The Genie in the Boots

First off, it's spelled Djinn, and I know that. It's also pronounced that way. The term 'genie' is a relatively new one. But 'The djinn in the boots' didn't have the same ring to it.

Anyway... I'm not really one for magic, usually. But how could I resist this particular request?

And by the way, the boots in question, in my mind at least, look like the ones just beyond the cut.

Djinn in Boots

 When I found them at the garage sale, I didn't have anyone to buy them for. They were gorgeous though: black leather, just the right texture, broken in perfectly but not too much. They had room to give, but they were also clearly fitted to someone's feet. Someone who had to be perfect. The laces were gently used, the straps already measured, the buckles solid and with no signs of strain to the metal. They needed a polish, but otherwise, they were perfect.

I had no one to buy them for. They wouldn't fit me. Even if they would, they were clearly meant for a woman. A beautiful woman with magnificent size seven feet. But I didn't know anyone like that. I didn't have anyone who would want them.

A voice in my head told me to get them anyway. They weren't all that expensive; it was a garage sale, after all. What's forty dollars for such an exquisite pair of boots. My mouth was watering every time I looked at them.

I decided they were worth it, and while I did get a strange look and a raised eyebrow when I bought them, no one actually said anything. No one asked if they were for a friend. No one told me what I deal I was getting.

And no one warned me what kind of deal I was getting.

They stayed in a bag in my closet for a few weeks. I kept hoping I'd meet a girl, that wonderful, perfect girl. The one with just the right mix of dominant attitude and warm personality, the wit and the warmth. The woman beautiful in mind, in soul, and in body. The one who could warm my soul with a smile, chill it with a sneer, and excite it with a wry smile. One who made me afraid of her wrath, in awe of her joy, and desperate for her pleasure. The one who made me feel like the most important person in her world one minute, and the lowest form of trash the next.

I dreamed of her. She never fully took form in my mind, but I knew the boots were for her. I knew they would fit her perfectly, like she had lost them and it just so happened that I had found them for her.

But as weeks turned slowly into months, I never came across her. And I started to wonder if it had been a mistake to buy the boots in the first place. What if I started dating someone, and she found them? Best case scenario, she makes me throw them out. Worst case, she thinks I'm some kind of freak.

And yet, I couldn't throw them out. I couldn't bring myself to do it. I tried to convince myself that it was the right thing to do, that I was becoming obsessed with a woman who didn't exist, that I was so focused on her that I would never meet anyone, that no one could possibly live up to the woman I'd built in my mind, the woman in the boots.

I took them out of the closet with every intention of finally getting rid of them. I took them out of the closet and put them on the counter, then on the floor next to the door. Someday, I'd take them to the trash. Or I could donate them somewhere.

I could try selling them at a consignment shop. That sounded like the least bad of my options, so I decided I would do that. First, though, I had to make them look good. I had to polish the steel buckles, and the steel block in the heel. I had to make sure the grommets were perfect, that the straps were tight, that the laces were smooth. I had to polish the leather.

I took my time with it. To be honest, I took several days. I used different types of polish and soap, making the boots gleam and shine, making them even more beautiful. They were amazing when brought to a high sheen. I couldn't exactly see myself in them, but it still felt like there was some kind of reflection. A hazy outline, maybe, but the best that could be expected in black leather. I buffed them with a towel, took deep breaths and let the sweet scent of leather and polish permeate through my body.

I don't know why I did it. Maybe it was the weeks of dreams, maybe it was the beauty of the leather. Maybe it was something else, some urge I never wanted to admit to. But no one was watching, no one was there, so I figured I might as well. There was no one to judge; no one would know other than me. 

So I bent down, I took a deep breath, I closed my eyes, and I kissed the toe of the boot. It was a gentle kiss at first, barely a brush of my skin against the leather. But something about it was intoxicating, and I soon found myself pressing my lips more firmly, feeling the porous leather and letting out a soft sigh of pleasure.

“It's okay,” a voice said. It was soft, pleasant, but commanding. So perfectly what I imagined that I ignored it at first, assuming it was just in my head. “You can keep kissing if you want to. And if you want to lick them, I wouldn't stop you.”

The way she said the word 'lick,' the tension in her voice and the way the word slid up my spine, made me realize I wasn't imagining it. I raised my eyes up the length of the boot, knowing I wouldn't see anything above the tongue of leather. But there was. Soft, pale flesh with a ripple of muscle underneath. The skin was perfectly without blemish, and following it up I found the legs slipping into the dark folds of a skirt. Then there was a swath of pale flesh with perfect abdominal muscles, then another swatch of black over perfectly shaped breasts. By the time my eyes reached the chiseled perfection of her chin and the thin smirk on her lips, I had all but forgotten how to breathe.

Time lost meaning as I stared at the aristocratic curves of her face, the perfect cheekbones, and the eyes so big and blue that I might have stared into them for a minute or for a week.

It's not until she speaks that I am able to wrench myself free of her sardonic stare.

“You didn't have to stop, you know,” she says. “I was quite enjoying it.”

“Who--” It's all I can manage.

“I'd been wondering if you would ever actually give me that kiss,” she says. “I hoped, when you first found me, that you would. You didn't seem like you were going to give me to anyone. I was starting to get impatient when you finally started polishing me.” She glances down and moves her foot, pivoting on the toe and admiring the sheen of the leather. “Thank you for that.”

“I'm sorry, what?”

“No need to apologize.” She smirks at me and gives me a little laugh, one that dances down my spine and tingles at the base. “I told you. It was a good thing. And better that you finally gave me that kiss.”

“But I--” my eyes train on her lips, and I lick my own. They taste vaguely of leather. “I didn't”

She crosses her arms over her chest, rolls her eyes, and looks at her perfectly manicured fingers. “Haven't you figured out yet?” She lets out a sigh. “I suppose it's probably difficult for you to put it all together, isn't it?”

“What?”

“Normally, we do this sort of thing with a lamp.” She shrugs, then moves her feet around a bit to make that soft creaking sound of the leather. “I just prefer these. Don't you think they're better than a silly old lamp?”

I'm nodding before I really think about it. The boots are better than anything. Certainly better than a lamp. Wait, did she say a lamp?

“Are you a genie?”

She laughs at that. “Djinn,” she says. “Genie makes me sound like I should be blue and telling jokes. Or calling you master.” She smirks at me. “Would you like me to call you master?”

I shake my head. It wouldn't be appropriate. This woman, this creature, this goddess should never call anyone Master. Least of all me.

“Good,” she says, her smirk getting wider.

“So you're a djinn.”

She nods. “Good to see you're catching up.”

“And you were trapped in the boots.”

She shrugs. “More or less,” she says. “It works.”

“And I let you out.”

She smiles. “And enjoyed every second of it, didn't you?”

I nod.

She puts her hands on her hips and gestures that I stand. I hadn't realized I was on my knees in the first place. “Get me a glass of water,” she says. “Then you can ask your next question.”

The glass is in her hand before I realize it, and she drains it in one long gulp. She offers it back to me with a dismissive gesture, and I soon have it full and in her hand again. “My my,” she says, her voice both teasing and pleased. “You are quick to obey, aren't you?”

I don't know how to answer that. And before I can, she walks past me and into the living room. She lays on the couch, crossing those perfect boots up on the arm of the couch. “Sit down,” she says, pointing at the chair.

I slip quietly into the chair, my eyes dancing back and forth between her face and the soles of those boots.

“Oh, you're going to be fun,” she says.

“What?”

“You probably know the drill,” she says. “Or at least, you think you do. Wishes, and all that.”

“Three?”

She holds up her hand, then lowers her fingers in a nice wave until she makes a fist. “Five,” she says. “One per finger.”

“That's more than I thought.”

“Yes,” she chuckles. “Five is a bigger number than three, isn't it?”

Her condescension, and the playful tone she delivers it with, makes me feel like I should be crossing my legs. “What can I wish for?”

She spreads her arms out wide. “Anything you want,” she says. “Doesn't matter to me.”

“Even more wishes?”

She nods. “If you really want to. But I'd think about it first, if I were you.”

“Why?”

“What do you think would happen if you got everything you ever desired?”

I shrug.

“Okay then.” She puts her hands behind her had and looks up at the ceiling for a second. “Let's try this, then. What do you know about the djinn? Not the cartoons, the real stories.”

“They grant wishes.”

She nods. “Ever hear of a monkey paw?”

“The wishes always end badly.”

“Well,” she says, “Not always. Most people just don't know how to do it, and end up asking for something they didn't mean to ask for.”

“Like what?”

“Suppose you wished to be the smartest man in the world,” she says. “There are three ways we could do that. We could do what you clearly intended, and make you much smarter.” She waves her hand back and forth, balancing the possibility. “Or I could make you the only man in the world.” She smirks at that one. “Which wouldn't be as good as you probably think.” Then she takes a breath. “Or I could just make every man in the world dumber than you. Which would still make your wish true.”

“But not really what I wanted.”

She smiles. “Exactly.”

“Why would you do that?”

She shrugs. “A girl's gotta have fun,” she says. “And it's not like I didn't warn you.”

“So I have to be really careful with my wishes?” She nods. “And asking to be the best at something, or the most of something, usually goes badly.” She nods again. “And what happens after my fifth wish?”

“Nothing,” she says. “I go back to my boots and wait for someone else lucky enough to give them a little kiss.”

“You wouldn't want me to wish you free?”

She laughs at me, then cradles her hands in her lap and gives me a stare that turns my blood to ice. “Tell me honestly,” she says. “Do you think I'm a slave?”

I can't speak, but I shake my head.

“Good boy,” she says. “This is just the way of things. I'm no more trapped in this than you are trapped needing to breathe.” She holds up a hand. “And I definitely would advise against wishing you didn't have to breathe.”

“So I can't wish you free?”

She shrugs. “You can if you want. But it would be very bad.”

“Why?”

“Because then I could make my own wishes come true,” she says, giving me a dark smile. “And I have a very,” she licks her lips, “vivid imagination.”

“I like you,” I say.

“I like you too.” She smiles. “That's why I'm warning you about making too many wishes.”

“Could I wish for you to stick around after I'm done wishing? To just be here as a human being.”

A fire lights in her eyes. “Don't you dare wish me human,” she says, her voice more frightening than anything I can remember. “But if you want me to stay, then maybe I will. But as me. Not as a human.”

“I'd like that.”

She laughs. “You barely know me.”

I shrug. “Maybe that'll change.”

She taps her foot a little, and my eyes are riveted. She laughs. “I get it,” she says. “You want to fuck me.”

“What?” I definitely need to adjust how I'm sitting. “No. I would never--”

She holds up a hand. “Stop protesting,” she says. “I know you wouldn't wish for that. You aren't going to try to force me to do anything. But you still want to. Don't you?” I can't help but nod. “And if anyone is going to be a slave here, you want the job, don't you?” Another nod. “Well, there's no need for that to be a wish,” she says. “I kinda like the idea.”

“What should I wish for?”

She smiles. “Tough question, seeing as it comes so quickly after admitting you want to be my slave. Should you wish to be immortal? Or should you wish to be able to heal from any damage I might do? Should you wish to be my perfect slave? Oh, so many bad things I could do with any of those wishes.” She bites her lip and her nostrils flare. “Why don't you start with simple things. Something that I can undo if you get stupid.”

“Like what?”

“Most people wish for money, power, and success.”

“I don't want power.”

She laughs. “Believe me, I'm getting that impression. But what about money?”

“What about it?”

“Don't you want some?”

I nod. “I want enough to not have to worry about money.”

“So make a wish.” Her voice is taunting now. I think she already knows what to do to punish me for that particular wish.

“I wish.” I take a deep breath. “I wish that when you grant my wishes, you do so with my best interest in mind, giving me the result of the wish that I should have made, that fulfills the desire that my actual wish focuses on, without negative consequences, for this specific wish and for every other wish of mine you grant.”

She laughs and claps her hands at that. “I like you,” she says. “I think we're going to have a lot of fun together.”

“Are you going to grant my wish?”

She smirks. “You'll just have to see, won't you?”

“What do you mean?”

“When you make another wish,” she says. “Then you'll know if this one worked, won't you?”

“But--”

She shakes her head. “You didn't specify that part,” she said. “And the desire you expressed was to have safe wishes, not to know whether or not they worked.”

I sigh.

She laughs.

“Oh, we're definitely going to have fun,” she says.