Art of the Feel

Just relax now, let it happen. You deserve a touch of class.

Fate brought you, like so many others. Into the hands of a connoisseur.

These little hands, the ones stroking you now, have traveled places you can’t imagine, in Europe and Asia and Latin America, over the supple young bodies of beauties with velvet skin and timorous smiles. Ah, the pleasures. You really can’t imagine.

These hands have crowned Miss Universe, not once but many times. These little hands. So you should feel honored. Part of a sacred tradition. A ritual of … oh, that’s nice. You like that? I do. That’s what matters. You’re with an expert now. I love women. Their infinite variety, the blondes with delicate swan-like necks, the brunettes with a stray wisps of hair brushing their ivory shoulders.

Queens, all of them, sexual royalty. If I can make Miss Universe, what does that make me? I own the entire pageant. Own it. Own them. They flock to me willingly, year after year, crop after crop of gorgeous young women. Am I good enough? Pretty enough? Will you take me?

Eighteen and up. Only. They have to be eighteen to keep it legal, you know. I would never… I have to wait. My lawyers are clear on that. That’s what lawyers are for. They know what they know. But frankly, those Miss Teenage America contestants are unbelievable. I suffer. It hurts to look at some of them. Real pain. But I can only look. I mean, I’m a public figure. Fucking famous.

Ah, oh, um, you are, if I may say so, quite the beauty. It would be a pleasure to meet you later in a less public place. Up in my room, say. Wouldn’t take all that long. Get those clothes off and… How old did you say you were? I can’t go beyond thirty-five. The best tens of all don’t stay tens past thirty-five. Their ratings drop. Like gravity. Because of gravity. That’s just the way it is. That’s why we need to take advantage while we can, no?

Melania? Don’t worry about her. She’s at home, in my golden bed, in my golden tower. Waiting for me. My treasure. My fallback. My princess. Te whole world knows how gorgeous she is. Did you see those naked pictures of her? They made me proud. Proud to show the world my hot wife. All mine. Anytime. Eat your heart out, guys.

Jesus, you’ve got a lot of clothes on. Can’t you…? What do you mean, you gotta get going? Where the hell would you go? You’re not going to do any better than right here, right now. Here, take this key. I’ll give you a head start. See you upstairs in ten minutes.

I’m just going to say hello to my daughter. She’s got an old school friend with her, who just got divorced. Beautiful girl. I love grieving women. They’re so vulnerable. Their tears are sexy. Makes me want to treat them rough. You know, give them something to cry about for real. It’s doing them a favor, really. Taking their minds off their troubles. I could be a therapist. No kidding.                         #

James McEnteer’s most recent book is Acting Like It Matters: John Malpede and the Los Angeles Poverty DepartmentHe lives in Quito, Ecuador.

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