Found out today that New Slave at work has an extensive collection of dressing up clothes which makes me think both that I was so right to employ her, yet so miserable that she has THE SHOES and I don�t, seeing as I am her boss and earn much more than her and am generally much sexier and more gorgeous. I have bet her that she wont wear her shoes to the works Xmas do. She says if I get some we can both wear them and say they are part of some departmental uniform thing. She is a thoroughly good egg.
Oh, I DO SO want to get some of those shoes. Just think how �pleased� BF will be when he sees me in them (wonder if I can get a wee frilly pinny to wear with them). Wont be able to wear them in the Stepford boudoir tho as we have a waterbed, but in a fortnight�s time we are off on a jolly to another guitar show where they will come in jolly useful in the pit of sin that is our hotel. We�ve stayed there three years running, which is remarkable considering the noise we make and the fact that I once yanked the headboard off the wall in a fit of passion (we just propped it on some pillows in the morning and checked out rather sharpish).
Oh I miss BF.
Slave gave me some websites to check out but everything was too too expensive. Pater did give me some money for my birthday but it does seem a bit WRONG to spend that. I have had to pay off the mortgage company this month for a big fat expensive mistake that our broker made when he sorted out the mortgage move from Alimony Towers to the Palace of Many Sins so Im even more broke than usual. What I need is a teeny weeny windfall that nobody knows about so that I can spend without guilt. Mind you, I did laugh even more than Slave said I would at a particularly vile purple latex boys "playsuit". Even IMAGINING BF in it was enough to send me snorting to the kitchen for more schnapps. Wouldn�t you just DIE if your man fetched up in one of those? Maybe you wouldn�t. Personally, I like BF in all his glory (or, if pushed, in a denim shirt).
I recall my first �grown up� holiday with a boy. At 17, I was reasonably worldly wise and kind of knew what was right and what was SOOOOO wrong. On our first night in the B & B, I went off to brush my teeth and take a pee and when I got back to the bedroom the boy in question, lets call him Wrong, was lying provocatively on the candlewick counterpane wearing�.wait for it�my recently vacated cream silk french knickers and camisole. Chest hair poking impishly out one end, bollocks poking disgustingly out of the other. Being a well-brought up girl, I am proud to say I didn�t point, laugh and shriek "WHAT THE FUCK��?!", despite the fact that he had the brass neck to simper coquettishly and say "well, whaddya think?". Now imagine, dear reader, the sight of Wrong in my skimpies. This was not some androgynous girl-boy with angelic face and smooth body (in which case I probably would�ve let it slide), but a 5�8", slightly porky, good Catholic ex youth-orchestra dork with a flat-top and pimples. I think I sighed.
I guess I should�ve known all was not well with him when his mother told him that if I wanted to wait for him after he finished work (they worked at the same place), then I shouldn�t dress like a prostitute as it gave the family a bad name. I was wearing RED SHOES. If she�d known all the bad things I taught her baby to do, I think the shoes would�ve been the least of her worries.
Until later
X
PS If anyone knows the web address for DiscountPornShoesAreUs.com you will let me know, wont you?
back - forth