Posted 20 October 2009 - 01:56 AM
David loves Heels! (a fictional story)
Things would be different this year. It was the beginning of my “second” year at college and I no longer had to live in the “dorm” on campus” where all first year students are required to live.
My father, the owner of a large, very successful real estate company in our community, managed to find a vacant 2 bedroom, two bath “garden” style apartment close to the campus that he rented for me. The apartment complex, although built in the late “70,” was attractive, up-to-date, very well maintained and completely furnished with everything except bed linens and towels, etc. All that I had to move in and unpack was my personal stuff and some food.
The grounds were highly manicured -- immaculately maintained. And my apartment overlooked a beautiful swimming pool and social center that was available for use by the residents. The complex even had its own private security force that kept watch 24/7. All in all, it was a very, very comfortable place for a 19 year old boy’s first “home away from home”—even though it was still in my hometown and just a 15 minute drive from my family’s house.
Compared to some of the students that were attending my college, I was spoiled rotten by my family. I must admit there is a lot of truth to that. Life, so far, has been relative easy for me. My family’s wealth and position in the community opened every door that I might want to walk through, I didn’t even have to study very hard because I learned quickly and had exceptional recall and retention. So, it didn’t take much effort for me to maintain a good grade point average.
I am the youngest of three children in my family. My brother and sister are much older than me. In fact, I spent the later years of my childhood mostly alone because when I began school, they were already in college and away from home. I do, however, have fond memories of both of them spending a lot of time playing with me when I was small.
Perhaps the most noticeable characteristic about me, besides my extraordinary good looks, is that I love to wear girl’s shoes. I can’t remember any time in my life when I didn’t wear them. Some of my earliest memories are of playing in my mother’s closet with her shoes and other items of clothing. I was always in a pair of my mother’s high heels around the house and neighborhood. In fact, whenever my mom would try to get me to change into boy’s shoes or to stop me from wearing her heels, I would pitch one grand, hell of a fit and wouldn't quit until she gave her heels back to me.
I would put them on early in the morning as soon as I got out of bed and wear them everywhere. Shopping at the mall, food store and even outside to play with the other kids that lived in my neighborhood. My parents were of the mind that my desire to wear girl’s shoes was just a childhood fancy and that, with the passing of time, I would eventually “outgrow” wanting to wear them. Well, here it is. I am now nineteen and I am still wear girl’s shoes. I do not own any of those ugly boys shoes.
Classes begin in the morning and I’ve got four new pairs of heels to wear during the first week. One pair of black leather boots with square toes and blade heels that are absolutely stunning. A pair of strappy sandals with 5” heels and a built-in ¼” platform that are extra comfortable. And a couple pair of penny loafer style shoes with 4” block heels. One black pair and one brown pair, that will go well with blue jeans, Dockers and all of the other popular clothing styles that are big on Campus this year.
I got my first pair of high heels when I was 12 and wore heels --pumps, boots, sandals and heeled loafers -- throughout all of my school years. Since I lived in the same community since I was born, everyone that knew me and my family was aware that I loved to wear high heels. It wasn’t a problem and, from a very early age, I was accepted by everyone in our community as being slightly “different” but “all boy.” I was good playing sports in high school and popular with all of the girls.
Going to the teenage hangouts wearing "strappy sandals" with 5” stiletto heels, stiletto heeled boots or black patent sling backs or pumps usually went completely unnoticed. At times, though, my shoes were pounced on by some of the girls and often traded amongst the more daring ones that didn’t own, or were not allowed to wear heels as high as I usually wore. In fact, my long time girl friend wouldn’t recognize me if I were wearing pair of flats and if she didn’t approve, she’s never registered her disapproval. She’s had plenty of time to let me know her feeling since we’ve been boyfriend /girlfriend since the first grade. In fact, she is as big of a “shoeaholic” as I am. We haven’t worn the same size since we were very young, however. So, any thought of swapping with her is out of the question. We are “mutually” supportive on this issue though and we do have several identical pairs that we often wear together when we’re out on dates.
So, early the next morning, with my text books in my backpack, armed with my current semester’s class schedule, cell telephone and laptop, I stepped out of my front door, closed it behind me and set off through the parking lot on my two block walk to my first class. I was dressed more or less the same as most of the other students except I was wearing my new black boots with the 4” blade heels with my sweatshirt and blue jeans while most of the other students wore sneakers.
I spotted several students that I knew from last year and hurried to catch up and walk with them the rest of the way to the campus. One of the girls in the group heard the sound of my heels as I walked up to them and, after a quick glance and a “I love y our boots,” asked how my summer had been and if I had any thrilling heel adventures to tell them about. We renewed our acquaintance while walking and soon were climbing the steps up to the building where our first class of the day was being held.
The crowd had grown pretty large by the time we entered the main hallway. I I looked around at the other students and noticed that I was the only one wearing heels. I was disappointed that no one else had noticed my new boots or even payed any attention to the sound of my heels on the hard tile floor. Everyone else was wearing sneakers (trainers), ugly flip-flop, or some other type of dressy thong sandals. I was sure, though, that I was wearing the most comfortable shoes of anyone in the entire student body this morning.
I don’t believe, as long as I live, I’ll ever understand why the people that scheduled my classes, scheduled my Econ 202 class as the first class of the day on Monday, Wednesday and Friday of each week for the entire first semester. Ughhhh! For the next 2½ hours I am going to have to sit through a dry, boring lecture on the history, theory and principles of the world’s economic systems. I guess the schedulers wanted students to be wide awake and alert to counter the dullness of the subject. As I was mulling over this thought in my mind, I spotted a vacant place about halfway to the front of the class and worked my through the crowd and sat down between a studious looking fellow and a rather attractive girl. Neither of which was paying particular attention to me or anything else that was going on around them at the moment.
I opened my text book and set up my laptop on the desk as the Professor introduced himself, the title of the class and the goals we were expected to achieve over the next 4 months. The lecture droned on and on. The girl sitting to my right whispered “I love your boots.” I smiled at her and managed a quick, hushed “thanks” in return. Then she whisperingly asked if they weren’t “kinda” warm” on such a nice warm sunny early fall day? I glanced down between the chairs at her feet and noticed that she was wearing the obligatory ugly thong sandals and remarked that they were very comfortable and I thought them to be much better for conditions than the “shower shoes“ she was wearing. She just sniffed and returned her attention to what the professor was intoning.
As the class was disassembling and we were all working our way toward the center isle to “make our break” from the lecture hall, the guy that was sitting on my left, looked at the floor, noticed my boots and told me how “cool” they were and how good they looked with my jeans. He introduced himself as Melvin Simms from a community in the northern part of our state and then asked if the heels were hard to wear and did I think that he could get away with wearing boots with heels like mine. I told him that they were comfortable and I thought he would look very stylish wearing a pair. I suggested that if he didn’t have any experience wearing heels, he might think of buying a pair of boots with lower heels to begin with. Around 2 or 2½” would be a good height to start with.
The girl that was sitting on my left, who’s name I learned, was Marie Middleton, overheard the conversation and wanted to know if I ever experienced any negative reaction to being a male wearing female shoes. I explained that I was born and raised in this community. This was my home town and I’d worn girls shoes all of my life and high heels exclusively since the 7th grade. So, almost everyone living in and around the community was used to seeing me out and about wearing all styles of women’s shoes. The only curiosity came from the out of town students here at the university. They usually weren't aware that there was a guy wearing heels in their midst and when they discovered this, they showed mild curiosity. But, once they got used to seeing me walking around the campus in heels, the majority no longer noticed and readily accepted me for the person that I am.
By that time we had reached the main hall and my long time girlfriend, life mate and the woman that I am going to wed in a year or so, Loraine (Lorry)Wilkinson, was waiting for me. I introduced her to Marie and Melvin as we walked toward the student union cafeteria for an early lunch before our 1st afternoon class began. Marie was joined at our table by three of her girls that were from her “neck of the woods” and she introduced us. Conversation eventually came around to my boots and all of the usual curiosity questions that came with a guy in heels. Lorry, my girl since the first grade, patiently explained the oddity and once all of the questions were addressed to everyone’s satisfaction, the subject moved on to social activities and good places for college students to hangout and meet guys and girls. I pled innocent to knowing any place that was good to meet girls (or in this instance, places that girls went to so the guys could find them) since Lorry was practically sitting on my lap.
My first class after lunch was a 2nd year English class. I managed to arrive just as the class was getting underway and I had to walk between the rows of seats, the full length of the isle with my high heels clicking on the hardwood floor, to a vacant seat in the front row directly in front of the Professor. After introductions were made, and class objectives explained, the professor pointed to me and asked me to step up to the black board and write an example of a simple declarative sentence. I wrote “Take Aspirin for headaches.” The professor, an attractive woman nearing the top end of her thirties, wearing a nice brown skirt, a white blouse and a pair of stylish brown pumps with 4” stiletto heels, stepped forward and said that she had noticed that I was wearing high heels and wanted to address this “distraction” early on in the seminar so we could progress through the course without the curiosity that naturally accompanies unusual situations. She asked me to introduce myself to the other 55 students and explain why I was wearing woman’s high heeled boots.
I turned around, faced the crowd and a little bit shyly said “my name was Martin David Sorenson” and that I had lived in this community all of my life. I graduated from Harry S. Truman Senior High School that is located just a few short blocks down the street from this campus. I was popular with my peers and well known as “the excellent three sport athlete that wore high heels.” I wear high heels because I like to. I’ve always worn high heels -- for as long as I can remember. In my opinion, my high heels are not woman’s shoes because I am not a woman nor have I ever attempted to be a woman. They are my shoes and I am a man. Ergo, they are men’s shoes. I wore low heeled girls shoes throughout primary and secondary school. I began wearing high heels in the 7th grade, when I was 13. I wore high heeled boots, sandals, loafers and wedge heel shoes to school every day that I attended. Not one single person ever complained or had any other problem with my wearing high heels at school. Not one.
I was a “freshmen” at this university last year. I wore high heels every day to class, around the campus and to social and sporting events the entire academic year. And I expect to do it again this year. Once people’s initial curiosity was satisfied and they got used to seeing me in heels, my friends and other students looked past the heels and accepted me for my outstanding good looks, great personality and the wonderful person that I am. I don’t expect this year to be any different. “Now,” I said as I was winding to a close, “does anyone have any questions?”
One girl sitting in the middle toward the back of the class raised her hand and asked if I had ever experienced any negative reaction or threats of bodily harm as a result of wearing high heels here at school or anywhere else? I explained that I have earned “black belts” in three different martial arts and was well equipped to handle physical attacks. In fact, last year, shortly after classes began here, I was accosted by a big guy that wanted to prove to his friends that he was capable of handling “the queer guy wearing high heels.” He began his routine by announcing to the entire world how he was going to tear the heels off of my feet and make me eat them. He would teach the “faggot” what real men did to sissified guys and make it so they never wanted to wear any piece of woman’s clothing ever again. He walked toward me, threatening to take my head off with one swing of his beefy arm. When he swung at me, I just grabbed his arm and broke it in three places. Then I broke one of his legs in a couple of places and stuffed his shirt down his throat. And I did it all while wearing a pair of boots with 4” stiletto heels.
After their shock wore off, his friends picked him up and carried him to the hospital. When he was released five weeks later, he was arrested, tried and convicted of felony assault and is currently in prison serving the second year of a three year sentence. That is the only time in my entire life that anyone has tried to physically harm me for any reason. Word travels fast. I don’t expect anyone around here to try to harm me again.
Another girl wanted to know what my family thought of my wearing high heels. I explained that I began wearing girls shoe when I was very small. In fact, I can hardly remember back to any time in my life when I didn’t wear them. When my mother and father tried to get me to stop, I pitched such a fit that they finally relented and began buying nothing but girl’s shoes for me to wear. Once they begin doing that, I was a very happy and cooperative child. And, while there were some “raised” eyebrows when I began wearing high heels to class in the 7th grade, me and my heels ceased being a curiosity after a couple of weeks. I had known most of these students since the first grade and they knew that I had been wearing girl’s shoes since they first met me and the fact that I “grew” into wearing heels didn’t really surprise any of them. It was just part of the natural "growing up" process.
When a guy in the front row, a couple of seats to the left of where I was sitting, wanted to know what girls thought of my wearing high heels. I explained that outside of the occasional woman that strongly registered disapproval by maintaining that girls things were for girls and boys things were for boys, most were ambivalent at the least and supportive at the most. I told of one experience that I had here at the college just before Christmas break last year.
One afternoon, a girl in one of my classes stood up and announced how disgusted she was at seeing me come to class day after day wearing various styles of woman’s high heels. Taking her criticism, I asked which particular style that I wore did she object the most? Her answer was that she objected to the very fact that I wore them at all.
At that time, I got up from my seat and walked to the front of the class. I asked the complaining girl to join me. I also looked around the room and asked two other girls to join us. I told them that I wanted them to help me make a point. Once all three girls joined me in front of the class, I took off the pair of classic black patent pumps, with 5½” heels that I was wearing and asked the girls if they had ever worn heels as high as these? One answered that not only had she never worn a pair with heels that high, she wasn’t even aware that they made shoes with heels as high as these. She also explained that the only heels she wore were kitten heels or really dressy shoes with low heels and then only when she dressed for church or other functions where jeans weren’t appropriate.
The other girl, taking one of my shoes in her hand and looking at it, said that she would probably fall flat on her face if she ever tried to wear shoes with heels that high. They were, in her opinion, almost like “hooker shoes.” The style of shoes that “bad girls’ would wear when trying to pick someone up.” The complaining girl didn’t say anything.
I set my shoes on the floor and stepped back into them. (With my heels, clicking deliciously on the hardwood flooring, captivated everyone’s attention) I walked over to the girl that had expressed her “disgust” and, without embarrassing her, I asked her to describe what she was wearing. "How are you clothed?” I asked. A blank look crossed her face and she expressed wonder at exactly what I meant. I pointed to her outfit and item by item, from her blue jeans, sports shirt and work boots that she sported on her feet, explained how each item of clothing that she was wearing were, in all actuality, designed for men to wear while working in the fields or factories around the country. They were never meant for women to wear…And, up until WWII, when many women were employed in factories making war supplies and needed to dress appropriately for the work, a “proper” lady wouldn’t be caught dead wearing “men’s” clothes. In fact, I pointed out, that except for the shoes we were wearing, we were dressed identically. We both were wearing blue jeans. Both wearing men’s style button-down the front oxford style long sleeved dress shirts, which, I said, that I suspected that she had borrowed from her husband or boy friend earlier that morning.
Both of the other girls that had joined us in front of the class were similarly dressed. Blue Jeans, T-shirts and “hoodies” or sweat shirts with school logos stenciled across the front. Styles originally designed years ago exclusively for men that had morphed into the “unisex styles” and were currently appropriate for wear by either sex. And, while everyone in the entire class got my point, the “disapproving” female said that she would never accept any man in high heels or wearing any other item of female clothing. It was just plain wrong and would never be accepted by society.
So, in answer to the guy that had asked the question, I concluded by paraphrasing the old baseball saying “I win a few, lose a few and a few get rained out." While I enjoy acceptance and occasionally have to deal with someone’s quizzical glances. I am really not bothered by anyone that doesn’t accept me in heels. Most important to me, however, is the fact that those that I really care about don’t give a darn. And, so far, my Mother, Father, brother and sister as well as my girl friend and her family accept me as I am. And, for that I am not only blessed but very, very grateful.” I nodded my thanks to the class and returned to my seat. The classroom was very, very quiet.
The Professor began talking about our class and the material we were going to cover during the semester. She began by talking about some of the material that was in the first chapter of our text books and continued to discuss issues that were presented there until the end of class bell rang. She gave us a rather complex homework assignment and asked that we write a paper on the material we covered, which was to be turned in to her at the beginning of our next class on Wednesday.
As I was gathering up and putting away my stuff, several students walked by and told that they liked my presentation and thanked me for taking the time to explain things. As I approached the door on my way out, the Professor stopped me and said that I had made a very convincing presentation that it she could tell that I had impressed everyone in the class, especially her. She complimented me on my “good looking boots” and wondered if I would ever consider wearing that pair of black pumps that I had mentioned in my presentation, here to our class? She told me that she would love to see them and perhaps she could learn a few things about wearing "very tall" heels from me. I told her that I would be glad to wear that pair to class one day. I would, she could be sure, give her advanced warning before I walked into class wearing them. We had a good laugh and I went out the door, found Lorry waiting for me and walk with her to our final class of the day
Our final class for the day was “Early European History”, which we had together. We sat next to each other midway toward the front and I briefly told Lorry what had happened in my English class. She was surprised that the professor had called on me to explain what was going on and why I was walking around campus wearing heels.
This class was anticlimactic, no way as interesting as the English class had been. When it ended, we quickly left the room and walked out of the building. I told Lorry that I would take her home if she was willing to walk to my apartment so I could get my car. She agreed and said that she hadn’t had a chance to see my place before I moved in and she really wanted to see what it was like.
Carrying her books, walking hand in hand up the stairs, I unlocked the door and we walked into the living room. Lorry stopped dead, looked around and exclaimed how wonderful it was. She mentioned that we were going to enjoy spending a lot of time together here over the next several months. While she “freshened up, I opened a couple of cans of soda and something to snack on while we talked over the events of the day. Lorry told me that she rather liked Melvin and Marie, the couple that we had met in my English class. And she wouldn’t be surprised to see those two get together sometime over the next couple of months.
We chatted for about an hour and then she mentioned that we were to have supper with her parents this evening. So, while I changed my clothes, she put away the things in the kitchen, gathered her things and, when I was ready, left the apartment and drove to her house.
I really like Lorry’s mother and father. I have known them since I was 6, when Lorry and I were in the same class room in the first grade. In the beginning, Mr. Wilkinson wasn’t too thrilled with my wearing girl’s shoes. However, over the years he’s apparently “gotten over it.” While he sometimes comments on the style of shoes that I wear with different suites when I dress up, I always try to be respectful of his feelings by not choosing to wear a obviously feminine pair when we go anywhere with them. I know he has been asked on several occasions by different people how he’s going to like having a son-in-law that is known all over the community as the boy that wears high heels? I also have been told that he has answered that question on several occasions by saying that as long as Lorry is happy and I treat her well and provide for her, who cares what kind of shoes I wear? Besides, he’s 100% sure that any “romance” that has lasted as long as ours has, isn’t going to fail. In addition, he knows my parents. We go to the same church and participate in many community programs together. He knows that I am “from a good family. “ He always seemed like a “second” father --very supportive when I was playing football and baseball. He never missed a game and occasionally provided very good advice
Hot Dogs and Hamburgers on the grill , potato salad, baked beans and lemon aid was supper. We chatted about our first day at college and I gave Lorry’s mother and father a verbal tour of my new apartment, which they seemed pleased to hear about. Mrs. Wilkinson mentioned that Lorry was “eager to move into her “own” place but they had decided that she would continue to live at home again this year. They, all three of them, decided to “re-visit” the issue again next summer.
And, at that time, with the conversation winding down, I told everyone that I had some studying to finish and it was time I got back into the habit of completing assignments early so I could spend more time “goofing off.” So I thanked everyone and with Lorry taking my arm, I headed for my car, kissed her goodnight and drove back to my place.
Once back at my apartment, I kicked off my wedge heel slingback sandals, turned on the TV and began reading the Econ assignment. All in all, it was a good first day of class. Met some new friends, gave a pretty good presentation on why I wore high heels and I think I made at least a friend of a Professor. Perhaps talking heels with her won’t be a bad thing.