« on: 09 Mar 2017, 23:21 »
by El Poncho
The carpet felt good against his feet. Size 10 1/2. Wrapped in luxuriously thick toesocks, rainbow striped. The carpet was the kind of cheap, durable stuff that you find in shopping malls. Low, tight weave. Not long strips, but rather square tiles of carpeting, fitted together snugly. The better to replace easily when mysterious stains appeared, which was a common enough occurrence when shoppers congregated in large numbers and a food court was nearby.
He wiggled his individually socked toes against the stain-resistant, synthetic-fibered, yarny curls. He sighed happily. It was a rare treat to be in public in besocked feet.
With slow, measured steps, he walked through the air-conditioned store, wandering the low aisles, perusing the wares, idly touching a few of the display items. The sable trimmed hem of his long coat dragged the floor. The highly exclusive tailor who had handcrafted the garment hadn't cut the length of it with socked feet in mind. A few bits of floor trash got caught up in the sumptuous fur edging. A gum wrapper. A plastic spoon from a ice cream sundae. An elastic hair tie. An old toothpick with a bit of corndog stuck to the tip.
He didn't notice. The coat could always be dry cleaned later. Moments like this, when he could walk around like a normal person, albeit it one with exquisite taste in socks, were heartbreakingly rare.
He sighed again, deeply, contentedly. It wouldn't be long now. It had already been longer than he had expected. Only a few minutes of freedom remained. Perhaps only seconds.
He frowned but didn't want to. He wanted to smile again, genuinely, while he still could. He stopped walking. Planted his weight squarely on each foot. Wiggled his toes against the carpet. Unbeknownst to him, he had added a sticky cherry lollipop to the hem of his long, purple coat. The dry cleaning bill would be hell.
From the back room, the store manager appeared, a large shoe box in his hands.
"Mr. LifePartner?" the manager asked.
"Call me Ray, baby," the man in the long purple pimpcoat replied with easy charm, hiding the rising dread in his stomach.
"Your shoes are ready, sir," the manager said.
Ray nodded, making the long feather in the band of his pimphat bob and weave about quite pimpfully.
Sable hem dragging along behind him, Ray walked to the manager and sat down in the fine leather chair. The manager knelt quickly, opening the box, presenting the special pimpshoes to his best customer.
Ray examined them. Size 10, half a size too small, but such was the price of fashion. Ten inch heel. Five inch platform. Purple leather fitted precisely to clear acrylic. Inside of each boxy platform, a hamster waited patiently next to a water bottle and an exercise wheel. They were well trained, these little animals. They would only run in their wheels when Ray was strutting.
The manager unlaced the shoes and wedged them painfully onto Ray's feet with a 24 karat shoe horn. Grunting. Straining. Cursing. Both men worked themselves into a lather until the shoes were at last tightly laced and ready for the streets. Red-faced, the manager huffed and puffed. Ray softly prayed the rosary and gave thanks for another successful pimpshoe fitting. The hamsters squeaked nervously inside their clear, plastic cages, clearly rattled by the experience.
"All... done... sir..." wheezed the manager.
"Call... me... Ray..." hissed the pimp, cursing the hideous demands of a playa's life. Nothing was easy; pimping most of all.
He stood up, stifling a scream, until he was teetering and tottering from side to side, a lean purple pine tree sure to fall at the first breeze. His ankles protested. His arches threatened to explode with each step. His smile was charming. His stride smooth. His look impeccable. Sable trimmed pimpcoat edge swaying a mere inch above the carpet with each swing of his polyester wrapped legs, Ray glided out of the store in his new pimpshoes, and made his way to the dry cleaners in glorious style.