Rebel Ink Press July 12, 2012

A man who likes the color Red.

Here’s how I met my husband Harry. He was behind me on line at the bank when he tapped me on the shoulder. When I first saw him he reminded me of Clark Kent. You know superman’s altered ego, tall dark and handsome with nice blue eyes. He even wore the same kind of glasses.  His jeans were too baggy and his shirt too big. I had a feeling he was trying to hide something.

“I like your shoes,” Harry said.

They were red and high heeled.

“You do?”

“Yes, I’d like to touch them.”

“Oh,” I answered him surprisingly.

“Not here, at my apartment,” he said touching my shoulder softly.  

Something about Harry made me trust him. I went back to his apartment with him.

He sat us down on his couch and ran his hands down my legs, touching those damn red shoes. Then he ran his hands up my legs to my pussy, those blue eyes held mine, his smile giving away his intent.

“Are you wearing red underwear?” He asked.

“How did you guess?”

He removed my red underwear, buried his face in my pussy and gave me the orgasm of a lifetime. I held him to me, feeling strong broad shoulders and later learned he harbored one glorious hard cock beneath those baggy jeans.

After fifteen years of marriage, I still have those red shoes. And Harry can still deliver the best orgasms.  One other thing, I own quite a few pairs of red underwear. Wouldn’t you?


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