This is How It's Done
By Jack
Three beautiful, barefooted women come together to fight crime


My name is Laura, and I love being barefoot. There it is, I said it. I know
it's geeky but that is probably the single most basic necessity for me ... for
my feet to be free. If my shoes are on, you know I've been possessed by pod
people. To me, it's proof of the existence of God. All of the greatest
pleasures in life are things you can give yourself: self-confidence, good
health, inner beauty, love toward others, love of God, and the freedom to go
barefoot whenever you can. I love having dirty feet, I love people looking at
me wondering why such an obviously together woman isn't wearing shoes. I even
love wearing shoes ... just long enough so that I appreciate it all the more
when they come off.

I consider myself very fortunate to have a wonderful circle of friends, live
in L.A. (greatest city in the world), be an artist (I write, direct, act,
sing, dance, edit my own documentaries ... you name it), and have a job I
love. I teach at what I call a woman's wellness center. It's called The
Barefoot Woman, and essentially we teach what I call the "barefoot female
arts": yoga, meditation, and the martial arts. My rules are simple: 1) love
yourself, 2) respect yourself, 3) take care of yourself, 4) go barefoot. The
greatest feeling in the world is seeing women grow and take hold of their
lives. Their choices improve, their self-esteem improves.

Some people ask me how I do it? I credit God for bringing me to the place I
need to be, and giving me the desire to tackle so many things. I've written
two books, directed several documentaries, produced two albums of my own music
(singing/acoustic guitar), directed several plays, appeared in movies and
television, and produced my own yoga videos. I haven't yet found the love of
my life (believe me I'd love to be a mother and a wife), but I know God will
bring that to me in time. Yet what is it that I am most proud of? It's
something I don't tell people about, but it brings a smile to my face every
time I think of the justice I have been able to bring the world. The first
time was when I was seven. The last and probably most important time was last
night and early this morning. Every time has been in bare feet. Every time
I've won with barely a scratch on me. As a barefooted female martial artist, I
believe that if my feet can bring justice into this world, then they should do
it. And they have. I've been in sixteen fights in my life when I knew the
world would be a better place if a male who really had it coming got beaten up
so badly that he would never even dream of doing it again. Every time, those
men have found out how painful it can be to cross a morally justified,
barefooted woman.

When I was seven, I saw the cruelty and stupidity a bully can inflict. That
bully went to the hospital with a broken nose, a black eye, and two missing
teeth. At least he had company ... his three fellow enforcers got exactly the
same treatment. In high school, everyone called me "Barefoot Goody-Two-Shoes".
And every bully knew that if he saw those shoes come off, he was about five
seconds away from a one-sided barefooted butt-kicking. Two date rapists, five
bullies, and (the one that actually got me national television) a serial
killer were treated to the worst beatings of their lives before I graduated
high school. And I'm very methodical. If you have it coming, I drag it out.
They feel every punch and every kick. Whatever fear they've imposed on others,
I want them to feel it right back.

College brought a few more dishing of justice, then I moved to L.A. As I said,
I've done some TV, some film, some music, some theatre. And I helped start the
L.A. branch of the Barefoot Woman, which is doing so well, financially and
spiritually. Every one of my students is in a healthy relationship with a
great guy, and three of them have gotten married since joining me. Also, there
are seven men currently serving time in prison because of my teachings. Each
one of them tried to rob or rape one of my students; each one of them learned
what a barefooted woman can do. Each one of them spent time in the hospital
before beginning their prison sentence. At 24, I'm proud to say that life is
going pretty much amazing. I've got so much going on I almost don't know how
to keep up. But I do. And then something new happened.

I've been directing the V@g!n@ M@n@logs at a local theatre, and we've gotten
amazing reviews. Seeing amazing actresses give soulful performances in bare
feet is so fulfilling to me; seeing audiences and critics respond so
overwhelmingly is even more important. Then, last night after a show,
something strange happened. One of my actresses, Marella, got accosted by her
ex-boyfriend. I met this girl at a shelter for abused women and got her to
start coming to the Barefoot Woman. Her confidence had come far enough that I
convinced her to do a scene in the play (given how timid she is, that was no
mean feat). Then last night, her ex-boyfriend, the abuser showed up with three
of his friends. I honestly was happy to see him. It is my firm belief that a
strong woman must never start a fight yet must always finish a fight. And guys
like that will always start the fight ... and I promise you I always wind up
finishing it for them. But two of my other actresses, Rayden (six feet, blond
hair, basically a walking Maxim cover) and Charity (5'4", long red hair, takes
shit from no one, walking female athletic spunk incarnate) stood behind me as
these guys approached. It was four on four. They started it. And boy did we
ever finish it. Not one of us received a scratch. Those four sons-of-bitches
got beaten up so badly that I can assure you none of them will ever even dream
of touching a woman again ... unless it's a nightmare where they get beaten
within an inch of their lives. Little did I know that Charity had like me been
beating up bullies since grade school. And Rayden was a world champion martial
artist at age 13. But 5'2" 100-lb. Marella, she was the one I was the proudest
of. I always teach my girls that some fights are about showing your attacker
that he just shouldn't mess with you, ... and some are about dishing out
justice. If it's just self-defense, you should subdue your attacker with as
little damage as possible ... or hurt him just enough for you to get away. But
if it's justice, you give him what he's got coming. Marella's ex-boyfriend had
beaten her for over a year. She beat him for five minutes. Right now, his eyes
are swollen shut, his nose is broken, he is getting dental bridge work, his
ribs will heal in time, and let's just say he won't be masturbating any time
soon. The look in Marella's eyes when he fell to his knees and begged her to
stop beating the living shit out of him was sheer pride ... it makes me cry.
She will never be a victim again. I've never been prouder.

The strange part was what followed:

Rayden, Charity, and I sat around the table at Jerry's at 5 am. This had been
probably the greatest night of my life. We went out, Marella got very drunk,
went home with a guy ... I'd never seen her loosen up like that. It was
beautiful. But now the three of us sat shoelessly at this table (with some
VERY dirty feet ... as they should be). Rayden said she had something she
wanted to talk to us about ... I could never have dreamed what.

"Barefoot Justice." She said.

Charity and I looked at her blankly.

"I would like some partners," she said. "I think the three of us make one hell
of a team. I have a little enterprise going. I've been making a pretty good
show of things on my own. But it's time I had two more pairs of bare female
feet to help me kick the shit out of pure evil."

Charity is a stand-up comedienne for a profession (in bare feet, of course).
So she's a bit more outspoken than me. She comes right to the point, and
that's what she did, now. "Rayden, what the hell are you talking about?"

Rayden nodded, continuing. "My parents always tried to make me wear shoes. But
then they noticed something. With shoes, I did terribly in school, I lacked
confidence, I cried. In bare feet, I could do anything I wanted better than
anyone around. In bare feet, I glowed, and they could see it. We went to a
doctor who told us that I had a very unique nervous system. Essentially, the
nerve endings in my feet are incredibly sensitive. He said that this was true
of a lot of women, but he'd never seen it this acute. He said that if they
were cut off from the earth (or worse, smothered by closed shoes or socks),
these receptors would not receive the electrons from the earth that they
needed, and I would basically go into clinical depression. However, free the
feet (at least with sandals, but preferably with bare feet) and I would be
almost superhumanly stimulated. They listened. I basically had a medical
excuse from wearing shoes from then on out. And my parents got me into every
barefoot activity there was. Volleyball, dance, karate ... especially karate.
From that day forward, being a bully around me was very bad for the health."
Rayden smiled grimly.

A crooked grim spread across Charity's face. "I don't know about the doctor's
visit, but otherwise, that sounds like my life story. In fact, I wish I'd met
that doctor. My parents spent 18 years trying to make me wear shoes." Charity
wiggled her naked toes proudly. "They were not successful."

I shook my head. "My mother raised my sister and I to go barefoot whenever
possible. And to fight. She was a third degree black belt and one hell of a
business woman. She said, free your feet, learn to take care of yourself, love
your fellow man until he asks for a butt-whooping, and everything will be OK.
And it is."

Rayden nodded. "Hand me your feet." A little unsurely I extend my leg. Rayden
touched my sole, massaged it a bit. I am not inclined in that manner, but that
was quite an interesting feeling. "Now, Charity." Charity hesitantly extended
her leg. "Whoa!" she said as Rayden massaged her sole. "You've got quite a
talent there, Rayden."

Rayden shrugged. "My partner is the real authority on this, but I'll tell you
about him later. Basically, you've both got it. Same syndrome. I mean really,
all women have it, but it's extremely pronounced in you two. The nerve endings
in your feet are very attuned. Essentially, wearing anything on your feet,
even flipflops is limiting for the two of you." Charity and I nodded; we both
knew this to be true.

"So what are you suggesting?"

Rayden always had a stoic exterior, but it was obvious that what she was
speaking about brought her great pride. "A barefooted woman is a very powerful
thing. Three barefooted women would be unstoppable. I would like the two of
you to join me in kicking the living shit out of evil in this world. There is
no greater feeling that using my bare hands and feet to leave the villains of
this world in more pain than they could possibly imagine."

Charity furrowed her brow. "So, you want the three of us to be ... the
Barefooted Charlie's Angels?"

Rayden shrugged, nodded. "Basically, yeah."

A huge grin spread across Charity's already beautiful face. "I am so in!"

Rayden could see I wasn't quite so sure. "Laura, I know how committed to
justice you are." I guess she could see on my face that this was definitely
true. "I know you know that one of the most satisfying feelings in the world
is to give a totally one-sided, barefooted ass-whooping to somebody who really
and truly has it coming." The look on her face told me that the look on my
face was betraying my pride in being a barefooting, ass-kicking woman.

"OK," I said. "I'll do it."

That was the first time I ever saw Rayden really smile.

"Have you two noticed the guy at the counter who's been staring at us for the
last five minutes?" Rayden continued.

"I sure have," I commented. "Believe me, I teach women's self-defense, and I
can tell you, he is dangerous. I know the type. Lonely, threatened by women.
If he works up the nerve, he's just dying to hurt a beautiful woman so he can
feel powerful."

Rayden looked impressed. "You can tell all that?"

I nodded. "Women know when there's danger. Barefooted women even more so,
we're more sensitive to the environment."

Rayden looked at me grimly. "You're more right than you know. That
son-of-a-bitch has raped four women, but the police don't have the slightest
clue. I, however, am much better at catching badguys than the police. Here are
the women ... " Rayden pulled a portfolio out of her bag and set four
snapshots on the table. Pictures of four women who you could tell were free
souls. "And here's what he did to them." The pictures she put on the table
next made me so angry, it was everything I could do to keep from walking over
to this piece of shit and making him look like the women in these pictures.

"I want him," I said. Judging by the reaction of my two counterparts, I
suddenly looked like a woman you did not want to fuck with.

Rayden glanced over at him. He was obviously trying not to look at her, but
wasn't doing a very good job. "If I have that empty little soul pegged, and I
am very good at profiling, then the sight of three whole, beautiful, happy
women in bare feet will drive him crazy. And if a beautiful blond woman were
get up and dance to the next song on the jukebox, I think a) the whole place
would love it, and b) he would wait until you walked outside alone, and then
he'd go after you. And Laura, you let him come after you, you know how far he
has to go to violate the law, and when he has made perfectly clear what he
wants to do, I want you to give him the worst beating he can possibly
imagine." Rayden reached out and pinned a small broach to my lapel. "And that
is a miniature camera which will record the whole thing."

I nodded. "One psychopathic rapist getting the worst beating of his life
coming up."

I love to dance. Ballroom dance, hip-hop, ... but mostly I love just freeform
expression. There are few things that express pure joy like a beautiful
barefoot woman dancing and being free. I could tell he was watching. After the
song was over, I heard everyone clap, and I walked outside. And I could tell,
he was following.

"Hey, sexy," said the beautiful barefooted girl standing in the alley. "I was
hoping you might come out and talk to me."

Michael approached silently. Michael loathed women, in particular beautiful
ones. In particular, the ones who looked happy and confident. He wanted them
to be in as much pain physically, as he was for being a lonely empty virgin.
Seeing this total free spirit just grasp the ground with unconstrained soles
was enough to make him want to rip her apart. Little did he know, those free
soles were minutes away from breaking most of the bones in his body.

A knife came out. "You fucking slut," he growled. "How does it feel knowing
you're gonna die?"

A look of fear crossed the blond girl's face. Which made sense. She was half
Michael's size, unarmed. "What are you doing?" she cried, looking totally
helpless. (But anyone who knew Laura knew this was just an act. On her worst
day, she could beat this impotent loser to a pulp. But his was going to be one
of her best days, and beating him to a pulp was exactly what she was going to
do.)

"You think you're so hot!" he growled, loathing the freedom and sexiness she
flaunted which he could never have or touch. "Well, I know what to do with
you." He waved the knife in front of him. This was the only time he ever felt
happy. It was the only time he ever felt ...

That was when I noticed ... how shall we put this? His groin area was getting
... um, aroused? On the one hand, I was disgusted. On the other hand, I saw
obvious opportunity. Either way, my most beloved body part was about to trump
his most beloved body part. And it was going to feed good. For me anyway.

KERPOW! Laura bent back her toes and kicked Michael in the balls with all of
her might. At the same time, her left hand shot out, grabbed Michael's right
wrist, and twisted. Michael buckled in pain around his testicles, but he also
released the knife. Laura grinned. This big tough bully suddenly didn't give a
shit about being such a psycho badass, all he cared about now was the pain and
whether he could ever jerk off again. But Laura wasn;t going to stop here. She
sent her energy all the way down into her toes, up through her body and out
through her right fist (the one that wasn't bending his wrist into a pretzel).

KABLAM! Talk about a knockout punch. Michael went sailing through the air and
landed on the ground in more pain than he could possibly imagine. Her
testicles were screaming, his right wrist wasn't working, and jaw was on fire.
Then he looked up, and saw all 5'2" of his 110-pund tormentor staring down at
him.

"Well, well, well ... " she said, grinning from ear to ear. "Look at the big
tough bully. Why don't you lie down there and bleed, until you're ready to beg
for mercy."

Suddenly anger took him over. How dare this little bitch ... He stood up,
grabbed for her ... and suddenly his left arm was being twisted into new and
uncomfortable angles. "AAAAGH! " he cried out. "Let me go!"

And surprisingly she did.

Micheal stood up as straight as he could with all the pain in his body. He
looked at his competitor. A foot shorter. 100 pounds lighter. Beautiful. Free.
Smiling like mad. And then her fists rose up in front of her face. And
absolute terror went through his soul. He lifted his fists, then realized that
with his twisted wrists, he couldn't make his hands into fists ... or do much
else with them. She grinned harder. Urine ran down his leg.

Ah, the big bully so scared he pees himself. It's hilarious. I suppose it's
the only blow these losers can get in on me. But a 100% barefoot girl is a
perfect thing of beauty, and I'm not wearing shoes just because these losers
get scared shitless (yeah, that happens, too.)

BAM! BAM! Two jabs to the nose. Then a cross!

Michael's hands tried to block. As they waved around his face, a fist to the
belly made him buckle in pain. Laura grinned. What a fat son-of-a-bitch. She'd
have to punch that belly some more.

She looked at him bent over, holding his belly. Something about that position
always made her do this:

BAM! A right fist rose up and slammed into his nose. There was a loud CRACK as
he stood in pain. Leaving his belly open for more abuse. Several more fists
into his belly.

Having had her fill of bouncing him over and back, Laura unleashed a torrent
of right and left hooks that knocked had head from side to side. Then she
stood back to admire her handiwork.

"Wow. And I thought you were ugly before."

Michael began bawling. Sure, there was the pain, which was unbearable. And the
fear of what he would look like. And how long he would be lying in a hospital
bed. And how long he'd be in pain.

"So, you like beating up women who can't do anything to defend themselves. How
does it feel having one of those women do the same thing to you."

The crying, even harder. She knew. This thing was all a set-up. She wasn't a
cop. But what was she going to do? How would she expose him? Not only would
everyone know what he was and what he had done, but they'd know what brought
him down ... a barefooted babe half his size.

"I guess he picked the wrong woman to mess with," news anchors would say. Then
they'd laugh. This bitch would probably be on all those daytime shows that
women watch. And she'd do it barefooted. And everyone would applaud and cheer
and laugh when he was mentioned. He just couldn't take it.

There was a long wooden plank lying on the ground.

So, you might be wondering ... going barefoot 24/7 indoors, or in a park,
fine. But how can I beat the living shit out of some 210-pound guy in an
alley? Full of ... whatever alley's are full of. The answer's simple.
Barefootin'. That's my word. Like supercalifragilisticexpialidoscious. It just
means, I'm barefoot, and that's how I'm going to do things. My feet have been
barefoot on just about every surface known to man. Oh, sure, they were dirty
right now, but that just meant that this piece of shit was going to have a
whole lot of dirty prints of bare feet all over him in about a minute.

He was reaching for that big wooden plank. Ha! This was going to be funny.

"UUUH!" Michael cried, swinging the plank. "UUH!" he swung it again. Each
time, Laura stepped out of the way like he was moving in slow motion. She was
laughing.

"Come on! Try it one more time! Maybe I'll be nice and stand still for you!"

Michael swung. The board thudded into the wall. And Laura's foot came flying
after.

"HIII-YAA!" she cried. Her foot demolished that borad, turning it into
toothpicks. Michael looked at the broken stump that remained in his hand.
Totally useless. Then he turned to look at Laura in genuine terror.

"So, you like beating up on women. Well, this is justice. You're going to jail
for a very long time. You're going to the hospital for awhile, too. But I'm
going to keep an eye on you. And when you get out, I'm going to be watching.
And if you EVER do anything like this again ... "

The last kick broke his jaw. Barefootin'.

Sure enough, he spent a long time in jail. And a long time requiring medical
attention. The police didn't know who the woman was, though, that left the
anonymous phone call about the serial rapist lying in a bloody heap in a
dumpster after he tried to rape her. Bur sure enough, the news anchors
laughed, saying he sure messed with the wrong woman.

The three of us laughed like mad, watching the police pull him out of the
dumpster. I couldn't stop laughing as he attempted, with a broken jaw, to
confess to every crime he'd committed since he was 12.

Once the police left, I turned to Rayden, grinning from ear-to-ear. "Did I
pass the audition?"

Rayden nodded, trying to keep a straight face when I could tell she was
beaming with pride inside. "That was pretty good." She looked at screen on her
cell phone. "But what about Charity here? How do I know if she's good enough?"

Charity's jaw dropped. "Wait, I could've-- hey, I would've turned that guy
into"""

A smile spread across Rayden's face. "According to my information, two drug
dealers are hanging out in the woods behind the middle school right around the
corner. What do you say?"

Fifteen minutes later, as Hayden and I watched our pint-sized, two-fisted
friend barefootedly demolish two total losers until they begged for mercy, I
thanked God for the gift I was being given.

"So," I turned to Rayden, "three totally hot chicks with high IQs, winning
personalities, and addictions to going barefoot travel around the United
States, solving crimes and beating the scum of society into bloody pulps?
That's the plan?"

It was about the only time I ever saw Rayden genuinely grin. She turned to me
and said all I needed to hear: "Barefootin'!"