My freshman year in high school, my closest friend (on whom I had an immense crush) and I walked through the halls, clicking away on the tiles with our brand-new, matching, shiny white gogo boots. We wore miniskirts and lip gloss; we linked arms and sashayed into rooms like we owned the joint. It wasn’t just that the heels on the boots made our legs more shapely; it was the way we had to bend down to zip and unzip them*, the way the line of the boot draws the eye upward, the way poise is affected by confidence is affected by poise. A feedback loop. I felt untouchable – an intoxicating emotion for a fifteen year-old who criticizes and doubts everything about herself.
My father was in the military for thirty years, so I’ve always associated boots with power. When he would head off for weekend or summer trainings, he shined his boots beforehand ‘til they glowed like fresh ink on a typewriter page. He laced them lightning quick, ready to go in an instant in case of emergency. When I smell shoe polish, I think of his nimble fingers pulling the strings just so and whipping them around hooks before tying bunny ears. There are pictures of me as a toddler stomping around the house in his big black boots – laces undone, dragging on the floor. I was in Nepal on a hike when I realized that I lace and unlace my boots just like he used to, and it made me cry in the middle of the mountains.
I’ve worn boots as both a domme and sub in session; I’m a bottom by nature, and it can be difficult for me to inhabit a dominant headspace. Attire makes a huge difference! I know that a true dominant can do all their domly domming no matter what they’re wearing, but… I’m just not a top. Wearing boots is the number one thing – at least from a physical standpoint – that helps me get into a dominant role. Be it cowboy boots used to step on someone’s dick (love that guy), heavy, thigh-high black vinyl boots being worshipped by a man on his hands and knees, or – any boots, really – used to boost my height and assertiveness, boots make me feel in command. Self-possessed. A force to be reckoned with*. I feel like my fifteen year-old self: swaying my hips, begging to be looked at, and acting grown up – not even really knowing what that means.