Wednesday

The Passing of Winter

I love the Fall and Winter months.

Living in California, where warmth a blue skies are the norm, a few months with some overcast and rain are almost a relief to me. Something in me longs for the moody feeling of dark clouds and a chill wind.

And, of course, it is Fall and Winter when women are most likely to wear boots.

So as I walked to lunch today in the bright, warm sunshine, I thought back to the last overcast week we had and considered what I saw.

A big woman, weighing more than I, crossing the street in her sharply tailored black skirt suit and a pair of black high heeled boots that might have been custom made for her. She exuded a self assurance and power that made me want to follow in her wake. I pictured myself as her male administrative assistant, fetching and carrying for her all day long, then getting on my knees under her desk at the end of the day to help her relax, my locked in place by her powerful thighs.

A tall black woman in a pair of gorgeous burgundy suede boots that went up to mid thigh over her leggings. She was already tall, and in those boots she was taller than I am. Black women already intimidate me, so this ebony goddess, larger than life and striding down the street could have had me on my knees at a glance. I did not even have a fantasy on the spot about her, as I was sure I was less significant than a bug on the sidewalk as far as she was concerned. Still, I could picture myself gladly working hard, very hard, to earn a moment of her notice.

Two petite young Asian women in tight jeans and matching riding boots. Real riding boots, not department store knock-offs. They had thick soles and heavy leather shafts and a texture that would take a shine that was subtle yet a mile deep, if you worked very hard buffing and polishing them. They must have gone to a tack shop for them. As I passed by them, I could picture the two of them leading me to a remote barn or stable, suspending me from a cross beam, and then taking turns thrashing me with all their might before letting me drop to the floor. There I would polish their boots back to a dress sheen with my tongue.

And now Spring is at the door and all I can hope for is a sudden cold snap soon before most boots go back in the closet until Fall comes again.