Everywhere I go lately I’ve been seeing boots. And I’ve had remarkable luck with them. When I make a sighting of a woman and she vanishes, I somehow stumble upon her again in a few minutes and then I can really ogle her boots, legs, the total package.

Take a recent event. On Saturday night, October 18th, at 8:30, I was in a store and saw a blond; the kind of blonde who would make the Dalai Lama pull down a prayer wheel. She had that bright blonde hair that is really straight. She was tall, in cutoffs, and with bare, tanned legs. On her feet were tan platform boots that rose to her mid calf. They were tight fitting and I could revel in the sight of her tanned leg coming out of them. She was wandering around with her boyfriend and then I lost her. But a few minutes later she re-emerged and I drank in those tanned, booted legs.

On Tuesday morning, about 9:30, on October 23rd, I was taking the MAX line, and a tall brunette got on the train at the Hollywood stop. She was wearing a red jacket, a black skirt, black stockings, and big, goofy black motorcycle boots with platforms. She stood right next to me. I pretended to continue reading my book but instead stared down at her boots, which glistened in the morning sun. She got off at Lloyd Center and walked off, her boots clomping on the sidewalk.

On Wednesday, October 24th, at about 1pm, I espied a medium height brunette in a perfect outfit – brown suede jacket, black skirt down to the mid-thighs, black stockings, and brand new bright black leather boots in the revved fashion of the `60s. She had long black hair and a slightly sneering, slightly sluttish face that didn’t go with her expensive ensemble and lavish wedding ring. As I walked past her, I could breathe in the aroma of her boots and jacket.

Yesterday, I awoke to a dream. I was crawling along the floor near the white boots of a girlfriend. They were filthy, covered with black scuffs. I asked if I could lick them clean. She assented, and in the dream I could feel the hard, dirty leather against my tongue. This rarely happens in dreams... that you actually get what you ask for, yearn for... dream of.

Just this morning, watching MSNBC, I caught one of the co-authors of the dating advice book, The Rules , being interviewed. She had a red suit, short black skirt, Donna Karan stockings, and just at the bottom of the screen I could see a shiny patent leather boot creeping up her delicious leg. It made me want to run off and masturbate.

Amid all these boot sightings I have been driven mad with desire. These women are all perfect, all delightful, all fun and most of all, they are all boot women. The kind of women who, if you said, “Say, honey, why don’t you wear those great boots again this morning,” they would.

I want to find and have one of those women for myself.

So, on Sunday night, October 21, I drove downtown to attend my first Fetish Night at Berbati's Pan.

To Be Continued É