Switch

I never wore leather and I'd never cracked a whip. I liked

high heels, but the thought of using them to step on a

person squicked me out big-time. I'd always thought of

men who got off on 'serving' women as pussies, though

Eric had impressed me as anything but.

I didn't know how much of a mistress I was going to be,

or how long I could get away with the impersonation. I

could have pretended I'd taken this on for his sake—the

thought of losing those daily lists had sent me into a mind-

spin, after al. But I knew it was realy for me. Those lists

had given me something I hadn't known I needed.

Writing them, I discovered, fulfiled me even more.

Writing them, I discovered, fulfiled me even more.

This is what I left in his mailbox.

Tonight when you get home from work, you will eat

your dinner. Then you'll shower. After that, you'll go to

your bedroom and leave your curtain open.

When you jerk your cock, know that I'l be watching you.

'Cute shoes.' The woman whose name I didn't know but

whom I always seemed to bump into at the mailboxes

sounded as if she meant it. 'Enzo Angiolini?'

I looked down at the chunk-heeled pumps in classic black,

tied across the top with a tasseled leather strap. I'd picked

them up at the thrift store for three bucks. But yes, they

were brand name and nearly brand-new. 'Yes.'

'Nice. I have a pair almost like it but in navy. I never wear

them, though. I couldn't ever find anything to go with

them.' She gave the rest of my outf it a critical look. 'I'd never have thought to put them together with a flared skirt

and tapered top like that.'

For months I'd agonized over what to wear to work each

day and she'd looked at me as though I were something

she'd scraped off the bottom of her enviably fashionable

shoes. Today, caught up in thoughts of slipping Eric's note

into the mail and what it would lead to, later, I'd thrown on

the first outfit I'd grabbed. I looked at my shoes and

swirled slightly to flare my skirt around my knees. My

smile had nothing to do with her compliment, and I didn't

thank her for it. Okay, so I can be a bit of a vindictive

bitch. I never pretended otherwise.

I looked her up and down from the chiffon scarf she'd tied

at her throat to her feet in the same pair of Kate Spades

I'd seen several times already. 'Realy?'

One word. So many layers of meaning. She blinked

rapidly, and then her mouth quirked into a grudging smile.

We understood each other the way women do and men

never wil.

'They're having a great sale at Neiman Marcus next week.

I'm on their preferred buyers mailing list and got a

postcard about it,' she offered.