Sweet story about a romance sparked by sore bunions and torturous shoes. Can’t remember where I found this, probably one of the Yahoo groups. Thank you to whoever wrote / shared it.
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Little White Lies
Peggy worked at a bank in Washington, D.C. as a loan officer. The branch was on a busy corner, and Peggy’s desk was located on street level in front of a large glass window. Peggy had started working at the bank almost 20 years ago, after being struck by a car driven by a drunken driver killed her husband. Left alone with her infant son, Peggy was forced to go to work.
Without any skills, Peggy started work as a teller in the bank. When she started work, the bank had a strict dress code – women employees needed to wear a skirt, blouse, and patent leather pumps. Peggy loved the work, but her feet didn’t. They ached constantly inside the tight, uncomfortable shoes.
One day at the end of the shift, Peggy’s feet were really killing her, because she was breaking in a new pair of shoes. With a groan, she kicked them off and sighed saying, “Boy, it feels good to give these dead dogs some air!”
Her fried Denise who worked at the next window said, “A bunch of us were wondering when the Iron women would finally break down – this is the first time I’ve ever seen you with your shoes off at work.”
“Well, I was always afraid I’d get caught. The employee manual says that we are supposed to keep our shoes on during working hours.”
“Who do you think would catch you,” asked Denise.
“Those security cameras that track how we handle the money can also see our legs and feet,” replied Peggy.
“Gee, I guess nobody told you about how to beat them. The camera pans back and forth across each teller’s station. No station is on camera more than 10 minutes an hour. You can figure out when you are going to be back on camera, and that’s when I slip my shoes back on. With my bunions and corns, spending more than a few minutes each hour in these damned pumps is torture,” responded Denise.
Peggy started following her friend’s advice. The corns that had formed on her baby toes and second, hammered toes never went away, but they softened and were no longer quite so painful. Even in her stocking feet, however, standing all shift on the hard, unyielding marble floors of the bank made her feet throb and burn.
After a few more years as a teller, Peggy decided to start taking night classes to earn her B.A. in accounting. Six years later, she earned her degree as was promoted to being an assistant loan officer. Instead of standing all day, Peggy spent most of her time sitting at her desk, opening new accounts and arranging loans for customers.
As the years passed, Peggy was promoted to senior loan officer, which meant she moved to her current location on the bank floor in front of the window. As she grew older and with job being much more sedentary, Peggy gradually began putting on a little weight. Now, at 43, Peggy, who stood about 5’ 4’’ and weighed perhaps 145 pounds, started to wear foundation garments under her suits and dresses and higher heels, which made her legs appear longer and more shapely.
With the higher heels and extra weight, Peggy’s feet began bothering her more. She had grown used to kicking off her shoes towards the end of the shift, but now she slipped off the second she sat down at her desk in the morning. She only slipped them back on when greeting customers or when she was needed somewhere else in the bank. As a treat to herself, Peggy also started getting weekly manicures and pedicures, and the pedicurist was a genius at pumicing off just enough skin from Peggy’s corns so that they hurt less but looked better in sandals and open toed slides and pumps.
One day, a handsome younger man Peggy had never seen before came into the bank. She was happy that she was the next loan officer free, so that she could see what he wanted. It turned out that Stephen was new in town and needed to open a checking and savings account. He was tall, light browned hair, and gifted at small talk and telling little jokes.
Peggy completed processing the forms for Stephen’s new accounts at about 12:30. As Stephen got up to leave, he asked, “Can you recommend somewhere around her for lunch? I’m starved.”
Peggy suggested a café around the corner that sold good sandwiches and salads. Stephen replied, “I want to thank you for all your help, and if it’s not too forward, would you like to join me?”
Peggy forgot about the sandwich in her desk drawer and readily agreed. She crammed her feet into her shoes (white, open toe pumps with 3 inch heels), and walked out the door.
At lunch, Peggy found out Stephen was 34, single and worked for a government agency. Before she realized it, an hour had passed and she needed to get back to the bank. As she was leaving, Stephen said, “You can tell me to get lost, but would you give me your phone number? I had such a good time that I would like to share your company again.”
Peggy responded, “Are you sure? Don’t you think I’m a bit old for you?”
Stephen said, “So what – you’re maybe two or three years older than me. What’s the big deal?”
Peggy temporized “Actually, it’s more like four – I’m 38.”
“I don’t want to bother you, but please consider it,” replied Stephen.
“You know — going out again might be fun.” With that, Peggy gave her his phone number.
Unlike her pessimistic expectations, Stephen was as good as his word. He called two days later, and the two of them went out to dinner. Soon, they were dating regularly. Peggy was afraid to appear older, so she dressed in clothes as revealing as she dared, including, high sexy heels. She also feared that complaining that her feet hurt or slipping off her shoes would be another sign of age, so Peggy grimly determined to keep her shoes on throughout each date. It was also she could do to keep smiling when Stephen walked her to her door, before running inside and kicking off her twin torture chambers.
One night, Stephen made plans for dinner at a restaurant about a mile from the bank along Pennsylvania Avenue near the Capitol. He picked Peggy up after work and said “Isn’t it a beautiful evening? Would you like to walk over there or take a cab?”
Peggy took one look down at her feet, encased in a new pair of purple, high-heeled slides with closed toes. Despite her throbbing feet, she said,” A walk would be great.”
“Are you sure? It’s a mile, and those shoes may not be the best for walking.”
“Oh no, they’re really comfortable,” Peggy lied. “It’s like being barefoot.”
The walk over was torture. Most of the way was downhill, and Peggy’s feet kept slamming into the front of the slides, which pinched and bruised her corns. She almost gasped out loud with relief when they finally made it too the restaurant. Unfortunately, the tables did not have long table clothes, and Peggy thought Stephen would notice if she slipped off her shoes. She compromised by dangling them from the tips of her toes, which relieved the pressure on her corns.
When dinner was over, Peggy couldn’t face walking back but didn’t want to admit her feet were killing her. She suddenly had a brilliant idea. “Steve, have you been to the National Gallery’s Sculpture Garden?”
“No, where is it?”
“It’s only a few blocks away. It’s so nice out, I really don’t want to head home yet.”
Half walking and half hobbling over to the Sculpture Garden, Peggy made a beeline for is center where a large fountain was located. Both tourists and locals sat on the low ledge surrounding the fountain, and many had slipped off their shoes and were splashing and soaking their feet in the water.
Peggy said, “It’s beautiful out, but a little warm, especially after all that food. It might be nice to cool off a little.” She quickly kicked off her slides and slipped her stocking feet in the water. She tried not to gasp out loud in pleasure as the cool water deadened the pain in her throbbing, pulsating corns.
Steve sat down next to Peggy on the ledge and they chatted for at least 15 minutes. Peggy was reluctant to leave but was also afraid Steve might think her feet were killing her. Suddenly, another brilliant little lie flashed in her brain. She slipped her feet out of the water and said, “Oh dear, how could I be so stupid. Now my feet are really wet and these shoes are suede. They’ll be ruined.”
Just as Peggy hoped, Steve said, “Why don’t you keep you shoes off – we can just catch a cab on the corner.”
On the cab ride back to her house, Peggy rolled down the window and stuck her feet out in the breeze “to dry them off.” The real reason was the wind on her feet was almost as pleasant as soaking them in the fountain. By the time they returned to her house, she could just bear cramming her feet back into the slides and walking inside.
Several more months passed, and Peggy kept seeing Steve. The bank’s Holiday party was arriving shortly, and Peggy asked Steve to go. Steve asked, “Is it formal or informal?”
“Usually, it’s black tie. Is that O.K., “replied Peggy.
“No problem, but I’ll need to get a tux. I’ve been wanting an excuse to buy one.”
“You know, I need a dress, too. Would you like to meet at Nordstrom’s on Saturday and do some shopping,” asked Peggy.
Steve agreed, and they met at the store before lunch. Steve quickly found a suit, and Peggy after some consideration selected a purple cocktail dress. Steve asked if she wanted to go for lunch, and Peggy said “One more stop – I need to get some shoes to go with this dress.”
They walked over to the Salon Shoe section, and Peggy quickly spotted a beautiful pair of Manolo Blahnik evening shoes. They had a tapered, 4 inch purple heel that matched her dress, a single purple leather ankle strap, and the front consisted of a transparent plastic vamp and tapered, peek a boo toe. They were absolutely gorgeous, but when Peggy flipped them over to check the price, she got the bad news — $550, much more than she had paid for her dress. “Oh well, they’d probably just kill my feet anyway.” She decided on a less expensive pair of strappy silver shoes with a closed toe and a much lower heel.
“Why don’t we go for lunch now,” asked Peggy.
“I’ll meet you there – I’ll take all of this stuff back to the car,” replied Steve. He joined her about 10 minutes later, which seemed like a long time to Peggy, but the lunch was fabulous.
Two days before the bank’s party, Peggy noticed a package on her front step. She opened the box and pulled out the Manolo Blahniks she had been eyeing at Nordstrom’s. The card said – “Merry Christmas, love Steve.”
Peggy slipped off her shoes from work and tried on the shoes. “Now I really know what the phrase ‘exquisite agony’ means,” she thought. Her feet looked sexy, even dainty, but the shoes were tight and the plastic material in the front was hard and unyielding. “It feels like my baby toes are in a vice grip,” Peggy mused, and she also noticed that her corns were highly visible through the transparent front of the shoes,
She slipped off her pantyhose, slipped on a pair of open toed, low-heeled slides, and raced over to her nail salon. Fortunately, her favorite pedicurist was free.
“It’s an emergency, Lu Chan. Please pumice off as much of the skin on my corns as you can, and paint my nails in that dusty rose shade,” said Peggy.
“You sure? Feet hurt very bad if all skin gone. Can’t get out hard roots underneath skin. Toes will howl like dogs,”
“Don’t I know it,” Peggy sighed inwardly as she said, “I know, but I have to look good at the party and for my boyfriend.”
Peggy was surprised how much trimming her corns hurt. Lu Chan was careful, but the hard skin was difficult to slough off, and soon the roots of all her corns started burning. She needed to soak her feet again in the footbath to reduce the swelling and pain.
The big night came. Peggy got dressed, and was already cursing her binding foundation garment (it was the only way she could cram into the dress – food was clearly going to be optional at the party) when it came time to slip on the shoes. Peggy had soaked her feet and remained barefoot all weekend, hoping to give her feet a break, but all that was forgotten the second she slipped her feet into the shoes. The shoes were a size 9 (Steve had told her that the store was out of 9 ½’s) She could tell already that a 9 ½, or even a 10, would have been a better choice. Through the clear plastic, her toes were scrunched together painfully, forcing her slightly hammered second toes to rub against the tops of the shoes. Her second problem was her corns — the damned shoes seemed to pinch them mercilessly, and her toes were already beginning to throb.
Peggy looked at her watch – 15 minutes until Steve was due to pick her up. “Boy, I not wearing these any longer than necessary,” she thought as kicked her shoes off and placed them by the door. She padded over to the couch and waited.
Steve was right on time. He seemed a little puzzled by why it took Peggy so long to open the door, but getting the shoes back on proved to be a big struggle. “Maybe I shouldn’t have taken them off. My feet seemed to have swelled,” thought Peggy as she secured the straps around her ankles.
Steve looked great in his tux, and Peggy could tell from the gleam in his eye he was impressed with her outfit. “You look terrific, but do you like the shoes,” he asked as they walked to the car.
“I just love them,” she replied as she was thinking, “But my poor feet don’t.” Peggy was starting to realize just how much the shoes would hurt as she slipped into the passenger seat of the car – with each step, her baby toes were thrust against the hard outside plastic of the vamp, and her hammered second toes were pinched by the opening at the front of the shoes.
They arrived at the party, which was already in full swing. Steve walked over to the bar to get some drinks as Peggy’s friend Denise walked over. “Peggy, you look fabulous. Are those really Blahniks,” Denise asked as she looked down at Peggy’s feet. “How could you afford them?”
“Thanks, Steve got them for me as a gift, but I’m paying for them now. My feet are just howling. Is there some place to sit down?”
“Just over there – I got us a table. My dogs could use a break too, these marble floors are just murder.”
Denise and Peggy walked over to the table. Denise sighed as she kicked off low-heeled party shoes and wriggled her toes. “Your not seriously considering leaving those on,” Denise asked.
“I have too – my feet are so swollen I don’t dare take them off. I’d never get ‘em back on,” replied Peggy. “Plus, I don’t want Steve to see me with them off.”
Steve returned and asked Peggy to dance. He moved beautifully on the dance floor, and Peggy felt awkward and uncomfortable as she hobbled to keep up. After 45 minutes, she told Steve she was a little tired and thirsty and walked back over to where Denise was sitting. Steve slipped away to get her another drink.
“How you holding up, Kiddo,” asked Denise.
“Sitting down helps, but the shoes are still too tight. I don’t think I’d even feel my feet if my corns weren’t throbbing so much,” answered Peggy.
Steve came over to the table with fresh drinks. As he sat down he said, “Denise, are you here with anybody else?”
“No, I’m by myself. My husband didn’t want to come, and anyway he needs to stay home with the kids.”
“Would you like to dance?”
“I would love to, but my feet won’t let me.”
“Feet hurt?”
“It’s these new shoes and the marble floors. My dogs have been barking for at least an hour.”
“Maybe I can help,” said Steve as he Denise’s left foot into his hands and started massaging it.
“Ooh, ooh, God that feels good. Tony hasn’t given me a foot rub in years. Not that I can blame him with my ugly feet, bunions, and corns.”
Steve continued massaging Denise’s feet. “I don’t think your feet are ugly – the little bumps and lumps give them more character, and your pedicure is really cute.”
“Then you’re the first person to think so – Tony tells me I should never wear sandals.”
After another 10 minutes, Denise looked at her watch and exclaimed, “Oh my gosh, I need to hustle and get home – I promised to be back by 11.” She picked up her shoes and said, “Thanks again for the massage. My feet feel so good I think they could stand being in these shoes again, but it’s the holidays so I’ll give them an early Christmas present and stay barefoot.” She said goodbye and padded out of the room in her stocking feet.
Peggy was starting to get a little tipsy, and she was a bit jealous of all the attention Steve had been paying to Denise. She giggled and said, “Did you really think Denise’s feet were cute?”
“Sure, but nowhere near as cute as yours are.”
“Would you like a closer look,” asked Peggy as she slipped her left shoe and foot into Steve’s lap. He startled her by undoing the ankle strap and slipping off her shoe.
“Feel better,” asked Steve.
“No, these shoes are really comfortable.” Steve started rubbing her foot. It felt so good to be out of the shoe and his touch was so soothing and gentle, Peggy gasped out loud. “Oh hell, who I am kidding. My feet are killing me! Please take off the other shoe, I can’t stand it any more.”
“How long have they been hurting,” said Steve as he started to massage one foot and then the other.
“Oh not long – maybe 20 years. Worse since you came along. I haven’t walked or danced so much in shoes like this in years. Ouch – watch my baby toes, there a bit sensitive.”
“Yeah, that’s what corns will do,” agreed Steve.
“You knew I have corns – how?”
“I have a confession to make. It wasn’t an accident that I came into the bank that day. I’d noticed for weeks you always kicked your shoes off at your desk by looking through the window. I figured you had to have corns. I waited around until no one was sitting at you desk, and then came into the bank – I figured I could meet you.”
“You wanted to pick me up because of my feet,” asked Peggy, but then it dawned on her. Steve always looked down at the ground in restaurants or in stores. He must be checking out women’s feet! “Are you into feet?”
“Not just feet – I like women, especially older women, who wear sexy shoes that kill their feet. It’s even better if they have little corns or bunions – I’m always thinking about making them feel better like this,” replied Steve as he continued to massage Peggy’s feet.
“Well, you came to the right place. These shoes you got me are beautiful, but boy do they hurt! I was afraid you were going to ask me to dance again, and I was running out of excuses?”
“Why didn’t you ever say your feet were hurting?”
“Because I was afraid it would make me look old. I figured a few little white lies wouldn’t hurt – well, except for my feet. They’ve been paying the price since we started dating. Oh, since confessions are in order – I’m not really 38 – I’m 43.”
“I’m not really 34 – I’m 29,” replied Steve. “I was afraid you wouldn’t go out with me if you knew how young I was.”
Peggy and Steve left the party but continued to date. Their ritual – Peggy cramming her feet in sexy shoes, then moaning about her foot pain, Steve slipping off her shoes and rubbing her feet – made them inseparable (and led to some interesting encounters in the bedroom). Two years later, they got married and lived happily ever after – all brought together by a few little white lies.