Public transport

I saw an older lady today. She might have been 55, rather slim, sinewy, oh how i do love that. She had bacombed her hair in a way, it made a high tide all along her head. She wore a short formal jacket, highlighting the sharp curves of her upper body. Further down a knee long skirt, semi-opaque tights, black classic pumps with a buckle right over her toes. I am very close to her. She has that strict regard, older women often have.
That triggers a fantasy:

I have put a personal ad online, and now older woman regularily call me home, to get some pleasure from my tongue. Would this one accept my services too?
Would she lead me into her dining room, let me sit down on the couch to get some coffee and then seat herself opposite to me? Then engage in some meaningless conversation, rather for appearance's sake than out of real interest?
Soon afterwards a twiching of her knee, tightening the skirt, tells me she wants to get it now, followed by her telling me to.
So i drop to my knees, slip my head between her legs, start licking eagerly from the source of her female potency.
When she has finished, she quickly prtends some appointments to get me out of her appartment.
After having peered into the hallway, she shoves me through the door, sliding some bills into my backpocket, not more than the 20 something bucks, that i am worthy. Slapping the one cheek with the money on it good bye, to let me know i have been a good boy.

I dream abot making a living out of that... How romantic!

Keen. Amsterdams

I saw them when travelling.
Two backpacking girls waiting for the bus wore them. One had red ones, the other one a pair of cyans. I prefered the cyan one, probably because her lower legs were rather muscular and she wore a white knee-long skirt. I used all the time i got to stare at the lower parts of this girl and memorize her appearence. And thats what i retain of her by now.
I did a little research afterwards. Most Amsterdam wearers bought them for travelling, as they are said to be "cute and comfy".














Neither sight nor memory trigger any desire to be strung up by the girl wearing the cyan ones, or at least the urge to get the admission to lick her wonderfull keens.
But i promise to think of them during my next rendezvous with the noose...

Recent developments

Since I started to tell the full truth, the urge to get asphyxiated has totally flattened. I still did it the last weekend, but it was like I had to convince myself first to actually do it.
So is this the consequence of confessing?
Only that this has not been my original intention.
And for the time I doubt this will last longer than some days...
Normally when I put up the right setting, things are coming by themselves, without me really wanting it, but rather plainly following. But the normally felt evidence of the necessity to be punished has faded. Even the collecting doesn't stimulate anymore. Less than that, it has become rather boring.
Probably it's been only because I was very active recently, took my chance, as long as it is offered to me. And now it just has become too much?
Time will tell...

Anyhow will I continue to follow the path of honesty...

My Landlady!

She is certainly around her fifties but somehow preserved a youthlike appearance. She has dark hair reaching her shoulders. Her look is at once warm and frightenly deep. The one thing i remarke about her at once are the shoe liners rendering her toes, promissing she would slip her feet into soft ballerinas.
She is engaging into a talk with me, telling me about herself and her life, about her writing poetry and stuff...
But i lack any attention for her talk as my look wanders from from the soft cloth covering the shape of her feet into the bottomless depth of her eyes and back.
Anoyed by such disrespect, she decides to take severe measures against my behavior.

Eventually she slips into her shoes, drags me out on open land to a deserted sanctuary. She strips me naked there. Slings a rope over the beam of the entrance gate, all silent without any word. she strings me up from that beam naked, making me dance.
And a goup of schoolgirls passing stop by to giggle over my involuntary erection.
She leaves me there, strung up and motionless, returning home in silence, writing down a poem on justice served, saving my existence through the means of her words, having given it a meaning at last...

The Koran girl,

aged around 20. She is very stylish. Last time she wore a short black dress, with frills not quite hiding her thighs, letting her legs appear to be even longer. She covered them with opaque violet tights, as required by current fashion trends. And her feet, she always shuffles them to form an open triangle, which looks totally girlie. She wears black flat and somehow wrinkled maryjaneses, pointy and bent up over her toes.
Her moon face is perfectly made up, an obscure blaze around her eyes, the cheeks en rose.
She has a childish attitude, and lisps when speaking, what lets her appear rather dumb.

I hallucinate becoming her toy, being strung up occasionaly just like that. Right after having licked her shoes clean together with those of her friends, having joined in to giggle on my convulsive exiting together.

Why I am put on by the sight of female feet in ballerina mary janes...

As it just happened: I see a girl wearing yellow Lacoste Antibes.
I state the growing sexual arousal, the need for me licking the soft leather covering her restless toes.
That's when i realize i must not do this under any circumstance, she would never tolerate that.
And that i should better be punished mercilessly for my wanting to.
I know the sling being the only answer. Nevertheless I hesitate.
Sedating myself with the drug and scribblings like the present one.

But why is it only mary janes are pushing my desires? Why not any other type of shoe, why them?
A mere rhetorical question....
Because i know it already, i can feel it , since i can read it from their shape, from its impact on my flesh! So first of all: this style combines athletic attitude with superior female elegance. One might say that beeing the one essence of ballerina type shoes/slippers.

Mary Janes now are thought to originally be girls shoes. How to explain that? Anyway they convey some sort of decent elegance, contrasting with the oppulence of some lets say highheel pumps. It's the nearly incidental expression of femininity, It's not focused on it, it's casual (behold that word!).
As if it never came to minds of women wearing them, that a deviant one like me could be aroused by viewing them. And of course they're well aware of that only pretending not to be. And now that's the essence of modern mary janes's shape.

But lets delve somewhat deeper into the meaning of mary janes slippers. In ballerina style ones, the only thing that distinguishes them from plain ballerinas is that one strap running from one side to the other, and by that crossing the alignment of protuberant female sinews. It's like to appease the energy flowing along female feet. The more, in most cases the strap is flexible - technically to ease putting on, but in reality - to abut on female's feet forms, to conform to their aspiration, snuggling to their orientation, while symbolically (and only symbolically) trying to hold it down; as a mere allusion.

It's because the shape of the ballerina mary jane underlines female self-determination, which by the way prohibits my inferior wanting. Even by humbly licking her ballerina covered feet clean, i shall never attain her liking nor only her attentiveness.

Voilà the inner logic of my shoe-fetishism!
Now is that an answer???

They're everywhere

And they are real, as always!
Not only two-dimensional images flickering over your screen.
They are athletic young women wearing ballerina maryjanes, their hair cut sleekly.
They are stylish clad ladies...
Earlier, an asian woman, about the age of 45, blouse and kneehigh black skirt, shiny pumps and even legs.
How would it be, if she eventually kicked the stool away from under your feet?
Only that shes not interested in that.
No one is...; never!
She would be disgusted!
And she would be happy if she knew, that you are doing it hidden in your closet, silently and spared her from your intrusive hopes
But like that you're no more to her than another one of these anoying gawkers from the streets.
No one to give you what you deserve.
No one to accept the final salutation of your member.

You shall go of; soletarily. It's ok that way.
Fits you right!

Ein Anblick, der sich in meine Erinnerung eingefressen hat

Eine Dame der Oberschicht in einem Theatercafe:
Sie hat kurze graue Haare, die temperamentvoll frisiert sind.
Ihre Haut ist sorgsvältig gepflegt.
Die Krähenfüßchen zieselieren Muster um ihre Augenpartien, wie kunstvolle Verzierungen.
Ihr schwarzes dünnes, jedoch in eine steife Form gebrachtes Oberteil unterstreicht ihr Reife und Eleganz.

Und dann ist ihr Rock so knapp!
Dass einem der Blick entlang ihrer Beine hinabgleitet, über die sie weit offen stehende Netzstrümpfe gezogen hat.
Und ihre Füße stecken in weichen schwarzen Ballerinas.
Vom Unterleib aus abwärts strahlt sie ein so junggebliebenes Verlangen!
Als wäre sie zwazig, bestenfalls 25.

Nun, was ich mich ständig fragen muss: was von beidem sich nur in ihrer Leibmitte durchsetzen wird?
An jener Stelle, an dem die stoische Reife auf die frisch gebliebene Antriebskraft stößt...
Was sie wohl privat so mit ihrem Ehemann treibt, der so weich und gefügig wirkt?

Und unwillentlich muss ich davon tagträumen, dass eine destruktive Verformung ihrer Lustgewinnung in Gang kommt!
Ach ihr schalen Träume, ihr!


entbehrliche Randnotiz:
Vergangene Woche habe ich das Gewicht meines Körpers zweimal der Schlinge übergeben.
Das ist etwas viel...
Aber schon gut so!

Die üblichen Tagträume, gefolgt von Selbstmitleid

Sie sind überall!
Und wie immer sind sie echt!
Nicht nur zweidimensionale Abbilder, die über den Screen flimmern.
Es sind athletische junge Frauen, mit flachen Ballerinas und schnittigen Frisuren, es sind stilvoll gekleidete Damen.
Heute: Eine Asiatin, so um die 45, elegant, Bluse und knielanger Rock, hohe Schuhe und glatte Beine. Wie wäre das, wenn die dir einst den Schemel unter den Füßen wegträte.
Nur die interessiert das doch nicht.
Keine interessiert das...; nie!
Es ekelt sie an.
Und froh wären sie, wenn sie wüssten, dass du es still und heimlich in deinem Kämmerchen machst und sie mit deinen zudringlichen Hoffnungen verschonst. So aber bist du für nichts anderes als einer der vielen unguten Glotzer von der Straße.
Keine, die dir verpassen will, was du verdient hast.
Keine, die die Salutation deines Glied entgegennehmen wollte.
Abgehen sollst du; alleine und einsam. Das ist schon richtig so.
Das passt zu dir!