.. just maybe... they did! Checking, re-checking and than, on the off chance he might have missed something, he made a third and thorough re-checked of the shoe box, bag and even went so far as to read and re-read the sale slip, only to come up with nothing that even so much as hinted at the magical aspect of the heels, much less directions for their use or even a timely word or two of caution, a somewhat perturbed Paul Meadows reared back and aired a healthy, hardy and heart felt, "Sh... it! "Wouldn't you just know it! Nothing! Meaning... I going to be operating in the proverbial dark! "Hell! Given the way my luck's been going here of late, these high heels might be right out of Rod Sterling's Twilight Zone and my sorry ass might just end up all friggin' girlifed! Y'know, like permanently! Y'know, with no friggin' way back to this present maleness of mine!" Taking a swig of scotch to re-enforced his decision to continue, Paul, who generally wouldn't have considered himself much. So I did. I called my friends to tell them Id be away, used a borrowed toothbrush, undressed completely as usual, and got into bed. I looked at the stocking as I put the light out, thought about the vibrator in it and the size it was. Then I spread some of my ever-available pussy juice over my clit and started. I wished and wished, and believed. The hours passed. Hour after hour. Christmas Eve became Christmas Day and I played and stroked and squeezed and came, on and on, over and over, until the window shutters started to develop a lighter outline. Then, believing in Father Christmas, Martine and Henri and their magic, and me, I fell asleep. I woke with my clit still between my fingertips, huge and tingling. Had it even been down? I didnt know. It felt big though. Enormous in fact. Jamie. It was Martines voice. My head was under the quilt but I could hear she was opening the shutters. Change of plan, she said, Happy Christmas! I eased the cover down and looked out. There was.
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