I went shopping for Fuck Me heels
I was alone this Fourth of July, so I hopped on my bicycle and hit the Stanford Shopping Center, figuring there must be a special Fuck Me heels department in Needless Markup, or one of those other upscale dumps for people with more money than brains (that excludes me of course, as it’s patently obvious I have neither).
I hit the top of the escalator at NM and was met by a guy carefully eyeing whether I was NM material or not. Either that or he had ideas about how he’d dress me, because it appeared he was undressing me, until he addressed me, that is.
Granted, a guy wearing river sandals, ripped shorts and a t-shirt from a 1970 Grateful Dead concert doesn’t exactly look like the NM type, but when Grover T Salesman asked me if he could help me in a way that made the word help sound like it had at least 3 or 4 syllables, as in “May I he…ell…..lll....pppp you?”, I quickly went on the offensive.
“Sure, where are the auto parts?” I asked.
“Sir, we don’t carry auto parts”, Grover responded, again with way too many syllables for his own good.
“OK then, skip the auto parts. Where do you keep the Fuck Me heels?”
“Excuuuuuuse me? This is NM and we do not carry thooossse sorts of things here.”
“What? Is there something wrong with Fuck Me heels? I mean, hey, I’m a red-blooded male, and when I see a woman with well defined calves and great legs wearing Fuck Me heels I just want to drop to my knees, start at the bottom and work my way up. You get my drift, Grover?”
“Sir, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave the store, the other customers are clearly uncomfortable with your rather lewd and crass behavior.”
“She’s not”, I said, nodding towards the very pretty woman browsing the apparel department, who was clearly grinning ear to ear and chortling.
“OK. OK, I’m leaving. So Grover, is there a place in the mall that you could recommend for Fuck Me heels? Surely you must wear a pair every now and then if you work in a place like this. They must fuck you over pretty good here.”
Down the escalator I went, with the chuckling woman not far behind me. She called to me once I was outside, and offered to help me find the perfect heels. While we walked across to Nerdsturds she quizzed me on my tastes, and my motives. By coincidence, she also had size 6-1/2 feet, the exact same size as my delightfully delicious lover.
Things went a little smoother at Nerds. My new best friend from NM modeled every pair I asked to see. She offered advice, and her opinions. I settled on a very sexy red pair, and as we walked out of the store she asked me what I was going to do with my friend after I presented them to her.
As I walked her back to her car I told her honestly, and in great detail, of every move, every touch, and every place my lips would visit. “Lucky girl”, she said, laughing and smiling.
“Yes, and lucky me. Thanks!” I said as she drove away.
I love it when a plan comes together, don’t you?
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