by Carrie's AJ

jantrumbo@attbi.com

Some call her a "Lipstick Lesbian." Some call her "Hell on High Heels." All I know is that she’s got eight-inch stilettos, and she isn’t afraid to use them.

We met in a bar. I had stopped in after an exhausting day of telling clients that they needed to make their margin calls. I’m a stockbroker. Money and stocks are my life. Or so I thought. Until I caught a glance of her as I was peering over my cocktail at the Silver Bar, a favorite watering hole of the up and comers in the financial district.

What she was doing there, I’ll never know. Everywhere there were suits. Expensive suits. Suits that carried all the trappings of those who had made it and those that wanted to look as if they had.

I caught a glimpse of her as I sipped my drink. I nearly missed my mouth and suddenly found myself unable to swallow as my gaze shifted to take in the full view of the woman who was sitting at a table a few rows away from me. Her hair was dark as midnight, pulled up into a French roll with ringlets and wisps of hair clinging lovingly to her neck. Oh that neck! Long, elegant, made just for me. Her brown eyes burned with a sensuality that could have melted the polar icecap. Her lips were painted with a red that could only do her justice. Her skin was fair and smooth, and I could swear that she was poured into the dress that she was wearing. It was low cut, drawing my attention to her luscious cleavage that just begged for my hands. I could swear that there wasn’t a pound on her body that didn’t belong right where it was, making her all the more desirable.

To say she was beautiful was an understatement. My mind whirled with images of holding her in my arms and making love to her in every imaginable way. And I have quite the imagination. I hoped I was up to what my imagination, and my libido, were suggesting to me.

Wait a minute! I’m straight! my mind finally screamed at me. But my libido drowned my mind out with a message of its own. The woman with alabaster skin and deep brown eyes gazed in my direction. Guess again! my libido challenged.

I placed my drink back on the table. The sip that I had taken felt like a bowling ball going down my throat. It seemed that all my bodily fluids were headed south, and I couldn’t blame them for making the trip. I would, too, if I would find her at the end of the journey.

Nervously, I made my way over to her table and heard myself saying something that I thought only losers used as a pick up line: "Haven’t we met?"

Her eyes trailed over me from head to foot and back again. A smile that was either meant to unnerve me or to cause heart failure appeared on her face. She set her drink on the table in front of her and ran the tip of her painted fingernail down my wool-blended sleeve and said, "Now we have, but I have a hunch we’re going to know each other a lot better."

My knees went weak, and I tried to think of something to say. But I didn’t need to. My body language said everything that was on my mind.

"Is it chilly in here?" Her gaze was now upon the front of my suit jacket, which seemed completely unable to restrain my very aroused nipples. I blushed and she smiled again.

"Um, y-yes it --I mean…" Now I sounded like a complete fool stuttering and stammering and trying to maintain some kind of composure while having absolutely nothing to work with.

But my nervousness apparently put her at ease. She relaxed more into her chair and said, "You don’t need to say a word." Pointing to an empty chair at her table, she continued in a soft, sultry voice, "Sit right here beside me."

I sat. I nearly missed the chair, but I sat. And trembled. And wondered what the hell was happening to me. I’d heard her voice before. In every erotic dream I’d ever had, I’d heard that voice. Maybe that should have been my first clue about why I never could become serious about any man. None of them had that voice. It was dusky, sultry, able to reach deep inside of you and ignite a fire with just a word or two. All I know was that I definitely was on fire. And her voice was the kindling.

She held out her hand to me, palm up. I immediately placed mine in hers. It was the first touch we shared. It rocked me to the core. I nearly fainted from the bolt of electricity that shot through my body and melted my panties. Okay, so maybe my panties weren’t melting, but there was definitely something liquefying down there.

I’d never felt so aroused by a simple touch. Not even from the most intensive sexual encounters that I’d had with my little AA battery friends. I renamed one of them on the spot. "Dildo Dave" was now "Dildo Deb". For I knew that my life was never going to be the same, and no male, flesh, vinyl, or battery powered, would ever be able to compete with the feelings that I found myself having for this woman. I nearly came when her fingertips touched mine.

"My name is Giselle." Her eyes bore into mine. I sat there speechless. Finally she raised her eyebrow at me, and it dawned on me that I hadn’t introduced myself. This was the most insane thing I’d ever experienced. I hadn’t even told the woman my name, but for some reason, I was ready to commit myself: heart, body, and soul to her. Her eyebrow arched again, and her head nodded toward me. I mentally slapped myself.

"Elaine." I congratulated myself at remembering my name. That was a hard thing to do given the state of my arousal.

"So tell me, Elaine, what is it you do?"

"Anything you want." I immediately blushed.

"For as long as I want?" The cat that’d caught the canary look she gave me only made me want her more.

"Anytime, any place, anywhere." Okay, so the person who inhabited this body when I went to work this morning has left for parts unknown, leaving behind a stranger who is wanton and definitely not straight.

She crossed her legs. The slit in the side of her skirt parted to reveal a thigh that I wanted to get on my hands and knees and run my hands, lips, and face over again and again.

"They’ll be plenty of time for that later," she said, reading my mind as easily as she must have been reading the pure lust that was written all over my face.

"I love your perfume," she said. Then she smiled in a way that told me that she knew that I wasn’t wearing any.

That was it. I couldn’t take anymore. "Either take me somewhere and make love to me right now, or just shoot me. ‘Cause either way, I’m going to die if I can’t feel your naked body under mine in the next 30 seconds."

Who is this alien that has taken control of my body? Not her. Me. What happened to the introverted, uptight, very straight, investment broker that walked into this bar? A sexually charged, nearly begging, sexual addict who was shaking due to the need for her next "fix" had replaced me.

Then a question occurred to me. This is obviously a very beautiful, desirable woman. Why was she alone here?

Just then, a good-looking suit with a businessman inside dropped into one of the other chairs at the table and asked to buy her a drink. She shook her head "no" and turned her attention back to me.

"I can buy your friend a drink, too, if you like," he offered. Seeing that the man wasn’t going to take the hint, she maneuvered her foot, eight-inch stiletto heels and all, and snagged a leg of his chair, effectively dumping him to the floor.

"What the hell?" the startled man gasped.

"That’s Hell on High Heels, to you, sweetheart!" she retorted, then turned her sexy grin on me again.

As my eyes widened, I heard her say, "No one comes to sit with me unless I want them to come."

Thank God she wanted what I wanted!

She stood and took my hand. We left the bar and went to her place. I felt like a little kid, about to receive the key to the candy store. Only this was going to be much sweeter.

Her apartment was spacious and well kept. The bedroom was glorious. One look and I knew I would never want to sleep anywhere else ever again. I could detect the scent that she wore, clinging to the air. It filled my senses. Then Giselle proceeded to show my senses what else they could become filled with.

We spent the night loving and being loved. I gave everything I had and everything I was to her. Sometime, during the night, I asked her, "Giselle, my love, why me?" This woman could have anyone she wanted.

Giselle looked into my eyes, and then kissed me very deeply. "Elaine, cher, how could I not want you? You were the one." I didn’t understand her enigmatic declaration, but I was willing to stop asking questions and just go with it. She ran her fingers up my leg and then lovingly caressed my body. She took me to places that night that I didn’t even know existed.

As I lay with my head on her breast, completely spent, feeling fingers drawing light circles on my back, I spotted those eight-inch heels that she’d kicked off before just before leading me to bed and smiled. I kept seeing the look on the man’s face as his chair went sailing out from underneath him. And I remembered how Giselle looked into my eyes and into my soul when she took my hand before we walked out the door together.

All these years later and she still has those shoes. Every once in awhile, I’ll notice them as I’m getting dressed. I can’t believe that one moment in my life could have altered it so completely. As she kisses me good morning, she has kept her word. She is "hell on heels" to anyone who crosses her, but to me, she is the sexiest and most desirable woman in the world, and I’m hers: heart, body, and soul.