Stu

Introduction – By Steve

We were having so much fun that there was no reason to stop.

Three previous threads that appear on this Web site – “The First Sister: Ana,” “The Second Sister: Maria,” and “The Third Sister: Sharon,” tell the story of the remarkable changes that took place in my life and the people close to me during the years 1994 through 1996. In these threads, my close friend Bob and his lovely wife Ana shared with me their interest in having Ana become a full-time high-heel wearer. This intrigued me so much that I ended up falling in love with and marrying Maria, a gorgeous and incredibly skilled high-heel wearer in her own right. When Sharon, an old friend of mine, moved to town to start a new life for herself, she found Maria and Ana to be the perfect role models for her own high-heel endeavors. And Sharon ended up hitting things off with Jack. By the time 1996 came to a close, these three ladies were teaching themselves to walk in 6-inch heels, with the enthusiastic support and encouragement of their significant others.

The stories to follow will chronicle the continuing adventures of the six of us in the years 1997 and 1998. They were exciting and rewarding years, in which Maria, Ana and Sharon grew and developed as high-heel wearers, loving wives and talented on-the-job professionals, usually with delightful results. These stories may not be for everyone, but the six of us are proud of our lifestyles and are happy to share our experiences with people who might them interesting. If you think you might be one of those, then by all means, please read on.

Stu

Weekend at the Lake
Written in the first person by Steve

“I’m just an exhibitionist,” Maria intoned as she looked at herself in the mirror. “A self-centered showoff. A vamp. Nothing more.”

Exhibitionist or not, it would have been hard for anyone in our hotel room not to look hard at Maria. She was wearing a black dress that hung sensuously from her brown shoulders and formed a large v-neck that exposed an ample amount of cleavage. The dress hugged her quite tightly from the chest down, highlighting the delightful curves of her waist and hips before ending at the knee. Complementing the dress were blacked seamed stockings (not panty hose, but true seamed stockings) and the piece de resistance: her killer pair of 5-1/2 inch black stiletto heels.

“And what a lovely vamp you are,” I joked. I immediately regretted what I said.

“Oh, Steve, I’m not playing around,” Maria said somewhat angrily. “Sometimes I don’t know who I am. I am supposed to be a serious business student at a respected university, but everyone calls me “Senora Heels” because I walk around the campus in stilettos every day. I am not sure how many people even know my real name.”

“When we were first married, you wore stilettos as a badge of individuality,” I said. “You were hell-bent on opening people’s minds, and on getting them to accept you as the woman you wanted to be. You insisted on respect for both your physical beauty and your intellect. What happened?”

“Reality hit me. Or maybe I just grew up. High heels and femininity may be important in El Salvador, but they are not relevant here in the United States. Why should anyone take me seriously when they see me walking with these ridiculous sticks of wood under my feet? Maybe I should limit myself to two-inch block heels like everyone else. Maybe then people will respect me.”

“With all due respect, my dear…bullshit!” came a female voice from outside of our hotel room. The door, which we had left ajar, opened, and Sharon walked in, accompanied by her husband, Jack. Sharon was her usual striking self, attired in a tight yellow mini-dress with matching 5-1/2-inch stiletto sandals.

Sharon added, “Sorry, Maria, but I could not help overhearing you as we approached your room. What you are saying is totally wrong. One of the very best things that ever happened to me was when Ana and you transformed me into a full-time, expert heel wearer. More women need to experience the things that we have.”

Jack said, “Maria, you have spent too much time at the university around all those pompous, politically correct types who don’t understand anything outside of their own narrow world view. The person you really need to start listening to is yourself. Hopefully, we will be able to help you with that.”

The door opened again, and Ana and Bob entered. “Who needs help?” Ana asked. She looked stunning in a tight, mid-length red dress and matching red, 5-1/2-inch stiletto sandals.

Ana looked at Maria’s melancholy expression and immediately answered her own question. She gave Maria a hug and asked, “Que pasa, mi amiga? Tell me what is happening?”

Maria briefed her on our conversation, and Ana said, “Oh, is that all? Sexy Latin woman feels out of place in her adopted country and wants to be like all the gringas? How often does that happen to me, maybe once a week?”

Bob said, “Maria, you are entitled to feel down about things occasionally, especially with all the pressure you are feeling from your studies. Just recognize it for what it is. By the end of our little weekend getaway, you will be feeling 100 percent better about yourself. I guarantee it.”

“Thanks, everyone,” Maria said, not looking convinced by anything the five of us had said. “I appreciate that you are all trying to be supportive. I have a lot of thinking to do, but I do not want to ruin anyone’s weekend. Let’s all get out of this room. I want you all to have fun. Don’t worry about me.”

I put my arm around Maria’s shoulder, and as we left the room and I shut the door behind us, I said, “If you’re not having fun, you will ruin my weekend. So don’t think too much, OK? Just enjoy.”


The six of us had not gotten together for several months, thanks mainly to the demands of our jobs (or, in Maria’s case, her studies). We decided to break the drudgery with a weekend trip to Lake Tahoe, the awe-inspiring mountain lake that straddles the California-Nevada state line. We all got into Bob and Ana’s minivan on Saturday morning, drove up to the lake and checked into one of the casino hotels on the Nevada side of the lake. The ladies had talked earlier in the week (before Maria’s mood took a nosedive) and planned what they would wear during the weekend. Thus, they were prepared for our Saturday evening in the casino with their complementary dresses and eye-catching 5-1/2-inch stilettos.

As we made our way through the crowded casino, any number of gamblers looked up from their slot machines to get a better look at our three ladies. I was so accustomed by that time to the stares and gawks that they would attract that I barely gave it a thought. I was mainly looking at Sharon, and was impressed that she was walking effortlessly in her sky-high yellow sandals, with a tasteful wiggle that made her look every bit as experienced in high heels as her two mentors. It was no longer right to think of her as the novice of the trio; she was Maria’s and Ana’s peer in every heely respect.

We were walking through the lobby of the casino when Ana pointed to a large display sign on the wall and said, “Look, Maria! Look who is performing at this casino tonight!” Maria turned, looked at the sign, and squealed with delight like an excited schoolgirl. It was the first time I had seen her smile during the trip.

“Oh my god, Ana, it can’t be! Luis Rojo is here! I can’t believe it!” Maria exclaimed.

I looked at the display and groaned, and Bob did the same. We were both married to Latin women, and we had both been exposed to the music of Luis Rojo, a Puerto Rican crooner who was so sickeningly sweet and romantic that he left a bad taste in the mouth of any man who heard one of his tunes. But Latin women seemed to love him. For the most part, I liked Maria’s taste in music, and I enjoyed listening to many of her salsa CDs. But whenever Maria put on one of her romantic Luis Rojo CDs, I would have to go outside or, if I was really desperate, into the bathroom. He was that bad.

Nevertheless, Bob and I walked over to the ticket counter to see if any tickets were available. The vendor told us the night’s performance had long been sold out, but that we could try checking back with him 30 minutes before the show to see if any tickets that had been set aside for VIPs had been returned unused. If any were left, they would cost $100 each.

“Could you imagine paying $100 to see Luis Rojo?” I said quietly to Bob. But Maria looked more crestfallen than ever when I told her all the tickets for the show were almost certainly gone, and all of a sudden several hundred dollars did not seem like a lot to improve her mood.

“It’s better this way,” she said dejectedly. “Ana is the only other one of us who might be remotely interested in Luis Rojo. It would be wrong to push the rest of you to spend hundreds of dollars on a show you wouldn’t like.”

“Nonsense!” Sharon said. “Maria, if it is important to you, it is important to us. We will go to that show, and we will not need to spend our own money.”

“And how do you propose to do that?” Bob asked.

“We have to be a little bit enterprising,” Sharon replied. “We have to use the assets that we have. Leave it to Ana and me. Right, Ana?”

“Right…I guess,” Ana said with some hesitation. “What do we do?”

Tom-NL

Good to see you back again Stu, and thanks for this new episode.

Stu

Hi, Tom. I am glad you are still interested in this series. Here is the next installment:

“For now, follow me. And observe,” Sharon said. We walked to an area of the casinos where a number of craps tables were located. Sharon asked Jack for $50 in cash. We then walked past each of the craps tables, looking for one that might be short of players. But it was Saturday night, and each table had more players than it could handle. That was not about to stop Sharon.

As the rest of us stood in the background, Sharon picked one of the tables and began walking around it, observing the action. The yellow mini-dress and stiletto heels drew the attention of each of the craps players, who followed the dice with one eye and Sharon with the other. After each roll of the dice, Sharon cooed something like, “Oh, good for you! That was wonderful!” in a dumb-blonde voice that was hard for the players to ignore. She then found a place by the table and leaned forward ever so slightly, making her dangerously short dress appear even shorter and flashing a lot of leg and those marvelous stilettos at the players. Over the next 10 minutes or so, she struck up some brief conversations with some of the others around the table, saying things like, “Oh, this game looks like so much fun.”

When it was time for a new game to begin, one of the men who had been waiting to play offered Sharon the chance to play the next game. “Oh, I couldn’t do that! I know you’ve been waiting!” she said. But the man insisted she play, and Sharon agreed. She walked over to the dice, put down her first bet, and with all eyes glued on her, threw the dice and won her bet. “Oh, I won, I won!” she exclaimed. “Can I keep playing?”

I have never played craps and do not understand the game very well, so I cannot describe exactly what Sharon did. But over the next 45 minutes, she continued to play and, while she did not win with every toss of the dice, she gained more than she lost. Despite her innocent, dumb-blonde routine, it became clear that she knew exactly what she was doing. And when her winnings reached $650, she thanked all the players, took her money, and walked away, giving them a nice wiggle of the posterior as she left with what had been their money.

“Here is your $50 back,” Sharon said to Jack, returning the money he had given her. Flashing the rest of the cash, she said, “And here is the money we will use to buy tickets to see Luis Rojo.”

“Where did you learn to play craps like that?” I asked her incredulously.

Sharon replied, “An old boyfriend I dated many years ago was a serious gambler. He taught me a lot, especially how to play craps. I don’t really find it enjoyable. But it is a good skill to have, especially when you could use some extra money.”

Sharon then said, “OK, I did my part. Now, Ana, it is time for you to do yours.” Sharon handed Ana the $600 and pointed to the ticket booth a short distance away. “Sellout or not, it is time for you to get us those Luis Rojo tickets. Go for it, girl.”

“How do I end up in situations like this?” Ana asked. She stood at full attention and closed her eyes for a few seconds in order to concentrate on what she was about to do. When she opened them, she said, “OK, wish me luck.”

Ana walked up to the ticket booth, swiveling her hips from side to side under her tight red dress. She flashed a big smile that seemed to indicate she did not have a care in the world, and she looked right into the eyes of the ticket vendor as she approached him.

“Good evening,” Ana said. “I would like to purchase six tickets for tonight’s Luis Rojo performance,”

“Oh, I am sorry, ma’am. Tonight’s performance is sold out,” the vendor said.

“Sold out?” Ana replied in an innocent voice. “Isn’t there any way I can get tickets?”

“Come back 30 minutes before the performance. If any of the tickets reserved for VIPs have been returned, they will be available for sale, first-come-first-serve. That is the best I can do for you.”

“And you don’t know if any tickets will be available? You must know right now whether any tickets have been returned.” Ana stared lovingly at the vendor, who was fidgeting nervously but managing to maintain his professional composure. Ana has this ability to look at you in such a way that convinces you that she is madly in love with you, even if you know that such a thing is impossible. This poor vendor was getting the full treatment from her.

“Look, ma’am,” the vendor said. “I am not supposed to tell you this, but we did get six tickets back this afternoon. If you come back 40 minutes before the performance, you should be the first in line, and then I will be able to sell them to you when they go up for sale. But do not tell anyone I told you, or I could get in big trouble.”

“It will be our little secret, dear,” Ana said, leaning toward him. “But why make me come back? Look, I am a VIP. I am a friend of Luis Rojo’s, and if Luis knew we were coming, he would have reserved the tickets for us weeks ago. We only changed some previous plans last night so we could come up today. If you sell me the tickets now, I will tell Luis when I see him backstage tonight, and he will be very happy with your casino. But if I don’t get in to the performance, he will be very angry.”

“You say you are a friend of Luis Rojo? Let me call my boss.” The vendor paged his boss. When the boss arrived, he briefly discussed the matter with the vendor, and gave Ana one quick but obvious heads-to-toes look. Ana took a couple of steps back from the ticket counter to make sure the boss could see all of her, including her provocative red heels. The boss nodded his head to the vendor, and walked away, taking one last look at Ana.

“OK, as long as you are a friend of Luis Rojo, I can sell them to you now,” the vendor said. “And tell Luis hello for me when you see him tonight.”

“Oh, I will,” Ana said, handing the vendor the money in exchange for six tickets. “Muchas gracias. I wish everyone at the casino was as helpful as you.”

Ana vamped back to us, swinging her hips and waving the tickets as an expression of victory. “I do regret having to tell a little white lie,” she said. “I only do it as a last resort, but sometimes a woman has to do what a woman has to do.”

Maria’s mood changed in an instant when she saw Ana approaching with the tickets. She smiled, stood up straight and regained the familiar bounce in her stilettos as she walked. And the energy that she projected really brought her killer black dress to life. For the first time that evening, I noticed that people were turning to look specifically at her, as opposed to our three ladies as a trio.

We had almost two hours to kill before the show, so we had a leisurely dinner at one of the casino’s restaurants. We then made our way to the amphitheater and, once inside, we found that our tickets were for the front row near the center of the stage. After all, the tickets had originally been set aside for VIPs.

When the show began, Maria bounced up and down in her seat like a 14-year-old girl at her first rock concert. Ana was visibly excited as well. Luis Rojo came on stage and began singing within several feet of us. Unfortunately, his live performance was just as sickeningly sweet as his CDs. The man made Julio Iglesias sound like a hard-edged blues singer. Rojo sang in Spanish, but he used the same two words over and over – amor, which means love, and corazon, which means heart. A non-Spanish speaker who knew only those two words could follow his songs perfectly. I looked over to Bob for support, and we both tried to look excited. I then looked over to Sharon and Jack, who were hearing Rojo for the first time. Sharon was smiling and seemed to be getting into the spirit of the show, while Jack looked pretty much neutral about the whole thing.

The audience consisted mostly of Luis Rojo fans, and they stood up and applauded at the end of each song. We did, too. Rojo looked over at times toward Maria, Ana and Sharon, which was not surprising as he had a perfect view of them from the stage. As the performance went on, it seemed like he was looking more and more at Maria, particularly when everyone stood up to applaud at the end of each song. And Maria was looking up at Rojo with all the intensity of a star-struck fan. I thought perhaps I was getting paranoid (and a little bit jealous as well), but it was unnerving to watch this back-and-forth interaction between this Latin singing star and my wife.

About two-thirds of the way through the show, Rojo began singing one of his favorite ballads, in which he professes his undying love to a woman. In the middle of the second verse, he walked over to us, put his hand down, and beckoned Maria to take his hand and join him on stage. A couple of stage hands put down a stool that Maria used to go up on the stage. A sizable number of people in the audience cheered and whistled when Maria got up on the stage, which was understandable. In her matching black dress and stilettos, she was absolutely sizzling.

Rojo took Maria by the hand and looked right in her eyes as he sung the lyrics about eternal love. For her part, Maria handled her impromptu stage role perfectly. She stared at him with total adoration, as if she honestly believed the words were directed solely at her. She took a step back, and then another, and Rojo continued to hold her hand as he followed her around the stage. When Rojo finished the second verse, he pulled Maria toward him, and they began dancing as his band played the musical interlude between verses. Maria is not a particularly good dancer, but she let Rojo lead her and kept up with him nicely. If anyone noticed – and I am sure more than a few members of the audience did – Maria was giving a first-class demonstration of how to move gracefully in 5-1/2 inch heels. The dance ended when it came time for Rojo to sing the third verse, but even then he kept Maria close to him, and she willingly obliged. Rojo finished the song with a prolonged note while singing te quiero (I want you). Maria complemented this ending note perfectly by breaking into one of her big, beautiful sexy smiles that reduce me to mush every time I see it. When Rojo finished his note and the music ended, he pulled Maria to him again and kissed her on the cheek. The crowd erupted into the loudest applause of the night, and rightly so, as the chemistry between Rojo and Maria was undeniable. Rojo walked her to the edge of the stage, and the stage hands put the stool down again and helped her back to her seat. I heard someone in the audience yell, “Don’t go!” and someone else shouted, “Keep the lady on the stage!”

Maria was positively beaming when she sat down, and I felt as if I had to watch her closely to be sure she did not pass out from hyperventilation. Our eventful night took yet another unexpected turn two songs later, when an usher handed Maria a note and inviting her and others in her party to join Luis Rojo and the band backstage after the performance. Each of the six of us took turns cradling the note as if it were a check for a million dollars. I have to admit, even I was excited.

To be continued.

Stu

After the show ended, a couple of ushers accompanied us backstage. Things were pretty much the way I had imagined them, basically a whir of activity with band members, stage hands, roadies, and others busily taking care of whatever business was at hand. A number of people stopped whatever they were doing for a few seconds to get a look at Maria, Ana and Sharon, and several people walked up to Maria and complimented her for her improvised performance with Rojo. We finally saw Rojo himself, sitting at a table and sipping at a drink while talking with several people. When he saw us, he got up, walked over to us and graciously thanked us for coming back. Each of the six of us introduced ourselves, and he invited us back to his table. Several stagehands got chairs for all of us.

“I want to tell you,” he said, “I have performed that serenade on stage at least one thousand times over the past 15 years. The performance of it tonight was easily one of the top five out of all those times. Maria, you added a dimension to that song. You took it to a place I cannot quite reach on my own, even with all my experience.”

“Oh, Mr. Rojo, that’s really very kind of you,” Maria said, with more than a touch of embarrassment.”

I asked, “Mr. Rojo, do you always pick someone from the audience when you perform that song?”

“Please, call me Luis,” he said. “Only occasionally do I pick someone from the audience. Usually, I use one of my female backing vocalists for the serenade. But I always look at the women in the first two rows. If I think someone has the right stage presence…In other words, if I think someone is sufficiently beautiful and well dressed, and seems to have the charisma to pull it off, I will invite them up as I did with Maria. Sometimes it works, sometimes it does not. But rarely does it work as well as it did tonight.”

One of Rojo’s helpers came by and served us rum with Coca-Cola, which apparently was the singer’s favorite drink.

Roho said, “I don’t know what your personal situation is. However, Maria, if you were interested in an adventure, I would be willing to offer you a job with my band as a backing vocalist. You would perform the serenade with me at every show.”

“Oh, but Mr. Rojo, I can’t sing. And I really can’t even dance,” Maria said sheepishly.

“You would not have to sing. We could keep your microphone off. You would still make a great visual addition to the band. You could travel all through the United States and Latin America with the band, performing that serenade with us. And I have a European tour lined up next year.”

“Mr. Rojo, I mean Luis, I am so flattered,” Maria replied. “I am currently in college. I couldn’t just take off with your band. Plus, I am not sure my husband would approve of it, either.”

“A college student, huh? What are you studying?”

“Business. I am a senior, so I am close to graduation.”

“A business student. So you have a good brain to go with your lovely exterior. That is great. What are your plans after graduation?”

“Get a job.”

“If you wanted to get a job in the entertainment industry, perhaps as an agent, you could go a long way. Presentation and style is everything in this business, and you demonstrate that you already understand that.”

“Thank you, sir,” Maria replied.

“I am very serious about that. Look, Maria, you have a gift. A gift of beauty, style and sensuality. Do not waste it. If you have aspirations in business, that is a wonderful thing, but do not overlook the power of your femininity. Do not be afraid to harness that power, and use it as you used it tonight on stage with me. This world needs all the style and beauty that you can give it. And ladies,” he said, turning to Ana and Sharon, “my sincerest apologies for not including you in my compliments. You have the gift, too, and either of you would have been wonderful on stage tonight as well. And you are with good men who are secure enough to let you express yourself in a way that few women can. This is so good. I wish I could offer all of you jobs with my band.”

One of Rojo’s assistants motioned to him. Rojo looked at his watch. “I am so sorry, but I have to be going. But I am so glad I was able to meet all of you.” Fortunately, Jack had brought a small camera in his jacket pocket. One of Rojo’s assistants took a photo of Rojo with the six of us, and Jack took photos of Rojo with each of us. Rojo also autographed some publicity photos for us. They all occupy a special place in our photo albums to this day.

After Rojo left, the six of us went to one of the casino bars and talked for the next couple of hours while sipping drinks. Then we went back to our respective hotel rooms, still uncertain if we would be able to sleep. I unzipped Maria’s dress and asked her, “So, do you still want to blend in with everybody else?”

“Oh, Steve, I was just saying that because I was feeling down. School gets to me sometimes.”

Maria carefully hung up her dress, and then took off her bra and unhooked her panties. She turned to me, wearing only her garter belt, seamed stockings and stiletto heels. Meanwhile, I had removed all my clothes.

“That Luis Rojo certainly has a way with words,” Maria said. “Do you honestly think I have a gift?”

“That is a good term for it. You also had an upbringing that taught you how to use your gift. Plus, you have your intellect. All in all, you have a lot going for you. Rojo got it right.” I walked up to her, caressed her shoulders, kissed her lightly on the lips and then bent down and kissed her breasts.

“Then why can’t I connect with the people at school? Why do some of the smartest people I know treat me like an airhead simply because I wear high heels to class?”

“People with gifts are never totally appreciated. Many are not appreciated at all in their lifetimes. Brilliant artists and writers are criticized all the time, often unfairly. Some of our greatest scientists were put down as crackpots in their time. So why should you be any different? The fact is, people in academia are just as biased as everyone else. Most of them think that all smart people should act and dress like they do. They can’t deal with the fact that you are different. You figured out how to deal with people like that long before I met you. You continue to be who you are, you wear those heels proudly and defiantly to class, and you force them to accept you when you do as well as they do in your studies.”

“You know I love you,” she said, and we locked our lips in a long, wet kiss. When we finished, Maria asked, “Should I take off my stockings and heels, or should I keep them on?”

“Keep them on, of course.”

“Ooh, I was hoping you would say that.” We got into bed. Our lovemaking over the next couple of hours was the most intense we had experienced in a number of months.

To be continued

Stu

We woke up late Sunday morning, still feeling a little blitzed over the events of the previous night. We knew Sharon and Jack were up in the room next to ours, as we could hear the shower going. Maria and I showered and got dressed. Maria put on a red tank stop, a pair of tight blue jeans, and four-inch wedge heels. It was pretty conservative attire by her standards, but the women had previously agreed that Sunday would be an informal day. Our plans were to drive around the lake and enjoy the outdoors, a pastime not really amenable to wearing heels.

We walked over, found Jack’s and Sharon’s door was ajar, and we knocked and went inside. Sharon, Jack, Ana and Bob were inside, and they broke into applause as we entered. “Here is the new Latin performing sensation, the one who really wowed them last night,” Jack said.

“Now hold on,” Maria objected. “What about Sharon’s magnificent exhibition of craps playing, and Ana seducing that poor vendor into selling us his tickets? There were a lot of memorable performances last night.” We all heartily agreed.

Sharon was looking at Maria and Ana, and was thinking about something. I was starting to learn that nobody in the room could consider themselves safe when Sharon was thinking. She was wearing a yellow spaghetti-string top, tight white jeans, and four-inch wedge heels very similar to Maria’s. Ana was wearing a white tank top, skintight black jeans, and a pair of three-inch block heels that did not do her justice.

“Yes, we all accomplished something special last night,” Sharon said. “I used to think that a wonderful accident of fate brought us all together, but now I am not so sure. I think destiny brought the six of us together from all over the world. We were meant to be a group of six. We were meant to do big things.” I could hear echoes of Sharon’s past, when she went through a stage where she was heavily into new-age philosophy.

“And your point is?” Bob asked.

“My point,” Sharon replied, “is that maybe we should not rest on our laurels. We have a lot of momentum going from last night, and maybe we ought to go with it. We should push ourselves today, and see what else destiny has in store for us.”

“What exactly are you trying to say, Sharon?” I asked.

“I am trying to say this,” she said. She walked over to the closet, opened her shoe bag, took out her pair of black, 6-inch stiletto heels, and carried them back to where we were sitting. “I say we wear our six-inch heels today. Let’s just go for it all.”

A hushed silence fell over the six of us. All three women had indeed brought their 6-inch heels with them on this trip. They were intended as a backup, as something the ladies could wear in the privacy of our hotel rooms in case our Saturday night in the casino turned out to be a bore. Of course, they had not needed them.

Ana asked hesitatingly, “So, Sharon, are you suggesting we wear six-inch heels to breakfast? On a Sunday morning? What about after breakfast?”

“We wear them to breakfast. If we want to keep wearing them afterwards, then fine. If not, then we change. But we should do this. We need to do this.” She slipped off her wedge heels and, first with her right foot and then with her left, eased herself into her six-inch stilettos. Her whole body appeared to eroticize itself before our eyes – her legs grew long, her curves grew ever shapelier, and her erect posture became quite arousing.

“What do you think?” she asked us.

“I think you are right, Sharon,” Maria said. “One of my favorite English-language expressions is, ‘Work hard, play hard.’ We all work hard during the week. What is the point in coming up here on our big weekend if we don’t wear heels?”

Ana replied, “The only time we have worn 6-inch heels in public was when we were wearing long dresses and eating in a very exclusive restaurant. Today, we are all wearing form-fitting pants and we are at a casino that opens its doors to anyone. Do you understand what I am saying?”

“Ana, I would not suggest this if we were at home,” Sharon said. “But nobody knows us here. What is the big deal?”

“OK, you sold me,” Ana said. Maria and Ana went back to their rooms and came back holding their 6-inch heels. They eased into them, with the same delightful effect we had seen with Sharon a few minutes earlier. The sight of these women in their extreme heels was almost overwhelming.

“I am hungry,” Sharon said. “Everyone ready for breakfast?”

As we left the hotel room and watched our ladies wiggle down the hallway to the elevator, Jack turned to Bob and me and said, “Gentlemen, we live in interesting times. Thank God.”

We rode the elevator down to the main casino and walked over to the restaurant area. I noticed two things almost immediately. First, I was impressed with how well all three of our ladies walked in 6-inch heels. The only time they had worn such extreme heels in public was several months earlier at a private country club restaurant. They all walked somewhat tentatively at that time. I knew that Maria had been wearing her 6-inchers around the house since that time and had gotten very proficient. It was obvious that Sharon and Ana had both been practicing in their heels as well. All three women walked fluidly and confidently, without any bent knees or momentary imbalances. They used the exaggerated movement of their hips and buttocks to propel themselves forward, making them quite a sight to see.

And that, of course, relates to my second observation. Wearing 5-1/2-inch heels with nice dresses in the casino on a Saturday night draws a very different reaction than wearing 6-inch heels and skintight pants in the same casino on a Sunday morning. The admiring glances that our ladies received from the casino’s patrons on Saturday night were replaced by looks of surprise, and even shock, from the patrons we walked past on Sunday morning. I was not the one wearing the heels, but the looks nevertheless made me feel a little uncomfortable, and caused me to ask myself exactly what it was the six of us were trying to say. The only thing that seemed to mitigate the reaction was Nevada’s anything-goes attitude. This was best epitomized by the middle-aged man at a slot machine who stared at us as we walked by, and then turned to his wife and said, “See, dear, we didn’t need to go to Las Vegas after all.”

We entered one of the restaurants, which was offering a breakfast buffet. We picked a table, and went over to the food counters to look at the offerings. We had only been there a minute when we heard a man say, “Ana, is that you?”

To be continued

RPMindy

Stu,

just dropped in.. I like the way the story is going. keep it up. should be very interesting! I do enjoy reading your stories, even when I don't comment.

RPM

Stu

Hi, RPM. I am glad you stopped by, and thanks for the supportive comment. I do appreciate it. Now, where were we.......
***
I turned around to see a man and a woman approach Ana. She immediately recognized the man and said, “Oh, Mr. Young. What a delightful surprise to see you here!” She introduced us to Mr. Young and his wife. “Mr. Young is the vice president of the bank where I work,” Ana said. “He works in the downtown headquarters, but he has been over to the branch where I work a number of times.”

“That’s true,” Mr. Young said. He turned to his wife and said, “Ana works at the metro branch, and is one of the most popular tellers in our entire bank network.”

“I’ll bet she is,” Mrs. Young said somewhat disdainfully as she not so subtly surveyed Ana from head to toe.

Mr. Young explained that most of the bank’s top executives and their spouses were at the casino resort for a management retreat. He pointed out the other executives sitting down to breakfast on the other side of the restaurant, and invited Ana and Bob over to meet them. As she wiggled off to meet the bankers, Ana turned and cast an angry glare at Sharon.

“Oh, my, this is all my fault,” Sharon said glumly. “I pushed you two to wear your six-inchers assuming we would all be completely anonymous. I hope Ana will be all right with those bank executives.”

Maria put her arm around Sharon and said affectionately, “Sharon, remember, this is Ana we are talking about. The woman is as tough as nails. She will be fine. Now let’s get something to eat.”

The four of us picked up our trays and began getting our breakfast. A Latino man who was also getting his breakfast saw us and walked over to Maria. I recognized him as one of the men who had been with Luis Rojo the previous night when he was talking to us.

“Good morning, Maria,” the man said. “I see you put as much effort into looking fashionable for breakfast as you do for your Saturday night outings.” When Maria hesitated before saying anything, the man said, “Forgive me. We may not have been properly introduced last night. My name is Ramon Moreno. I am Luis Rojo’s agent.”

“Of course,” Maria said. We all introduced ourselves to him. Maria invited Ramon over to our table, and he seemed happy to accept.

“I assume, Maria, that you have not reconsidered our offer to join Luis’ band,” Ramon said somewhat light-heartedly as we began to eat.

“With what my husband is spending to send me to college, I think he would be beside himself if I were to quit school to begin touring with your band,” Maria said.

I replied, “That depends on what they would pay you, Maria.”

Ramon reached into his briefcase, took out a pad of yellow paper, and scrawled a very impressive number on it. “Would this be acceptable? This is what I would suggest to Luis if you were interested.”

Maria and I both gulped. “You can’t be serious,” Maria said. “You would pay me that much just to stand up on a stage and look pretty?”

“Style, grace and femininity count for a lot in our business. Think about it,” Ramon said.

Maria replied, “Steve and I talked about this last night. We value bold expressions of femininity, even when, like today, it may be a bit strong for most people’s tastes. But we also value intellect. I want to leave my mark on the world with both my intelligence and my femininity. Just making it with one is not good enough.”

“I like your philosophy,” Ramon said. “You said last night you are a business student? Where are you studying?”

“State University,” Maria said.

“I thought as much. I graduated from State with a degree in business 10 years ago.”

“Really!” Maria said. They spent most of the rest of breakfast discussing school topics. Ramon had earlier had many of the same professors who were teaching Maria’s classes. While they talked, I looked over across the restaurant and noticed Bob and Ana were having breakfast with the bankers. They seemed to be OK.

When I refocused on Maria’s conversation, I heard Ramon say, “If you want to combine business acumen with your physical presence, I have two suggestions. You can become an agent like me. When people see you, Maria, they will know you understand style and flair, and they will be willing to give your clients serious consideration. The other alternative is to go into the clothing or shoe business. People need to know what they sell, and believe me, Maria, you know clothes and shoes.”

“I was thinking more of accounting,” Maria said.

Ramon almost gagged. “Accounting? That would be a waste of your talent, no matter how good an accountant you are. Think clothes, think shoes. Who could possibly look at you, Maria, and think you know nothing about clothes and shoes?” He took out a business card and handed it to her. “I would love to talk more, but I have to catch a plane. Maria, I know people in both the entertainment and clothing industries. When you graduate and you need a little help, call me. I will remember you.” He said goodbye to us and left.

“Ramon gave us a lot to think about,” I started to tell Maria. “Maybe…” I never finished my sentence because Ana and Bob returned.

“Did everything go all right?” Sharon asked, with a trace of guilt in her voice.

“It went just fine,” Ana said, as Bob and she sat down with us. “I spent half the time telling the bigwigs about the award I won last year when I suggested ways the bank could save money by making the teller operations more efficient. They were all impressed.”

Bob added, “After Ana finishes telling them about her award, the bank president’s wife asked her how she can wear such incredibly high heels. So Ana goes into the whole story about how she learned to walk in high heels as a teenager in Costa Rica. She had them all listening intently.”

Ana added, “After I finished my story, the bank president mentioned my award again, and he asked me to send them my resume so they can keep it on file in the headquarters office. He said they could use more people in headquarters who have worked in the branches and know how they really operate.”

“The real question,” Bob said, “is whether they asked for her resume because of her award, or her heels?”

“Hopefully both,” Ana said with a laugh.

To be continued

Stu

After breakfast, we went back to our rooms and packed up. The ladies went back to the lobby to rest their feet while we three men checked out of the hotel and put our luggage into Bob’s and Ana’s minivan. We asked the women if they wanted to change their shoes, but they all insisted they were OK. So we all piled into the minivan for the next stage of our trip, which was a scenic drive around Lake Tahoe.

I directed Bob to a state park about 10 miles north of the casino. We pulled into a parking lot right along the lakeshore. I had specifically picked this park because I knew there was a paved walkway leading from the parking lot along the lakeshore. The women would need the paved walkway if they wanted to stay in their 6-inch heels, which of course they did.

We all got out of the car and started walking. I was so glad to get out of the crowded casino and into the open air. It was a beautiful, warm mountain day, with a deep blue sky that was vividly reflected in the famous clear blue waters of Lake Tahoe. The green forests and the silvery mountains that surrounded the big lake on all sides added to grandeur of the scenery. And then, of course, there were our three ladies. I could now admire the three of them without having to think about who might be watching us. The three of them were, in my opinion, absolute perfection in their 6-inch stilettos: Their bodies were distorted in the most exquisitely erotic way, with the heels of their feet virtually up in that deep blue sky, their legs so lovingly long, their asses protruding out so far that they seemed to be asking the entire world to make love to them. The shrinks could psychoanalyze me any way they want, but I would not trade the pleasure I was experiencing at that moment for anything in the world!

We walked for maybe 150 meters until we came to a beautiful overview of the lake. We stopped to look and, without thinking about what I was doing, I grabbed Maria’s posterior, pulled her against me, and began kissing her passionately. Our tongues became so intertwined that I thought they might be tied together. “I am so happy right now,” I managed to say during a split-second break in our kiss. “I feel so liberated,” Maria replied. That might sound strange coming from a woman in 6-inch stilettos and pants so tight that they restricted her movement, but I knew exactly what she meant. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that Ana and Bob, and Sharon and Jack, were also tightly embraced. I put my tongue back in Maria’s mouth, and we continued.

The spell we were all under broke prematurely when we heard a loud scream. I looked up and saw a young boy, not much more than three or four years old, on the path. His face was red, and tears were rolling down his cheeks.

“I want my mommy!” the boy screamed.

Sharon walked up to the boy and said, “Oh, dear, are you lost little boy?”

The boy nodded yes. I said the boy must have walked out from the parking lot, and that his parents were almost certainly there looking for him. We would be able to find his parents easily, I said.

“Maybe so,” Sharon replied. But she pointed to one of the boy’s knees, which was cut and bleeding. She was now in full nurse mode. “The poor little dear must have fallen. Jack, do you have anti-septic and a band-aid with you?”

To my surprise, Jack reached into his pocket and pulled out an individually wrapped sanitary wipe and a small band-aid, which he gave to Sharon. “Once a doctor, always a doctor,” he said to me.

“We’re going to fix that knee up and make it as good as new,” Sharon said, as she wiped the blood off the child’s knee and put on the band-aid. The boy stopped crying and became calm. “My name is Sharon, by the way. And what is yours?”

“Jeffrey.”

“OK, Jeffrey. Now we are going to find your parents. It should only be a few minutes.”

We started walking back to the parking lot, with Sharon holding the boy’s hand as she wiggled along in her extreme heels. The boy asked her, “Sharon, why are you wearing such funny shoes?”

“Why am I wearing such funny shoes? Hmm….. Well, Jeffrey, I guess because it is fun.”

We arrived back at the parking lot. A moderately heavyset woman saw us, yelled, “Jeffrey!” and began running to us. An equally heavyset man ran over, too.

“Oh, you found Jeffrey! Thank you ever so much!” the woman said first to Sharon, and then to the rest of us.

“When he got near to us, we found his knee was bleeding, so I cleaned his knee with a sanitary wipe and put on a band-aid. I hope that was OK. I am a registered nurse,” Sharon said.

“Oh, that’s fine, thank you,” the woman said. Her husband thanked us, and walked Jeffrey back to their car across the parking lot. The woman asked Sharon, “Where do you work as a nurse?”

“General Hospital.”

“Gosh, it’s a small world. I used to be an administrator at General. I probably left before you started. My name is Mindy.”

We each introduced ourselves, and Sharon and Mindy began talking about the hospital. Mindy said she got burned out on hospital work and left to manage a senior citizens center.

Changing the subject suddenly, Mindy said to Sharon, “I see you and your friends have a taste for exotic shoes. I used to wear heels a number of years ago, when I was 30 pounds lighter. But I never wore anything quite like yours.”

“It is a hobby of ours,” Sharon said politely.

“That is good. It shows you are a free thinker. Heaven knows, we need more of those in hospitals and senior centers nowadays. Everyone is so defensive, they don’t want to deviate from the book one bit for fear of being sued or accused of running up costs. Anyway, let me give you my business card. If you ever decide to get out of the hospital racket, let me know.”

Mindy said good-bye and added, “I will leave you with your friends. I think you have better things to do than to be a nurse for a lost three-year-old.”

Sharon put her arms around Jack and said with a suggestive wink to Mindy, “Oh, this is still nursing. Just with a different kind of uniform.”

We returned to the mini-van and drove along the lake in the general direction of home. Sharon and Jack were in the rear seat of the mini-van, and resumed the passions that Jeffrey had interrupted. Bob looked at them in the rear-view mirror, and pulled over to the side of the road.

“It is too early to leave for home,” Bob said. “Steve, you know this area better than any of us. You should drive and find us a quiet, secluded spot somewhere.”

“Sounds fine,” I said. I got into the driver’s seat, thinking Maria would also move up to the front passenger seat. But she remained in her place in the middle seat, while Ana stayed in the front passenger seat. Bob sat down next to Maria. I started the mini-van, drove down the highway a bit, and then turned off onto a side road that went up into the mountains. The road was narrow and windy, and I had to take it slowly as we gradually made our way up the mountain.

“I hope you know where you’re going,” Ana said. She crossed her legs, causing the stiletto on her right foot to point right at me. Pointing to her shoe, she said, “Because if you do get lost, I am not walking out in these.”

“Don’t worry,” I said. We got up to the top of the ridge, and pulled off to the side of the road. We had a great view of the lake below us and the surrounding mountain tops.

“Ooh, what is this place?” Ana asked.

I leaned toward her and said, “In English, this is called a great place to make out.”

Pointing to Sharon and Jack in the back seat, Ana asked, “And what in English do you call that?”

Sharon and Jack were in a position I had never seen before. I said, “If there is a term for that in English, I don’t know what it is.”

“Would you like to try that?” Ana asked me suggestively.

A six-inch stiletto heel, and the brown foot wearing it, came down hard on the console between Ana and me. “OK, I think the flirting has gone far enough,” Maria said. She was one to talk, as Jack was resting his head on her shoulder. “Why don’t the two of you come back here? There is room for the four of us,” Maria said.

Ana and I joined Maria and Bob on the middle seat. For the record, I sat next to Maria, and Ana sat next to Bob. We closed the doors of the mini-van as we got in. And the doors stayed closed for a good long time.

Next: Ana’s Admirer

Stu

Ana’s Admirer
This story was written in the third person by Steve, based on interviews with the principal participants.

George was the senior loan officer at the Metro bank branch. When he was younger, he enjoyed the challenges of setting up loans that helped his clients buy homes and cars, and start businesses. But George was now 60 years old, and he viewed his job as something that he had to do for a few more years until he could retire. In other words, George was coasting.

There was only one reason why George looked forward to going to work. He got to spend much of his work day in close proximity to Ana, the bank’s most attractive and outgoing teller. Curiously, she had been shy and somewhat lacking in self-confidence when she had been hired at the bank four years earlier. Even then, George felt she was pretty in an earthy sort of way, a quiet, plain-dressing Latina who always seemed to be holding something back. After she had been at the bank for about a year, it became clear that she had, indeed, been holding something back. Neither George nor anyone else had taken much notice when blocky business heels replaced the flat shoes that Ana had been wearing. But the business heels were soon replaced by eye-catching stilettos, as well as form-fitting pants and dresses that challenged the bank’s dress code. As the heels got higher and the clothing got tighter, Ana’s personality became looser: the quiet teller became vivacious and outgoing, and her self-confidence increased rapidly. It was understood that several female employees had complained to the bank’s management about Ana’s provocative attire. But management never did anything. According to rumor, management thought that Ana was at least partly responsible for the increase in the bank branch’s customer traffic that began about the time she unveiled her new image. If Ana could take credit for some of that increase, then in George’s opinion it was due to her friendly, upbeat personality, which really could make even the most ordinary customer feel special. Most bank patrons could not even notice Ana’s heels and tight clothing from the other side of the counter. What was important to George was that he could.

George spent much of his day in an office located behind the teller area. He normally kept his door half open, which gave him a good view of the tellers. On most days, he could see Ana’s backside as she dealt with the customers. She was, indeed, a sight that could get any man’s blood circulating: her brown-red hair grazing her shoulders, her trim figure, her perfectly shaped rear end wrapped so lovingly and unashamedly in an ever-changing assortment of pants, skirts and dresses, and those impossibly high stiletto pumps, sandals and mules. How could she possibly wear such heels while standing on her feet for nearly eight hours a day, day in and day out? It seemed superhuman at times.

As a happily married man and the father of grown children, George was not in love with Ana and had no desire to have anything beyond a normal professional relationship with her. However, in an aesthetic sense, he loved everything about her. Her charm, her flirtacious nature, the sexy clothing and shoes – she obviously enjoyed defying the norms of the business world by doing things her way. To George, the most radical, subversive and enjoyable of Ana’s attributes was the way she walked. Her posterior moved with a musically precise rhythm that was a delight to behold. In all his years, George had never seen a woman move quite like that. It was not risque or crude, but it was not exactly subtle either, just warm and sensuous. The movements were just exaggerated enough that George was convinced that Ana must have taught herself – or been taught by someone – to walk like that at an earlier stage of her life. But she had been wiggling like that for so long that it was apparently now an ingrained habit, and done without conscious thought.

George told no one about his feelings. They were too personal, and, of course, he had no desire to put his hard-earned professional reputation at risk by discussing Ana’s feminine attributes and bodily movements with his co-workers. At the same time, he felt he owed no apology to himself or anyone else over the private delight he derived from observing this very unusual bank teller. At his age, you took pleasure any time you could, and who could be crazy enough to ignore the charms of a woman like Ana? And, anyway, Ana’s charm defied words, so nothing could be gained by talking about her.

While Ana appealed to George’s imagination, there was little question that Patricia, his wife of 35 years, was his partner for life. She greeted him when he got home, made him dinner, talked with him, laughed with him when he was happy, and supported him when he felt down. He did the same for her, and made sure she had everything he could give her. They both felt pride over the two productive, well-adjusted grown children that they had brought into the world and raised. Patricia was everything to George…or, at least, almost everything.

Unfortunately, the years had not been kind to Patricia. The feminine figure that had appealed to George when he was young had been gone for decades. A chronic health condition now forced her to walk with some difficulty, and the medication she took tended to make her gain weight. When George went to bed at night, it was with Patricia, but he took the liberty of borrowing some of the sexy mental images of Ana that he had taken home with him from the bank. He imagined what life would be like if Patricia could somehow have Ana’s piercing Latin eyes, her legs, her ass, her ability to walk in those mind-blowing heels. He would snuggle up next to Patricia, and he could picture her as a slim young woman in those snug pants and those heels. He imagined Ana teaching Patricia how to wiggle her butt until she had it down like an expert. Oftentimes, this would make him quite amorous, which pleased Patricia to no end.

“I thought men were supposed to slow down at your age, but you have been speeding up the last several years. Am I feeding you something I am not aware of?” Patricia would ask.

And they would make love. Patricia’s condition limited the positions that they could take, but that mattered little to George. He was making love to Patricia’s soul, housed temporarily in a fantasy body borrowed from Ana. Sometimes, George could sense Ana herself in the room, her spirit over the bed, complimenting Patricia on her sexuality and exhorting him to keep going. And George could hear himself saying, “Oh, thank you, Ana, thank you, Ana.”

One night, unfortunately, George actually said it. He was so engrossed in his own pleasure that he did not hear it. But Patricia did.

“George,” Patricia said as he rested his head on her chest after they had finished. “Who is Ana?”

“Ana? I don’t know. Who is Ana?” George asked.

“That’s what I am asking you. When we were reaching our peak, you said, ‘Thank you, Ana.’ You said it several times. Who is Ana, and why were you thanking her?”

“You must have heard wrong, dear. I believe I said, ‘Thank you, damn.’ Those are the kinds of things men say when they are about to climax.”

“George, I have been married to you for 35 years, and never once have I heard say ‘Thank you, damn,’ when we make love.”

“Oh, Pat, I say it occasionally. Maybe you haven’t been listening all these years. Good night.” He rolled away from her and went to sleep.

Patricia could not go to sleep. She was not mad or jealous. She was not even upset. She knew her husband would not do anything improper as far as their marriage was concerned. But she was curious. She deduced – correctly – that Ana must be a woman who made some kind of a powerful impression on her husband. Perhaps Ana had something to do with George’s heightened interest in sex in the last several years. The only contact that George could have with women unknown to her would be through his job at the bank. While George slept, Patricia decided that she needed to make a trip to the bank to see if she could find Ana.

To be continued.