Sweetness - Chapter 5 - Part 1

Sweetness

By Mike

Chapter 5 – Part 1

Escalation

“So, tell me,” Peyton said. “Tell me, tell me, tell me.” The last came out in a rush, her brown eyes big and her face shining with anticipation. She was wearing jeans that fit her flawlessly and a loose white T-shirt emblazoned with a small fiery phoenix above her left breast. She had one hand in her lap. The other was holding my right hand. Her thumb was casually caressing my own.

I told her about my first day wearing my heels to work and how terrified I’d been that someone would see them or even worse comment. I told her about waiting to go to the bathroom until I couldn’t stand it anymore and how each time after that had been a little bit easier. “I used to work for a large advertising firm in Chicago, did I ever tell you that?”

She shook her head.

“Yeah, I met my ex in Chicago and we wed there. When her dad got sick, I’d never seen her so scared. So, we moved down here to be closer to her parents.  He died about a year after we arrived but for Linda, I think she needed that year. It was tough. On both of us. Her dad being sick, coupled with,” I glanced around the restaurant, “my fetishes, led her to pulling away from me. I think she was looking for something she could control or maybe she wanted to feel powerful, so she lashed out and I was the closest. I forgive her. I do. Hindsight makes that easy but at the time, the stress of starting a new business, helping Linda help her dad and dealing with her rising hostility put a lot of obstacles in our way. I can’t say for sure, but the move broke us up.” I have her hand a squeeze. “Anyway, where was I going?”

“I don’t know.”

“Me either. Shit.” I took a sip of my tea. After work, still wearing my heels, I’d gone home to take a shower. Peyton had suggested meeting for dinner at a local seafood place called The Iron Hook and after getting ready, I’d met her there. I wasn’t wearing my heels and when Peyton had seen me, she had flashed an exaggerated frown and said, “poo.” Both of us had laughed.

“Something about Chicago?”

“Right. My job. When I started, I was given an assignment to deal with the draft editors in our print ad division. Now, I’m not an artist. I can’t tell Monet from Eddie Money, so trying to point out flaws in print ads was not something I was comfortable doing. At the time I thought that as long as the picture got the point across it was good enough. It’s not. Not at all. Subtle things can change the whole tone of a picture. Beads of condensation on a beer bottle, for instance. Sells more beer than a photo without them, did you know that? It’s true. The condensation shows a cold beer. I was supposed to sign off on these pictures, the ones you see in magazines and I hated it. I dreaded going to work each day thinking that someone would discover I was a fraud. That I didn’t know what I was doing.

“The thing is, it got easier. Once I started doing it, I started to believe I could do it. I had always thought that that was the wrong order of things. I thought you had to believe you could and then you can but that wasn’t the way it was for me. Yesterday was like that. I had thought that there was no way that I could wear my heels to work. That it would always be nothing more than an exciting fantasy. My panties were easy. I’d been wearing them exclusively since Linda moved out. Nobody could see those. Nobody would ever see them.”

“I did.” She stuck out her tongue.

I nodded. “Yes. You did.”

The waitress came and took our order. Fried shrimp with asparagus for me and a blackened mahi over yellow rice for Peyton. When she left, I continued, “The heels though? Like I said, I’d fantasized about it but never had the courage to wear them to work. Just like my old job in Chicago, though, once I started it became easier. It was like learning any skill, I guess. Once you learn how to do it, you know how to do it.  I almost took them off that first day. Heck, I did take one off for about five seconds, but I thought about you and about what you had asked me at the bowling alley.  I know it’s not the same, but I thought that if I took my heels off, I’d be cheating, not on you, but you. Does that make any sense?”

She nodded.

“Today was easier than yesterday. I was still terrified, but it’s the fear of a roller coaster not of a monster hiding under a little kid’s bed. I’d gotten away with it once, so the second time had to be easier. That’s where I was going. Now I remember.”

Peyton laughed. “You’re cute when your flustered.”

“Uh huh. And nervous, right?”

“Right!” Her free hand left her lap long enough to take a sip of her pinot.

“Anyway, working in Chicago, I had a cohort, a man named Jim, and he was good at his job. Damned good. Turns out his wife had been downsized and they were having a hard time making ends meet. He ended up getting fired for running up about twenty thousand dollars of personal expenses on her company credit card.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah. The stories that came out after told about how it was a slow build up. He knew it was wrong, of course. Your comment now, your ‘wow,’ shows that you knew it was wrong too. Anyway, that first time had to be the hardest. Jim knew he shouldn’t do it, but he had to eat, right. So, he did it. He used his company card to buy groceries. That freed up money to pay some other bill. After that it became easier for him. The first time he leaped a giant hurdle; each time that followed was easier. That’s how yesterday was.”

                “Oh, we can’t have thing be easy on you.”

                She said it with such playfulness that despite the fear her words brought I still smiled. “Today wasn’t easy,” I said. “Not at all. I’m just saying it was a tiny bit easier than yesterday. Like Jim, the first hurdle was the hardest.”

                “Did anyone say anything today?” She took another sip of her pinot.

                I shook my head.  “No. Today was another relatively normal day. When I started my company, I never took lunch and after I’d grown the business enough to have a personal assistant, Gayle, she always took lunch, she seemed to pester me about eating. So, I made her a deal,” I shrugged, “I’d buy if she picked it up. She jumped at the chance. Free lunch.”

                Our waitress brought our meal and refilled my tea. She asked Peyton if she’d like another glass of wine. “No, thank you. I’ll stick with water.”

                “Enjoy.”

                The waitress left us alone. I told Peyton how I had stayed tucked away in my office only leaving when I had to use the bathroom. I told her about my walk, how I shuffled my feet to hide the sound all heels made. She laughed at that, “So you drew attention to yourself?”

                “I don’t think so.” But did I? I thought about that as I took a bite of my asparagus.  I had tried to hide my shoes by sliding my feet along the floor. Did that attract undue attention to my feet? Gayle hadn’t said anything so maybe she hadn’t noticed. If she did, she didn’t say anything and was that worse?

                Peyton laughed, “definitely cute.”

                I sent her a live-action emoji of a face with its tongue stuck out that caused Peyton to laugh even harder.

                The conversation flowed. She told me about her get-together and how she had wanted to invite me, had even thought about it, but was having such a good time with me that she didn’t want to share with her friends. “Not yet, anyway. I did tell Janey about you. She’s my best friend; we share everything.”

                I thought of the heels I’d worn to work. I thought of Peyton’s panties, the ones that I was still wearing. I thought of the foolish bet I’d made and about what was coming next. “Everything.” My voice cracked.

                “Yup.” She gave me a coy little smile.

                Peyton put her fork down and reached across the table for my hand. “You have nothing to worry about. I trust her, and I need you to trust me. I didn’t tell her about everything.”

                “That’s good,” I said, finally able to swallow again. Peyton finding out about me, while working out well, hadn’t been planned. I didn’t like the idea of someone else finding out. Of course, wearing my heels to the office meant I’d be discovered, right? Why were things so confusing and why was I enjoying it so much? Why did it feel like I needed it?

                “Yet.”

                I let out a weak squeak. Peyton squeezed my hand tighter. “Trust me.”

                I nodded. The thing is, I did trust her. Maybe that was foolish. I’d known her less than a week, but I felt a connection that was undeniable, and I was certain Peyton felt it as well. I’d already raced beyond my comfort zone and while frightened, I was anxiously anticipating where Peyton would next lead me. I liked how she hadn’t invited me to her party. It was far too soon for me to meet her friends. I wanted to be an addition to her life, not a substitution for it and that she was still able to do things without me showed that she was well adjusted and mature enough to stand on her own and not need me. That was important. I needed her to want me in her life, not need me in it. I’d seen it before, a woman trapped in an unhealthy relationship because she couldn’t afford life on her own.

                She pulled her hand back and took a bite of her fish. She downed the last sip of her pinot and took a sip of water. She was watching me, “trust me.”

                I nodded though I wasn’t sure if she had asked a question or not.

                “Good.”

                We finished dinner, the conversation turning to different topics. She told me about her day and I learned how horrible being a nurse could be. She talked about her newest patient, an elderly woman in pain who would cry, “help me,” in a frail, timid voice for hours at a time no matter how much pain medicine she’d be given. “It’s heartbreaking,” Peyton said, “she has no visitors and she just hurts so much and there isn’t anything we can do. I’m not sure if she is really in as much physical pain as she says but she is hurting, and it breaks my heart that I can’t do more for her.”

                My esteem for Peyton rose even higher as she told the story. She was a compassionate, caring and tender woman and she was sitting with me. I felt lucky to have met her even if our meeting hadn’t been on terms I’d have arranged. “Yellow, nice,” was not a great way to be introduced to your girlfriend. Was it a meet-cute like you’d see in one of those Hallmark Channel movies? Maybe.

                I paid for dinner, this time Peyton not reaching for the check like she had the first time we met. The growth in our relationship was evident in that missing gesture. “Where to?” I asked as we left the restaurant, holding hands.

                “Shopping.” The exuberance in her voice was as evident as the sun on a cloudless day.

                “Oh,”

                “Yep,” she kissed me on the cheek. “I get to pick what you wear, remember?”

                I remembered. I had given it far too much thought. I licked my lips and swallowed. Hard. “I remember.”

                “Good.”

                At Peyton’s direction I drove us to the mall. She was chatting about shoes and skirts, blouses and earrings, stockings and bras. I was listening, feeling a rising trepidation with each article of women’s clothes she mentioned. Some I could easily hide while others seemed impossible. But wasn’t wearing my low heels impossible too? And hadn’t I accomplished the impossible? Isn’t that the definition of progress? Succeeding at the impossible until it was nothing more than the mundane? I’d worn my heels to work. Twice now and tomorrow would be day number three. How long until my heels became like the panties I wore every day. No longer impossible but normal and did I want to go there? I’d never thought of wearing a skirt to work but now that Peyton had put the idea into my head, I wanted to both run away from it and try it just the same.

                Peyton was smiling and dancing in her seat. She was excited, and I was the one exciting her. Was it me or my fetishes that had made her so happy and did it matter if my fetishes and I were so intricately entwined? I owned panties and heels and a corset, didn’t owning a skirt or dress follow?

                I parked the car. Peyton jumped out, ran around to my side of my SUV, and pulled me by the hand. “Come on,” she squealed, “this is going to be fun.”

                And it was fun. And scary. And embarrassing. I felt one emotion tumbling over another, each vying for dominance. One moment I’d be laughing and the next my face would be flush and burning crimson. Peyton led me to Victoria’s Secret first. I followed where she led, enjoying her dominance sure, but delighting in her exuberant happiness even more. Peyton was having fun and she was contagious.

                She stopped at a bin of pastel panties: light blues and yellows; oranges and pinks; lime green and periwinkles. A few she held up to her waist, then, smiling devilishly, she beckoned me to her and held the panties to my hips. “Oh, they have these in your size, honey,” she said, louder than I’d like.

                The store wasn’t very busy. I guess not many shoppers went out on a Tuesday night but even the three shoppers and four employees I did see was much too large an audience. I shook my head, trying to signal I wanted her to keep it down. If she knew what I was trying to say she ignored my wishes and kept on smiling and laughing and making a pile of panties grow even larger. “We’ll get two of each pair,” she proclaimed happily, “one for you and one for me. We’ll have a matching collection and, oh, this is going to be fun.”

                The way her voice changed fascinated me. She’d latched onto an idea and suddenly the store was a lot less crowded. I was focused on Peyton and what she was thinking. Whatever it was it had stopped her shopping. She was thinking about something. Something big. “What?”

                “I told you that I had a way to keep you from falling out of my panties, right?”

                I vaguely recalled her saying that but hadn’t given it any additional thought. I nodded in reply.

                “Well, I also have quite a few toys. No, not here. We’re here to shop. When you take me home tonight, I’ll show you and tell you my idea. It’ll be delicious.” Leaving me wondering what she was thinking, Peyton went back to the panties. There were thongs and boy shorts, bikinis and G-strings. True to her words she picked out panties that matched. Only the sizes were different; mine were two sizes larger than Peyton’s.  

                Peyton handed me the panties. There had to be about two dozen pairs, two of each size. I stood there, in the overly bright store holding the overly bright panties with a face that was glowing in embarrassment. Peyton, however, was all smiles.

                “Hi. I’m Carla, can I help you,” a woman approached. She was so skinny that I had to wonder if she was sick. She had long black hair and equally dark eyes. Her nose was slightly crooked like it had been broken more than once and hadn’t exactly bent put back into place correctly.

                Flashing a shark sized smile, Peyton said, “I’d like a bra fitting please.”

                I shook my head as surreptitiously as I could, trying to dissuade Peyton from what she had planned.

                “Of course. Follow me, please,” Carla said.