Strange Objects of Desire

A male friend one confided in me that he hates the summer. He loves the autumn, the misty chilly mornings, the falling leaves. I asked him why.

Simple’ he replied. ‘The ladies get their boots out and there is nothing, but nothing sexier than a woman in boots.’

He particularly enjoys his moments of silent adoration on the bus to work.

And it’s not only the men. I’m not a drama queen but I do occasionally tread the boards in amateur theatre. A year or two back one of my friends joined us and after rehearsing in her usual attire of jeans and sweatshirt (after a career as an air hostess she sacrificed glamour for the demands of raising three children)  changed into her costume ahead of the first dress rehearsal, a little black dress and red heeled boots. She walked confidently onto the stage to audible gasps from the women as well as the men. She was no longer a harassed wife and mother – she had become after a simple costume change a woman, a woman with unfathomable erotic depths. That was the thinking I am sure. It was certainly mine.

If the boot is a fetish object it makes the woman wearing boots into an object of desire but one who exercises power. She is strong. She is confident in her sexuality. She is attainable or is she? You suspect she may not be after all. At this point the second aspect kicks in; the stirrings of submissiveness that are latent in many men. Boots open doors you know. I found this out the first time I wore boots to a new job. There were a couple of men who suddenly wanted to carry files for me, make my tea, and, yes, open doors. They may have been kinky but I bet that, even if they didn’t see themselves in that way, they felt a frisson. On one occasion as I sat in a coffee shop with my partner a tall blonde woman walked in, dressed in trousers and over the knee beige boots. She was beautiful, her style was immaculate and I could not take my eyes off her, particularly the boots. My partner leaned over to me and whispered,

‘I can imagine myself kneeling before her and asking to worship those boots.’

Fetish lite then; after all not every man has the courage to come face to face with a real life thigh booted domina. In domination however is much truth about the human condition. The domina writes large what is latent in many women and confronts the men who serve her with truths about themselves that for other men remain veiled but guessed at. The boot is a partial lifting of the veil.

Yet in real life the booted woman is a paradox. She is the one men desire to conquer but fear they cannot. For the woman wearing boots the signal is similarly ambivalent. We are Amazons, we want to conquer, and yet , in our strength, we want to submit, to open ourselves to penetration.

The boot is strength, it is power – it demands submission but is itself a sign of submission. This is its fascination. The boot is not a ‘Fuck Me Shoe’ it is a ‘Fuck Me on my Terms Shoe’ We should want it no other way.

And here is a pair of totally awesome vintage boots. The thought of wearing these or, for the men, worshipping them, should send a tingle through anyone’s loins. It does mine.


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