Chapter VIII
Too short?

I let Breta get in to my apartment first. That was not a pure politeness though: I wanted to see her walking through the door. My expectations were fulfilled fully: she bent not only her neck, but her knees too. Still, the motion looked incomparably graceful.

'Wow, marvellous hideout!' Again, she was smiling down at me. I just couldn't get used to the way she did - the smile was cool and very uncommon due to Breta's immense height. 'Let's see what kind of music you've got here.'

'In fact, I don't have any. Let's try radio,' suggested I.

In a couple of minutes, we felt a hint of disappointment: all stations transmitted Japanese news and music that probably would be nice to listen to in Kabuki theatre, but couldn't be considered a good accompaniment for a dance - at lest by us.

'Bad luck,' I tried to encourage her not to leave. 'Would you like a cocktail instead?'

'No, thanks. I've got a better idea. Lisa always takes a walkman with her, and she likes romantic ballads. Just wait here and I'll be right back with couple of her disks, all right?'

She was already holding the door-handle and ready to stoop down. How gorgeous she was with her legs covering almost two-third of the door height!

'Wait a minute,' I didn't have time to finish my though, but my mouth did. 'Remember, you said that I must see you in high heels?'

'Well, you saw two hours ago. Did you like what you saw by the way?'

'Yes, you were stunning in that dress, but I didn't see your footwear because of it and couldn't judge your tallness: you were too far away on podium.'

'So, then you got to believe me: I was really really tall!' she laughed and started opening the door.

'Breta!'

'What?'

'Could you please fetch the shoes? I'd like to see you in heels.'

She closed the door, took two steps forward and stopped just inches away from me. Again I couldn't see her face however hard I tried. Suddenly she put her arms on my shoulders, bent way down to look me in the eyes and asked, 'Do you have a full sized mirror here?'

Standing next to a glass - that was exactly what I was about to ask but didn't dare to.

'Yes,' I opened the wardrobe that stretched all the way from floor to ceiling. On the inner side of the door was a nice huge high quality mirror. Breta stood erect and pulled me closer.

'Look,' she pointed at the reflection, 'your head is already at my waist level. Am I too short for you in flats?'

It took several seconds for me to persuade my mind to concentrate on her question rather than on a stunning view of this incredible height comparison. Was I dreaming again? What I saw was even more amazing than what I fancied several hours earlier! Breta was taller than I could imagine, and she was there, in flesh, in flats!

'Well, I must admit, you don't look too short from this perspective,' I tried to convert the issue into a joke - not very successfully. 'I just would like to see you from perspective of an average Japanese guy.'

Her look in the mirror became foxy. 'Either you're seriously sick which is bad or really in love with tall women which is not so bad,' she exclaimed. 'Or both,' she added and left the room.

Just before she did, I decided to mark a level on the doorframe were here shoulder would be on. It turned out easier to do than I thought: Breta's shoulders were even with crossbar.

When door-lock clicked, I rushed to the door and raised my hand. I could reach the crossbar, but it still was so high above my head! I moved a chair and climbed on it. Now I could touch crossbar with the top of my head, but only after rising on tiptoes.

I couldn't believe that: standing on a chair plus on tiptoes, an average Caucasian man could only level his height with shoulders of a young girl! It just can't be true!! But I it was, and I knew it, and this taller than life blonde was going to come back pretty soon, so I put the chair back and hurried to restroom.

'Hello J, are you in?' that sweet voice with familiar charming accent woke me up to reality.

'Yes Breta, moment!' I stepped out of the bathroom and...

And that was it.

I was killed. I couldn't move anymore. Neither could I speak.

Two or three feet away with their back toward me were they.

Legs.

They couldn't be described, they couldn't be touched, they could only be adored.

And I was just standing there what seemed to be hours and simply adored.

Theirs owner definitely knew how to outline their length - as if their length needed to be outlined. Breta changed; now instead of a knee-long navy skirt she was wearing tight black breeches stretched to their limits to accommodate these two unimaginably well-shaped, endlessly high poles of femininity. They were so breathtakingly sexy! With those 8-inch spikes on, Breta's knees were not lower than my crotch, and her beautifully rounded arse was seemingly higher than my shoulders!

'Breta, how tall are your legs?' the question rose itself, without my assistance.

She turned around and saw me leaning against a wall.

'J, are you all right?'

'Yeah Breta, I'm fine, but just how long are these lovely legs of yours?'

'Well, my inseam is 121 centimetres plus shoes... I think it's about 4 feet and 7 inches now.'

Less than a foot shorter than the whole me!

'My... May I touch them?' again, it was not me who asked, it was somebody inside of me.

'Of course,' she laughed, 'but not earlier than we start dancing. Look, I've got a CD here full of nice sweet tunes!'

'Do you really think we will manage to dance with your legs almost as tall as I am?' I began to regain my personality.

'Well, I see you like them, so why not to try and dance with them? They will be pleased to,' she was enjoying the impact her new look had on me. 'Besides, you promised to be a gentleman, and gentlemen always do what ladies want. And I want to dance!' Breta inserted a CD into hi-fi, decisively took my right hand and tried to put it on her hip once more. She failed: it was way too high for me to keep the position.

I lowered my hand a little; she didn't seem to mind. I moved it even lower; she didn't say a word. Finally, when my right hand was hugging her left thigh as my left hand rested an inch above her left knee, I heard she giggled and asked, 'Okay, are you comfortable at last?'

'You bet.' It was true. I felt more than comfortable slowly dancing with a partner beyond my wildest dream. Her fingers tenderly caressed my left cheek, as she couldn't reach any lower to put her hand on my shoulder. And her left hand was flying high above me drawing curves of pleasure.

Occasionally I saw Breta's face in the mirror; she looked happy too.

'Do you like it?' I just wanted to hear that from her.

'Sure I do,' her blue eyes sparkled. 'It would be better however if ceiling was a little bit higher - I'm afraid to crush to one of these lamps.'

I glanced up. No way! Ceiling was about 10 feet high! Though, must admit, Breta's head seemed to be levelled with those crystal chandeliers. What a girl! Poor girl... Suddenly I realized how difficult it must have been for her to use public transport, fly on planes or even party in English pubs many of which has really low ceilings and especially staircases - low even for me!