Beginning of my "Crush" Fetish
19-Mar-99 15:35:08

I wanted to post this little story of how my interest in "Crush" got started.

I was about 9 or ten years old and playing with a friend of mine in front of the apartment building where we lived. Nearby was my cousin, a teenage girl (about 14 at the time) who was babysitting a local toddler. At this time, she was pushing the little one around on a tricycle.

My friend, Michael and I, were sitting on the pavement playing some kind of game, when all of the sudden he noticed a honey bee slowly crossing the sidewalk nearby. The bee had obviously been injured or stunned, and was making its way slowly toward the grass. Michael said, "Oh, look....a bee!" At this point my cousin heard this and yelled over to us, "Wait a minute, I'll kill it!"

We told her to leave it alone, that it would crawl away. And she came walking over to us and stood over the bee. She said that she couldn't leave it alone to possibly sting someone, and that if it was injured, it had to be put out of its misery. We still protested, saying that it wouldn't hurt anyone and we could pick it up with a stick or something and carry it away..

Anyway, she maintained her position, and said she had to kill it. She was wearing short shorts and brown thong sandals, very popular in the 1960s. She ignored our pleas, and reached out with her right foot and pressed the toe of it firmly onto the bee. We could hear a moist crunching sound as the bee was flattened under her sandal. She then began to slowly twist her foot back and forth a few times, further grinding the bee into the pavement. The look on her face was that of complete enjoyment - she actually liked killing this insect!

When she lifted her foot and walked away, there was a complete mess where the bee used to be. In a perfectly round splotch, about the size of a quarter or 50 cent piece, were the bees twisted remains in a wet flat puddle of goo. You couldn't even recognize one piece of the insect. From that day forward, I was always turned on by the power a woman has over the little meaningless lives under her.

Oh, and by the way, I still have a sever soft spot for thong sandals!