What a miserable and wet day here in Mayfair, far from yesterday. The sun was shining and beautiful, but we were in England, I suppose. I did think about taking a trip down to Oxford Street to see my sister, but the size of the raindrops falling into the puddles convinced me that staying indoors was a better option.
And what a good job too! I received an in-call from Marcus at 11.30 a.m. asking if I was at home as he desperately needed to see me, and I was all too eager to a) have the company and b) know his fetish for women’s shoes, have him come over and help me. Maybe he could persuade me to keep some and donate others to my auction. By the way, I’ve decided to do that on the last Friday of the month – the 27th – to allow for payday and credit card payments.
Marcus hurried over from Bayswater in a taxi. As he shook out his umbrella, he complained about how the stormy weather was disrupting his bike rides. “I just don’t trust these London drivers!” he exclaimed while bounding up the stairs to my apartment. “They’re absolute maniacs!” I expressed my sympathy, handed him a mug of my finest coffee, and pointed him towards the cupboard.
You’d have thought it was his birthday the way he dove into my collection of shoes. He dropped to his knees and eagerly rummaged through the boxes like a thirsty traveller discovering an oasis. For a solid ten minutes, he hardly said a word.
Together, we sorted through my shoe cupboard, lovingly assessing each pair in preparation for the auction. We separated the shoes I wore from those I definitely wouldn’t wear again, and I let Marcus keep a couple for those lonely nights. In return, he insisted I grab my coat because it was past lunchtime, and he wanted to treat me to something delicious from a celebrity restaurant. With my Burberry Mac and designer umbrella in hand, how could I possibly say no? I consider myself quite lucky as an escort!
