People ask me about my “thing” for high heels. It’s not just that a pair of amazing heels are like miniature pieces of incredible architecture. It’s also not just that the higher the heels are the better my ass looks. 
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There’s a ton of different reasons I obsess over awesome heels. But the one I reach for most often when trying to explain my obsession is this:
Shoes are literally the thing that connect me to the earth, in a very literal way. So if I were to look at that metaphorically, what would I want that connection to look like? Clunky, awkward and masculine? Probably not. It’s not representative of how I see myself. I prefer my connection to the world be elegant, with long lines, impossibly high standards, and beautiful. I want that connection to be representative of the tension I feel between what is and what should be. And when I find all of these characteristics in a shoe, I fall in love.
Once the object of my desire has been acquired, I indulge in a ritualistic process to break them in.
I find some quiet time in my bedroom (or hotel room if I’m on the road). I position a mirror near the bed and strip down until I’m completely naked. I slip the new high heels on, and slowly, put on a show for myself of myself in my new heels. Finally, I bring myself to orgasm, staring intently at the lines of my ankles and the tops of my feet as my toes clench inside my new shoes as I cum.
Then, and only then, are my new heels ready to be worn into the world. I call it each pair of shoes’ “Christening”. Without a proper Christening, they aren’t blessed to be worn in public.
