Grape Crush – part 1 18 min read

Back in the day I worked for a large multi-national corporation in New York City.  One morning I received an all-employees email from HR which stated everyone in the US would have to attend a full day training session on sexual harassment in the workplace.  Just days before a HUGE sexual harassment settlement had been announced for another company in our industry so nothing in the email message was really any great surprise.  Since I had vacation coming up during my original assigned date, I was reassigned to training with another department, the IT group.

When training day finally arrived I sauntered into the hall a bit early.  Seats were wherever you wanted to sit so I started to look around the big room for anybody I knew.  Right at that moment I saw one of the hottest women in the company.  Now 90% of our IT staff were men but the Project Management group (who kept all the IT projects on schedule) were mostly women.  And two of these girls really stood out.  Both were super fit and in their late 20’s.

The first was a tall, slim, blonde Caucasian.  She and her boyfriend were avid runners.  Their thing was to run famous races in fun cities around the country for their vacations.  Over the years they had run together in the the Chicago marathon, the San Francisco Bay to Breakers and the Bolder Boulder in Colorado as well as doing the NYC marathon every year.  So it’s no surprise that this woman had the most amazing legs you could imagine.  With an insane figure (though a bit on the skinny side), she could wear anything and it would look fantastic on her.  Much to my delight, Marathon girl also wore high heels on a pretty regular basis even though she was already fairly tall (5-7 or 5-8, 1.70 m).  She just put out this confident, young, sexy woman vibe that was unmistakable.  So me and every other hetero man in the company were completely enamored with her.

The other hottie in the Project Management group was the one I saw that morning.  She was a South Asian with long, beautiful black hair.  She took yoga classes at the company gym every single workday at noon.  In fact she had her company calendar blocked off from 11:30 to 1:30 so meetings couldn’t be scheduled during her yoga time.  I sat in numerous afternoon project updates with her when she had wet hair and was eating her lunch – always a salad.  Her dedication to her workouts was a bit compulsive but she came to work early each morning and was well respected at the company for getting her projects finished on time.  So I guess her boss just let it slide.

In any case over the years those hundreds of yoga classes had molded her 5-4 (1.62m) figure into absolutely perfect shape.  She didn’t have an ounce of fat on her young, svelte body and had the balance, flexibility & strength of a ballerina.

I used to make up flimsy excuses to visit Yoga girl in her office as often as I could just to check her out.  Not only was she very attractive but she also had the most exquisite taste in shoes.  Her preferred footwear could have easily been taken from a Sex and the City wardrobe room:  Manolos, Prada, Gucci, etc.  Yoga girl’s husband was a big time software engineer for one of the largest investment banks in NYC so I don’t think money was an issue in their household.  She had a hot body and definitely made the most of it with her super sexy choices in footwear.  It was always stilettos, either boots, shoes or sandals depending on the season.  I loved her.

Seeing Yoga girl located in the back of the lecture hall, I made an immediate beeline to sit behind her at the last row of tables in the room.  I chose my seat so I would be forced to look over her at the presenter, which would give me free license to perv on Yoga girl’s shoes the whole time.  I found this situation rather ironic and amusing since this was a sexual harassment training session.  I was at the very back so nobody would be looking over my shoulder as I watched her.  The opportunity was just too perfect to pass up. Besides what else was I going to do during this presentation which was likely to be painfully boring.

Yoga girl didn’t disappoint today with a tight grey wool knee-length skirt, some matching grey leggings underneath and a loose fitting colorful top.  But, as usual, the first thing I noticed was her incredible  shoes.  She had on black pumps with a straight, stiletto heel of at least 4 inches (10 cm).  Just a beautiful pair of classic high heels.  The black leather had this dull sheen that occasionally caught the overhead lights and screamed “I am expensive”.  I would have gladly thrown myself on the floor in front of her to be her footrest for the rest of the day.  But, sadly, I didn’t think that would go over too well in this environment.

As we approached the seminar start time the last of the stragglers came in.  Two South Asian guys joined my table who just reeked of cigarettes.  I didn’t know either of them.  After a pleasant smile and “good morning” to me they quietly spoke in some Indian language to each other and pretty much ignored my presence, which was wonderful.  That gave me all the more opportunity to concentrate on Yoga girl’s shoes.

As the session started and the presenters began to drone on, I noticed right away that Yoga girl was a woman who fidgets.  She would rock one or both shoes back on her spike heels pretty much constantly.  In my visits to her office I had noticed this behavior occasionally as I saw the pointy toe of her shoe or boot go up and down (and, much to my joy, ALL her shoes were pointy toe).  But here she was grinding her heels into the carpet pretty much nonstop.  I guess Yoga girl found the presentation just as dull as I did.  I thought about what kind of a beating the carpet was taking under the force of her tiny, twisting heels.  Then for a short while I fantasized about being the piece of carpet under her shoes.

I soon found myself wishing I could have a camera under her table to capture all of the shoeplay that was going on.  And I spent more minutes than I’d like to admit debating if I could get away with taping my iPhone to the underside of her table.  But sanity eventually prevailed and I decided to just sit back and enjoy the show.

As the hours passed that morning I saw Yoga girl occasionally taking her bare feet out of her shoes and exercising them.  She’d do this toe flex thing with one or both feet which I assumed was some pose from a yoga class.  She also seemed to enjoy centering her entire bare foot on the back end of her shoe and rocking back on the heel, balancing daintily on the slim shaft.  Occasionally she’d lose the stability and her shoe would fall over, at which point Yoga girl would keep looking ahead at the lecture while searching with her toes under the table until she found the inside of the pump.  Then she’d deftly wiggle her foot back into her shoe, sometimes stomping her foot down softly a couple of times to set her foot in the shoe.  Oh how I longed to be under her beautiful pumps at that moment.  I found the torment of her perfection so wonderful . . .

One of the times Yoga girl’s shoes went sideways I got a clear view of the inside of her pump.  A label, in all its glory, boldly proclaimed “Jimmy Choo”.  No wonder those shoes looked really expensive – they were !  Probably $600 at one of the top fashion houses like Barneys or Saks.  I so wanted to pledge my fealty to Yoga girl’s feet at that very moment.

HR was smart in that they catered lunch for everyone at the seminar.  That made sure people didn’t go wandering off and miss the afternoon portion of the lecture (by accident or with intent). So several carts full of sandwiches, salads, chips and drinks were all wheeled in at noon.  I’m sure this annoyed Yoga girl to no end since she’d have to miss her workout today.  But there was no way for her (or anybody else) to get out of this.

I waited for the initial lunch scrum to subside before making my choice.  We had a full hour to eat so no hurry.  Not only did I not care that much about getting first dibs on the food (and was in the back of the room so unlikely to succeed), it gave me a chance to weasel my way through the crowd to stand right beside Yoga girl as we waited for our lunch.  We were mild work-friends so I said “hi” and noticed right away that she was looking me at eye to eye even though I knew she was much shorter than I was.  Those towering heels really do give a girl some height.  Also the vast majority of time that we spoke at work, she was seated.  So this was a fun and exciting experience for me.

As we chatted Yoga girl whinged about the lunch choices.  Turns out she’s a vegetarian which, no doubt, helped in keeping that trim figure.  Eventually she grabbed a bland salad, some water and a bowl full of purple grapes.  I think the grapes were meant for the entire room but Yoga girl just took the whole bunch for herself.  I was happy with any kind of dead animal so the sandwich selections were perfect for me.  With an additional bag of pretzels and a Snapple Lemon Iced Tea, I was in good spirits.

We retreated to our respective tables.  I found my tablemates had disappeared to who knows where so I happily ate alone.   The lack of company meant I could avoid the lunch time small talk and just continue my “shoe watch” as discreetly as I could.  Now, with no speaker taking everyone’s attention, I had to be careful about staring so intently at Yoga girl’s perfect shoes.  As a consequence I put my phone on the table as a convenient excuse, munched away and secretly ogled.   At that point it was just the two of us at the very back of the room.

Yoga girl was now sitting with her back to me at a 45 degree angle to her table for lunch – no doubt to make the ingress/egress easier.  I noticed right away that her heel grinds had became more subdued during lunchtime, likely because she was actually doing something.  But they still happened on an occasional basis.  She ate her salad, which I don’t think had any dressing (how could anyone eat it like that ??) and would grab some grapes between salad bites, I guess to vary the flavors.  She seemed to tire of grabbing a single grape so often so she took a small bunch from the bowl and put it on the edge of the bare table.  I thought “nice hygiene, yuck” and went back to eating my sandwich.

Here’s where the fun starts.  As Yoga girl placed her second handful of grapes on the table edge (again, yuck) I noticed that not all of them were attached to stems.  A few were loose.  And they were just sitting there, precariously, on the edge of the table.

Yoga girl had a fork in her right hand and would take a cluster of grapes with her left and bite one off each time.  The second or third time she did this a loose grape was knocked from the table onto the tan carpet.  Yoga girl didn’t notice the grape and continued to do her coordinated salad / grape tag team.  But the grape was sitting there just inches away from her sexy shoe !

To me this was like a gift from the heavens.  I wondered if Fate was doing me a solid and giving me something that he knew would drive me wild.  In any case I said a quick “Thank You” to the powers that be and went back to intently watching the fruit in front of me with the very short expected lifespan.

So many things went through my mind at that instant.  I wondered if the grape had jumped to the floor on purpose for my enjoyment.  If I were a grape that’s definitely what I’d do – put myself in a position to be sacrificed under Yoga girl’s perfect shoes.  Oh to be crushed under those expensive Jimmy Choo pumps.   As a grape, that would be my greatest dream.

Now the time slowed down so that minutes seemed to pass like hours for me.  I was watching that grape with great concentration.  Even the slightest movements of Yoga girl’s shoe caused me to do endless calculations as to the probability that she’d step on it.  I felt like some type of pervy supercomputer.  The grape was in a prime position to get flattened with the slightest of movement of Yoga girl’s beautiful shoe.

As the hours rolled by in my perceived time (maybe 3 or 4 minutes of Earth time) nothing happened.  Yoga girl was still doing a few heel stands but her perfect shoe had not landed on the grape.  Each and every time she’d lift that pointy black toe up in the air, I’d say to myself “THIS IS IT” and then have my hopes shattered as the leather sole of her pump would land back on the ground in exactly the same spot from whence it came.  I wondered if this grape had a force field around it as if from Star Trek.  Or maybe it had a higher self preservation instinct than I realized.

For sure Yoga girl would eventually step on the grape.  It was just too close to her sexy shoe and she’ll be there all afternoon.  And then I considered the frightening possibility that Yoga girl might switch tables after lunch.  OMG – panic !!  Should I do something to encourage her to step on the grape ?  How would I do that without being super weird ?  Man, I was starting to get nervous.

And then Fate intervened and I saw Yoga girl rock back on her left spike heel, twist her ankle a tiny bit and land her glorious pump right down on the grape.

Or at least that’s what I thought I saw.  I couldn’t really tell from my vantage point. I wanted to run over to her table and stick my head under her chair but I had the idea that kind of behavior would not have been well received.  Still Yoga girl’s shoe was definitely very close, if not on top of the grape – that I was sure of.  Whether she had smushed it or not, I didn’t know.

I was so concentrated on figuring out the placement of her shoe and the grape, you could have set my table on fire and I would not have noticed.  But as Yoga girl leaned forward slightly and reached for another batch of grapes, I saw the toe of her her shoe flatten down completely to the floor.  So if anything were under it, it was crushed now.

Yoga girl then decided to cross one leg over the other which totally changed her seating geometry.  Her left pump was moved about a foot over with her right leg crossed on it.  Her right shoe was now dangling in the air and it gave a perfect view of just how long and thin those high heels were.  Also I could now clearly see that the grape on the floor.  It had been crushed – but only about 1/2 of it.  Just the edge of her shoe had caught the grape, which is probably why she didn’t feel it.  So a half smashed grape was just sitting there.  Still I was so happy to have witnessed the guillotine of this grape by Yoga girl’s perfect Jimmy Choos.

So I continue to pick at my mostly eaten lunch (just as a cover).  Almost all of my brain processing time was being spent calculating how much of the grape had been sacrificed, what volume of goo had been squished out, what the grape would now taste like, and other tremendously important questions.  Then a young woman’s voice registered in my consciousness.

It was Marathon girl coming by to say “hi” to her friend Yoga girl !!!  Somehow in my complete obsession with Yoga girl today I had missed seeing Marathon girl.  But I should have known better since both women work in the same section.  I blame my complete lack of rational thinking on Jimmy Choo.

And OMG did Marathon girl look hot today.  As I mentioned before Marathon girl is long and lean.  This was only intensified by today’s outfit as she strode up to Yoga girl’s table.  She was wearing some really tight fitting black jeans.  Of course, in a formal office like ours, jeans of any kind were strictly forbidden.  But I guess rules don’t apply to hot girls and they just do whatever they want.  Her top was a black long sleeve turtleneck that was untucked, which covered maybe half of her perfect ass.  Long blonde hair pulled back in a pony tale that went down to her back.  Complexion like a cup of cream.   But the best of all was when Marathon girl rounded the edge of the table and I saw she had on a pair of knee high boots.  Black leather.  Stilettos.  I almost spit out my Snapple in astonishment !  Seriously she looked like she had just walked off of the page of a Ralph Lauren catalogue.  Totally beautiful and stylish.

As Marathon girl came around the table, she looked at me for approximately one nanosecond.  That was enough for her to conclude that I was just some middle aged dork who would love to paw at her but obviously knew better upon penalty of job loss.  So I could be safely and completely ignored.  She touched Yoga girl’s arm and the two exchanged the high pitched vocal greeting ritual common for their species – hot young stylish women – who haven’t seen each other in 3 hours.  “How are you ?”  “How are you ?”

The two girls chatted and laughed for a bit, which was understandable since they were bff’s.  Even though I was only about 10 feet away I didn’t try to listen to anything that they were saying though I could have easily snooped.  Instead I picked up my phone about two inches off the table to fake doing something.  Since her back was now turned to me (and partially shielding Yoga girl) I was really using that time to fixate on Marathon girls boots.  Spike heels.  Black leather.  Pointy toe.  Thin tan leather soles that would flash at me as Marathon girl moved about.  No buckles or accouterments of any kind.  A classic plain stiletto leather boot done perfectly.

I din’t think Marathon girl had the cash to buy Manolo or Prada boots but these looked really nice.  Absolutely beautiful.  Then I remembered overhearing two of the girls in our department discussing how Marathon girl gets her boots modified at a cobbler for a custom fit.  The girls in our department talked about Marathon girl often, which was odd since virtually none of them worked directly with her.  I think Marathon girl was kind of the Regina George of our company.  Many of my female co-workers would discuss her daily fashion choices.  Others would constantly cut her down and call her a slut for wearing a skirt that was too short or some other triviality.  Those girls were usually much fatter and less attractive.  It was completely the bitchy girl-world thing that starts in middle school and ends pretty much never.

Of course all of the guys in the company would also love to constantly talk about Marathon girl.  But those would have been endless discussions about her perfect body and what we’d like to do to it.  So every man implicitly understood such conversations would always end badly.  As a consequence Marathon girl was almost completely ignored by men in any conversation other than pure work-related stuff.  But male heads would discretely turn as she casually sashayed down any walkway in the building.  The forbidden fruit.

As to Marathon girls great boots, maybe I was really admiring her cobbler’s skill, how well the boots fit to those long, lean legs.  Not like most skinny girls who’s legs in boots look like a pencil in a drinking glass.  These were totally snug fitting up her entire calf.  So even a pair of inexpensive boots would look fabulous on her with a custom fit.  And with the extra height of those heels, Marathon girl was now close to 6 feet tall (1.83m).  At that moment I wanted to beg to be her slave for the rest of my life.