Todger65 keeps my comma situation under control and does his best to edit my scribblings. I cannot thank him enough.
Charitable Donations
A devastated couple, a philanthropist, and some creative fund raising
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Andria Brenkenridge, billionaire entrepreneur and well known contributor to charity, was loved throughout the country. She was what rich people were supposed to be, aware of those in need, and using her vast resources to help them. Andria was a beacon of goodness and light. Every public move she made was documented by someone. She had to spend large sums of money protecting her limited privacy.
Her privacy was sacrosanct because It had to be. Andria was a single, beautiful, and very sexy woman. She would occasionally show up at some gala with the latest Hollywood hunk, preferably one that understood the charity she was representing, and let the paparazzi have their fun. The tabloids would have a field day for a while and when her current hunk couldn't hold their interest, she'd trade him in for a new model. She never once so much as kissed one of them.
Andria was not frigid, or sexually disabled in some way. She was, if anything, hypersexual. She got her kicks in a different way. She combined her two most favorite things, charity, and sex, and used them to find fulfillment. She had a great time, and everyone involved was the better for it. If her unusual method of satisfaction were to ever be made public, she'd never be able to use it again. Her crack security team did their best to ensure that she never had to face the possibility. They were very loyal and had good reason to remain that way.
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Arthur (Art) Tever and his wife Morgan ate dinner at their tiny apartment table in silence. The weight of their grief ever present. It wasn't unusual for them to act that way. They rarely spoke to each other, but they minds were going a hundred miles an hour, in the wrong direction. The funny thing about it was that both were thinking the same things.
Both felt that life was no longer tolerable. The only thing stopping suicide was their mutual concern for their spouse. Arthur and Morgan wanted the pain to stop, but at the same time, didn't want to cause more pain for their widow, or widower, as the case may be.
They had been a happy family. Both had good jobs and were considered attractive. They loved each other deeply and expressed their love with joyful abandon. Their two-year-old daughter, Tracy was their joy and would be their only child. Morgan nearly died giving birth and her tubes were tied before she left the hospital.
They got the diagnosis when Tracy was one month past her second birthday. Their baby girl, their light, had terminal cancer. They put up the good fight. Anything that could possibly change their darling's fate was tried. After a nearly twelve month battle they lost her, and the couple withdrew from the world and each other.
It was bad enough to lose their child, but there was also insult to this injury. Art's insurance covered the family and it did what it was supposed to do, until the annual spend limit was reached. When the dust settled, the debt the couple owed for losing their child was nearly half a million dollars. Art's insurance had cut and run at a hundred thousand.
During the year leading up to their baby's death they had to sell their house, their cars, their jewelry, and anything else of value. During the last three months of the battle, Art and Morgan rented a one room efficiency apartment close to the hospital. It was a dump waiting to be condemned. Art's three-month absence from work had cost him his job since he'd long ago ran out of family leave time. Morgan had quit hers as soon as Tracy was diagnosed. They found work as janitors at the hospital and managed to survive. After sating the debt collectors with what little they could, they barely had money for rent and food.
They were the last of their respective lines. Neither Art nor Morgan had a single living relative. Their attempt to leave a legacy was foiled by cancer. All they had were each other.
Now, two years after Tracy's death, they sat in silence. Both thinking about their daughter, both wondering if the pain would ever go away, and both wondering if they could take another day. The couple hadn't made love since the morning of the day they found out about their baby's cancer. Their lives were at rock bottom and there was no relief in sight. It's nearly impossible to put a smile on your face and have a positive outlook when you're lying at the bottom of a well.
An authoritative knock on the door startled Art and Morgan out of their misery. The knock came again as Art stood and walked the five steps it took to reach the door. When he opened the door, he was treated to a strange sight. Two looming bruisers dressed in very expensive suits bracketed a... Tent?
The bruisers and the tent moved into the tiny apartment. Art had to move or be run over. The door was pulled shut from the outside and Art tried to make sense of what he was seeing. He realized that the tent was actually a well-crafted camouflage. It looked somewhat like a hijab worn by Afghani women on the television news, only more shapeless. It completely hid what was possibly a human being. Just as he finished his thought, a seam down the front began to open. One of the bruisers helped what was now revealed to be a woman climb out of the contraption.
The woman smiled big, "Sorry about all that. I didn't mean to be rude, it's just that I have to protect my identity. You'll know why shortly.
"Do you know who I am?"
Arthur and Morgan were both standing with their mouths gaping open. Morgan was the first to find her voice, "You look like Andria Brackenridge."
Andria smiled, "I not only look like her, but I am also her, and I'm here to make you an offer."
Art and Morgan waited for the other shoe to drop. Both thought that this would be the final straw that broke the camel's back. Whatever this ultra-rich woman wanted, they were both sure it wouldn't be in their best interest. The couple looked like they were bracing for a blow.
Andria's smile became gentle, "I am not here to hurt you. I found out about you from a friend of a friend, and I want to reach an agreement with you that will be mutually beneficial.
"In a nutshell, I will pay off your debt and ensure that you get the grief counseling you need from the best there is. In return, you will provide certain sexual services for me. You will not be harmed in any way, and you won't be asked to do any of the nasty kinky stuff. I don't care for it.
