Confessions of a Kinky Divorcee. Lana Fox

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СКАЧАТЬ gloss my legs, my thighs, my blouse, then finally returning to the shoes. ‘They’re hot,’ she said, in a husky voice that made my insides give a little. ‘You wear them well.’ And just like that, I was imagining her kissing my feet.

      ‘The rent’s four hundred a month,’ I said.

      She nodded, ‘The room’s perfect. Lil would stay over a couple of nights a week, but you’ll hardly know she’s there.’

      ‘Any girl who loves shoes is a friend of mine,’ I told Janey.

      So that was that. Janey moved in yesterday.

      Well, why am I writing this diary, you ask? Why confess my erotic thoughts about a twenty-something to a blank page? Because I’m worried about myself, Kitten. I mean, I still dream about men, don’t get me wrong. But now I also dream about Janey in a strap-on, sitting on the bed, watching as I parade about in skimpy knickers and high-heeled shoes, that serious stare of hers soldered on mine. And, just like Henry, I’ve always been … you know, sceptical … about girls dating girls. I always wondered what they’d do together. Henry said that too. ‘What does anyone do without a cock, my dear?’

      But what if I want to find out? After all, I’m not his ‘dear’ any more. And you know what it said in my stars last week? ‘Now look here, you roving Archers,’ said Evita Grant, my astrology guru, when I flicked to her page in my copy of Fashion Femme. ‘Don’t you go using your secret shame as an excuse to flee. Whatever you’ve been repressing, now’s the time to heal it. Come out, come out, come out! Commit to being you.’

      Well, that’s Evita. Sometimes, I wonder if, when she looks at the night sky, the stars spell out words that I just can’t see.

      Shameful secret number two: when I went to bed last night, I left my peep-toe shoes by the front door, like I often do. The last thing I expected was what I saw, next morning. There I was, about to walk down the stairs, when I noticed Janey Prince in the entrance hall below me, kneeling on the carpet, wearing nothing but a black T-shirt. She was totally in profile, so I could see the swell of her bum from beneath the black fabric, and her long, slender legs. In her hands she was holding one of my black peep-toe shoes, turning it, gazing at it, running a fingertip down the stiletto heel. I caught my breath, but she can’t have heard, because she turned the shoe upside down and raised it to eye-level. She stared at the heel for a while before putting her face close and licking the length of it, slowly, giving a rough little growl.

      Now, it’s not like me to pussyfoot around watching others, but heavens, it was Janey who was invading my space, right? Oh, but I was mesmerised, Kitten, standing there in my dressing gown, my heart thumping away, wet between my thighs. What if she licked my heel like that while I was wearing the shoes? What if she lay on the floor, and I slid the heel between her lips and made her, you know, suck it? What if she writhed around, enjoying every inch? And what if this turned me on so much that the moisture slid down my thighs, while she stared at me, lustfully, as I slid that heel in and out?

      So you know what I did, Kitten? After she put my shoe down and walked towards the kitchen, all pale thighs and bed-ruffled hair, I went to the bathroom and pushed my fingers inside me and thought about wearing that peep-toe shoe and pressing the heel inside her. I thought about fucking her with it, Kitten, over and over again, while she rolled around, naked, gasping with pleasure. She was so wet that the heel slid in easily and was coated with more moisture at every thrust. And I imagined her coming, Kitten, while she watched me fucking her like that. I imagined her long moan and the way she thrust her hips, slamming her arms against the floor as if to brace herself. I imagined her body arching so much that her firm little breasts rose towards me, and she moaned on and on.

      But you know what shames me the most, Kitten? When I touched myself in the shower with my fingers deep inside me, I came like I’ve never come before. So hard and deep that I lost my balance, and had to grasp the shower curtain to stop myself from falling. And then I came again and again and again, in a crescendo, Kitten – just nothing but scorching pleasure, over and over, until, once I’d finished, I found I’d been writhing so much that I was caught in the shower curtain. It was wrapped and twisted around me like a badly clingfilmed haddock, because of just how hard I’d come.

      I can’t help wondering if Janey Prince heard me, Kitten, even though she was downstairs. I was so loud, that she surely couldn’t have missed it. And is it awful to say that the very idea made me touch myself again, and come again, hard, just to think of it?

      That’s why I got to work late, Kitten. Yes, I, the manager, arrived later than the staff! Pearl, my assistant manager, was watching me sideways all afternoon, a suspicious look in her soft brown eyes that seemed to say, ‘I’m on to you.’

      And I don’t have to tell you which shoes I wore to work.

      Not that I’m a lesbian, Kitten. At least … no, I’m just playing with the thought.

      But I haven’t given Janey a contract, just in case I can’t have her around, in case she spoils my career or puts me off men or makes a cradle-snatcher of me. Anyway, I suppose this is a trial period, really. Rent once a month. And I’ll keep an eye on things. I mean, who knows if I’ll be able to live with a twenty-three-year-old student?

      And who knows if she’ll be able to live with me?

      Chapter Two

      A Well-Heeled Guy

      Friday, 2 March

      Dear Kitten,

      Well, when I got home from work tonight, it was clear that Janey was properly moved in. The place smelled of incense, there was a dirty great footprint on the kitchen linoleum, and two new jackets – one in denim, one in leather – were hanging from the coat rack. But the real proof that my tenant was finding her feet was that I found her in the kitchen wearing tiny denim cut-offs that showcased her lovely thighs. She was chopping tomatoes with her earbuds in, and when I went over to say hello and tapped her on the shoulder, she almost hit the roof! That’s me for you. Pure Sagittarius. Got about as much tact as a prize-winning marrow.

      ‘Oh, I’m sorry, love,’ I told her, putting my hand on her arm.

      She shook her head, taking out an earbud. She smelled beautiful – of incense and coconut soap and fresh tomatoes. ‘I’m glad of it,’ she said. ‘You interrupted the most boring podcast ever.’

      ‘What’s it about?’

      ‘The stiletto heel.’

      It turns out she was listening to some lunatic professor who thinks high heels are a sign of women’s subjugation. ‘Maybe some of us want to be subjugated,’ I said, stealing a bit of tomato. When I looked back, she was shielding her grin with her fingers as if I’d said something delightfully naughty. Her eyes were what my friend Gladys would call fuck-you-blue. ‘Things are only subjugation if you don’t actually want them,’ I said. ‘I suppose I’d make a useless feminist.’

      ‘Actually,’ said Janey, ‘that’s the most feminist thing I’ve heard all day.’ She smiled openly now, surprisingly sunny-faced. Her eyes really are a marvellous shade of blue.

      ‘Well,’ I said, ‘I should rest my feet. These shoes of mine are killing me.’ I noticed how her gaze immediately darted down to my shoes. ‘See you later,’ I said, turning away.

      ‘Wait,’ she said, catching my arm. ‘Lil’s coming by tonight. СКАЧАТЬ