What do shoes that represent ex-girlfriends look like?
Artist and designer Sebastian Errazuriz is a true man of the world. He was born in Chile, grew up in London, studied in Washington, Edinburgh and Santiago, and now lives and works in New York.
One of Sebastian's most interesting projects is shoe design. But don’t rush to draw conclusions and scroll through this post with the verdict “boring!” The fact is that Sebastian dedicated his 12 sculpture shoes to 12 ex-girlfriends, providing them with rather piquant photographs of the girls themselves and even more piquant memories of his relationships with them. The result is an interesting art project that can tell a lot not only about shoe design, but also about modern relationships between men and women.
Natasha took off her jacket and leaned towards the bed. “Seb, I baked you cookies!” ...She took off her shirt.
- My poor! How's your broken leg?
“It still hurts a little,” I depicted suffering on my face.
- How can I help you? — she smiles, jumping on one leg, taking off her jeans.
She had an amazing body. We had sex. She cooked. She cleaned up. When I fell asleep, she left cookies by the bed, drew a small heart on my wall and quietly went home.
Natasha took care of me while I was recovering and lying in bed. I've never met a girl who was so happy taking care of a man. As soon as I recovered, we separated. I couldn't get used to being treated so well.
Alexandra appeared at my door, crying. It was raining, she was all wet and shivering.
“Seb, can I sleep with you tonight?”
She muttered something about breaking up with her asshole boyfriend. She took a hot shower and I made her soup. Alexandra seemed happy again. She looked at me with a look full of love and literally pounced on me. After some moments, I was already thanking the “jerk boyfriend” for the great sex.
For the rest of the night, Alexandra continued to sob and text with her boyfriend in the dark. I tried another sex “to spite my boyfriend” but she didn’t care about me. She wasn't interested in anyone anymore except her asshole.
I parked my old car at my girlfriend's house. A blue Porsche pulled up. Alison came out. The Porsche left.
“My boss laughs and says how funny it is that artists always prefer old beat-up cars.”
Alison worked as a television journalist. She was gorgeous, the camera adored her, and apparently so did her boss...
“Let’s go to bed, my poor hungry artist.” — Alison grabbed my butt.
I found myself in bed quite irritated. Not getting much pleasure from the process, I was only trying to rehabilitate myself for what I couldn’t buy her.
— Seb, all my girlfriends are going to Brazil, their boyfriends invited them.
- You know, I can’t afford it now. Please just wait a little. I promise things will get better soon.
Alison didn't want to wait. Apparently, her boss did too.
— Real tits or silicone? - asks one of my friends.
- Silicone! - shouts another.
- Real! - the third disagrees.
“Both,” I grin.
- Yeah, of course, that doesn’t happen...
“Well, I once dated a girl who had one that was real and one that wasn’t.”
What follows is an indignant rumble, their brains clearly boiling from such information.
“When she was young, one of her breasts did not grow, and she decided to insert an implant into it and leave the other as is. “My friends froze in quiet shock. “At first I didn’t even notice, because I always grabbed her chest with my right hand and her ass with my left. I think she was panicking, waiting for my reaction.
“The best of both worlds,” one of my friends was finally able to whisper...
- Well? - everyone is staring at me impatiently.
“And she broke my heart and is now married with children,” I answer sadly.
- A-and-and?! - they ask again in unison.
- Well... and... I think I secretly loved silicone breasts more...
When Sophie walked down the runway, I felt like a kid who had just received a Lamborghini poster to hang in his childhood bedroom. She was so tall that, lying in bed, I had to stretch my arms with all my might to reach her ass. During our first sex, she just lay on her back, not moving. She didn't say a word.
I tried hard to earn at least the right to be in the same bed with her, although everyone who saw us together, of course, believed that I did not deserve it. In the end, I finally achieved what I wanted and sometimes even managed to warm it up a little, but it never thawed for long.
“Great color, Mr. Errazuriz,” Caroline giggles, adjusting my father’s tie at my cousin’s wedding.
“Leave that damn tie alone,” I think. “Don’t you know that playing with a man’s tie is the same as playing with his penis?”
Caroline was a sexy little thing in a tiny red dress, dancing as if she was dancing to earn her way to school. I literally felt the disapproving glances of the women present, but I decided to focus on the envious glances of the men. We left the table mid-ceremony to have sex in the garden. When we returned, the reaction was as if we were holding a huge “We just had sex!” sign over our heads. Everyone hated us - both those who condemned us and those who envied us.
Feeling a little awkward, we decided to drink until we stopped caring. Caroline did another dance routine that ended with us collapsing in the middle of the dance floor. My suit tore, the strap of her dress came off, we lay on the floor in pain and embarrassment, and the crowd leaned over us to victoriously shame us.
I felt almost addicted to Caroline. And she experienced the same dependence on attention. As far as I know, she has cheated on me and every man she has ever dated. Women called her "hot bitch." But in reality, it was us men who were her “bitches.”
After sex I asked Anna:
- It was good, right?
She turned on the shower and answered skeptically:
- Well... yes... probably... I don’t know - the first time.
I could almost swear that over the sound of the water I heard her praying to the Virgin Mary.
The last I heard about her was that she was going to become a nun. Of course, I admit that the sex wasn’t very good... but a nun?! Still too radical...
In the restaurant, Jessica strokes my leg under the table. It looks extremely attractive.
- You know, dad has a plane. But he almost never uses it,” she whispers.
Her dad is an important person, I’m sure there are even several planes for the family.
- By the way, didn’t I tell you that we have an empty house in Paris? It's perfect for your studio.
Jessica has returned from the ladies' room and is already paying the bill.
- Seb, I lost the keys to the apartment, let's go to your place?
“Don’t you own the whole building? I’m sure that finding a spare key is not a problem,” I think to myself and remain silent in the taxi the whole way.
The more she tried to convince me of how wonderful we would be together, the less attractive she became. By the time we found ourselves in my tiny apartment, I decided to restore my lost dignity.
“I'm sorry, Jessica, but I can't have sex with you,” I blurted out, feeling pretty stupid. “You can sleep in my bed, but nothing will happen.”
In the middle of the night, Jessica made an attempt to rectify the situation. I pretended to be asleep and ignored her. The next morning she stormed away in anger. A big black jeep came for her.
Sex with Rachel had always been weird. I never knew when to take matters into my own hands and when to give in. It was like playing with a bomb, not knowing when it would explode.
She was a staunch feminist, but in bed she pretended to be a little girl and offered to spank her or give me a striptease. If the next day I brought her flowers, she would lecture me for an hour about what terrible “machismo” it was to give flowers to women. I never knew what to expect.
When one day she suddenly decided to show off in my only panties, I was faced with a choice - dress up in her panties or run home for new underwear and a safe shelter.
The last time I saw her, she was in an extremely playful and sentimental mood. I spanked her ass and she purred. I relaxed and spanked again. She hit me so hard that I almost fell to the ground.
The door was opened by Barbara's father in military uniform.
- Good evening, sir! I went to pick up Barbara.
The Colonel looked me up and down while I nervously played with the keys to my father's car. The Colonel had a strict policy of no boys in the house, but Barbara somehow managed to get around it.
“I’m not wearing any underwear today,” Barbara whispers playfully, climbing into my car.
We are blinded by the headlights of a police car. I shout at her to put something on herself, and I press on the gas, at the same time opening the foggy windows. To my naive surprise, the police do not have much difficulty catching up with our family SUV. I am standing completely naked under the gunpoint of a machine gun pointed at me. The policemen stare at Barbara, who awkwardly tries to cover her breasts with her hands and begs them to look away.
She eventually convinced the police to call my father, whose position helped us avoid arrest. Fearing what her father might do to me later, I decided to be incredibly brave and hide from him for a while. I'm still hiding...
Valentina was one of the local girls in a small town by the sea. She was beautiful in a wild and strange way, almost like a lost child growing up in the forest. We saw each other every day on the beach, but neither of us ever said a word.
One day she simply appeared on the threshold of my house and spent the night with me. It's hard to believe, but every time after sex, Valentina's hair became even crazier than usual - she looked like she had stuck two fingers into a socket. Apparently, Valentina liked her electric hairstyle, because she visited me more than once that summer. I never knew where it came from and where it went after. She just swam in and out, with a strange aura that made me think she was here with me and somewhere else at the same time. I can’t say how far... At night I tried to keep her close to me. Towards the end of the summer I made her promise that she would come to visit me, but she did not come. The next year I returned to the beach and looked for her, but she was no longer there.
I met her once, many years later. She looked older, but still as wild and beautiful. She smiled at me, in her arms was a beautiful tanned baby with the same crazy hair.
I loved her, a little.
Alice knew we would be together long before I even thought about it. She also knew that sooner or later we would separate, although I always wanted to believe otherwise. None of us knew it would happen so soon. I loved her so much. And I always will.
What are your memories of your former partners?