For a long time many feminists have seen high heeled shoes as an instrument of torture to make women submissive and powerless. I suspect that this largely due to famous Twentieth Century lotharios like David Bailey who expressed a preference for high heels because in them “girls can’t run away from me“. His ex-wife Marie Helvin in her autobiography disclosed that Bailey:
insisted on stockings, and high heels: if he saw I was wearing flat shoes when he came to collect me in the evening, he’d sulk in the car until I put heels on.
But female enslavement and high heels is, I would argue, entirely context specific. Some of us not only love to wear heels but love the effect that wearing these heels have on the men in our lives.
Someone (Anonymous) once said:
I love sex. It’s free and doesn’t require special shoes.
To Anonymous I would say:
Try the special shoes and then see what happens.
The Sydney sky was filthy yellow and the blusters of wind blew grit into your eyes. It was the sort of day where dust whipped up to pepper bare ankles and the breeze teased flirty girls in tiny skirts.
We met quite by chance. It was Valentine’s Day.
You were hiding yourself away, not posing brazenly like the others.
When we were introduced, I was at first cautious. You were presented to me casually and mind was elsewhere, I must be honest. You were not the reason for my being there. I was never meant to see you.
You came to me. You were preppy and smart and I was to be the first to unwrap you, to release you from your confines. I held you, studying you as I ran my fingers over your form.
You were soft. You were beautiful. I bit my bottom lip. My pulse quickened.
I recall feeling confused, unsure as to whether or not I wanted to go further than this. Looking back, I was terrified of falling for you.
I had to steel myself. Ask myself what was the worst that could happen.
Setting you down, I slipped into you, effortlessly. You drew me into you, you felt perfect. I suddenly felt as stunning as you looked.
In that moment, I knew. It was you and I. And we were going to have some fabulous times.
I looked across the room, met my husband’s eye. He nodded. He smiled. He understood.
You have been so good to me. The murmurs of appreciation from those who see you when we’re together, the tentative touch of a curious hand, the flattering comments that have been made – all testament to your loveliness.
I keep you safe, I care for you – and in return you make me glow.