Guest Post (9) Peter Hobbs

Hello everyone! After reading my post Heels, Peter sent me a tweet. “This was hot” he said. I immediately challenged him to write something in a similar genre, the way I had challenged my good friend Simon Poore and he came up with The Girl Call Christmas, which he later supplemented with the Return of the Girl Called Christmas due to popular demand. This is just the beginning of a frenzy I wish to initiate… ūüėČ

Please follow¬†Peter and¬†Simon on Twitter – you won’t regret it.¬†

And now without further ado, Peter’s post written in tribute to Heels.¬†

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He lays in the total darkness of the room with only a thin ribbon of light glows hauntingly through the bottom of the door.  Had it really been six months? Six months since this sordid affair had started.  Moving slightly on the bed, feeling the cool air from the ceiling fan gently caresses his nakedness and he remembers.  Closing his eyes to visualize, how they consummated their flirting that cold October night, how exciting it had been, the raw release of pent up sexual aggression and passion on both their parts.   

Her sleek frame carried so easily and gracefully by the heels, oh the heels, how exciting it was to see her in them, turning and parading from one side of the room to the other, with each turn shedding another piece of clothing until just the heels were left to adorn her body.  As if imbibed with the most potent aphrodisiac in the world he took her that night, wild and uninhibited as her legs wrapped around his waist, the tip of the heels touching the back of his thighs, urging him on like a thoroughbred race horse.

Unfaithful, perhaps that is how some would see it, but to be unfaithful you have to do  something to be unfaithful to, something that is solid and unwavering, something that would be faithful in return.  Sadly, that was not his lot in life, the flame of his passion long ago extinguished by the irrational and inexplicable behavior of his other.    

Now, all these months later the familiar anticipation builds and the knowledge of what will soon happen causes his heart to race.  He loves this time, the moments before her arrival, all of his sense on high alert then he hears the heels, closing his eyes again he can see her feet gracefully gliding along the hall of the hotel, the heels making gently taps on the floor with each step, then opening his eyes in a start as a key turns in the lock, the shape of a heel evident in the ribbon of light just before the door swings open.  

She quickly closes the door behind her, the darkness returns as he can smell her now, his nostrils flare with the scent of her and he struggles against the bonds wanting to be free, to touch her, to hold her.  A soft touch on his ear as she leans and whispers to him, how she wants to play, to teach him, to show him how much she has missed him these past weeks.

And then they are one, he feels her sliding over him, her hands resting on his bare chest as she gyrates and takes from him what he so willingly gives, the night a long series of movements, positions, laughter and touching until they both succumb to the sleep that their physical activities has wrought upon them.

A click of the door, he opens his eyes with a start as he sees her slipping out, like she always does, ahead of him and back to her life.¬† The last sight he catches of her is the patent leather heels before the door closes quietly behind her.¬† “Until next month, my love” he whispers to the sound of her walking down the hall.

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