When I first saw you, I was like, “Woah!”. I just couldn’t believe it. Perhaps I’d been dulled by the banality of those that came before. The excess, the makeup, the spit and polish, the padding, everything designed to mislead and obfuscate. For too long, I had been weaned on the idea that waiting for perfection to drop on your feet was impossible. I had to settle for something, anything, even if I wasn’t 100% committed, even if my heart would surely be swayed in the future. I would deal with my own infidelity if and when it arose, settling for the mistress that is discontent. You were pristine, impossible, too good to be true, the end evolution, the ideal standard. The alpha and the omega.

Now I have you at my feet, I can’t believe I waited 3 years to make you mine. The fuck was I thinking. You were everything I’d always yearned for and more. I mean, I/I’ll have many more mistresses but you’ll always be top shoe.

Yo Imelda. I’m like onto you.

Fits slim. Size one down from normal. I’m normally a 9.5 in Cons/Nikes. 42 hits perfect.

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