Shoes

Have I mentioned my love affair with shoes?

It's not a fetish. There is no sexual desire that is filled by wearing, handling or simple ogling at shoes for me.


Yet I adore them. My breath quickens when I pass a well-stocked shoe display. I imagine how particular ones will look on my feet, how they will enhance my legs and change my walk from a purposeful, even stride to a purposeful, leg-lengthened, ass-heighted, slightly hip-wiggling strut. I will consider what clothes already residing in the closet will go best with them or the type of outfit I will lust after if I break down and buy them.


Sneakers, flip flops and other unexceptional types of footwear do not have the draw that more 'feminine' shoes do. Spiked heels, chunky heels, wedges, ankle-wraps, solids, prints, bejewelled, leather, satin and more. Knee-length boots, lacing all the way up. The possiblities are endless. And such a very girlie addiction for a gal who generally has simple, yet bold and easy interests.


At minimum, they offer my feet a layer of protection against the concrete, brick or any other surface I might walk on. They can also shield the tender bottoms of my feet from an immediate smack of the cane. Without shoes, I am all the more naked.