These are real stories. Changed names, yes. And the dialog is how I remember it, but probably isn't dead on, even in a story like this one that didn't happen that long ago. But it's otherwise what happened. Regular readers know this. New ones... now you do too. We had landed in San Antonio.
It had been a longish day of flights - from Richmond to Atlanta, then from Atlanta to San Antonio. I was tired, but I knew we were having dinner with one of Paul's clients, so I only had an hour or so to freshen up.
To my surprise we had a beautiful and large suite overlooking the River Walk. "Courtesy of my client." Paul said. "When he heard you were coming, he pulled out all the stops. Even dinner tonight. He almost never socializes."
"Paul?" I asked. "Is he one of them?" . Paul knew exactly what I meant. He may had had a client here that we were going to meet for dinner.
But that is not what we were here for. Paul somehow had managed to pull together something that I still didn't understand how he was going to make happen. Tomorrow night, I was going to have sex with as many men as I could take.
Up to now, I had never asked how Paul managed to pull off some of the things he had done. I had never asked him where he had found the extra men, or in once case, woman, who I had been shared with. It was like a genie granting wishes sometimes. Part of me was dying to know. Some of me was afraid to find out. So I had never asked.
Paul never skipped a beat. "Yes and no. He's helping me make it happen. The men who will share your body tomorrow night all work for him. He helped me arrange it.".
"How....?"
"I'll let Barron tell you. He likes to talk. It's his charm and his downfall." And with that, he refused to tell me more.
An hour and a half later we were at Barron's house. It was huge and freakishly opulent - an Italian villa style house on the outskirts of the city, with a large courtyard in the center. Barron met us before we rang the doorbell.
Barron was clearly Greek. A few years younger than Paul, I'd say. Late forties. Tall and barrel chested. Curly black hair with large patches of gray. A wide smile.
"Ah, Paul. Finally I meet the woman who has stolen your heart. Welcome dear Charlotte. Welcome!" He ushered us into the courtyard, which was decorated with small lanterns, and a table in the center set for four.
Standing at the table was an amazing woman. Maybe thirty. Maybe. She looked like a movie star. Very Marilyn Monroeish, all the way to the blonde hair tied up with wisps falling out, and bright red lips. She was dressed in a simple white shift dress, and white heels. When I say she was perfect, I am not kidding. She was perfection.
"Charlotte, this is my wife, Patricia."
I couldn't help myself. I just blurted it out. "Oh my God. You're beautiful."
Patricia smiled. A sweet little smile that showed off her perfect white teeth. "Thank you."
Barron ushered us into a dining room that looked like something out of the middle ages. Ancient looking paneling. A huge fireplace (which was burning - while he still had the AC on in the house!), and a long dining room table that would have sat twenty with ease. But only four places were set.
He had servants! Who has servants these days? But he had at least two who brought course after course and kept the wine flowing.
Dinner was a delight. When we were done, we moved to a group of couches and chairs around the fireplace. "Barron," I said. "That was amazing. I felt like royalty."
Barron's smile widened as he sat down. He patted his lap and Patricia walked over and sat on hit. "Thank you." he said. "I do live like a king. And it's all your Paul's fault. He taught me a very powerful and very painful lesson many years ago. Without a doubt, he saved me from myself."
You KNOW I had to hear that story. Barron looked at Paul as if asking for permission and Paul gave a small nod. He had a tiny smile on his lips.
And Barron began.... "Ten years ago or so. I was fresh from Greece. I began my business. I took chances. I did well. Sometimes, I did less well. But I was slowly getting rich. Not this kind of rich." He waved his hands around the room, but compared to what I came here with, I was doing well. I had just married Patricia. She was twenty five at the time. Fiery and beautiful like she is now." He patted her thigh.
"But," he said. "I wanted more. I heard about this Paul who had helped a colleague of mine and I hired him to look over my business and give me advice.
"So your Paul comes. He spends three weeks here. He talks to me. He talks to people who work for me. He asks questions. He listens better than any man I know, your Paul. I found myself night after night telling him stories. At the end of three weeks are in this very room and says to me that he does not think he can help me. Three weeks I had paid him and your Paul does not come cheap and he tells me he can do nothing! And why? Why? Because he says I take too many chances!"
"I am not a happy man. I got to where I was taking chances. I tell him." And he says...." Barron stopped talking and held out his hand to Paul, as if giving him a cue.
Paul smiles. "And you have won your gambles. But if you keep it up, luck will fail you."
Barron nods. "We argue half the night, Paul and I.
