Lucy

Posted by Lucy H. F. on October 29, 2004, 5:33:41

CHAPTER 54
Hi from Heelfan! Chapter 53 finished with the words “Fools Rush in Where Angels Fear To Tread”, and how apt that was. Eighteen months ago, I rushed in and started writing the Lucy Stories, prompted by an innocent question from Fred, and never realising the full extent of the fan club that would emerge to follow her stories with a passion. Then a week ago I was suddenly unceremoniously unmasked and de-frocked (due to scattily signing a Lucy posting as “Heelfan”!) so here I am, feeling like a fool!

Thank you to Fred and Sinkem for replying to Chapter 53, and to all of those who have replied and debated the issues of the unmasking of this cyberspace fraudster on Megaforums and on Jenny’s Forum: JeffM, Bubba136, DawnHH, hjt101, nhoj62, Ellen-Jay, Raincat, Paul (North-East), Jinxie Kat, Rand, Chris 100575, Anita C., Shyguy, TXT-1, Miko, Paul, Puffer, RPM, Erica, Stu, Allu and moderator Firefox.

I fully deserved to be called a rotter and hounded off the boards, but to my amazement, the majority of you have been astonishingly forgiving and wish me to carry with Lucy’s Story! This shows what a wonderfully tolerant and kind bunch most heely people are! – Thank you so much! I think it helped when I said in all sincerity that ALL of the heel-wearing events in Lucy’s Story actually happened to real girls in my life, but that as I felt unable to name them all individually which would have invaded their privacy and made for very disjointed postings, I rolled them all into the one heroin “Lucy” and told it all in the first person. My suggestion of carrying on in that fashion (to give continuity to the book), but offering some explanatory background before each chapter has been met with heartening approval. So here we go, Chapter 54:

INTRODUCTION

Lucy’s Story began when I was about twelve, and first main “Lucy” was based on Mary, the girl who lived below us in our the ground floor flat in Dorking, Surrey and stole her mum’s brown 4” stilettos to attend the school dance, and progressed to bolder heely adventures. The second main “Lucy” was my girlfriend who attended the nearby (“Miss Sheridan’s) secretarial academy in wonderful high heels. That building is still there in Horsham Road, but now converted to residential use. The third main “Lucy” was the fantastic girl I spotted in Chapter 32, when playing the double bass in the Connaught Rooms, Piccadilly, and shot out to find her when the band finished. Soon after that, I became a ship’s musician on the “Queen Elizabeth” and spent several wonderful years sailing between Southampton and New York every two weeks, seeing countless lady passengers in incredible heels, and looking forward to re-uniting with my fantastic London girlfriend every two weeks, buying her ever-better high heels and dreaming-up exciting things to do during each leave. Which brings us to Chapter 54. London Airport was later re-named “Heathrow” to distinguish it from Gatwick and Stansted, and the “slingbacks girl” was admired by me when with my father in Windsor a few years previously:

Chapter 54

I felt on top of the World! Clarence and I were speeding due Westwards from London in the borrowed sports car, with the wind rushing through our hair and the countryside flashing by. The Aston Martin’s engine surged like a wild tiger and I was almost delirious with happiness. I kept sliding my feet in and out of the “Betty Page” shoes (that Clarence kindly but firmly insisted that I wore that day) to remind myself of the incredibly sensuous steep feel created by those 6” heels. Finally, across the flat reaches of Windsor Great Park, the world famous bulk of Windsor Castle came into view. “But what’s happening?” I bellowed through the rushing slipstream into Clarence’s ear “You seem to be driving us past the Castle”. “Yes” yelled Clarence, “Hold on for another surprise before we hit Windsor!”. His expert hands spun the nippy car a few minutes further west and we soon found ourselves cruising into the car park at London Airport.

“Don’t panic” said Clarence, “We’re not flying off anywhere! One of my old catering chums runs the VIP restaurant here. It’s the ideal place for lunch, and we can watch a few planes taking off and landing, but first, do you want to fix your face?”. I gingerly put my 6” heels to the ground (for only the second time in public) and headed for the nearest ladies’ room with the shoes restricting me to the only possible very short, teetering paces. I sensed Clarence’s eyes following my every step. “Oh dear!”, I exclaimed as I saw myself in the mirror. The open sports car had been very eye-watering, and I had black mascara all down my face! Fortunately, my handbag was always well equipped, but I had to work very hard to re-do the ‘plasterwork’, and finally accompanied Clarence up the stairs to the VIP restaurant. Clarence’s restaurant-manager friend Derek shot over all beams and smiles and said I simply had to try their speciality of lobster thermidor. I’d never tried lobster before, but washed down with Champagne it was heavenly! That one lunch made me a lobster addict for the rest of my life, but never have I tasted it so wonderfully prepared as it was on that unforgettable day!

All too soon, we were back in the Aston Martin for the short run back to Windsor, this time with Clarence going more slowly so that the eye-watering gale became only a a gently breeze. We glided into the small historic town of Windsor, and with no double yellow lines to worry about in those days, Clarence managed to park near the mighty royal castle. “Ooh look!” said Clarence, pointing at a flagpole above the loftiest tower, “The royal standard is flying. I think that means than the Queen is in residence today!”. Again I lowered my 6” heels to the ground, and we made our way towards the impressive castle entrance. The approach road ascended quite steeply, and I began to panic because in my heels it was very hard not to fall over backwards! The extreme heel-height necessitated the heel bottoms being very close to the toe-box instead of being set much further back like a flat shoe. So steep was the entrance ramp that my body-weight was behind the rear of my heels. I grabbed Clarence’s arm like grim death to steady myself, and he immediately put a muscular arm behind my waist and supported me up the slope. “Thankyou!” I panted, “That could have been very nasty without your help”. “My pleasure!” beamed Clarence, appearing to enjoy the situation immensely.

More following immediately,

Love, Lucy H. F.

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Life is not a rehearsal. Why not use it to present ourselves as smartly and attractively as possible?