The business of winning
I learned to use women as a business venture. They make themselves plainly and playfully available to me. I cannot help but be aware how deeply they have fallen in love with me. The most beautiful women do some really desperate things to get my attention. Up to and including giving me lots and lots of money for virtually no reason other than to make me happy. The typical profile for one of these women is blonde, brunette or red haired. They have eyes like cats and they would typically have dancing experience. Women will cancel their plans to be in mine. Women will order food for me and love me. They call me the voodoo doctor on the sex circuit.
I assembled the right financiers and pretty soon my business was off and running. Actually it happened very quickly. I need to reiterate the speed and alacrity with which destiny worked to make my life drastically improve. It was as if someone had waved a magic wand and I was immediately and solely in possession of the cheat code to have anything you want from life.
The Sex Circuit is a hyper dating profile startup that my buddies and I have been pulling off quite nicely. I was standing on the balcony of the New York Stock Exchange just thinking to myself, like "Wow, I really did it. I really made a billion dollars off the backs of beautiful women everywhere." I had successfully monopolized sex.
Times Magazine calls us, "the first prostitution company to go public." I lie in bed beside her. An old sweet song plays from the shore below. She takes my hand. The room is tepid. She is a whirlpool of a woman. Warm and dizzying. I had taken her virginity. We find that we get into a rhythm with my knocking her up. I keep on knocking this girl up. She is one of many women in my harem, a place that I call, the Impregnorium. It is underneath the temple of love.
Destructionists
I kick and punch through the air with the grace of a dancer. I kick several people at a time and they are all dedicated to the art of destruction, yet I destroy the destructionists.
Every distructionist has a name, do not be fooled by them. They are not human. Assert yourself among them. They will follow you're every order. They are ready to obey you like Pikachu but all you have to do is lead them.
The black, grey, blue suits of business bundle about me in apparent attempt to destroy but I evade and fight, with equal precision. I am consciously locked on the target, the languid luxurious women of our office. These women present themselves to me in the most frivolous ways. They are all equally attracted by my charm and wit. They want and are destined by Samsara to fall into my lap.
I am going to repeat myself. They want and are DESTINY DETERMINED to fall precipitously into my lap. Women fall into my lap. I am always with a woman on my lap. Her position changes. She will straddle my legs and clamp her thighs on either side of my stoic presidential angle of repose. She may indeed sway her legs to and fro, wither and thither, while her hairs frolic, staticized, to my beard.
I am seen by all as a symbol of prosperity and an end of sorrow. Samsara is similar to karma except it translates from one life to the next. I have figured out how to unlock the hidden potential of samsara in order to release it into my life. I have created for myself a never ending stream of luck that I can sip from at any moment, a feedback loop of life-force that constantly replenishes. This is the key to my success. I have strategically placed myself in the way of luck and out of the way of pain. Indeed, I have erased all debt and sorrow from my being and am nearing nirvana.
Meditation
Women lounge mindlessly meditating in a great hall. The feast of saints is an annual conference that is held in my honor where everybody gets together and shares stories of my love and the glory of my conquest. The many destrictionists that I have defeated stand around fanning the ladies and serving us hors d'euvres as they share their words of support for me. The women tell stories of the orgasms I've brought them to and laugh humiliatingly at the men I've stolen them from.
As soon as I steal a guy's girl, he becomes a restrictionist and an enemy combatant. I lead them. I lead the restrictionists in battle usually by sending them to remote deserts hand having them eat sand for forty days and nights or so, until they start seeing me in their sleep and become my chief prophets. This is the only way to defeat a restrictionist besides fighting them outright, its to make sure you have their allegiance.
I am symbolic of so much more than success. I am the single focus of a singularity: A cult of beautiful women that depend of me for mind-blowing sex. They are my property and so are the men who worship them, because they will turn everything to my advantage. No rock is left unturned. I am the beneficiary to countless, measureless blessings and the more beautiful the lady, the more easily and luckily she will throw herself to me.
Beautiful women fall into my lap. Need I remind you?
I sit on the throne in the meditation hall, the teenage girl sits on my lap and I am instantly rock hard. I have sourced the powers that can be unlocked when you expose film in darkness and in the darkness it develops. Women long to be impregnated by me. The girl chatters away in my ear about her weekend and I stare into space, her hips wiggling and grinding at my thighs and my pole presses against her groin.
In the meditative space, I lead the speeches. The air is sickly and raw with the scent of burning desire and foreplay. The candles are misting the air. I hear my name moaned softly while the gondolier girl moves us along the sparkling groto, under the eaves of stalagmites, shimmering in the enervating dusk. This is an underground lair where I am able to lure women, though they themselves seem to find their way to me, as if by the natural cadence of waves bringing the massage in a bottle to the shoreline of a faraway land.
There are throw pillows and drapes about the room. She nuzzles me and pulls me down by the beard. She spreads her legs lewdly presenting herself to me. "Please," she asks breathlessly. "Give me the honor of motherhood by your perfect sperm."
The walls of the palace were interwoven with stone facades and the air was fresh with the mist of natural springs. All of our sinuses clear. Our eyes were moist and my beard showed brilliantly against my calmly breathing torsoe.