One Red Shoe

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This morning I awoke to bright sunshine beating a tattoo in my brain. I turned over to shut it out and rolled right off the edge of the bed. SMACK! I lay there stunned for a moment and then slowly opened my eyes to see what the hell it was, that was causing such pain in my forehead. I had to cross my eyes to focus on a sole sloping down over my nose. I grabbed at the offending object, yanked it out of my head, and beheld a 4 inch Red spiked ladies high heel. I looked around for the other one, and couldn't find it. I almost put it back in my forehead to stop the bleeding, but resorted to cold water and Johnson's Elastoplast bandaides instead. Now the shoe wasn't mine. It was a size 5 for one thing, and I have average sized feet ! Three cups of coffee, six aspirin and a slap on the forehead (OUCH!) for forgetting my V8 brought it all back. Smokey bar, loud music, Sangria's by the pitcher and a pair of flashing silk clad legs in 4 inch Red spiked heels. I followed those legs all over the dance floor for hours. Finally they stopped, and those open toed heels turned in my direction and daintily danced their way over to my sensible brogues. The world faded away, the music became muted and romatic as we danced toe to toe out the door and into the velvet night. Things get a little foggy after that. Through the mist of memory I catch glimpses of smooth shoulders, magnificent breasts, a classically pinched waistline and softly rounded inviting hips. The vision becomes electrically charged, heated and sweaty, and entwined in and around and within, long satin strands of blond hair. I lose myself in the blurred images shooting across my inner eye, and reach out to hold on tight to the object of such pleasure, and find myself gripping only, One Red Shoe.