Cory took a deep breath as he turned the corner, eyes tightly shut. Passersby likely stared with aloof confusion, but he didn’t care. This was the moment he’d dreamed of for almost fifteen years. Broadway, Nashville: the dream strip of country music nightclubs, southern apparel, moonshine, whiskey, and instruments. The gentle hum of twangy ballads tickled his ears, played by talented singers in the honky tonks along the street. It was now home. And as he opened his eyes, that dream was now reality.
The street was bustling, even in midday. Tourists, buskers, musicians, and surely a few stars strolled past entranced in their own worlds they’d taken for granted. It took everything for Cory to get here- or rather it had cost him everything. Not that he minded. The move, to him, represented the beginning of the life he’d always dreamed he would lead: becoming the man he fantasized in his head. With his first steps, they were the first steps toward that goal.
Walking slowly, he made his way down Broadway, aimlessly enjoying the ambience and palpable culture. Not that he was oblivious to his surroundings; this was his reconnaissance mission for today. Looking for prospects, opportunities, or a cheap souvenir for his new apartment. The latter became his focus, as there on the corner sat a clothing store. His first intention after all was to fit into the community, so dressing the part was the primary objective. As he walked up to the front doors, pulling the door open, the scent of leather, cedar, and smokiness flowed out of the open door. He took a deep breath, entering the wide open store. The two story atrium was filled with racks of denim, flannel, and rhinestones for the more flamboyant of folks. This was heaven. Surely he’d be able to find the authentic Nashville look here.
Pushing past rows of bootcut jeans and plaid button ups, suspenders and denim jackets, he stumbled upon the footwear department. Shelves wall to wall, filled with the freshest and most pristine of cowboy boots. Each gave such a different vibe. One pair had intricate embroidered designs up and down the tall funnel of the boot, another was fastened with harnesses upon thick rubber treads. Finding the right pair would be quite the task, as he stared nervously down the long aisles.
“You need some help, friend?” Cory spun around, startled at the sultry low voice from over his shoulder. Standing behind him was an employee, and the precise man he’d want to emulate. Muscled below his tight button up shirt, messy hair below a leather Stetson hat, tight bootcut jeans of heavy denim and topped off with a pair big well worn cowboy boots. He oozed a sense of stereotypical Southern Masculinity, stoic and unfazed by the world around him. “You lookin’ for a pair? I can help you find one if you like?” His twangy accent paired with a deep, low timbre nearly made Cory breathless for a moment.
“Uh, yeah. What’s the price range here?” The man raised a confused eyebrow at Cory, until it was clear on his face that he was helping an ‘out of towner.’
“Well, most boots like these go for a few hundred at least. That’s mostly what we carry.” The man put his massive boot onto the seat next to them, worn heavily but precisely what the doe eyed customer was looking for. He clutched at the wallet in his pocket- knowing full well that a few hundred was far outside his budget. Immediately taking notice of the flushing of Cory’s face, the man smiled. “Here, I think I have just the pair for you.” A glimmer of hope. Walking toward the back of the store, past the elaborate embroidered boots and jean jackets, the duo came across the clearance section.
“So these are our vintage pairs. They’re recycled… kinda. So since a lot of them were pre owned they tend to be a lot less than our newer models.” As he looked up and down the racks, finally the man stopped and pointed to the very last pair on the wooden shelf. They were clearly well loved by their previous owner, the glimmer and luster of any shine on the brown leather had long since been washed away with heavy use. The tips were scuffed, the heel and soles were annihilated… but for whatever reason, they seemed to beckon out to Cory. “My guess is they’re gonna be a bit big on you, but no harm in seeing if you like em! Give ‘em a try and I’ll be back to check in on you.”
The associate walked away, the click clack of the Cuban heel of his boots would soon mirror his own footfalls. Gingerly grabbing the left boot, he pryed the boot open a bit more, seeing the size marked US 14. That was almost twice his own shoe size. Taking a deep breath, he was prepared to let out a sigh of defeat… perhaps it wasn’t meant to be. That is, until the subtle scent hit his nostrils. It started as just the slightest hint of old leather, perhaps a smidgeon of tobacco… but just that little whiff was enough to encapsulate Cory. Looking around to ensure that no wayward glances would catch him, he brought the boot to his face, closed his eyes, and inhaled.
What was subtle from a short distance quickly turned strong as he took in the scent from the source. Hidden beneath that candle like quality was the unmistakable odor of foot musk. His eyes clamped shut, Cory envisioned in his mind’s eye what the original owner of these books would look like… some southern stud, handsome and rugged, a confident swagger in each step: the man he was destined to become. He opened his eyes and plopped down onto the small bench, removing his cheap Walmart sneakers and eagerly slipping his foot into the boot.
Unsurprisingly, his feet were minuscule in comparison to their cavernous confines. They certainly did not fit. Yet, looking down at his feet within them, the electrifying power he felt from simply sporting them, the idea of his own feet soaking up some of that incredible smell… it was a done deal. He’d stuff some cotton in the toes to help them fit, never mind the appearance to any objective bystander that they were clown shoes on this lanky dudes feet. Preparing to walk to the checkout counter to finalize the purchase, he tugged on the soles to pry them from his feet. They would not budge. Confused, he yanked a bit harder at the heel… no dice. His feet were so small compared to these boats… how could they be stuck?
His body began to ache, as if he’d run a marathon just a moment before, his breath became bated and shallow, his legs wobbly and unstable. A wave of incomparable exhaustion crashed over him like he’d never before experienced. A small moan escaped from his mouth as he felt his feet begin to spasm within the boots. Quiet cracking sounds began to emit from within them. Cory began to panic, feeling his toes slowly move to fill out the entirety of the boot. Gasping and groaning at the dull but pulsating pain, the sensations began to climb further up his legs. He watched in horror as his ankles slowly crept out of the bottom of his jeans, the firm material slowly growing tighter and tighter as his calves and thighs swelled and grew beneath it.
His core and chest became seized by a tightness he could compare only to a heart attack, watching his shirt slowly compress against the increasing size of his lean abdomen. The sounds of snapping stitches and ripping fabric echoed in his ears, nearly drowned out by the hastening beats of his heart growing stronger and louder. His arms convulsed, stretching and contorting into impossible angles at the joints, while pinpricks of black slowly began to rise from beneath the skin.
In his mind, Cory imagined himself in a sort of medieval stretching machine he’d read about in his studies years before. Every part of his body was being pulled outward, downward, side to side… while it was painful and incredibly difficult to endure, within the recesses of his subconscious, the dulcet, twangy sound of plucked guitar strings began to overtake him. The sound soothed him in a desperately needed respite from the cracks and creaks emanating from his bones. The music grew in intensity, the guitar growing in crescendo and tempo. It was becoming a comfort, a release, a passion… while it soothed his mind, his body was finally nearing its final state of metamorphosis. The formerly strained, constricting fabric of his cheap clothes began to loosen and change. His shirt turned dark; the sleeves had retracted into a comfortable tee shirt, casual but striking. His jeans stretched downward, the pristine denim flaring out into a bootcut style, flattering his long, toned legs.
Cory couldn’t help but mimic the struts with his calloused fingers, expertly performing the riffs as if his Stratocaster was in his hands. His head began to sway and crest to the beat of the song in his mind, letting his lengthening hair gently caress the side of his face and beard as he played. All thoughts exited his brain. The music had overtaken him. The need to rock. The need to perform. The need to write his soul in musical form became his only goal, while the remnants of who he once was slowly drifted away.
….
The employee strutted back to the clearance section, wondering if the strange little guy had made his decision. He’d been back there for quite some time, and the boss lady reiterated the “no loitering policy” to him once again. Turning the corner, he was surprised. Who stood before him was clearly not who he’d helped before. The tall, toned, bearded stud confidently posed in front of the mirror in the worn boots he’d shown the prior customer. Guess he wasn’t interested after all.
“They sure are beauties. Hard to find someone who fit them, they’ve been here quite some time.” The man turned, a smoldering grin shellacked upon his face.
“Yeah, man. I’ve been needin’ a new pair. These are perfect.” His twangy southern drawl tickled the associate’s ear. The customer turned to him, that bright, confident smile beaming as he looked him up and down. “Hey. I got a gig after this down the street if you’re not doing anything after your shift. I’ll get you the first round?” He suavely slid closer to the associate, the salty sweet scent of tobacco and masculine sweat wafted from his inked skin. How could he say no? Smiling, he tossed his arm around the associates shoulder. “Maybe afterward we could stop by my place, if you’re interested.” Winking, he strutted toward checkout. The associate blushed, catching his breath. Most definitely he’d be taking him up on that offer.
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