The Devil Wore Prada
I saw the devil the other night. There he was in a smoked filled, dim lit room. There were many people there, but there was a wicked energy about him that caught my attention. His gazing eyes mesmerized me, his stance and body sway confused me. But what drew my attention most were the red high heel Prada shoes he wore.
He expressed a somewhat sensual untrusting seemingly frightful smirk as he made his way across the room towards me. I began to sweat as the signs of fear crept up my spine. He very casually withdrew a cigarrette from his purse and asked with a deep convulsive voice if I could offer him a light. Sorry, I said, I do not smoke. The devil once more offered me his wicked smile while the gaze of his eyes burned my soul. He then turned on his heels like a ballerina making sure I noticed the tight jeans he was wearing.
So yes, I will confess that I was not cool enough to confront the devil. So, fortunately for me, he went after a more submissive prey. The devil wore Prada the other night and he made his presence known. I on the other hand, despite my insecurities, saved my soul and lived another day, to tell the tale of the gay devil and the straight man.