Boot Slut

I LOVE polishing boots. I love the feel of the leather, I love massaging the polish into it. My personal preference is Kiwi at body temperature. The leather loves it as well.

So… I finally polished my new boots. Well. Then Sir pointed out that his ‘everyday’ pair was covered in paint. So I cleaned and polished those.

When I presented the freshly polished boots to Sir, one of his friends (former Army) commented that they were shiny, but that they could be much shinier. I had already tweeted that I have to stop myself when shining boots now. I am not competing with the Marine Corps anymore.

Although it was so fun to make the young, hot boys cry, each and every fucking day, when my boots were MUCH shinier than theirs…

Mmm… young Marines… But I’m not there now. So a respectable gloss on fine leather boots is perfectly acceptable at corporate business meetings. And Sir’s boots were fine. They were happy. (They told me so.)

However, once again I had opened my big mouth. Suddenly my ‘bragging’ became a task. Sir went upstairs & brought down his most damaged pair of boots. They were also his personal favorites. He had, quite literally, walked through fire many, many times in them.

“I propose a contest. My slut will shine these boots better than any pair of boots you choose to shine. A glass finish.”

I closed my mouth. It was completely possible. I can make ANY pair of boots as shiny and flawless as patent leather. No cuts or scars showing. But that takes time. And the shine is ‘inspection ready’ only. Each scuff only shows that much more. Sir is, shall we say, less than kind to his boots. He uses them for protection, and abuses them on a regular basis.

“Yes Sir.”

The next morning, I began. After scrubbing off all the mud, I actually found leather. Or what used to be leather. It had been worn through to suede.

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After one good, loving coat, I found the hint of the original boots…

The next morning I returned to my task. After the second massage, the boots asked me to stop. Not actually out loud, but trust me, the leather and I were communicating. Did I mention, I really, REALLY love polishing boots?

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I listened. I tweeted my concession, and justification. Then I sent screenshots of those tweets to Sir’s Army friend.

2coats

leather

I am sorry Sir. I failed in my task. Correction… I CHOSE to fail in my task. The best part is that he totally understands that. He really gets ME.

Sometimes failure is perfectly, humanly acceptable.

But, most importantly, the boots are happy.

And why, after writing this post, am I so wet?


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