She opened her wardrobe and they were stacked in the bottom chamber. She looked at them with love and recalled how she had to acquire them the first time she saw them. They stood out amidst hundreds of intimidatingly good looking shoes at the store.
Damn they are intense, she thought. Men wouldn’t understand the equation of high heels with ladies. Over the years, she had collected many stunning pairs from all over the places and they straight made way to her wardrobe. And remained there. She never wore them. Each one was lavishly elegant in its way. It was one of her most prized possessions. For her, acquiring heels was an experience and she never minded spending on them. When quizzed by friends on her fetish for high heels, she would say that something about it lends you a sexual energy and makes you want to be in control.
High heels just don’t go well with damsels in distress. It’s the unrestrained woman who would put on those tall shoes and walk with elan. She smiled and picked the black strapped stilettos. She put on her red satin backless gown with a thigh high slit on the left. She sat besides the dressing counter and looked at herself. She tied up her light brown curls loosely so her swanlike neck was not interfered with. Her brown eyes were devoid of any makeup and her lips proudly flaunted deep red. She decided against earrings or any piece of jewellery. She felt light in her heart and no piece of metal could further enhance her appearance.
She looked at herself in the mirror and she looked just right. Her favourite perfume lay on the dressing table but she chose not to wear it. She didn’t want to carry a manufactured scent around. And she smelled fantastic always anyway. She slipped into her black heels and stood up. She felt raised in every sense. She liked her stance. She was ready to roll for the evening. She was going to spend the evening with her longtime pals. She felt tall and she was happy.
Last week, she divorced her short husband.