Balancing on the narrow edge (2)

It’s only 5:30, but I hate getting ready at the last minute. It’s a process I like to enjoy at my own pace, so I tend to make it last. Standing in front of my wardrobe, half-dressed in black undergarments and stockings, I pick out my shoes before picking out my clothes, trying to ignore the revolting hunger sounds of my growling stomach. I choose a pair of black elegant shiny high-heel vertigo-inducing boots and put them on – without making a thread in my stockings, which is an exploit in itself – my favourites. Elegant, classy, but more importantly, sexy as hell. Perfect to make me look like a mysterious vamp for tonight’s date with Christophe. He’ll only be thinking of one thing when he sees me walking in those boots – having me for desert. Now I only need a dress that won’t make me look too obvious. Come to think of it, when I go on a date, I always end up wearing those boots – for some reason, they seem to answer an existential question which meaning eludes me. I sometimes wear them to write – I feel like I’m walking in someone else’s shoes, and that, my friends, makes my work a lot easier.

Tell us a story, Bridges!

...oh, all right. But you have to promise this : You will not ask me if this story is real or not. It's a real story, all right? Plus, it's not a story for kiddies, so children, go to bed. This is Sophie's story. Here goes.

Balancing on the narrow edge

Going out and risking it on frozen Montreal sidewalks is not an easy task – particularly in high heels. But not to worry – I made up my mind, nothing can stop me. Plus, if I’m gonna come a cropper, I will do it with style and all the feminine grace that inhabits me – braving glazed frost and biting cold will never have looked so good, baby.

I’m getting ready for a date. I’m excited and nervous – I have never felt this way before a date with Christophe, but this time, it’s a bit different. I have to meet him at his place, downtown, around 7 pm. He is taking me out to dinner in a chic neighbourhood restaurant he goes to from time to time. I’m famished, and looking forward to eating whatever Christophe picks out for me on the menu – he loves to do that, and since he has impeccable taste in everything, from food to clothes all the way to women – he is French after all - I don’t mind letting him have his fun and letting go a little; actually, I quite enjoy the whole control game thing, I’m a good sport, and I know it will be delicious. Christophe knows his food and is quite the snob type when it comes to service and preparation – did I mention he’s French - and I have to be honest with you; I get a big kick out of it.

I love to be guest & lover to a man who has high quality standards – Makes me feel luxurious.