Re: All the world is a stage; adult
The gentleman thought cost paramount. Money ran lives and it ruined them. Money permitted pleasure, it provided the stage upon which to walk, the splendid applause, the blushing pleasure of the primadonna was built upon cold hard coin. Love could not purchase a roof above a head, nor constancy in all that was required to live on. Hedonism was for those so complete with what they needed and a hollow absence of satisfaction that they searched without hope of resolution or satiated themselves in the immediacy of pleasure. He didn't think Galatea a woman wrecked without love to hold her fixed upon her stage, but women lived without sure footing and loved regardless.
He did not suppose himself to be enough, he was too much the cynic to introduce the sentimental and too much of a realist to consider writing a line to that regard. Galatea could have envisioned her own Pygmalion or the man who had abandoned her to breathe alone as she would, and it would have meant nothing to he with the ransacked hair and the diamond flashing in the dark still pinioned at his throat. He sought not oblivion but the experience and he dreamed without the limit of the aftermath, for there was no intermission to expect.
Nor was he a milquetoast. He had a theater at his disposal, he was no second-night understudy, awaiting summons and the air was heavy with salt and musk instead of smoke. Two fingers pressed into the milky expanse of her thigh as he hooked one finger between the folds of her quim and rolled the bead of her clit against his thumb as the dangerous curl of his smile drew itself jagged. He was audience and director both, and he paid her demand little immediacy.
The stage chairs were meant for men in evening-wear, polite applause before the end of the night. They were not accommodatingly wide and comfortable breadth of one arm interrupted the spread of one knee. The complications of his tailoring owed much to the services, one would imagine, a valet, but the fastenings came undone at her instigation and he interrupted his addresses in hauling her most completely across his lap.
The cravat was almost entirely askew, but he remained for the most part rumpled but intact. He regarded her with the light at her back, and bared to his inspection. The spark of his pupil was wide and black now. With deliberate slowness he lifted her with an elegance of economy, and his own hips, and lowered her onto his prick. His exhale was the only sound, save for the squeak of the chairs.