“Boy, are you excited,” Stacy’s sister told the 15-year-old. “You weren’t even half that excited when you used to do trick-or-treating.”

“Come on, going to a cool party beats knocking on doors anytime,” replied the girl, busy with her make-up. “Besides, it’s my first grown-up party.”

Her sister laughed. “Don’t get too drunk, though. I’m supposed to be babysitting you.”

Stacy smiled and put on her sister’s nurse uniform. That is, it had been until one day last month when it got washed improperly and had shrunk; now Stacy claimed it as her Halloween costume. It was a bit short even for her, with the hemline at mid-thigh.

“Hurry up,” said her sister, handing her a pair of white pantyhose. “Or you’ll miss the party.”

“Don’t worry! I’ll get there on time, haven’t you ever heard the phrase fashionably late?”

She sat on her bed and carefully gathered the nylons around her thumbs. She then delicately put her left foot in the pantyhose and pulled it up her calf. Then she did the same with the right foot. She stood up and slowly pulled the nylons up until her thighs and groin were neatly wrapped in the sheer white pantyhose. Dropping her skirt, she went to find her sister to borrow her new shoes.

She picked her sister’s 3-inch red pumps. “Nurses don’t wear red shoes,” said her sister. “Besides, you’ve never worn high heels before.”

“But I like these!” Stacy stubbornly protested. She grabbed the pumps and went back to her room. Putting them in front of her full-length mirror, she cautiously stepped into the shoes, making sure she did not lose her balance. After all, this is her first time wearing high heels.

She looked at the mirror. She thought that she looked like every man’s fantasy nurse - a neat cape on top of her wavy shoulder-length brown hair, a beautiful face, budding breasts, a nicely curved body, and very shapely legs. The red size 8 heels accented her well-formed calves, the part of her body she was the most proud of. Since she was a little girl, she had insisted on wearing a skirt and tights. Now that she was a young woman, she was going to insist on wearing high heels.

“If you want to seduce the boys with those gams, we better get going,” prompted her sister. Stacy picked up her purse and followed, carefully planting every step.

The party was only a few blocks away, so they walked. Stacy struggled with her balance.

“How are the high heels, Stacy?” asked her sister, smiling.

“Wobbly,” Stacy replied, “but I’m getting the hang of it.”

Unfortunately, the party was not the best experience for Stacy. Everyone was dead drunk in no time, and she was the youngest one there, so she got little attention. Even worse, her sister had become seriously intoxicated and had disappeared in one of the upstairs bedrooms with her boyfriend, Fred. Stacy just wanted to go home.

She left the party alone around midnight. The street was deserted. The children had finished trick-or-treating, and the adults were all at parties like the one she’d just left. The night wind was also getting nippy, so she hurried her steps.

As she approached the intersection, the light was turning red. A car was coming from a distance, but she figured she could make it. The car raced past her as she reached the other side of the road. While she smiled to herself at her luck, her left foot caught in a hole in the sidewalk. She fell down hard onto the pavement.

“You all right?” a heavily accented voice asked, while a pair of hands helped her up.

“I’m fine, thanks,” she replied. But when she tried to walk - ouch! - An intense pain jolted from her ankle. She stumbled into the hands.

“Miss, you twisted your ankle. I can help,” said the voice, leading her into the entranceway of a government building on the corner. Stacy nodded, keeping her eyes on the road.

The man helped her sit down on the step edging. The place was brightly lit even though the offices were closed, at the expense of the taxpayers. Stacy was now able to see her helper: he was Oriental, possibly Chinese, in his early 20s. He wore thick black glasses and had a calculator in his breast pocket. Must be an exchange university student, Stacy thought.

The man knelt in front of her and picked up her left foot. “I know Chinese muscle medicine can help ankle pain,” he said in halting English. Stacy smiled. He then carefully took off her shoe, making sure her ankle was stable. Slowly he massaged her foot and ankle, starting with one hand and exchanging hands periodically. Stacy felt very relaxed and refreshed; she closed her eyes and moaned softly in pleasure.