Crush stories Saturday, 14-Mar-98 09:55:12

Message: 153.37.136.28 writes:

I thought I'd post a few of my own crush stories for anyone who may find them enjoyable.

1. Back before my wife knew I had a thing for crush we were standing in the basement of her parent's house when we spotted to large brown spiders sitting on the pavement. Apparently they had come in with a stack of wood. My wife (girlfriend then) was wearing black slip-ons with a hard rubber sole. They were the shoes she always wore around, well scuffed, and stained with the tiny lives that had gone before. Well, I got down on my stomach, telling her I just wanted to see her step on them. She shrugged and walked over to the first spider, pressing the tow of her shoe onto its body. It started to squirm, but her rubber sole squashed into it, burying it under its weight. Most of the guts and other juices were absorbed into the rubber sole, or spread across the bottom. As she moved over to the next spider, completely forgetting about the first, her other foot came down on the crumpled body, destroying whatever had been left. The second spider she swung her foot towards, but it started to scurry at the last second, and her foot slapped onto the pavement harmlessly. With her shoe as a backdrop, my floor view afforded me a perfect picture of the spider scurrying right towards my face. But my wife lifted her shoe and brought it down again, this time directly on the fleeing arachnid and he too disappeared in a quiet crunch. She dragged her foot back, leaving a long smear. Then she turned and walked upstairs, forgetting about the whole incidence within moments. (I think what you have to understand about women steppping on bugs, particularly those who don't have a crush fetish, is that it means nothing to them. As far as most are concerned, a bug is like a leaf or a piece of paper, just an object that happens to move around. And because they generally have so many legs, and feel so gross when they crawl on you, most women have trained themselves to just eliminate them on site. And of course a shoe is the best way to do that. For women, a shoe separates the person fromt the deed. Certainly most wouldn't squash a bug under their hand; it's too personal. But the showe sole is hard and has no feeling, so a bug that disappears under a shoe simply disappears. It solves the problem of the bug without any trouble. Much easier than moving it away from you. Besides when women step on bugs, they are far away from them, to them it looks only like a small black object. For those of us who see it up close, there is a real drama. First you can see the bug as an individual if you want, a creature with a life, hurrying about some business, while the shoe now seems lifeless and cruel. Thwe woman now becomes disproportionate, towering above the life and you feel more like the bug, desperately attempting to get away. And then the shoe suddenly moves over you, a shadow falls and all that is above is the hard, scarred surface of a sole. And far above that is an uncaring, unnoticing, couldn't care less woman who is about to crunch out your life. And when she does, utterly destroying your entire body, she moves on without so much as a glance back, or even to check her shoe to see your crumpled body spread across its sole. Now that is power.)

2. Sorry about rambling on. Here's another story. I used to work with a woman who gave little or no thought to most things inher life. She believed in her own little world and didn't care for much else. I got her talking one day about bugs and animals and whether they had any value. She of course said no. So I asked her what she did when she saw a bug in her house. "I step on it," she said casually. I then asked her if she was walking down the sidewalk, and saw a bug in her path, would she avoid it? "I'd just keep walking," she said. "And if my foot landed on it, then it'd get squashed. If not, then...." she shrugged. We were talking about something else when we left work that evening, but as we were standing in the parking lot, a moth fluttered into her shirt. Still talking to me (about cooking I think), she mindlessly brushed the moth to the ground. It sat there fluttering, it's winds damaged. She was wearing heavy black shoes, with thick block heels. The soles were a gritty brown color and very thick. As the moth fluttered about and she continued talking, I watched as her shoe slowly, almost without purpose, leaned back on its heel and slid above the moth. As she started to explain how she sauteed mushrooms, she dropped her shoe onto the moth and it crunched in with the gravel. Her shoe started to twist, and then, as if she suddenly realized what she did, she said to me, "Oh, that's what you were talking about before, huh? I just stepped on that bug." Take a look at it, I told her. So she turned her shoe over and glanced at the bottom. She then turned it so I could see. The moth was pressed onto the brown surface, it's own juices acting like glue to pin its wings to her sole. It moved its legs a litle. It's still alive, I pointed out. She shrugged and put her shoe back on the pavement, twisting it a little. "I'm sorry," she said, "but I just don't care. I don't feel anything. Bugs are just an annoyance to me." With that, she smiled and left.

Sorry to go on so long. If these go over okay, I'll post more. Thanks again for the forum.

J.P.