Scent of a Boot
by: M-A
It was almost a fetish.
The way that leather felt as he stroked it. The rich smell of it in his nostrils. The rough, scratchy laces in his hand, begging to be pulled and pushed and tugged into place. The sheer feeling of decadence as his foot slipped into the boot, to be held snugly in all the right places, intimate as lovers. A boot wasn't like a shoe. It was heavier, bulkier, but it took your shape more quickly and more completely. The right boot on the right foot was a strong marriage, where heaviness counterbalanced with a perfect fit made footwear that was forgettable. And, because of this, so memorable. His boots were warm in winter, cool in summer, depending on the right choice of sock for temperature control. He could do without the woolen jodhpurs and the heavy, scratchy coat. But he'd wear those boots for free.
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