remember a great story that happened when I was a kid.
It was my cousins wedding. She was 18 years older than me (I was eight at the time). I knew I had a fascination with women’s high heels, but I wasn’t sure then of the extent of my interest, or why. Regardless, I continually tried to put myself in a position to be near them. Well, it was a wedding night and everyone was dressed to perfection. I even had a little suit on. This was the perfect opportunity for me do what I loved best to do. After dinner people started wandering, visiting, doing the wedding thing. I started wandering the hall looking for potential foot action. I found a table with three ladies, their husbands or dates were elsewhere. I didn’t recognize them, so I got down on all fours and began to play with a small matchbox car I brought with me. I was near their table and eventually they ignored my presence. Casually I made my move, driving my car under their table. The tablecloth covering it went almost to the floor, so I knew I had solid cover. It was a gold mine, I was so excited. The tables sat 10, so there was plenty of room for me to maneuver. The ladies essentially sat so they took up half of the table, a half moon if you will. I examined each of the ladies shoes. Lady one wore standard black pumps. The heel was probably 3 inches in length and came to a small point. I leaned closer, she had her legs crossed and her right foot was in the air. I slowly stuck out my tongue just brushing the tip very lightly, I could taste the leather I was in heaven. Just as I was developing a relationship with her shoe I felt a painful jab on my right hand. Lady two had stretched out her legs and had crossed them with the one heel on the floor, or more appropriately on my hand. The pain was intense, but I was more afraid of being caught. I glared at her shoes in fear and admiration. She wore open-toe black pumps. She had a similar heel to Lady one, but her heel was buried into the top of my right hand. As I tried to figure a way out of my predicament, Lady one began to gently swing her still elevated right foot. The gentle swinging grew larger in motion, I tried to back up, but with my hand pinned by lady two and the main table leg at my back I knew I was in trouble. Lady one struck me. The toe of her pump hit then slid the length of my forehead. I was expecting her to pull away and look under the table to find me, but she didn’t. I guess my forehead felt like the table leg to her, because her foot struck me three more times. Finally it came to a rest with the toe planted firmly on the bridge of my nose. I could smell the intoxicating aroma of leather and sweat. Her toe cleavage was right before my eyes. One of the ladies told a joke or something because next thing I know lady two is laughing and sliding her feet back in towards her. The heel that was resting on my hand slid and tore across it. Finally her heel was off of my hand, and lady one switched her legs, thereby removing her foot from my face. For a moment I was in the clear. I examined the back of my hand. It stung, and had a deep welt, but it wasn’t bleeding. I then went over to the lady three. She was wearing cream colored shoes, with a 2 ½ inch heel. She also had her legs crossed and I gently licked the toe of her shoe. The leather was divine. I laid down on my stomach, so my face was about an inch from her foot on the ground. Suddenly she shifted and switched her legs. Although she missed my face (barely) her planted foot landed on my tie. I was trapped. She began swinging her crossed leg and her foot breezed by my ear. Fortunately she didn’t hit me. I stayed stuck like that for a couple of minutes, until I heard and saw a man approach. He asked her to dance. As she got up to leave she brought her extended foot back down and it landed squarely on my already sore hand. The heel landed on my ring finger crushing it into the carpet, then as she stood up the heel with a horrifying amount of pain slid off of my finger and onto the floor. She didn’t notice and simply turned and left the table. This time I started to bleed. Despite the pain I didn’t cry, I attribute that to the fact that my adrenaline was pumping like mad. I turned and saw the other two ladies getting up to go (to the bathroom I presumed). I waited for 15 or 20 minutes, but they didn’t return. So I left. I’ll never forget that night. Twenty-two years later, I wish I could be as inconspicuous as an eight year old. I'd love to hear your memories from childhood, please share them with us.
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