Guys have to understand something about women. For us, it’sall about the shoes. Maybe it’s an exaggeration for me to say that a pair of Louboutin boots or Manolo Blahnik pumps is better than sex. But really, it would depend on the quality and duration of the sex before I could honestly make that call.
My husband and I are discussing sex fantasies, and he has just mentioned one particular hot night on a recent cruise.
“Oh, yeah…that’s the night I wore my silver sandals,” I recall, closing my eyes and smiling.
“Not the memory I was going for…”
“Are you kidding me? Those shoes are amazing!”
“I was more focused on the other amazing things that happened that night.”
“Really?” I ask, dumbfounded. “How could you not remember those shoes? They made my calves look so hot.”
He drops his head back on the pillow and covers his face with his arm, exasperated. I sigh and attempt to help him recall all the events of that evening, hoping he’ll eventually remember my favorite pair of shoes and how good I looked in them. It was formal night, and I was determined to pull out all the stops. We went to the spa to get couple’s massages, then I had my hair and nails done. I wore a short, purple dress with spaghetti straps and silver piping, and the cutest sandals I had ever put on my feet. They were Jimmy Choo’s. Silver, open-toe, with straps that crisscrossed up my calves. The heels were 4 ¾”, and they made my legs look amazing. I bought them at Nordstrom on sale for $600. The food that night was great. So was the wine, and I enjoyed several glasses, although not enough to impair my ability to walk in my spiked heels. After dinner we went for a stroll on deck. I remember the clicking sound of my heels on the wooden planks. Because the height of the heels forced my center of balance forward, the rhythm of each step is different than when a lower heel is worn.
My husband is laughing at me.
“What?” I ask.
He just shakes his head. “You seriously remember what your shoes sounded like on the deck?”
“It’s physics, baby. Look it up.” Shaking MY head, I continue my story. When we reached the front of the ship, we stood in the open air for a while and watched the ship slice through the dark water, enjoying the moonlight and a nice buzz from our dinner wine. You put your arms around me and said some sweet things about how beautiful I look and how much you love me and want me, then you leaned in to kiss me. I remember that because I was standing on a low step by the rail. That, combined with my 4 ¾” heels, put my lips on the same level as yours. We decided to go dancing for a while and headed down to the club. We ran into several couples that we had met on the ship and got a table together. The women all said how much they liked my sandals. Even the men checked them out, because MOST men can appreciate a beautiful pair of shoes.
I look meaningfully at my husband, hoping he’ll notice the inflection there. He notices, and has his argument ready.
“They were checking out your LEGS, not your shoes. I’m telling you, real men don’t care anything about shoes, except how easily they can be kicked off when you’re climbing into bed. Or how fast you can run in them when we’re chasing you.”
Hopeless. Absolutely hopeless. But I continue anyway. We danced for about an hour, and I had a few more drinks. After a while, my feet started to hurt and we decided to call it a night.
He sits straight up. “What the hell! You spent $600 on a pair of shoes that made your feet hurt??”
“Duh. They were Jimmy Choo’s. On sale! Sometimes a few blisters are worth it. Any woman would tell you the same thing.”
I think I’ve lost him. He drops his head back on the bed and covers it with a pillow. I’d better get to what he will consider the good stuff, or he might fall asleep on me. When we headed back to the cabin, neither one of us was really tired. You stripped down to your boxers and collapsed on the bed, grabbing the remote and flipping on the TV. I went into the bathroom first and checked myself out in the mirror. My hair still looked good, and my makeup was not completely destroyed. My diamond earrings and necklace sparkled against my ears and throat. When I removed my dress and looked in the full length mirror on the door, I was pleased to see how sexy I looked with my hair up, wearing nothing but my fabulous high heels. I turned on all the lights and walked back into the room. I wanted you to see me.
He has removed the pillow and is watching me again. “Now we’re on the same page. I totally remember that.”
“So you do remember the shoes.”
“Not at all. But I remember you coming out of the bathroom, turning on all the lights, and parading your naked self in front of me.”
At least we’re getting closer. I climbed on to the bed and crawled towards you. You started to sit up, but I pushed you back down and you smiled, happy to oblige me. I yanked off your boxers and found your cock already hard. I looked into your sexy blue eyes and went down on you, kissing and licking all over your shaft, running my tongue over it from the base to the tip. I caressed your balls gently, then licked them too. You moaned softly as I worked the base of your cock with my hands while taking you as far as I could in my throat. As your cock began to twitch in my mouth, I could tell you were starting to get close, but I had other plans for us so I slid you out of my mouth and knelt on the bed between your legs. “How do you want me?” I asked.
“You did not say that,” he says.
“Oh, yes, I did.”
“No, I remember very clearly. I had no say. You just attacked me. You were completely in charge that night. It was hot.”
I arch one eyebrow at him, not convinced but willing to let it go. Anyway…you decided you wanted me to ride you. So, I stood up on the bed and my sexy Jimmy Choo’s sank down into the mattress as I positioned myself over your stiff cock. I lowered myself down a little at a time, until you were in me to the hilt, then I stretched my legs out near your shoulders and moved my hips in a rocking, back and forth motion. You felt so good inside me. My head was fuzzy from the alcohol and my body was on fire from this smoking hot man beneath me.
“Oh, yeah! That’s good…keep going.” He’s grinning now, and feeling a little cocky. I’ve just about got him where I want him. As my orgasm began to slowly build, I wanted more vigorous stimulation, so I started to raise myself up and lower myself back down on your cock. You began thrusting your hips up to meet my downward plunges, and the friction became intense. We were both moaning by this time, but I decided to draw it out just a little longer, so I lifted myself up and off your cock. I grabbed your arms and helped you into a sitting position, then leaned myself back and put my legs up on your shoulders. From this angle, I had an amazing view of my fabulous shoes, right next to your handsome face. My two favorite things.
“Oh, good lord…” he groans.
“So, are you still telling me you don’t remember the shoes? 4 ¾” spiked heels on your damn shoulders, and you don’t remember?”
“I kind of had other things on my mind at that moment.”
“You can’t focus on anything else when sex is involved, can you?”
“You’re really just now figuring this out?” You sat all the way up, my legs resting on your shoulders, and inserted your cock into me. We started with nice slow strokes. I moved my hips to meet you as you glided in and out. Then, the intensity built up and those slow strokes got faster and more insistent. Before long, you were pounding me frantically, barely able to maintain a rhythm as your moment of release was so close. I reached between my legs and rubbed my clit as you groaned with a series of rock hard thrusts. Then we were both crying out as our orgasms hit and we came together, grasping and clutching while we climaxed. I think I actually had two right in a row. That was really fantastic sex. And it all started with the shoes.
He’s staring at me, a strange combination of lust and aggravation on his face.
“Stay here for a minute,” I tell him. I walk over to my closet and move to my shoe cabinets, searching through shoe boxes until I find just the right one.
Five minutes later I emerge from the closet, wearing nothing but my beloved Jimmy Choo’s.
“NOW do you remember?” I step out, modeling them.
He stares hard at my legs. “They might be ringing a bell. Why don’t you come over here and let me take a closer look. Maybe put them on my shoulders again.”
I smile and strut my stuff towards the bed, feeling the sexy sway to my hips that comes from wearing high heels. There’s just something about these shoes.
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