Deb beds a shoe

Upon putting some old clothes into a recycling skip, I discovered perched on top of the pile within the skip, a pair of shiny black, silver-studded stiletto-heeled ladies' shoes. Well, I had to have them. In fact they were crying out to me, ' we want to be yours, Deborah', so it would have been harsh of me to have left them to an ignominious fate inside the skip.

Having taken them home, I contemplate 'are these shoes pure femme sex, or what?' I mean, I do my best, but I humbly admit that these shoes are better at it than I am. That night I took one of the shoes to bed with me (please don't feel sorry for the other one: she will have her turn shortly). Going to bed with women always serves to remind me that women are human beings: complex, sensitive, imperfect, just like myself. Empathy, responsibility and kindness soon dominate over sexual feelings within Deborah. Stiletto-heeled shoes, on the other hand, are not human beings just like myself. They are just sex, sex, and more sex!

Yes, sheer unadulterated female sexiness. The world doesn't offer much better than that. In fact I don't know why it bothers trying, with all its social organisation, its high culture, its education, its big business: a sharp stiletto stabs through all of these, piercing into the heart of human feeling. Just give us all beds to lie in and ply us with high-heeled shoes.