Just for me
It was always tough being on the losing side. Andy didn’t like losing but he had to accept they’d been outplayed. It wasn’t surprising really, home or away, every year their little College side lost to the University. Home advantage and skill counted for little when playing against a much more physical side. It wasn’t a question of being outclassed, they were simply outgunned. It seemed so unfair playing against PhD students who were much older, bigger and stronger. The referee hadn’t helped: she’d let them be bullied of the pitch.
Andy had escaped the worst of the mêlées. He’d come on as a substitute late in the second half after one of his side’s wingers had hobbled off after another crunching tackle. His speed and agility counted for little since he rarely got sight of the ball with the University dominating possession. At least it meant he’d largely stayed clear of trouble, but it was typical that it was the one time that Jane had come to watch. She didn’t like him playing what she referred to as ‘ that rough game’ but had agreed, thinking that they’d be able to sit together and watch since he wasn’t in the starting line-up. She hadn’t realised that she’d be standing on the touchline at the recreation ground. Her view of football seemed totally shaped by watching ‘Football Focus’ although Andy was pretty sure that was only to see Alex Scott. (It was the reason he watched, after all.) He already expected some forfeit or payback when they got home.
Even on the touchline, Jane had certainly had an impact: the College’s only decent chance had been when she’d bent down to pick-up a piece of litter and the University lost possession. Maybe they were dazzled by the reflection off her shiny PVC pants; maybe it was the exquisite curves of her thighs and bottom; or maybe just the sight of a beautiful lady poised, bending and balanced on 6” dagger heels when they were slipping and sliding on the slippery pitch. It was a distraction that they were unused to at the University. Even the referee lost her composure.
Andy hadn’t joined the team in the changing room before the match, and he definitely wasn’t going to be joining them in the showers afterwards. He’d changed into his kit before they set out from Fullerton Hall, and he’d come home grimy and mud splattered afterwards. Jane wasn’t happy. It wasn’t as if his team was going to be celebrating afterwards. She’d needed to spread a plastic sheet to protect the passenger seat of the Tesla. She thought he was just being silly. “Just for me” she’d said when they’d had a little game yesterday evening painting his toenails: part of her Friday night fun. She was sure the team wouldn’t mind, but he was adamant about not showing them to his colleagues nor going in the showers after the game. Such a silly boy, she thought.
Even when they got back at Fullerton Hall, Jane was still irritated with him. His filthy boots had left stud marks and soiled the carpet in the passenger footwell. The carpet would need cleaning and the plastic would need to be disposed of. All jobs he could do before Church tomorrow. And he’d wasted a perfect opportunity. That boy he was always going about had been playing and he’d not wanted to invite him back to the Hall. Such a shame he’d not gone in the showers. Surely he’d have wanted to show off his lovely toes to his friend? If he didn’t shape up, she’d just have to invite the boy round herself. She’d find out his number while Andy was in the shower. It couldn’t be that difficult: there couldn’t be that many Wills in his address book.
In the meantime, she needed to get him clean in the downstairs wet room. She’d sort out his clothes. And his shoes. Especially his shoes. She’d had them in her cupboard for a while, but now the time had arrived. It wasn’t going to take much to persuade him. “Just for me”, she said before he went in the shower. “Please Andy, just for me. You did promise if I went to your football match. Please do it for Auntie. Just for me. You moan so much about me being taller than you.”
“Yes, Auntie,” he mumbled. Yes, he did moan when he was with her, but normally for different reasons. All he wanted to do at the moment was get out of his clammy football gear and into a hot shower. He was sure she’d want to play more of her make-up games when he got out. He was used to those. But this was going to be different. She really wanted him to wear some new footwear. She’d kept going on about boots, specifically his new football boots and how she was fed up with him wearing them. He’d been wearing them about the Hall (with the studs out, naturally) to get used to them. He didn’t want them to be uncomfortable and wearing them for the first time when he played. Perhaps she’d got him some boots for wearing at the Hall. Maybe some ankle boots, possibly with a Cuban heel. That would give him a lift. A little Cuban heel would help him not to feel so small when he was with her. She had towered over on the touchline, but she did have the advantage of 6” heels.
He lingered in the shower as long as possible. He could tell she was getting impatient. It was kind that she brought him a cup of tea but then she lingered just inside the door of the wetroom. “See, you don’t mind me watching you in the shower, darling,”. She wasn’t worried about getting splashed, droplets simply rolled off her brown PVC pants and boots.
“That’s different, Auntie. You’ve seen me like this lots of times.”
Jane didn’t answer. She was musing to herself but made sure she could be heard above the noise of the shower and the extractor fan in the wetroom, “I think we need to do your fingers to match your toes. And your lippie will have to match too.”
“Really, Auntie? Do I have to?”
“Yes, Andrew. Please. Just for me.”
“Yes, Auntie,” he said rather grudgingly as he turned off the water and she stepped forward to envelop him in a long, soft towelling robe. “Now come upstairs. I’ve put out your things in your bedroom.”
He was reassured to find a pair of skinny jeans and a white tee laid out on his bed. At least she hadn’t selected anything more extreme. That morning she’d threatened him with a corset but must’ve changed her mind and decided to go for something simpler for their ‘evening in’. No pants or panties, of course. She always expected him to go commando when he was staying with her. It made things much easier later on.
Then she pulled out a shoe box from a designer bag and handed it to him. “Just for you,” she said.
He took it and stared at the lid in wonder. ‘hristian’ it said in regular characters and Loubouti in a strange cursive script. He tilted the box and read aloud the label on the side: “‘Very Privé 120 Patent Calf’ and ‘Rouge’.” Below that was his European shoe size.
“It’s metric,” said his Aunt. “120 means one hundred and twenty millimetres. They’ve got five inch heels. You know I prefer six, but these will get you started. Five are already big enough for a boy like you,” she said with a wry smile
He was flabbergasted. So much for Cuban heels. He opened the box with trepidation. He removed an envelope, then a folded, empty red shoe bag. There was a tiny little red bag too. It wasn’t empty. He started to loosen its draw strings out of curiosity. “Spare heel tips,” said Jane’s voice of experience. His heart began to pound as he peeled back a layer of tissue paper, and there before him was something he’d dreamed about: a pair of Louboutins. They glistened and shone. “They’re yours, if you would like.” What could he say? A pair of Louboutins for him. Red, patent peep-toe Louboutins. This wasn’t playing with Auntie’s shoes like he’d done when he was a child. Auntie was giving him a pair of Louboutins. His very own. “Will you wear them, just for me?” asked his Aunt.
“Oh, Auntie, I don’t know what to say,” he replied. And he didn’t, he really didn’t. On the one hand he’d always admired his Aunt’s pairs of heels, particularly her Louboutins. Her Jimmy Choos were nice, her Office were practical, and her Manolos were special, but her Loubous were in a different league. Maybe it was the shiny red sole, but he adored how they looked on her. They were the perfect accompaniment when she was a tight pair of shiny pants, or in one of her latex dresses or pencil skirts. He’d always loved heels on ladies but he’d loved playing first with his mother’s and later with Jane’s pairs. He'd always envied girls and that they were allowed to wear heels. But wearing a pair himself was something different. Inwardly he yearned to try them on. He’d always wondered what a pair of 5” heels would feel like? Secretly he’d always wanted to try. Would he be able to walk in them?
On the other , what would wearing heels say about his manhood? Would he look silly in them? Wearing heels was not the same as wearing nail varnish on his toes. The nail varnish was just a little fun. He thought he could explain that to his team-mates. He was sure he could explain it to his friend Will. Even playing make-up games with his Aunt. After all, he’d worn black nail varnish on his fingers and eye-liner some days in his first year in College or when they were going to gigs. Will would understand. He hoped Will would understand. But heels were different. His Aunt had always liked to tease him about the height of her heels compared to certain of his features. What would wearing 5” heels say about him.
“Oh please wear them for me Andrew. We had such fun painting your toes yesterday, I just wanted to show them to the best advantage.” Andy realised that Jane had carefully selected the shade of the red nail varnish for his toes. It matched perfectly the colour of his Louboutins. He sat on the edge of his beds while Jane applied a little talcum powder to his feet. He’d done it so often for his Aunt when she wasn’t wearing stockings. He held a shoe and admired it. The red lacquer on the outsoles and heel breasts sparkled. The outsoles were immaculate with none of the scuff marks that developed on Jane’s well-worn pairs. There was a delicate little platform. Maybe ¼” of an inch. That would give a little extra lift, a little extra height. He wrapped his palm round the heel. It looked so delicate tapering to a sharp stiletto point, but the shaft felt sturdy and secure. A lovely stiff 5” shaft. Yes, he couldn’t match that.
It almost seemed a shame to wear them and lose that pristine look. But wear them he must. ‘For Auntie’, he tried to convince himself although ‘For Will’ briefly ran through his mind. What a strange thought, he realised before settling on ‘For Me. For Me and for Auntie.’ He could wait no longer. He slid his feet into his new shoes. They fitted perfectly. His red toes glistened as they peeped from the end of the vamp. He stood. He wobbled slightly. Jane held his hands and steadied him as he took his first baby steps. “Just relax, darling. Auntie has got you.”
“They feel funny,” he said looking down at his extended left leg It looked amazing. The heels had done something to his legs; they accentuated them. They seemed longer. He could see the contouring of his thighs in his skinny jeans. His ankles were stretched, his calves were tighter. He felt taller. He was definitely taller. He could feel the backs of his thighs taut within his figure hugging jeans. His bum felt different too. His buns were hard and clenched. It felt nice. Now he understood why Jane had always insisted on selecting his jeans for him: they always came from the ladies side. So this is how skinny jeans were meant to be worn. Everything felt nice. Nice and snug. “Do I really have to wear them?” he asked. He already knew the answer. He didn’t have to wait for Jane. He knew his own answer.
“Yes, honey,” she said. “Yes, you do. Now let’s do your finger-nails. They can dry while I do your make-up.” Jane was delighted with how he looked and how he had taken to his new heels. “Wait till you see how they look when you have matching lip-gloss.” She could tell he was excited. Fortunately his jeans prevented any embarrassment but there was a discernible reaction. And she’d got him out of those awful football boots. She was excited herself. He could spend the next few hours being her high-heeled boy. And then, when they were both ready, she would get him out of his jeans and ask him to put his heels back on. He would be her girl before bedtime.
And she had found Will’s number while he was in the shower. At some point, she felt sure, he would be someone else’s girl. Not soon: he still had so much more to learn. But sometime. When he was ready.
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