I Love My Man, But I Won t Tell Him
Liverpool Street Station, 11pm. The heartbeat of London's Financial Center and I am sitting on a bench on the platform, waiting for the Hammersmith and City Line to take me back to West London. Two women teeter down the vertiginous stairs. Both look in their 40s, are well dressed and wearing high heels, the weapon of choice for the forty-something predatory female. The blonde one carries a briefcase and visibly sways as she veers towards a pillar to steady her, the heels are so high, black, shiny patent leather, a Dominatrix' vicious delicious dream. She looks a bit mix-matched, as she is wearing a stern below the knees black business suit. ...
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