"How many pairs of shoes do you own?"
Rita woke with a snort and turned over to glance at the younger woman, who stood in the doorway of her walk-in closet, paused in silent shock at the array of shoes arranged before her.
"Hmm?" Rita had never considered her shoes a big deal. They were ornaments; things she'd used to fill up the empty time she'd been left with once her boys grew up. In the divorce she'd (of course) gotten them (she would've rather had the house, but sacrifices had to be made and she'd made them as quickly as she could.)
"How do you even WEAR some of these?" Becca knelt to pick up a pair of white espadrilles with aqua ribbons, her brow quirked, clearly seeing the entire flock of shoes as some sort of eccentric arrangement.
"You just strap them on, honey. Didn't you ever own any fancy shoes?"
Becca shook her head. "I was never a shoe sort of gal."
Rita pushed back the covers and strode toward her lover, getting an arm around her neck. "You're so cute," she declared.
The sight of her naive lover standing there naked, in all of her innocent charm, turned Rita slightly predatory. How long had Rita been living alone inside of her own head? It had been years since she'd given up on her dull, poisoned marriage; years since they'd found each other, and even after all of that time Becca hadn't quite adjusted to the opulence of their life. Which was why they tended to have 'sleep-overs' at Becca's cute little suburban walk-up.
Rita's plush, pale arm slid gently across Becca's bare stomach. "I'll help you try them on," she sighed against her lover's ear.
"I don't want to get dressed," she flushed.
"Then let's slip into something softer."
As they slipped between her perfumed sheets, it suddenly occurred to Rita that she hadn't bought a single pair of heels since she and Becca had gotten together.