Ah, the wonders of the city! So vast, yet so small. So frustrating, yet so often throwing out tantalizing possibilities to us. Who can say if, spying some one for the first time and falling in love at first sight, we will ever see that person again? The glory of the city is that, sometimes, we actually can. But that glory is just as quickly snatched away if we donÍt act.

Readers may recall that in the January issue of Exotica I spied what I called the ñcreme de la creme î of boot sightings. I wrote at that time, ñOn Tuesday, November 25th, at 4:45 pm, I saw a boot woman leave Pioneer Place. I was on the bus. I leapt off at the next stop.

"Luck was with me. She was walking south on Fifth toward me. She passed and I followed her down Fifth, past Taylor. Her head was covered in a white cotton hat, she had a brown leather jacket and a dark skirt, and another pair of those tight but bulky, high Johnny Sole boots. Between boot and skirt I saw the best pair of legs I had seen in a long time. I followed her up the street discretely for a few blocks, yearning for her, afraid to introduce myself.

"I now regret not following her further, but feeling like a creep, I turned off and went about my business.î

Well, dear reader, you will be pleased to know that I did see her again. It was on Friday night, February 6th, at about 5:30 pm. She walked past me. I stared, saw her turn her head slightly and look at me out of the corner of her eye „ not out of attraction, but to monitor if the creep she noticed was still staring at her.

I was drawn to the boots first, of course, and it was only after she was outside the place I was standing and after I saw the back of her receding west up Burnside that I realized it was her.

She wore much the same outfit. That leather jacket. A dark skirt. Black stockings. And those boots, tall and with a stacked heel; zipping up the inside. The only difference was her hair; long brunette hair that cascaded down her back. I noted her face for only a second, with its resemblance to Madeleine Stowe, and then she was gone.

I was trapped. I couldn't break away. I was tempted to run after her, but couldn't. Blast „ there is no relief for the boot fetishist!

That's the nature of cities. If you don't act, you are lost. It is death for the shy, for those with secrets they must not utter.

At this rate, the next time I see her won't be until May „ and that's well past boot season. I pray that she likes her boots so much, she will continue to wear them. Then IÍll be able to recognize her on the street again, if the City Goddess so decrees that we cross paths.