I’m going crazy.

These women all around me with their boots are driving me to distraction. And now winter is hovering and the boots are out in force. But this boot mania has been building since summer, when women heeded not the imprecations of sun and wore their hot boots with impunity.

Let me give you a couple of examples:

It was Wednesday, July the 21st, around noon. A girl was going up and down NW 23rd Avenue, collecting newspapers. She paused in front of Coffee People. I was able to observe her on this incredibly hot day. A short black skirt and impossibly shiny black boots captured the midday sun.

It was Monday, the 4th of August. A young woman, possibly a teenage girl, got on a bus going downtown. She wore tight latex pants that squeaked, especially when she crossed her legs. She sat right in front of me, sideways. I could glance carefully at her profile as she read a book through tiny spectacles. Every time my attention wandered, she crossed her legs and those squeaky pants drove me mad.

It was Tuesday, the 26th of August. At 9:05 am, the MAX train stopped at Lloyd Center. From it disembarked a tall, raven-haired beauty. Long curly black hair cascaded down her back and splayed across her black leather jacket, which in turn hung down to just under her butt. Her fine, full legs were encased in black tights. Her feet were shod in shocking yellow leather pull-on boots that tromped in the mud of the park as she walked across it to the Lloyd Center. Lucky mud. She remains a mystery, for I never saw her face.

It was Friday, the 19th of September. I was in the lobby of my office building, about to leave work. A tall woman walked by. She was about six feet, longish nose, red hair, a few tattoos, and she was wearing a skirt and stockings. But she was behind a counter. I hung around in the lobby until I could get a better shot. Then she moved out from behind the counter and walked past me briskly, a black leather jacket over her shoulder, striding youthfully, cheerfully, probably to some band at Satyricon. She did have a short skirt, black stockings – and black leather boots! They had low heels and went to just below her knees, but given that her legs alone were four feet long, that’s a lot of boot leather. It even took me a moment to fully receive this information, I was so hope-free about the possibility of even seeing boots (which is why I was hanging around) that I felt joy and pain at exactly the same time, after only this minuscule glimpse.

Again in the lobby, on Wednesday, September 24th, a short, attractive, healthy brunette walked past me. She was wearing the perfect watch, a big, black-banded sports Rolex. I failed to say, “Hey! Great watch” and kicked myself for the rest of the night.

Lust. Aesthetic taste. Loneliness. It’s all swirling around in my heart. Those boots constantly stomp my heart.

Well, things are going to change. This month, I shall finally go to a fetish party, and I am determined to meet a booted Dominatrix.

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