Meanwhile Robert was dying of monotony at his pool, watching the lesbian fun of his girlfriend, who was busy teasing him with all the parts of her body, beckoning him to come back, while licking some brunette on a chaise longue. This is the height of every man’s dreams, Robert thought. The ability to have any number of women, as well as alcohol, money, drugs and sex in any quantity. He had been burdened by previous serious relationships precisely because they had required that he be monogamous. Here, in view of the bisexuality, or more precisely, lesbianism, of his girlfriend, who pretended to be bisexual to continue staying with “one of the twelve Olympians” out of love, there were no scenes of jealousy. On the contrary, Emma actively invited him to participate in their lesbian orgies, bringing her own girlfriends that allowed themselves to be used, so Robert got everything he wanted. The only condition in his relationship with Emma was that he could not start a relationship with a woman whom she did not approve beforehand, and he could only have sex with another woman if she participated as well. Considering the number of new girlfriends Emma always brought around and replaced, this condition was quite acceptable. He had long stopped thinking about love. After all, what is love? A lump in the soul and on the throat, effusing a sweet bliss over the body or a stream of sperm to the right and to the left. Over the years, Robert had stopped thinking in terms of the soul and the heart, or had tried not to think about them. If a woman was a good mistress, and even allowed him to be freaky with her girlfriends, this was already more than enough. In any case, there was no one to fill his brain with unnecessary jealousy-driven accusations. No one to incessantly check his phone and Skype, and the only times Emma did so was so that she could give an expert male opinion on how attractive a female was. This way, as an active lesbian, she would take out her verdict on whether they were taking the female to bed or not. In his mind, Robert found this to be satisfying. He often surfed online dating sites, and those where for $5 a minute, a girl could come before him, undress and do everything he wanted, women from all over the world. Black, white, German, English, French. For the greenback, all of them were ready to jump on every command, and Robert enjoyed being the slave owner of these dolls, cheap online-order girls that he seduced, corrupted, watched and evaluated with his experienced gaze of a connoisseur of beauty, and then, just as ruthlessly, discarded. He did not need to introduce himself to these girls or open up to them. They had no idea who he was. And this also brought him a kind of pleasure, making him feel like a mere mortal, like some unknown John or Peter, who, after work, can afford to spend a couple of dollars to see a beautiful woman’s body, indulge in it at a distance, and fall asleep until the next working day. It was curious to see himself as a simple consumer of virtual fun, and to cease being the idol for millions of people for a while. But, apparently, he also wanted more. When he started courting Emma, it was obvious that she was indifferent to him. He had to use all the arguments, from those involving material things to the more professional ones, so that this lesbian agreed to be with him on her own terms. She did not love him. This was as much her strength and power over him at the same time as it was her powerlessness. Strength and weakness. Robert wanted real, tangible feelings … He remembered how sweet this sense of reciprocity could be achieved not only in sex, but love, the fragrance of this flower, which two people breathe and cannot inhale. He was the only one breathing here, and because of this, he and this flower were suffocating. You would want to bury your head in someone’s hair, feel their fragrance, put your hand on a woman’s chest and feel her heart beating. And although he could afford all this with Emma, he felt only a passionate indifference towards her. Why passionate? Because she had passionately fallen in love with his money, his status and his capabilities. Because she used all this to its fullest, to light up in front of the cameras, to show off in all her glory. Because she teased him, in a bid to maintain the interest of the satiated god, coming up with more and more perversions. She did not care that he loved her. She understood that she only had this chance once in her life, and putting a lid on her open interest in women, she hugged him, kissed him and fulfilled all his whims. She was especially affectionate with him in public. This is why Robert was very fond of these public outings. When the floodlights faded, he realized that he was alone with his unshared feeling, which no longer was the sparkling glass of champagne that was in the beginning. He could not understand why, being adored by millions of women, he was so indifferent to this lesbian, and the bitterness of this discovery rolled up a lump at his throat.
Emma’s plan was simple. She wanted to marry this unfortunate Robert, turn him into an incapable alcoholic and take custody of him. Of course, it would be great if he got that way on his own, but Robert had quit so many times, that it was now not difficult to turn him to booze and drugs again. She was not often home. When she did come, she would start her dramas, which alternated with loving caresses, orgies, bouts, then the cycle would repeat again from the beginning. Robert had ceased to understand where he was and what was happening to him, why Emma was always beside herself, why sometime she would be scolding him and accusing him, then immediately would start making love to him. Afterwards, to unload his brain somehow, he would immerse himself in alcohol, skype and parties with old friends, that, as usual, ended up by drinking and doing drugs. After two years with Emma, the former sex symbol began to turn into a flabby aging alcoholic. No, he still had the spark and talent that women liked. But what kind of women? The very ones with whom he had maintained contact almost ignored him. They had fun together. These girls occasionally offered to do him favors, including him in their orgies. Girls from the online sex sites did not know who he was. Of course, they were always fascinated with the way he talked with them, but in that world, making money was the most important thing. Besides, workers in the sex industry were not very educated, and he was very little interested in them as human beings. He called thus them dolls. He would proceed to quench his appetite with them and afterwards, continued on his quest. Next were the dating sites. There was a couple of times that he told some girls who he was, but after that, he had such an onslaught of their calls, messages and exclamations that decided to quickly do away with these acquaintances. He simply deleted them and blocked them. He had only remained with this Russian, a mysterious creature, a fearless and passionate intelligent woman. What kind of a life does this woman lead? She seems to know everything. She had turned his brain and soul inside out, revealing his somewhat wretched existence, then discarded him away. She is beautiful, but not doll beauty. Something else totally different. A mixture of Cleopatra and Frida Kahlo, the fruit of the same-sex love of times and continents. Yes, reality is relative. Robert took the last sip of his expensive whiskey and went to watch the sunset. The sun always grows old beautifully and sets beautifully. So as to be born anew the next day.
While this was happening, a middle-aged French aristocrat was drinking vodka in his chic apartment on the Champs-Élysées. He had begun his binge at a certain Russian restaurant, where he often drunk, and then passed by a convenience store, bought more vodka, and continued home. He had grown accustomed to this kind of life. From the moment he had sold his shares in a large corporation and started living on interest, his life had increasingly turned into a black hole, an abyss that kept swallowing him more and more every day. On average, his life could be described as successful. His family was more than taken care of. It was a high class, well-known respected family. His wife was always either working, travelling on business or taking the children on vacation. As a result, Edward had more than enough time to himself. And he found his own entertainment. First, he went round all the doctors, who diagnosed him with the fashionable sickness of depression and prescribed him a bunch of medicines, advising him to visit them once or twice a week for constant checkups to avoid any worsening of the situation. However, he was not an altogether