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.

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

Lucy

Posted by Lucy H. F. on October 29, 2004, 5:46:44

Hi Everyone, Heelfan calling! My introduction for Chapter 54 also serves for Chapter 55:
CHAPTER 55

Passing through the gate of Windsor Castle, we entered an enormous courtyard and grounds. Many tourists thronged everywhere, including a coach-load of Japanese couples. Their flat shoes made me feel very self-concious and out-of-place in my ostentatious 6” heels, and in fact we found that more and more of the Japanese were noticing my shoes and even began clustering around to have a look! These days, nice smart skirts and high heels are extremely fashionable in Japan, but in the 1960s they must have been an almost unknown experience. The Japanese ladies gazed at my 6” heels with a mixture of interest, fascination and wonderment, whilst the gentlemen appeared to be either hypnotised or virtually beside themselves! They reminded me of the excited little group that had followed Velma, Madeline and me half-way round the British museum some months beforehand. Moments later, their coach driver started shepherding them out of the castle, and as they tore themselves away , they all gave me and Clarence a sea of grins and waves!

“Come on Loo” said Clarence, “Let’s go inside”. To enter, we had to walk past a motionless guardsman resplendent in bearskin hat and red tunic. Although the royal guards are world famous for never moving a muscle, Clarence murmered to me that as I had click-click-clicked past , the guard’s eyes had not been able to resist following each of my tottering steps!

For the next two or three hours we had a fascinating time exploring the countless and varied rooms, halls, towers and terraces of Windsor Castle. The interiors were superb. We were both captivated by the splendid oil paintings of Rubens, Holbein and Van Dyke. Clarence pointed-out that one of the huge Van Dyke’s depicted a bygone king wearing shoes with bright red high heels!

By now, my feet were getting tired! Having my feet forced into such an unnaturally vertical position for several hours on end was stretching and straining all of the sinews around my instep, ankles and calves. However, I bravely carried on. There were countless ancient stone stairs to navigate. As any high-heeled lady will know, going up them was dead easy, one just used the toe-part of ones shoes, but coming back down was a nightmare! Descending stairs in high heels is difficult at the best of times. But not only was I wearing 6” heels but every step was worn into a slope from 900 years of use and this pitched my high-heeled shoes forward on every step. The opposite effect of the entrance ramp was now occurring, and I was terrified that my heels would throw me forwards down the stairs! Again, Clarence came to the rescue, this time walking down immediately in from of me so that I could put both hands on his shoulders. We must have looked like a most comical couple that day, and several people had a good old grin and chuckle at us!

However, my shoes did get me one reward. Although Queen Elizabeth was in residence, a few of the state apartments were open to us visitors, but they had superb wooden floors. Just ahead of us were four London girls were just ahead of us all wearing stiletto heels. The custodian banned them from entering and spoiling the floor! However, when our turn came, Clarence pointed out that although higher, my “Betty Page” heels were not as thin as their stilettos and would not puncture the floors. “OK” agreed the man and waved us through, to the utter indignation of the four girls who stood and gaped as my skyscraper heels passed the inspection!

In those days, the celebrated royal collection of drawings was housed in a stone-vaulted gallery underneath one of the terraces. Both being most interested in old masters, we avidly admired all the wonderful drawings by Leonardo Da Vinci, Holbein and other. Being familiar with many of them from books, we were surprised at how small many of them were, being often no bigger than the printed reproductions. But it was such a thrill to see them!

Lastly, Clarence suggested a stroll around the terraces and battlements. By this time my 6” heels felt 12” high and the balls of my feet had started to scream, but so as not to spoil the magical day, I mustered a smile and said “That would be lovely”. Emerging on to the battlements, the view was stunning. Windsor Castle is on elevated ground like an island set in the middle of the flatness of Windsor Great Park and its wonderful trees. The view goes on for miles. Despite my agonising feet and wobbling on uneven flagstones, the lofty empowerment of those awesome shoes, the sheer grandeur of the castle, the breathtaking view and the romance of the setting sun all made me feel like the happiest girl in the universe!

Our exit down the castle’s approach ramp was somewhat ignominious, with Clarence having to walk in front with me staggering along behind him repeating my hands-on-shoulders staircase routine, but we were almost the last people to leave so that there was no-one to laugh at us. “Straighten those knees” barked Clarence jokingly. “Have a heart!” I retorted, “You ought to try 6” heels sometime. It was difficult enough on the flat along Southampton quayside, let alone expecting me to descend from lofty castles like this!”.

It was now dark and we realised we were getting hungry. With Clarence gripping my hand very tightly to support me, and going very slowly to accommodate me teetering progress, we walked a short way down the High Street (more downhill torture) and down into Peascot Street (more downhill torture!) where Clarence knew a nice restaurant. Half-way down, from the opposite pavement suddenly came the most almightly clatter sound. We looked across in alarm, but saw that it was a rather stunning teenage girl in a miniskirt, stockings and clattering along in extremly high steel-tipped stiletto heels with the slingback straps trampled down. She was accompanied by about seven youths of her own age, hero-worshipping her and following her like the tail of a comet. Clearly enjoying her star status (and obviously the local teenage heart-throb) she clattered this way and that, her steel-tipped heels making a loud but very provocative statement, and as we entered the restaurant all those lads were last seen slavishly following the noisy slingbacks everywhere.

“Oh Lucy!” said Clarence as we settled into our restaurant chairs “What have I done to deserve such an amazing girl? And seeing you climbing all over that castle in your tight skirt and those 6” heels was mind-blowing! You’re a girl in a million!”. Was this the right time to tell Clarence that this had been the best day in my whole life?. No, better still, ignoring those around us, I leant over, put my arms around Clarence and gave him the longest and best kiss I’d ever given anyone.

Love, Lucy H. F.

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