Shoe Shopping

“Oh no,” Bam moaned as soon as he saw the store that his lover was pulling him towards. Ville rolled his eyes.

“You’re being dramatic, Bam.”

“Dramatic? Maybe I am a little bit, but I have like, post traumatic stress disorder from the last time you took me shoe shopping!” Bam tried to dig his heels. Ville just rolled his eyes again and continued to pull on his lover’s wrist.
“I don’t wanna go in! Please don’t make me. No, please!” he pleaded. The Finnish man blushed as people passing them by stared.

As the couple passed by a brick column, Bam reached out and wrapped his arms around it. Blushing furiously, the singer tried to pry him off. The skater continued to kick and scream. Finally though, they made it into the shoe store.

“Well, I hope you’re happy.” Ville hissed. “I know feel like the biggest ass in the nation.”

“Nah, Britney Spears still has you beat.” Bam shrugged coolly. Ville wasn’t listening. His eyes had gone wide and sparkly as he took in the store. Shoes, shoes, shoes, lining shelf after shelf. He inhaled deeply. The smell was almost enough to get him high.

“Oh, Bam. Isn’t it beautiful?” he whispered.

“No, it’s horrendous, and it makes me want to curl into a fetal position and cry.” Bam grumbled.

Ville was gone. He slowly strolled the shelves, like a lion staking out a herd. It was as though the ones on sale were the weak or sick ones. The American could barely believe it. He dropped down heavily on a bench and wished he had brought something to play with.

Even one of those dumb paddle balls would be better than having to sit here and watch the other man shoe shop. He leaned back and began to count the dots in the ceiling tiles.

He’d gotten to three thousand, one hundred and five when Ville returned with his arms full of cardboard boxes. He dropped them all in a heap next to Bam and opened one box reverently.

The next two hours were filled with Ville putting every pair of shoes he had scavenged onto his feet. A few pairs twice. Some even three times. If he didn’t pick a pair soon, Bam was going to shoot himself in the head.

And, most likely, he’d be skinned and made into a pair of shoes. Of course, Ville would find a fault with them. They’d make his feet long too long, or too short, or raise him up too high, or wouldn’t be good for his arch. Something, anything. Bam had probably heard every possible problem with shoes by now.

He’d drowned out the complaints. By now all he couldn’t hear the words. He could only hear the voice they were spoken in. That rich, deep voice that rolled over him again and again.

“Bam? BAM!” he was snapped out of his day dream.

“What?!?” he jumped.

“Have you been listening to anything I’ve said?” those long fingers rested on slender hips. Bam wanted to have his own hands on those hips. He wanted to press his lips to Ville’s, wanted to---.
“You haven’t, have you?” Ville accused.

“Well, goddamn! All you’ve done is bitch about shoes. I cannot stand to hear anything else about them. I already know more about footwear than any man should.” Bam rolled his eyes.

“I said I’m buying these.” He held up a black shiny pair that looked like at least four others that he had tried on. Bam threw his hands up in the traditional gesture of defeat.

After they had paid and were headed up, Bam reached out and put his hand in Ville’s. At least now the madness was over.

**

They were finally home. Bam was stretched out on his stomach, watching the television. He’d stripped down to his boxer’s and was spending Saturday afternoon as a man should. A cold beer, a bowl of popcorn, and cartoons.

Ville was trying on clothes with the new shoes. Bam glanced over and saw the worried looking frown on his lover’s face.

“That’s it, these don’t work. I’m taking them back and getting new ones.”

Bam pressed his face into the mattress and felt like crying.