Bare Feet Forever 
By Jack
A two-fisted woman beats the shit out a badguy and becomes a full-time barefooter


It was the simplest of decisions, and yet it was the single most important day
of my life. On July 3, 2013, I kicked off my shoes for the last time. The why
is kind of interesting.

I was walking down the street in a pair of high heeled stilettos when some guy
grabbed my purse and took off running. Well, he picked the wrong girl, let me
tell you. Don't let the high heels fool you, I keep myself in incredibly good
shape, I run, I work out, and (worst for him) I am a black belt in karate. On
top of which, I grew up on the wrong side of the tracks, so long before I ever
put on a gi, I became extremely accustomed to using my fists for protection,
lesson-teaching, and reestablishing the cosmic balance of justice.

Within a second after the purse leaving my hand, those high heels left my
feet, and I took off running. I've always been a barefoot kind of girl, so
hauling butt along an urban sidewalk without shoes was something I was quite
comfortable doing. Apparently, I was in much better shape than my opponent,
because he was already sucking wind. One glance behind him and he saw a 5'10"
very athletic woman in high fashion and bare feet coming for him at twice the
speed he was moving. Now I've been in more fights than I can count (and never
even came close to losing one, I might add), so I am used to that cocky male
attitude of assuming a woman can't hurt him (an attitude I love watching turn
into fear as he realizes it's so not true). This guy was different. One glance
back at this pissed-off bitch coming for him and he looked downright
terrified. He quickly turned down an alley, hoping to lose me. Bad move. That
meant we'd be alone. I can do a lot more damage to someone if we're alone.

The alley floor was nasty and grimy, but that's not a problem for me; my tough
soles like a good challenge. If he thought that was going to scare me off he
was so mistaken. He was also mistaken if he thought he could outrun me. By
now, this out-of-shape asshole looked like he was going to collapse, while I
was not anywhere near breathing hard. As he came alongside a dumpster, I leapt
into a flying tackle and grinned. Guess where he was going to wind up after
I'd beaten him to a bloody pulp and gotten my purse back?

WHAM!! My body slammed into his. He went down, I went down. I tore my skirt,
but ah well. It was going to need to tear it anyway if I wanted to try to do
any high-kicks while wearing it. And oh boy, was I about to do high kicks.

I got to my feet and wriggled my toes. Sure, the ground was grimy, oily, but I
like that ... dirtiness. Now, I've gone barefoot all my life, but this felt
special. I didn't know it at that moment, but I was about 30 minutes from
making the decision to become a full-time barefooter, and I am absolutely
thrilled that I am never, ever going back.

"Fucking bitch!" he yelled, throwing some laughably bad punches that came
nowhere near me. In fact, I did start laughing, which enraged him more. Of
course, it did nothing for his aim. In no time at all, his previously swinging
arms were weighing heavily at his side. And he was practically wheezing as he
tried to get air.

"Here," I grinned, "Let me show you how to do that." WHACK! One quick jab to
the face, and his eyes started tearing up. JAB! JAB! JAB! I gave him a second
of respite then CROSS! His eyes were now straight up crying. So, I pulled back
my right fist, nice and slow, so he'd see it coming, and let it fly.
KERPOW!!!!!

He landed on the ground, bawling his eyes out. As I stepped toward him, his
hands flew up in fear.

"No more! P-please!" he begged. "I've had enough!"

"Not by a long shot," I growled. I reached into his pants and closed my
well-manicured hand around his testicles, while my other hand grabbed him by
the hair. I pulled with both hands and lifted him to standing.

BOOM! My right hand held him up while my left fist buried itself deep in his
gut. Fat and flabby, it didn't even feel like he had abs at all. He would have
buckled in two, if my right hand holding him up wasn't stronger than his will
to go down. BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! It felt pretty damned good demolishing this
loser's belly.

"Stop!" He begged. "Please!"

I pulled my left fist back, letting it dangle in space, as I looked him over.
Something odd here. Guys who grab purses are usually young punks or aging
bums. This guy looked severely out of his element. White collar, but hadn't
slept or showered recently. His clothes weren't unstylish, so much as they
looked like he'd been wearing them for two days. Late 30s, maybe 40. Not fat,
so much as that sedentary kind of overweight that can be found on guys that
age if they're not careful. And the way he was bawling, I bet he'd never been
in a fight before.

"I'll do anything! Just don't beat me up anymore!"

"So, you like stealing pretty girls' purses, do you?"

"No, no"""

"Look, I grew up in a certain part of town. So long ago, I told myself that a
woman like me needs to stick to certain rules. Get out of line with me, you're
gonna get slapped around. Try to steal from me, you're gonna get a
full-fledged ass-whooping!"

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Please don't beat the shit out of me!!!"

God, this guy was pathetic! I actually felt guilty using my fists on him.
Fortunately, there's a way around that. My left hand grabbed him by the hair
and held him up while my right slapped him back and forth across the face.

Still, something here wasn't right, and I wanted to get to the bottom of it.
Why was this guy trying to snatch my purse? I reached out with my leg and
wrapped my toes around the purse-strap. I pulled the purse toward me, then
reached into the bag with my foot. I grasped my cellphone with my toes, then
lifted my leg to where my hand could reach it. (you see, go barefoot a lot,
and your toes are actually useful!) Keeping my left hand on his head, I
reached down with my right to get the phone and take a photo of the guy.

Suddenly, terror crossed his face. Not like the fear of a beating, something
much deeper. He batted my left away from his head with the strength of
adrenalin (because he didn't have much strength otherwise) and tried to run.

"HI-YAA!" I sprung into a flying leap, my powerful right leg shooting out,
driving the bare foot into his fleeing back. I landed on two feet, he landed
face first on that grimy, oily pavement.

My bare feet padded soundlessly toward him. He looked up at me with a
combination of terror, hatred, anger, and lust. I smiled. I love how guys HATE
getting beaten to a pulp by a beautiful woman in bare feet.

He dug into his pocket and pulled out a knife. SLASH! SLASH! He swiped through
the air with no clue to use that thing. "I'll fucking kill you, cunt! I'll
kill you!" he threatened with total seriousness, yet zero intimidation factor.
He slashed away, like he really wanted me dead yet had no idea how to do it.
Avoiding his slashes was almost as easy as beating him up, which I was about
to do a lot more of.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk," I said, avoiding his attacks. "I told you about my rules.
Pull a weapon on me, that warrants a very special beating. I mean, like
hospital, broken bones, months of physical therapy, unrecognizable face."

I've never seen someone drop a knife that fast. His hands were up, he fell to
his knees, his eyes pleading me not to do more.

I shook my head, grinned my crooked, cocksure grin that meant I was about to
have a lot of fun. "Sorry. Rules is rules."

A side kick to the face, sent him staggering back. A series of punches to the
face made him bloody, black, and blue. WHACK! WHACK! Two kicks to the ribs
resulted in some loud cracking noises. A kick to the balls produced a howl of
pain.

I looked down at my opponent, a broken, bloody, bawling mess. But who was he?
I still wanted to know. So my beautifully pedicured right size 10 reached out,
kicked him onto his back, pushed down on his throat, and pinned him to the
ground. My cell phone was withdrawn yet again, and I aimed it and took the
picture. I quickly texted it to a very good friend and hit 3 on speed-dial.

"Hello, handsome," I said into the phone.

"Sable, you can't call me at ... holy shit."

"Ah, did you get the photo?"

"Sable ... what is this?"

"It's my very-well pedicured bare foot on the throat of the man who just got
beaten to a pulp after he tried to steal my purse, then pulled a knife on me."

"Sable"""

"Detective ... you know you sound very cute when I have you flustered."

"That's the Earl of Clarwall!"

"What?!"

Detective Johansen, one of the few cops who has never tried to take advantage
of me and the most honest man I know, said into the phone: "Don't you watch
the news? He just got caught trying to embezzle 3 million pounds from a
government fund that's supposed to go to sick children!"

"What?????!!!!!"

"The Queen's charity to help impoverished children was missing 3 million
pounds, and this sonofabitch took it. His secretary found out and called the
police, but the line went dead. We found her body with a knife in it, his
prints are on it, and it's on security video. We've frozen all his accounts,
if he gets out of the country, he can probably access it. But no one knows
where he is!"

Suddenly, my face turned from cocksure grin to deadly serious. "There's a
dumpster in the alley between 5th and Grange. Look there. And send an
ambulance." Then I shut my phone.

The Earl of Clarwall rose to standing, pure fear covering face. "I've got a
plane at the airport. It'll take me out of the country. Once I'm in
Switzerland, I'll be able to access the accounts again. I can give you more
money than you ever dreamed of."

I cracked my knuckles. Right hand, left. Then I flexed each foot and cracked
my toes.

Urine flowed freely down his pant-leg. He started bawling again. He put up his
hands in surrender. It was now pure terror. "I only grabbed your purse because
I need cab fare to get to the airport! Let me go and I'll give you anything
you want!!!"

I shook my head back and forth, clucking my tongue. "Nothing you could give me
would feel anywhere near as good as this. HIIIIII-YAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

I felt his jaw break as my right foot crashed into it. He lost some teeth,
too.

Thirty minutes later, the police found the Earl of Clarwall in a dumpster.
There was hardly a spot on his body that was not black or blue. He spent the
rest of his life in prison. He spent the next year in surgery and physical
therapy.

As I padded in bare feet out of that alley, I felt something new. Now, like
I've said, I've beaten up more bullies and scumbags than I can count. But as I
sat at a caf' table and watched on TV as Detective Johansen fished the Earl
out of the dumpster, I could hear the whole nation cheer. And that piece of
shit ran to the nearest camera and confessed everything. "I'll do life in
prison. Please! Just don't let that barefooted woman come near me!"

Detective Johansen was laughing.

I looked down at my feet. They were so beautiful. So free. They had just given
the most important buttkicking in modern English history. I could never wear
shoes again. I never found out what happened to my stilettos. I burned every
other pair of shoes I had.

OK, slight reality check, I kept enough shoes to live on. And there are times
when shoes are necessary. But, 95% of the time ... free feet, happy Sable.

I have also had plenty more adventures, and turned many more badguys into mush
with my punches and kicks. Which I'll be happy to tell you about next time.

BAREFOOTIN'!