Tag Archives: sexiest red shoes in the history of ever

The Pee Church, or Sprinting in Red Heels

I wrote about a theatrical wardrobe malfunction and about getting stuck in Dave’s bathroom. Clothing and urination and my good-girl days. Then I remembered what happened when that girl grew up and was released into the wild.

(Seriously? Not much happened. I’m still a pretty good girl, and also? Hi Mom!)

Around the Millenium, I lived in near Boston, and two of my best girlfriends lived about a half mile away. Many were the nights of carousing, and if we were lucky catching the Red Line back as far as our stop. A cab from the T station, or better yet the bus, was always cheaper.

That night we caught the Red Line, and decided we’d use the mile walk from the station to their apartment to sober up. I would crash on their couch, and head home the half mile to my apartment in the morning.

Back in those days public restrooms on the T were rare and foul. After last call, the square buttoned up tight, so if a girl needed to pee, she was right out of luck.

“Just use the Pee Church,” my friend suggested, pointing to a gray stone church about a block away, ringed with hedges, thickly shadowed and inky green in the darkness.

“They don’t lock it?” I asked naïvely.

“No. Yes, they do. Just pee behind the hedge. My University friends used to do it all the time. It’s a long walk home if you don’t.”

“I can’t.”

“Suit yourself.”

I kept walking, bladder pressing on my thoughts. Halfway there the urge was desperate, and cover was scarce. I had given up the option to squat when I passed the Pee Church.

I soldiered on up the hill, my bladder insistent with the knowledge that we were getting incrementally closer to a toilet.

With a tenth of a mile left, I’d had it. I was still tipsy, I had to go, and I couldn’t wait anymore. I demanded the keys from my friends, and took off.

I ran, full tilt, in four-inch platform peeptoe sandals along the sidewalk until I got to their place, unlocked the door with shaking hands, and sprinted down the hallway to the bathroom.

I made it, but I didn’t close the front door.

There is a place called the Pee Church, despite my lack of reverence I can’t do that, and I can sprint in heels under the right circumstances. Lessons learned.

Write a post that either starts or ends with the words “Lesson learned.” Word limit: 400 words.

Advertisement

The Red Shoes at OysterFestivus

The Red Shoes make friends at OysterFestivus

The Red Shoes take a rest - the bathroom wall felt very cool and soothing.

The Red Shoes passed out under the table at dawn.

Hello, Lover

Hello, Lover, you whispered silently through the glass.

I had to stop. You were the most beautiful creature I’d ever seen. I stood there, gawking, tingling with want, while my friends walked on. By the time they realized I wasn’t with them, I was halfway inside, charmed, hypnotized, enthralled. Yours.

I was never the type to take what I wanted. I was a contemplative woman, but you? You promised me pleasure, power, desires fulfilled. The potential of you and I together was a heady cocktail of heat and joy skittering over my skin. You promised, and I took. I took you home, we slipped into each other.

You danced with me, sin and seduction in every aching, swaying turn. Helpless, bound by your strength, your danger. The way we fit together taught me to fly.

When the passion turned edgy with pain, I turned from you, but could not bear to let you leave. Where once we would rush, panting, towards the darkest, most secret hours of the morning, now, no more. I could sense you coming apart, falling away.

The last time I held you, ragged and broken, your glamour faded, my heart ached. My skin, taut with memory, craving your caress. I saw my youth, my lost innocence in you. My soul cracked; I might never again love like I’d loved you.

Goodbye, lover, you whispered as I drove away.

This post was inspired by, but does not strictly adhere to, this week’s Red Writing Hood prompt. Thanks to Kris, who nudged it along with her ever so subtle tappity-taps, even though it does not strictly adhere to the adjectives bold, slutty, coy or saucy. Happy 700th Post, Move Over Mary Poppins!