I love shoes, only the pretty pointy sexy variety of course or those with platforms and shiny heels.  The ones that elongate the leg and make any outfit look sassy and sexy.  The ones with big bows or that are covered in sparkles, the ones with ankle straps and toes out, the ones with coloured soles and toes in. The ones that have lots of straps and almost ‘ can’t walk in them heels’ (Hooker heels I call them)

Then there’s the boots, the smell of the leather, the way they grip your leg all the way up.   The ankle boots with laces, the thigh high ones that almost reach your crutch. The shiny patent ones with buckles and of course the nice fluffy ugg type that enable you to walk in the snow and keep your tootsies toasty warm.  I love them all and because of this I have a lot of them all cluttering up my cupboard.

This doesn’t stop me buying more of course and it’s always the heaviest thing in my suitcase when I’m travelling.  I mean you need to have shoes that go with the outfits you’ve packed. This can lend to endless deliberations and the reason my suitcase is usually over the weight limit. I have in the space of a week bought four new pairs of shoes and some boots.They are all gorgeous and of course they will all kill me in varying degrees.

Trust me!  I have tried to keep the heels reasonably low.  But not too low that they become frumpy…cant do frumpy.  They have to be high enough to make the legs look good but low enough that a broken ankle is not a likely prospect on a drunken night out.  In any event come rain or shine if my feet are in agony and by the time I’m drunk enough, they will be off and in my hand.

During my adolescent years I suffered the indignity of having to wear flats.  My friends all delicate little flowers bought the latest styles with heels but me being like a giant sunflower standing taller than everyone and a head above most of the favoured and most popular boys had to try and keep below the skyline.  I mean I didn’t want to give those boys any other excuse not to like me.  They already had the red hair, the freckles and the fact that I was rather well-built to hold against me. I spent hours trawling around the shops looking for low heels and was very grateful when it was ok to wear clumpy flats with my mohair dress.

I was so obsessed with my height that I used to measure myself at regular intervals and my BF Trudy 5ft 3ins and blonde used to join me.  Our height and age  still be found in my mum’s dining room.  Under the wallpaper of course where we left our measurements for posterity,  written on the stone wall in ballpoint pen.

But my how things have changed. Tall is good for girls now and the boys all seem to have got taller and taller.  The giant who lives with me is 6ft 4ins and a lot of the toyboys I have dated have been similar (Irish was 6ft 3ins). That said I have dated and enjoyed those that can look me straight in the eye in my bare feet (Pocket Size Perfections chapter 15 in the book comes to mind) And if I tower over them in heels no one seems to mind these days, and as I am always being told my the shorter than me male, it’s all the same when you are laying down.  Amen to that!

So maybe that’s why now,  I Iove to indulge myself in lots of pretty shoes but one thing I have learned is that guys love shoes too.  They love you in them and out of them AND they like you to keep them on during earth moving sex.  It’s common place to get a text from a TB asking me “What you Wearing ?” They want to imagine you in a sexy slinky little black dress and thong knickers (or no knickers!!!) and heels they all want you in heels.  Sometimes they want a picture of just the heels.  It seem that high heels are some sort of sexual trigger for them.  I know that wearing them makes me feel sexy so perhaps there is a link.

I have heard that some guys like you to walk on their naked body in stilettos.  Ouch! cant say ive ever tried it or been asked but frankly not being the lightest person on the planet I would be far too worried about puncturing a lung !!

I had a pair of boots once (sadly gone to the bootmakers in the sky) that used to have men salivating. They were shiny patent and had a large buckle and strap. Quite high and up to my knee I used to wear them out all the time tucked in jeans and with leggings.  They would be the topic of conversation I would be asked if I would keep them on during sex by complete strangers.  They seemed to give the dribbling men the idea that I was  some sort of Madam Whiplash.  The last time I held a whip in my hand was when I was riding my horse Guinness,  sorry Christian Grey,  so I had to shatter their illusion sadly. But would I keep them on during pillow talk   ? Ah well that’s a different story.

My new pretty shoes


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