The weekend passed and I did not hear from nor see her, which sent me through the typical emotional spiral of fear and anger but finally settling on acceptance.
Was she mad at me? Did I mis-understand what had happened? Read too much into what she was projecting? Difficult to say without talking to her. Should I call?
No. If she wanted to move what ever was happening forward, it would have to be at her pace.
Monday came, and though I promised to let it go as a passing fancy, I could not stop thinking about her, her toes, and what this might all mean.
Now to clarify, I have no particular affinity for feet themselves. While clean, dainty and well kept feet are a delight, I have no interest in anything less than, well, the feet of a Princess.
And that she has in spades.
I do, however, appreciate the status of serving at the feet of a Princess, and the role of both parties.
As you can see, my acceptance is but fleeting.
But I bargain with myself that I can continue to fantasies about this, but if I don’t hear from her by the end of tomorrow, it will end there.