Balanced And Barefoot Novels & Stories

he said suddenly. “Where?” He nodded toward the beach. “ Taking a Walk.” I looked down at the heels Angela had forced me into. “I’m wearing high heels,” I said. “They’re not meant for the beach. Or walking in sand.” Axel Moretti followed my gaze to the shoe, and then he sighed softly, almost amused. “Just take them off.” “Take them off and wear what?” “Let’s go barefoot,” he said simply. And then, to my surprise, he bent down and took off his own shoes.

He then turned to look at Levy and questioned, “Does your feet hurt a lot?” “It’s nothing,” Levy sighed with a shake of her head. “I am not used to such pointed heels and long hours that's all. In the prison we used to stay barefoot, sometimes the simplest shoes were given to us because our patrons did not want us to burn or stab our feet on something and make them lose their money. However, I have never worn heels…and that too for a day.”

Veda gave the instruction herself, which was the most efficient version — not patient explanation but immediate correction, standing beside each of them as they took their first steps on the wide base-plates and adjusting weight distribution by pointing at where the balance had failed before the failure finished happening. The principle was counter-intuitive. Everything in Xander's physical training said that stability came from a wide base and active correction. The stilts required the opposite — a narrow commitment to the correct vertical line, trusting the base-plate to do the work, any active correction becoming the problem rather than the solution. Marcus got it first, which made sense

He asked as he stared down at my bare feet. “Yes. Anything wrong with that?” I asked him, returning my eyes forward. “It is unhygienic,” I gave a short laugh. “You are telling a nurse that?” I asked and glanced at him as we continued walking. “The heels were killing. It has been a long time since I wore one and sometimes, it is good to do something you usually don't do,” “Like walking around the city barefoot?” “Yup,” I popped the P, nodding my head.

I'd know the blue and white linenolum pattern anywhere. Dad rounded the corner clad in a Hawaiian shirt. "Mom got him this on our honeymoon," he said proudly. I smiled and hugged him. For a man of his wealth, he did not give a shit about brands or appearances. He was so excited when Crocs came out that he bought a pair in every color. "They are comfortable, cleanable and can't get smelly," he reasoned. I definitely didn't marry my dad. I saw the pair dad had gifted to Justin in our last Goodwill bag.

Boots firm. Spine aligned. Eyes forward. Not running. Not hiding. Not chasing. Just walking. Fully aware of the weight she carries. And fully capable of carrying it.

And his head was missing. In the half-light of the reluctant dawn lay a shoe. From its size Mac deduced that the bearer was petite, likely no heavier than the average twelve year old. Yet it was sexy, sophisticated and undeniably high-end. Or at least it had been. Now the heel had broken off and it was plastered with drying mud. A short way off lay it's pair, unbroken, kicked off in haste. He moved around trying not to disturb the mud, there were barefoot impressions; not the rolling motion of heel-strike walking, but only the balls of the foot and the toes.

Whoever said running in heels was easy… lied. I stop, pulling off my shoes and tossing them aside. At least the frozen ground is solid enough to walk on without sinking into mud—so much for presenting myself with any dignity. I can almost picture Bradens disspointed face as I walk barefoot home. A sharp snap of a branch makes me whip my head around, but I see no one. It’s probably just a guard making their patrol rounds. I need to stop being so jumpy.

"I’ll help you with the heels. Just take it slow." I nodded, grateful for her support. Walking in these heels felt like trying to balance on a tightrope. My legs were shaky, and every step felt painful. I didn't get many shoes back at home, only sandals and worn out flats, I gripped Azel’s arm a little tighter, afraid of tripping over my own feet.

I didn't want to be a complete ditz. “Yeah,” I answered. The pain was fading, but it still hurt. “I just stepped on something sharp.” Aiden dropped to his knees a took my foot in his hand. His gentle fingers probed my flesh and I had to put my hand on his shoulder for balance because he was making my world spin with want. “You're barefoot again,” he chastised gently. “It doesn't look like you broke the skin, though. You have something against shoes?” “You're just as barefoot as I am,” I informed him. “Besides, who goes swimming with shoes?”