New fiction: Kinky To Boot by Sarah Gray

You go to New York, you take in a show. Kinky Boots – we’re two girls on the town tempted to see just how 'kinky' these boots are.

As I cling to the ornate ironwork of the beautiful staircase, Kinky Boots appears painfully ill-fitting. New York's oldest theatre is exquisite, but ‘sans ascenseur’. At the final moment my waif of a sister grabs hold of my flailing arm and yanks hard, only just stopping me plummeting downwards to my demise. We battle to hold our precarious position and watch my stick bounce, somersaulting to the ground narrowly missing innocent theatregoers. Eyes are on us. Sweat loosens my grip. Then, to my absolute surprise, from behind a man shoves his arm between my legs – this is a new experience – hoist by my own vagina.

And New York is delightful with its door attendants and taxi drivers fawning over me to make my bucket list trip perfect.

"You girls sure are pretty – have a nice day!"

Until the theatre stairs.

Standing at the bottom, I look up. Everest would be less intimidating. But hell yeah, I can do this…

Slowly does it, using handrail and stick I incrementally ascend, stair by stair.

Gasping all three, our tongues hanging out like a Golden-Retriever’s, we finally collapse at the summit, applauded by a gaggle of flushed face ushers. Mr 'Me Too' wrenches me up by the arms, placing me upright on solid ground. I wobble, Mr MT's hand shoots out –a universal sharp intake of breath. Two attendant ushers sweep in and escort us to plush blue velvet seats, centre row. Exceeding our meagre budget.

Oh! But what a performance! What a show! Although being part of the ensemble wasn't quite the 'kinky' experience I had expected, to boot.