Angie stood as Allison reached for her boots, hoping her dizziness wouldn’t come back. Then Allison stood too, with Angie taking her hand again, and they began to make their way to the floor Angie said had a store with the exact pair of shoes Allison needed.
After a few minutes they were walking the promenade on the level Angie brought them to. It was a complete contrast to the hospital floor. The hospital floor decorated in a way Allison had never seen before.
The floor with the shoe store was a lot darker, typical of citizen floors, with lights flickering irregularly every so often. There was no art hanging up, just advertisements, and the air was somehow heavier. The carpet was worn, and stained; a concern for Allison wearing no shoes, but she still felt it preferable to having men lunge to rescue her every time she stumbled in her boots with no laces.
Allison was holding Angie’s hand, and they walked with purpose, but there were still a few men who seemed like they were in two minds about approaching them. Allison knew someone eventually would and after a minute someone did.
“Pedicure for a footjob,” the man said, straight out. He was well dressed but not particularly handsome, although he wasn’t ugly, and he was around the same age as Allison and Angie. He wore a cologne Allison sort of knew and remembered quite liking, one she could never afford for herself. She looked him up and down. Then thought thoughts she couldn’t really recognise.
“No!” Angie said, straight out. “Unless my friend has an interest.”
“I’m not talking to you,” the man said to Angie, sternly, and with a glare.
“We have plans,” Allison said, thoughts abandoning her.
“Manicure and pedicure, for both of you. And I watch. But I only want a footjob from you, beautiful. Your feet are perfect. I bet they’ve never had the pleasure of a cock like mine between them. You’ll love it. Between the arches of your feet...”
“No!” Allison said. She could see a bulge in his pants.
“Fuck you. You’re showing me your toes. You’re not wearing shoes. It's deliberate! You’re driving me crazy. I know women like you — teasing — you’re sluts. I normally wouldn’t go for it but I fucking love your toes. They’re perfect. Just let me cum on them. Pedicure and manicure for you and your friend, she’ll appreciate you, she doesn’t have to do anything and I cum on those delicious toes of yours. Then I watch to make sure you put your shoes on without cleaning my seed off. Your toes in your shoes with me all over them. To remember me by. Final offer. Please!”
“Fuck you!” Angie said. “Fuck off, we’re not interested!”
“You two are cunts. Put some fucking shoes on if you’re not interested! Stupid bitches! Fucking hags. Your feet aren’t even that nice, you whore. I’d have finger-fucked for you for a few minutes if you asked nicely. I’d have let you pick your own fucking colour! Please! Let me just cum on them. I’ll wank and cum on your toes. Same deal.”
Angie began to walk faster and so did Allison while the man seemed to slow down, the man calling out what colours Allison could have on her toes and fingernails as the two of them left him behind. Allison knew he was watching her walk away, though, cursing her. “Are all men like that?” she asked.
“The fuckers are. Some women like it. The directness. They’re the sluts, which is fine for them. But no. Not all. We’ll find you a nice man. You might even find you a nice man yourself. Don’t assume... And if you think you might like to try things with a woman, as a woman, I know a few of those as well. Don’t reject it,” Angie said, half turned to Allison, face full of sympathy, or pity, maybe sorrow.
Allison took a breath, trying to collect her thoughts. “He wasn’t even weird, or creepy. It was just annoying. He was so fucking annoying! I hate him! Fuck him!”
“Yeah...” Angie said, with a tired sigh.
“Old me found those guys creepy. I knew them. I don’t know... I felt like I had to protect women, or intervene, that women were afraid, for some of them at least... That guy was just an asshole. It was easy to say no to him. To tell him fuck off.”
Angie squeezed Allison’s hand. “That’s why a lot of women liked you. You were really good at knowing when to tell a guy to get away from them. When it was really needed. A few even believed you’d hit the guy if he didn’t.”
“I didn’t know when to do it. I worried about when,” Allison said, squeezing Angie’s hand back, as they walked, unaware of more men prowling around them. “But I just did what was natural. I don’t think I ever felt like I had to get physical with someone. I don’t know if I actually would. That’s fuck-up-your-life stuff.”
“Fuck-up-your-life like what you’ve done today isn’t?” Angie said, laughing. “Really though, if a man is ever hurting you you know what to do?” Her tone had changed from joking to gravely serious.
“Yeah. I guess. I know...” Allison said. “Tell him. Loudly. Repeatedly. I don’t know if I could. I mean, not with what I am. I’m not really—”
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“If a man hurts you you tell them. It’s serious, really serious. I’ve never seen it. I know a few people who have and they don’t talk about it. Rules, or something. They say it’s not something you want to do lightly, but if he’s hurting you you tell him, loudly, and repeatedly. You’re a woman and no man should ever hurt a woman.” Angie paused. “I really don’t know. I’ve only had people talk about it after a few drinks, and when they’re upset. And no matter how drunk we get they don’t say more. But you do it if you have to! They say nothing bad has ever happened to a woman after.”
“I’ve never heard men talk about it,” Allison said. “Except saying you don’t hurt women. You just don’t...”
Angie and Allison continued walking in silence, in their thoughts, until a man stepped in front of them, stopping them.
The man wasn’t dressed very well, certainly not stylishly. He wore new-ish but basic, staple clothing. The clothes weren’t stained but they were wrinkled, like he didn’t put them away after he got them from the laundry, just threw them in a pile. His hair was a little messy, but was clean, and combed; recently washed, with water. He had no obvious muscles but still gave the impression of strength in a kind of barrelled way. Mostly, though, both Angie and Allison noticed that the skin on his arms had stains or dirt on it. “Don’t assume,” Angie said, quietly.
“The floor is filthy,” the man said.
“And you noticed me walking without shoes on? You noticed my feet?” Allison said, quickly picking things up.
“So did they,” the man said, pointing to some men hanging back a little in the slightly darker areas. Allison groaned.
“I’m guessing you’re going to buy shoes? A lot of shoe stores on this level.” He nodded towards the boots Allison carried in her hand.
“Genius!” Angie said.
“I like feet, and shoes. And feet in shoes,” the man said, with a smile. “The floor is filthy, but there’s also some broken stuff on it, in some places. You could cut yourself.”
“And you’re offering to carry my friend!?” Angie said, laughing with bewilderment.
The man laughed too, like either his plan was obvious or his moves had been figured out, and for some reason Allison laughed at his and Angie’s laugh. It was so ridiculous. And he was so upfront about it, without being weird.
“Not carry, no. A piggyback?” he said, confidently, but calmly.
Allison thought this was different, he wasn’t pushy. He had a sweet smile.
She was feeling somehow OK about whatever he was trying, or maybe OK about the actual man himself.
“What do you want in return?” Angie asked. Allison wondered if this was original because she’d certainly never heard of a guy trying this. She’d never heard of this ‘tactic’ when men talked.
“What store are you going to?” the man said, still smiling but also serious, somehow. Angie squeezed Allison’s hand.
Allison thought she had some idea of what Angie's hand squeeze could mean.
“I mean is the store close, or far? That might matter, though probably not. I’m a handler. I carry stuff all day — industrial handler — hence the...” He rubbed one hand against one of the patches on his skin. “Almost like a tattoo, it’ll grow out in a few months. It won’t get you or your outfit dirty.” He smiled at Allison again and she noticed he was looking at her, not her feet, or her boots. She felt whatever she was feeling ripple through her.
“Rowan’s...” Angie said, doubtfully.
“I know Rowan. She’s lovely. She does real leather too. Piggyback? I don’t want anything in return. You’ll be my excuse to go into her store and browse around, and imagine women wearing the shoes; the new styles. It’ll keep me going during the work week. Is that OK?”
Allison squinted at him, thinking. Wondering, ‘Could I?’ Angie squeezed Allison’s hand again.
He turned around and crouched so Allison could climb on his back.
Allison looked at Angie who suddenly had the same kind of smile on her face as when the two of them were having lunch, her cheeks like baubles, and looking delighted.
Then Angie shrugged and shook her head as if to say, ‘I don’t know. It's up to you.' She obviously hadn’t seen anything like this either. It seemed this was not a typical encounter for her. And she changed the shaking of her head to nodding at Allison, with another shrug, as if to support her no matter what she did. It was up to Allison.
Allison sighed in acceptance. She was a woman, she supposed. Women gave into men; they pleased men. That was her role and why she wouldn't have to work for her stipend. On the scale of things she'd done today letting a man give her a piggyback was minor.
She spread her knees after moving closer behind the man’s back.
“Tell me if I’m too heavy,” she said, nervously, looking at Angie who was making urging motions to Allison to climb onto him now that Allison had made her mind up.
“You won’t be,” the man said, as Allison rested herself onto him. “You secure?”
Allison wrapped her arms around his shoulders and chest, avoiding hitting him with the boots in her hand, and he stood as she gripped as best she could her knees into him. “My name is Robert.”
“My friend is Angie and my name is Allison,” Allison said, gasping with Robert’s movement, and strength.
“You comfy?” Robert asked.
“Mmmhmm,” Allison mumbled, unsure of what she was doing. What she’d allowed herself to do. With a guy!
Then Allison accepted yes, she was getting a piggyback from a man! Her legs, in stockings, were wrapped around a man! She was so close to him! She could feel him with her body, and she suddenly realised he could feel her. He held her. She didn’t know what the two of them were doing, what exactly this was, but they were doing something.
“Pleased to meet you both,” Robert said. “And welcome to The Good Ship Robert, Allison. Off we go.”
When he said ‘Off we go’ he gave a little hop and a small dart forward. Which is how the rest of the trip to Rowan’s store went.
Sometimes he’d walk, and they’d chat, laughing, then at random moments, sometimes mid-sentence, he’d bounce and take off into a jumpy run. By the time they arrived to a store with a brightly illuminated ‘Rowan’s’ sign above it they were all in non-stop laughter, Angie barely holding back tears, Allison’s heart pounding with excitement.
“Our destination,” Robert said, as the glass doors opened back and they walked into a decently sized, warmly lit store, with cream and pale yellow tile flooring and shoe after shoe on illuminated displays on the walls. But there was more. There was all manner of female leather goods; purses, belts, leather bracelets and chokers, pouches, there were even displays of non-precious metal jewellery.
Robert backed up to one of the benches and crouched again to let Allison climb off; Allison who had a big smile on her face. She’d had a piggyback, from a guy! A strong, funny, guy who was happy to do it for her. A piggyback from The Good Ship Robert!