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Finding Her Desires

Jennifer sat in the coffee house, waiting. Her hands kept touching the cup in front of her or her hair – reflexively adjusting it, stealing glances at herself in the floor to ceiling window by her table. Men walked by with furtive glances. This was new. She got her share of attention – early thirties, slim, pale blue eyes, and shoulder length auburn hair just like she wore in her early twenties. But something was different in these looks, and not just in their frequency. She smiled to herself. She knew why. Her eyes traveled to her crossed legs and the knee high boots she wore. Soft black leather gleaming in the light. A long, pointy toe and stiletto 4″ heels. Never had she worn anything like this before, usually adorning her feet in sensible, low heeled shoes. But she felt, finally, like herself in these boots. As if something dormant had come alive when she finally put them on. Something had come alive. A desire or, more precisely, desires.

Things denied. Like when she found herself staring at her junior high algebra teacher's fashion boots. She would feel something stir. A longing. But it was wrong. Why? She couldn't talk about this. Not with her friends. Not in her conservative group of affluent teens. It was more than admiration of this woman. At night, in her bed, she would try to dispel the thoughts. The boots, the long legs of her teacher. The need felt between her legs. But this wasn't the first. No, she knew that. Even at age six, home from school early, she would play dress up. She didn't know why. She would steal into her mother's closet, slip on her hose and clumsily put on her go-go boots. Then some lipstick. Parade in front of the mirror. Her mother laughed once, when she found her. How cute honey. Yes, she was cute, but why did she choose the boots? Years passed. New interests and suppressed memories. When she grew up with her friends, the fashions came and went. Usually preppy. L.L. Bean clones. Athletic boyfriends. To be part of her crowd, she'd make the scornful comments about girls who dressed trashy in tall heels, leather.

She grew serious with a guy in college. He would perfunctorily perform his sexually duties. She would spread her legs. She tried to ask him about his fantasies. Nothing. But school, career, interests filled her mind.

Never married. A series of boyfriends. Her early thirties came with the blink of an eye. She needed change. Life was changing around her. Those long suppressed desires came back. The fashions of the day reverting to the bell-bottoms and go go boots. And then, the stiletto boots in style. A far cry from the flat bottom riding boot style of the Reagan era. Yes, this was it. Sitting on the subway, reading Vogue. Her eyes were riveted to the page. Tall, leather boots with high heels. Charles David boots. She tore the page out and put it in her briefcase. At night she would take it out, especially when stressed out from a long day. After one relaxing bath, she surveyed the graceful lines of the model. Her creamy, white legs against the gorgeous leather. Warmth spread in her loins. She daydreamed.

Yes, she could see it now. The model coming towards her with a knowing smile. I know what you want. What? I know what you want. Give into it baby. Here, touch them. I know you what you want. You want these boots, you want me. No…it wasn't true, she didn't want her, did she? Ohhh..the feeling surged within her. Yes, it was true, she wanted her. She wanted the boots, she wanted this lovely woman, too. She reached down to caress herself. Her soft fingers slipping her clit between middle and index. Up, down. Looking at her hands. Her nails glistening with her wetness. Slowly, she brought them to her mouth, licking. That's it. She would be bad. She could be. She would lick this woman, and rub herself on her boots. She could hold on no longer. Yessss. Her body convulsed with pleasure. I know what you want, the voice went on. You want me, you want these boots.

Shame after orgasm. But later, the desire returned. This couldn't go on. This is what I want. I should feel no shame. Shouldn't I?

The next day she was walking past the boutique. Many times she passed it before, but as with a mind of their own her legs went to her to the entrance. She walked in. The smell of leather in the air. Elegant, high heeled, stylish shoes. Boots. She slowly walked around. There they are. Her hands nervously picked up the nearly 20″ tall boot. Her hands caressed the long heel. A voice broke her reverie.

“Can I help you with anything?”

She turned, and blushed.

“Umm, yes, I was interested in these.”

Nervously, she put the boot down.

The striking brunette saleswoman smiled.

“The are nice, aren't they. The stiletto boot is hot this season. Would you like to try them on?”

“Yes, please.”

She felt her heart pound. Would she notice how I feel about these boots? Would I wear my desires on my sleeve?

“What size?”

“Eight and a half.”

The woman returned with the long white box with the Charles David logo type written along the top.

The boots held in the woman's long finger-nailed hands, taking the tissue taken out. Slowly, Jennifer extended her foot in the supple leather. It cradles her calves. Zipper griping the leather to her legs just below the knee. Ohhh. The wetness came. She could barely breath. Could the saleswoman smell her?

She stood and walked slowly.

“You don't wear heels often, do you?”

She blushed.

“No, I'm afraid I don't.”

“You should, they flatter you.”

The brunette's eyes caught hers. Taking her in. Oh my god, is she checking me out?

“Oh, um, thanks.”

“Put your weight on your toes. That's how you walk in heels.”

She tried. Yes, it was easier. She grew more confident. She strode about the store. Looking, no, admiring herself in the mirror. So wicked. That was the word. She felt wicked and desired and empowered. She turned back towards the saleswoman.

“Do they fit okay, let me check them.” The brunette reached out with her long, manicured fingers to touch the toe area of the boot. Her hands lingered. She moved around Jennifer's ankles.

Mmm, yes, stroke the boots. Where did that thought come from? I cannot suppress it. She looked down at the saleswoman. They smiled at one another.

“Perfect. I think they suit you. You could really pull this look off. It works for you.”

“I love them. I'll take them.”

The brunette smiled again.

“Would you like to wear your boots out, or should I box them for you?”

My boots. She liked the sound of that.

“Yes, I would.”

They walked to the register, packing her worn, office shoes in the bag.

A pregnant pause. Jennifer couldn't move. Why? Someone speak.

The lovely saleswoman smiled again.

“Would you like to see anything else?”

Her heart quickened. She reached to take the credit receipt from her. Hands touched. Electric.

“Umm, I don't think so. Actually, I don't know.”

The saleswoman leaned closer.

“It's okay, you know.”

“What?”

“It's okay. I find you attractive, too.”

Jennifer was startled. How did she know I found her attractive? But it must be obvious. She can sense it.

Jennifer stuttered.

“I'm, umm, I'm like new to this. This is so new to me and I don't really know what I am doing and –”

“Shhh.”

Her hand covered Jennifer's. Thank god the shop was empty of other customers.

“Look, I get off at 6:00. Why don't you meet me at the coffee shop down the street?”
Jennifer withdrew her hand. Suddenly very self conscious.

“I'm, I'm sorry. I'm not like that. I don't know. These boots.”

Jennifer laughed nervously.

“Okay. Look, I go to the coffee shop anyway to have a cigarette and a latte before heading home. If you are there, great. If not, I'll understand.”

Jennifer tried not to look her in the eyes. But she noticed her. She couldn't help looking at her lovely figure, the gentle curve of her hips, her full red lips.

“Okay. Thank you.”

Jennifer turned, walking quickly as she could in the stiletto boots. Her heart pounding a rythm to the sound of her stiletto heels on the floor.

Click, clack she went down the street. Was everyone looking at her? It seemed like that. She felt like the universal girl in boots. Tall, sexy boots. She was out as a proud boot wearer. Sexy, stiletto boots. She could wear these. She could do this.

She walked on. Testing the crowds. Eyes turned. Men looked. Women looked. Yes, other women looked at her. Fashion curious and some just a little more. She wasn't alone. Other women could desire her.

She didn't know where to go.

Jennifer looked at her watch. Nearly six o'clock. Would she run into friends? What would she say. This was her moment.

So, she found herself sitting in the coffee house, waiting.

She adjusted her skirt. She looked down at her legs again. She had been bobbing her legs, flexing and pointing her boots. Her legs were proud, on their own.

The saleswoman entered. She hadn't seen her. Jennifer took her breath in sharply. She had changed. She was wearing a knee length black leather pencil skirt and black leather knee high stiletto boots. Just like hers. Ohhhhh.

She turned and saw Jennifer. She smiled broadly.

The two booted women stood to greet one another.

Jennifer took her hand.

“So, you came. I'm glad.”

She sat down. Jen jumped slightly as their booted legs touched under the table.

“I don't even know your name?”

They both laughed, easing some of the tension.

“Amy. And, I don't know yours.”

“Jennifer.”

“Well, Jennifer, it is a pleasure to meet you.”

They both laughed again.

“Jennifer, I don't do this often. But I really find you attractive and we seem to have some common interests.”

“We do?”

“I think so. Boots. Admit it. You love them as do I. And a woman in boots is very exciting.”

Jen glanced at other tables, hoping no one could hear the conversation.

“Yes..”

Almost a whisper.

Amy reached into her bag and took out a pack of long cigarettes. Jennifer watched as her long nailed fingers raised the white cigarette to her lovely lips.

“Oh, I'm sorry, would you like one?”

“No, I don't smoke. I mean, I do sometimes, when I go out drinking.”

“You don't mind if I do?”

“No, go right ahead.”

Jennifer watched her take a long drag, her lipstick leaving a stain on the filter. Somehow she made that look so alluring.

Amy's boot moved against Jen's. This time, more than an accidental touch. Her boot moved back and forth under the table. Leather on leather.

Jennifer swallowed.

“Ummm, Amy, I think I'll have one of those cigs.”

Amy smiled. She extended the pack to Jennifer who extracted a long cigarette and placed it in her lips. Amy lit the tip and Jennifer steadied her hands with her own. The electric feeling spreading through her body. She exahaled slowly through pursed lips. Her boots rubbed back. She could do this.

“Amy. This is all new to me. I do find you attractive and you look wonderful in your boots.”

“Thanks. But you needn't be so nervous. You've wanted to do this for some time. I feel that today is a day of firsts for you. Be happy.”

Jennifer blushed deeply. She boldly ran her booted legs up Amy's calf as she smoked her cigarette. Yes. A day of firsts. What would my friends and family think? Here I am with a strange, beautiful young woman. Smoking, wearing stiletto boots and flirting with her. What would they think? Who cares. Opinions be damned. This is me.

Amy leaned forward. She licked her lips.

“Jennifer, why don't we get out of here and explore our mutual fascination.”

“Umm. This is all going so fast.”

You want this. Yes, you want this. You want her. You want her boots. The voice, again. Goading her. Persisting.

“Come on. I don't bite. At least not yet.”

Nervous laughter.

“Okay.”

A step, in her booted feet. A step towards something new.

The walked together. Boot heels clicking together. Eyes on them. Two attractive women in stiletto boots. Heads, male and female, turned.

There was no time for tenderness once inside the apartment. Needs came spilling out.

Amy pushed her against the door. Lipsticked lips coming together. Jennifer sucked on Amy's tongue. Long, deep kisses. Years of suppressed feeling boiling up.

Jennifer pulled Amy to her. The leather skirted thigh pressing into her groin. Grinding on it. Oh yes. Yes. This is what she needed. The lipstick of another woman on her mouth. Her perfume in her nose. The ache. She could wait no longer. She kissed down Amy's body. The softness of her. The erect nipple through the silk blouse rubbing against her cheek. Lower still. She ran her tongue along the supple leather of Amy's skirt. Mmm. Yes. Amy's hands in her hair, pushing her lower. Jennifer ran her tongue along the silk hose and found her prize. The boots. Her lips kissing the tops and her hands slipping up and down the length. Such a sexy girl. Such boots. She kissed them and licked down to the ankles. Looking up, she noticed Amy with a blissed out expression of lust. Staring at her.

“Oh, Jennifer. Yes. Feel my boots. Let it go honey. Let it out.”

Her mouth licked around the tight leather on Jennifer's ankles. She sucked the toe in her mouth coating it with her lipstick and saliva as her long fingers danced around the stiletto heels. The heady smell of leather and sex in the air.

“Take off your skirt. Please Jennifer. I want to see you.”

Jennifer stripped off her skirt and panties. Her sex glistening. She looked at Amy. No words were spoken. She knew what to do. With her booted legs to either side of Amy's leg, she squatted over her new lover's boot. The leather against her sex. Amy flexed her toe. Jennifer moaned as she rubbed up and down the shaft of the boot leaving a wet, shiny trail on the soft black leather. Lower still. Now, the pointy toe of the boot at her sex.

“Ohhhh. Amy, yes.”

“You want this baby. You want me to fuck you with the boot?”

Jennifer could merely moan.

“Say, it. Say it!”

“I..I…”

The words almost came.

“Come on baby, let it out.”

She could do this. She looked up at her new lover. Staring into her eyes.

“I want you to fuck me with your boots.”

“Louder baby.”

She cried out.

“Fuck me with your gorgeous stiletto boots! Fuck me!”

The pointy toe slid in and out of her dripping sex. Swollen, pink lips spread against gleaming black leather. Hands caressing the slim, leathered calves of her lover.

Yes. She was doing this. She had arrived, finally, and a long way from her mother's closet.

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