that the dishes had not been done when he came home.
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