Dial 999 for Dilemma
By Sarah Knowles
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I've got this thing about high heels you see. It's not that I don't enjoy wearing all the other things girls wear - I do - but heels are my particular fetish, you might say. I'm lucky because for a man I have small feet - size 7, which enables me to buy a delightful variety of women's shoes from normal shoe shops (presents for my wife you understand). I should know better really because I'm all of 5 feet 8 inches tall anyway, and with six inch heels on I'm - well, you work it out for yourself. Actually, I usually settle for 3 to 4 inch heels, but when the mood takes me I cannot resist six inchers. My wardrobe is full of shoes of every imaginable colour, from strappy sandals, to wedge heels, to classy court shoes - you name them and I've got them!
Anyway, to get on with my tale: this particular evening I was in one of my moods - I felt I had to go for six inch heels, and I selected these very sexy, bright red leather sandals with cross-over ankle straps secured by tiny brass buckles. I had already decided that I was going to wear this slinky silk frock, which was the same colour as the shoes. It had a daring tulip skirt which opened at the front when I walked or sat down, giving the observer an encouraging glimpse of lacy things to come. As it was an early autumn evening I was going to wear my white hip length woollen coat with its brass buttons and big pockets. With my black jewellery, my sheer black stockings and my black hair I tell you I looked pretty hot stuff!
Of course, the thing about really high heels is the way they effect your walking - you are compelled to take small steps, leaning your body back and pushing your pelvis forward. The result is a very sexy walk indeed, once you've got the hang of it. I just love to see the fellows gawking at me and fantasising as I walk past them - if only they knew what I had between my legs! Of course, the major problem is that you can't cover ground fast, and to run is to invite disaster - you just have to be content to take small, hip-swivelling steps, You become, in fact, like most women - extremely vulnerable.
Well, everything went fine at the beginning as I took my little walk around town, which was something I never missed if the weather was anything like okay. It was straight home from my van driving job, a quick bite to eat and then the pleasures of the wardrobe and choosing the garbe I mentioned earlier.
It was at the pelican crossing in the centre of town that my downfall took place. This stupid car, driven by some pimply faced youth came charging around the bend just as I was halfway across the road, and sent me flying. I wasn't actually badly hurt, apart from what appeared to be a sprained ankle, but within a few seconds there was quite a crowd around me as some bloke helped me carefully to the pavement and sat me on his coat. A pretty girl picked up my handbag and put back the bits and pieces that had tumbled out when it had hit the road and burst open.
"Are you alright, my dear?" she enquired as she gave me back my handbag. I smiled and nodded.
"I think she might have broken her ankle", the guy who'd helped me said. He looked like a retired army man to me. "Anyway, someone's gone to ring for an ambulance".
The car had not stopped - probably stolen - but somebody had got the number, which I thought was very public spirited.
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