Breakfast in Stilettos Read Online Free

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    A small seaplane was taking off from the lake, probably headed for the San Juan Islands. It was flying right over the houseboat where they filmed Sleepless in Seattle . I remember when I went to see that movie back in the 90s, the entire theater audience had murmured in protest at the boat trip taken by the Tom Hanks character and his son from their Lake Union houseboat to Alki Beach. In reality, this was no quick tootle, implied by Meg Ryan’s tailing along in her rental car. In fact, the trek would have had them going from the Lake through Salmon Bay, into and out of the Hiram C. Chittenden locks, into Shilshole Bay and out into the great Puget Sound before heading back into Elliot Bay, all the while dodging ferries and freighters.
    Maybe this was indicative of romance in Seattle. It looked deceptively easy, but was in fact an arduous trek filled with obstacles of every sort. But they did fall in love in the end. So I held on to the hope that somewhere, out there in the drizzle, was a slightly damp, incredibly smart and absolutely gorgeous man I could stalk for my very own.
     
     
     

 
     
Chapter 3: Research
     
    I slumped back in my chair and read my scribbled notes. Research BDSM. Get anonymous email. Lurk in chat rooms.
    I figured I’d save nombre trois for a more private locale.
    Instead it was Wiki-time! Research was sometimes humdrum, but I sensed that this topic would skate dangerously close to passionnant .
    I typed in “BDSM Wiki” into the Google field. This truly had to be a first—officially researching porn at work. I tilted my monitor in such a way that the casual but nosy passerby wouldn’t see the screen. A photo of a woman holding up her hair to display a leather collar sat in the corner photo slot. And Frank’s description of what it stood for seemed right on.
    I scrolled down the screen to see a series of photos, including two women in black latex chained to iron bars with black tape over their mouths. Then down to a woman bent forward with her hands tied behind her back and suspended from the ceiling by a rope. Her feet were spread open and cuffed to a bar. This was apparently called Strappado bondage and looked decidedly uncomfortable. Then down to a bunch of Nazi-looking guys tying each other up, a woman spanking another with a brush, and a woman dressed up in a leather teddy and thigh-high boots with a horse bit in her mouth, pulling a man in a cart.
    Whoa. I stopped here. What was that about? There was a caption underneath describing the photo as “Petplay” with a link I just had to click.
    The link went to another Wikipedia article on animal role-play that included such provocative classifications as the before-mentioned petplay, ponyplay, ponyism, kittenplay or pup-play. This larger category could be broken down into non-sexual events—young children who enjoy getting dressed up in animal costumes—or erotic events—when this same activity becomes the purview of adults. Petplay apparently has a long lineage of supplicants; the Wiki referenced Aristotle himself, who apparently enjoyed being ridden like a horse.
    Well, there you go. BDSM meets classical literature via Greek philosophy. I wondered how we missed that in class. I was out of my depth. Time to consult a gay man. Gay men always seemed to know certain things and could speak in ways that a woman could understand. I listened for a moment. Jason wasn’t on the phone.
    I thumped the gray cloth side of my cube. “Hey Jason.”
    His chair squeaked as he leaned back. “Yes, Miss Emily?”
    “What do you know about BDSM?”
    His crystal blue eyes peered instantly over the top of my cubical wall. “Excuse me?”
    “Yes, you heard me right. My assignment du jour concerns a place called The Slutterati Salon . You ever hear of the place?”
    He disappeared. I could hear him grab his chair and scoot it around the corner into my cube, waiving me to be quiet. “Shhhh. Oh my God, did you get that story?” He actually squealed.