I hadn’t been in Montreal long before I met Lynda in a bar. She was, I guessed a bit older than me, a brunette with shoulder length hair, a Quebecoise born and bed with a marked preference for speaking French, well what she called French at any rate. I had done French A Level back in England and thought I knew the language quite well but I really struggled to understand her. But I persisted, she switched to English from time to time, and after buying her a couple of beers I persuaded her to come to back to my flat.
We started kissing as soon as I had shut the door behind us, I quickly had her to off, and a soon as I had unhooked her bra I dropped to my knees, pulling her down just enough for me to suck at her nipples. I steered her towards the bedroom and let her make herself comfortable, while I popped to the bathroom.
When I entered the bedroom, she was lying naked on the bed, holding her hands two green stiletto shoes. I froze. She laughed.
“What are these? Do you bring girls back who leave their shoes here? Do you?”
He stopped laughing and got up off the bed. She pushed a stiletto heel into my left nipple and twisted until I winced in pain.
“Ces souliers verts, ils sont a qui?”
I didn’t answer,
“Ils sont les tiens?”
I nodded. I reasoned that admitting to crossdressing was likely to be the better option. She went to my wardrobe and took out a red shift dress that didn’t really go with the green shoes but which was easy to put on after three beers, and with nervous sweaty hands.
Then she said
“Dance”.
So I did, nervously, gingerly as I had never really worn the green stilettos to do anything more than pad about the flat.
“Faster” she said “faster.”
She laughed, and as I spun round trying not to fall over I saw her hand slip down to her cunt, saw her begin to massage the swelling bud of her clit. Then she said,
“Play with yourself as you dance.”
So I did, bouncing from side to side as I danced, watching her as she pleasured herself on the bed. I was near to coming and I sensed that she was too as she arched her back and pushed two fingers into her cunt.
“Viens. Baise-moi.”
I kicked off the stilettos and moved I in her. I was hard and precome was dribbling from my bellend. She was wet and ready. I pushed in and we both came immediately. I withdrew and rolled over panting. I had been nervous, this was my first fuck in Montreal, my first fuck I Canada and I knew it wouldn’t be my last. I knew too that my next fuck wouldn’t be with Lynda.
What I didn’t know was that she was a singer. She never told me that. And it was a couple of years later that I found one of her albums in a red shop. I played it in the car on the way home and started with I heard a sing about les souliers verts. I felt myself getting hard as I listened.
I made a detour to call in at the bar where I had met her. I needed to pull. I needed to fuck, in souliers verts or not, as she wished.
Eve's Temptations 