Lest you start to think that I am getting too intense, let me introduce you to my life in shoes. I love shoes. One of the first savage rows I had with my mother, heralding the approach of adolescence, kicked off when she forbade me,because it was raining, to wear my new Clark’s sandals to school. I find that when it comes to the subject of shoes, sense goes out of the window.
I can still close my eyes and feel the cool embrace of a pair of turquoise leather naked sandals I had in my early twenties, or the little green suede booties that I wore with jeans until they fell apart. What about the long red suede boots with high heels that saw me through my first sexual adventures? I can map my long life in shoes and boots that I have loved. I have bled for them and now I carry the scars of their presence in a bunion that plucks when there is a storm in the air. Shoes have been an important part of the drama of my life and now it seems they are mapping something else.
One of the downsides of growing older is that I can’t wear the shoes that gave me pleasure in my youth. The reasons for this are legion. The main one is that as I age my spine needs all the help it can get to hold straight. High heels now throw me forward so that I walk like a duck. No longer do I have the spine flexible enough to dance backwards or to spin on my heels. And I have never been happier. Is there I ask myself a connection between these two things?
The answer to that question is yes! When I was sixteen and bought a pair of white high heels to show off the tight white skirt I had just bought, I had my first real experience of what it felt like to be a woman. In that outfit I learned how to perform for the male and draw, almost without further effort, an erotically enthralled audience. This went on for years and I relished both the performance and the effect. After all sex has a lot more power than sense. The foot is a vital member of the erogenous family and the shoe is an important sexual signal. So down the years I went signalling like mad until some time in the last decade the signals became intermittent. I became less willing to undergo the discomfort of the sexy shoe and as my shoes became less vocal, so I as a woman became more invisible. And happier.
I can change this at any moment, I know. I can exchange my Fitflops for peep-po sandals any day of the week. Spring is on its way (albeit very slowly) and I can dream up an erotic enticement any time, if I want to. In the meantime there is always the vacuum cleaner. A foot massage by Henry is one of the most erotic sensations I have ever experienced and is free from all that hard work associated in pleasing a man.