A week ago as Bernard had made no mention of any special evening, she had mentally prepared for a memorable meal at home, hopefully to be followed by a return to their former passionate loving. That evening she had laid the table carefully. The silverware polished, candles in their holders, flowers from the garden as a table centrepiece. A dozen oysters on ice in the ‘frig (his favourite starter), succulent veal strips with a little fragrant basmati rice for her to rapidly yet tenderly cook in a cream sauce as he finished his oysters and sipped his Muscadet wine. Afterwards, a crème Brûlé, Armagnac , coffee. And then, bed. Or hanging from the ceiling if he wanted her like that !! All preparations made, she showered, sparingly used her favourite L’Air du Temps talc and cologne (and just a little touch in her pubic hair – and why not – at the base of her spine too). Her mind drifted back to her first true intimacy with him, the time he had shown her that his needs were sudden and. Yet such as me sees a cold uncaring void of a universe, and feels that morality may have its place but that it is in no sense an obligation or absolute. The device brought me wealth, incredibly quickly and in amounts hard to imagine for the boy I had been before. The wealth was, as often in such cases, a ticket for me to create my imaginings in the flesh, as it were. It was a ticket to power, for one thing, and power brings such fantasies of mine a big step closer. My dreams as all others were merely a step on the endless ladder of experience. So I did not see the wealth as an ending in any way. It was, like everything, merely a step to more. With both of my mundane jobs cast aside, family paid-off for their prior use to me, and friends consigned to social networking sites I moved away from my home city and just travelled the world on whim-bought plane tickets, living in hotels in a place until I got bored. I spent the journeys planning, me and my laptop conspiring.
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