A few days ago, I decided I needed some retail therapy. Nothing was really wrong, I just was feeling a bit down, and sometimes spending some money helps to cheer me up. Sometimes I spend money on myself, and sometimes I spend money on others. Usually what I purchase is not too extravagant, but spending a little time outside of the house is therapeutic all by itself. I’m sure shrinks have some really technical term for it; us lay-girls just call it retail therapy. It usually works, too!

So, anyway, I decided I needed some new winter boots, which was really the truth. The ones I had were actually several years old and were looking pretty worn down. The heels were rounded off and I almost had a hole in the sole and the laces at the end of last year had broken on both boots. It was time to get some new ones.

I love going shoe and boot shopping. I wear really short skirts and I always make sure that I get someone to measure my feet. I don’t care if it’s a guy or a girl, they get to see as far as they can up under my skirt. And, I always make sure to not wear undies. I’m really an exhibitionist at heart, I guess. I also always make them help me get my shoes on, so that I can spread my knees a little and raise my leg to help them get the shoe on. I always get good service, but the guys are always embarrassed. I’ve even had a couple of young “associates” come in their pants. It’s so funny.

Now, if it’s a girl associate, I don’t really change my behavior, but it’s sometimes a bit harder to tell if the girl is getting aroused. Guys are so easy, but girls are a bit more difficult. If they take a lot of time adjusting the straps, or fitting the shoe just perfectly, however, that’s usually a dead giveaway as to how they’re feeling. If I’m being difficult, or I complain about the fit, the girl will sometimes ask me to step into the backroom, and boy, do we have some fun back there! For some reason, though, I’ve never had a guy ask me into the backroom. Maybe they’re more afraid of getting caught with a hot, sexy customer. I’ve never seen that problem with women salespeople, though!

I usually go to the mall when I shop. They have some of the neatest shops, and if you’re a girl who likes to look, no one is bothered by that. It’s also fun to be seen, if you know what I mean, so I usually dress for the occasion. Between my short skirts or tiny shorts and my spaghetti-strapped camisoles, I usually have a lot of skin on display. Nils calls me a natural-born exhibitionist, and he’s absolutely right. I often wear little strappy heels with thigh-high stockings, but my skirts are so short, there’s a lot of leg that’s bare between the end of the stocking and the beginning of the skirt. Yep, I’m an exhibitionist, all right!

I don’t often go out shopping, so one of the fun things is to see all of the shops before I start doing some serious shopping. Hey, window-shopping is shopping, isn’t it? I know my friend Faith would say it is. Shopping isn’t buying, she’d say. And, one of the things you window shop are just the stores themselves.

There always seems to be a Spenser’s in every mall. And there’s usually a bookstore, not to mention what they call ‘anchor’ stores like Penney’s or Macy’s or something like that. There’s also jewelry stores and shoe stores, but a lot of stores are there only for a year or so, and then they’re gone. So, one of the things to do is to find all of the new stores.

This time, the new store was a western-wear shop. In their window display, they had a saddle and a bridle, as well as men’s and women’s western shirts; you know the kind, with the fancy covered snaps for buttons and the pointed flap pockets and yokes that are very highly decorated. For some reason, the theme called to me and I went in.

There was a bewildering array of stuff in there, just about anything any self-respecting urban cowboy could want! There was one whole wall of just jeans with terms like ‘straight-cut,’ boot-cut,’ and ‘flared.’ There were men’s jeans, women’s jeans, jean shorts and even denim capris!

On another wall were boots, boots and even more boots. There were square-cut, pointed, lace-ups and lots of others as well. In the middle were shirts and jackets of all sorts. There were even duster coats; some with capes and some without. There were display counters with all sorts of western paraphernalia. There was even a display counter featuring spurs, of all things! As far as I knew, we weren’t anywhere near a working ranch, but there they were, rowels and blunts and cloverleaves. As I said, there was anything and everything for the cowboy or the cowgirl.

Since I was in the market for boots, I thought I’d take a look and see if they had anything that wasn’t a cowboy boot. Well, I guess that cowgirls don’t always wear boots for use with saddles, because at the end of one display was a collection of urban boots. They were boots for winter with nice soles and heels, with good treads on them. The outer portion of the boots were overstitched with a seam going up the outside of each boot, and the insides were lined with fleece. I put my hand inside, and it was the softest, warmest fleece I had ever felt. The uppers were leather, but not a hard, smooth leather like you’d find on good shoes, but a slightly nappy, almost unfinished, leather. All-in-all, they were fabulous.

As I was admiring the boots, a saleswoman came up to me and asked, “May I help you, Ma’am?” Her accent sounded like Texas.

I turned to her and said, “Yes. I’d like to see if you can get these boots in my size.”

“Certainly, Ma’am,” she said, smoothly. “What size do you wear?”

“Well,” I said, “that’s the thing, you see. My size often changes, depending on a couple of things, if you know what I mean.”

“Certainly. If you will come here and have a seat, we’ll get you measured and fitted.”

I went with her and watched her as she walked in front of me. She was dressed as you might expect: A western-style shirt, tight jeans and pointed cowgirl boots. She also had a yellowish cowboy hat on her head. She was very young and the jeans looked as though they might have been painted onto her thighs and ass. The shirt, in a checkered pattern seemed as though it might burst a button or two, as her breasts were much bigger than mine. She had a couple of the buttons undone and her shirt showed a lot of cleavage. Her ass rolled and bumped as I imagined mine might if I were trying to seduce Nils.

She led me only a few feet away, into an alcove that had a very low stool for her and a higher one for me. They were both more rectangular than round and hers had a place the customer could put his or her foot while lacing the boot or shoe. She indicated the stool for me and I plopped down, my little skirt flaring out so that my bare ass was directly on the stool.

She took out the device all shoe stores have to measure feet. I think it’s called a Brannock device, but don’t quote me. She lifted my foot and took off the little slipper I had on and placed it on the device and asked me to stand up. She measured my foot and told me I could sit down again and she’d go and get a couple of pairs to try on.

She returned a couple of minutes later with three boxes: one larger, one smaller and one that was the right size. Of course, I tried them all on! She started with the boots that were just a bit snug. We were talking, and when I felt how snug the first ones were, she suggested that, since I was wearing only light stockings, that the fit would be too tight once I was wearing heavier socks come winter. I agreed.

I put my foot up on the footrest on the front of her stool and she grasped my boot-clad foot, raising it a little. As she did, she looked up at me, but her eyes never made it past my middle.

I heard her gasp, then her eyes darted up to mine and back down to where she could see my pussy on display.

She took a deep breath and gripped the boot again, and, with her eyes averted, managed to pull off the boot after a little struggle. “Let’s try this size,” she said and she grabbed the box on the left. I’m not quite sure how she did it, but she got my foot into the boot with her eyes closed. When I pulled my foot back to stand in the boot, she finally opened her eyes again.

“Well,” she said, “how do those feel?”

I wriggled my foot in the spaciousness of the boot and tried to take a couple of steps, but I could feel that this pair was far too loose and probably would be even with two pairs of heavy woolen stockings on my feet. I kept my comment short. “Too big,” I said and I took another step. I almost stepped out of the boot!

I giggled and sat back down and put my foot up on the footrest. “How about that last pair,” I said. “Maybe they’ll be like Goldilocks and fit just right!”

The girl was still sitting and I placed my foot up to where she could grasp the boot and take it off. She did, once again averting her eyes from my middle. She had to look up, though to take the other boot off, and she could see that I was starting to get a bit wet. I mean, shopping is fun and arousing, but teasing someone just made it more exciting for me.

She managed to get the boot off. As she was reaching for the last pair, I put out my hand and touched hers. “What’s your name?” I asked quietly.

She looked stricken. “Abbie,” she said, then added: “I hope this last pair fit properly. They’re the last ones we have in this size.”

I held my hand on hers, not grasping it, but making it a gentle touch. “Yes, let’s hope so, Abbie,” I said, and then took my hand away and leaned back and let her put the boot on first my right foot, then my left. I stood up and walked around.

“I think these will do, Abbie,” I said. “Do you have any heavy socks I could try on with the boots, just to be sure?”

She said, “Certainly, Ma’am. Be right back.” She jumped up as if she had a spring in her butt, but returned within about thirty seconds with some heavy white socks. She took off the boots, this time not staring at where I sat, but not averting her eyes, either. In fact, I held her eyes with mine, daring her to try to look away.

She handed me the socks and I pulled them on over my stockings. They felt right. I’m not sure how else to explain it, but they felt right. We got the boots on my feet with the heavy socks on and the boots fit just right. I’d found my Goldilocks, and I told her so. She giggled a little at the analogy.

We took the boots off again and put them in the box which Abbie picked up and started to carry to the register. I took off the socks and told her to add them to the bill. As we were walking to the register, I saw something I wanted to investigate. I took Abbie’s arm and said, “I just saw something else I might want,” and I steered her towards a clothes rack in the middle of the room.

On the rack were a number of short coats and vests and the one that caught my eye looked to be a perfect match for the boots I was going to buy. It was a vest, with the same kind of leather outer and a fleece lining. It looked like wool, and when I touched it, I knew I had to have it. There were several there, in different sizes, and I took one and put it on.

I still had Abbie with me and I asked her opinion. She said it looked too small, even on my small frame. I grabbed another, and she said it was too large. Finally, I put on a third and when I turned to Abbie, she said “Goldilocks!” And I knew that this was the right size.

It had very large pockets that were also lined with the wool, and I asked Abbie why the pockets were so large. She said, “Well, this is what could be called a ‘ranch vest,’ and the pockets are large so you can put things like apples and sugar cubes in them. Then, when you visit your horse, you can give them a treat!” I liked the sound of that.