My Erotic, Euphoric Experience with High Heels

A wave of pure sensual excitement washes over me. My heart rapidly beats in my chest. The blood rushes through my veins to the most sensitive parts of my being. Simultaneously, I inhale deeply as my eyes roll back in my head. My eyelids slowly close. A soft sigh escapes my lips. I open my eyes to focus my attention back onto the object fueling my strong sexual desire, the object that has caused this state of ecstasy to take hold of my body. I am not being held in the arms of the man I adore. I am not being touched and turned into melting butter by his strong hands. I am not even looking upon his handsome face that steals my breath away. As a matter of fact, he is nowhere around. No, this feeling of profound pleasure stems from the source that can be found on the feet of a model in the magazine I am reading.

The black and white five-inch platform gladiator heels are the reason for my excitement. The black leather upper binds the foot up to the ankles. The back and toes are exposed. The platform of the shoes, is where the white and black meet to create a snakeskin design that flows down the heels. Securing the heels to the foot are two straps that wrap and tie around the top of the ankle. I frantically search the page for more information. It is located in the upper right corner. The price listed in the detail section reads $1,590, but the effect on my mind and body is priceless.





I love high heels. I love looking at them, reading about them, writing about them, buying them, and most of all, wearing them. Yes, I know that many women have an infatuation with high heels. I also know that for many women putting on a pair of heels can mean the summoning of their alter ego, the beautiful goddess whom men crave and women envy. The beautiful goddess that has the knowledge that she is so sexy and so seductive she can conquer any man or woman she chooses. The goddess that realizes she has the strength within herself to withstand all the daily pressures of work, love, and life. The goddess that has the determination not only to achieve her goals and dreams, but to exceed them. Yes, I understand the effect high heels can have on the psyche of women.

However, the effect they have on me goes beyond the alter ego. When I slip on a pair of exquisite stilettos, I too feel like the queen goddess heading out to conquer a kingdom, taking no prisoners and bringing all around me to their knees in admiration.
Yet, if I find a pair or even look upon a pair that meets the “five f’s” test—fabulous, fun, flirty, fierce, and fire (slang for hot)—I go into a state of erotic frenzy.

Stepping into the shoe store is even more of an electrifying thrill for me. I am like a child in a candy store. I am filled with unadulterated happiness.

“Please, salespeople, do not interrupt me when I am inhaling the aroma of new shoes. Please do not interrupt me when I am gazing upon all the tantalizing flavors that sit on shelves before me. Please do not interrupt me as I imagine sliding my foot into each and every sensual vessel.”

Oh yes!

“Please, salespeople, DO NOT interfere with my psychological orgasmic experience.”

Allow me to have my moment. Allow me to reach my peak. Allow me to explode with joy.

I have been this way ever since I was a young girl. One of my favorite memories from childhood revolves around a pair of shoes. I adored those brick-colored leather shoes with the gold-tone buckle. The one thing I loved about those shoes was that they were not completely flat; there was a small wedge to give me a lift. I would take moments from my day to stare at the shoes that were lovingly caressing my feet. I smile fondly now, thinking about how those shoes brought such delight to my soul. By the time I was nine, the high-heel bug had bitten me. By the time I reached my teenage years, I was wearing heels up to three inches—only to church and for special occasions, yet to my delight I was allowed to wear them. As I have grown, so have the inches of my heels and my insatiable lust for them.

I wonder what Freud would theorize about the orgasmic high I receive from stilettos. What psychological disorder would he assign to my behavior? I can visualize it so clearly. I can see myself lying on his couch, and although I am not sure what clothing I am wearing, I can clearly envision the five-inch lovelies on my feet that have ignited my thoughts. I try to concentrate on the questions he is asking me … if only my eyes would stop gazing upon the heels that are holding my feet in bondage. Freud sits behind me in his chair. Undeterred by my lack of attention, he continues to probe the recesses of my mind. He seeks the evidence that deep in my subconscious, lust, rage, and repressed desires are in a battle to rise up and reign supreme. He feels that having my feet encased in high heels represents a childhood need to be held. No, his psychoanalysis convinces him that this is a desire from even further back. It began before infancy, while I was still inside the womb. He concludes that I did not wish to enter into a world of heartache and hardship and therefore cling to these inanimate objects for security and comfort. Finally, an explanation and clarity … or maybe not. Many of his theories on sexuality have been disproved over the past few decades anyway. Besides, what does an old man know about the deepest passions and desires of a woman, moreover a queen?

Well, whatever the reason, viewing a pair of high heels can work my soul into a desire-filled frenzy. However, there is more explanation to my excitement. It is not just the heels that are turning me on and fueling my heated lust. There is also the knowledge that the heels I am viewing with desire will make me look splendid. I know that they will transform my body from average to that of a vixen bombshell. I can read a magazine and imagine myself sliding my foot into the five-inch sandals. My foot tightly held by leather. The shoe has shaped my foot in its mold. My legs are long and shapely. My stomach is flatter. My breasts are lifted. My posture is correct. My hips sway like leaves in a gentle breeze as I glide across the room. I am majestic. I am empowered. I am strong. I am seductive. I am oh so satisfied.

sidenote: the above photo was the inspiration behind this post. I took that picture of Harper’s Bazaar May 2009 (it along with other magazines fill my shelves). The heels are Dior.

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