Adventures in Tourism

It’s all about the shoes. Lurking in the clearance rack, waiting for me to try on other pairs, Shelli Segal, Chinese Laundry, don’t try the ones you want first, it scares them into being the wrong size (that’s how I found my wedding dress, antique silk-satin bias-cut, in a Goodwill in upstate New York).

Patent. Tortoise-shell. Slight platform, four-inch heel. They are beyond fantastic, they are sexy superkeen doubleclearance, and with my birthday month frequent shopper coupon, they are…wait for it…ten dollars and fifty-seven cents.

The shoes come home and get packed into my whorebag, under the new panties bought so the client can keep them, new bustier bra, tan stay-up lace-top stockings and The Plan. Action One: Pit stop at the adult toy store on the way (since the local Satin Dolls is dimly lit, understocked with cheap jelly product and charges a dollar to go in). Action Two: Swoop by Target for sparkling Italian soda and Chessmen cookies. Action Three: Check into the Sheraton, reserve a conference room, put on the shoes, head for the sidewalk.

Tourist’s fantasy is that I’m a businesswoman on a break from a meeting, getting some fresh air. He’s used the word “classy” about five times to describe what I should look like, so it’s grey Miss Sixty just-enough-spandex-to-hip-hug pencil skirt to the knee, white tailored blouse curving in at the waist, low ponytail, tan stockings and the shoes. Which…

…I can’t walk in. In the store, they stayed on bare feet just fine. With Hanes thigh-highs coming between us, it’s a no-go. Every step and they slide off my heels, I walk out of them three times on the way to the elevator. Out the lobby door, drunkenly swaying, pigeon toed and shuffling in an effort not to lose them. Pit stop at the car and I masking tape the insides, which helps a little but not a lot. Off to the sidewalk in front of the hotel. I stagger as gracefully as possible down the block, turn and come back, a car pulls up beside me.

“Can I give you a ride?”

He’s new to this “acting” thing and it takes him a minute to process that yes, I am thankful for the ride, no, I do not want to really go to the drug store for shoe-related supplies, yes, he should offer to take me to lunch as per our agreed-in-advance plan. I don’t actually find him all that attractive, though he’s not a dog by any means, just not my type, and I’m a little trepidatious when he parks far from the restaurant entrance, thinking, 1) oh dear, is it blowjob time already? and 2) I’m not sure how I’m going to make it all the way to the front door. He leans in to kiss me, and I have learned by now it’s up to me to control tongue and penetration from the first kiss or it’s just trouble later. LFK, they call it on the whoreboards, a little bit of tongue, not so much desperate high school sophomore who practiced on the couch cushions and big sis’ Beauty Barbie head.

“May I see your foot?” he says, and I swivel sideways in the leather-seated Audi, ice-cold air blowing up my skirt. He takes my leg reverently into his hands, kisses my calf, massages gently up and down my lower leg. His mouth moves lower, kissing my instep through the stockings. And then…well, I feel like a babe in the woods. Because I’ve heard about it and seen pictures and sure, feet and shoes are probably one of the most common fetishes, but I’ve never actually had someone lick my shoes before. Which he does. Quite a bit. Soft little pink tongue lapping away at my tortoiseshell peeptoes. He leans back for a moment and sighs, and I take my foot out of his hands, rub the side of my shoe against his penis through his businessman’s slacks. “Don’t you dare come yet,” I hiss at him, remembering his penchant for tease-and-denial. “I won’t,” he whispers, leaning back in his seat. When I take my shoe away, he shakes. For a moment, I think he’s having an epileptic fit. He tells me that it’s like orgasm, but without ejaculating. For a Midwestern boy from a family so morally conservative he doesn’t speak to them any more, he’s certainly got an affinity for Tantra…



Tomorrow, Part Two.