Indeed, she felt pampered. Hot, too!"There. Now you'll be sweet smelling for dinner," he said leaning forward until his nose brushed her wet pubic pat...h. He inhaled. "Nice, but I prefer the perfume of your arousal. Sit down. Stretch out and relax. Finish your martini. Darla will return in a minute with a surprise."He leaned forward and placed his mouth on hers. The kiss was soft and sweet, very romantic, and he wouldn't allow her to make it passionate. "Later," he said. "Welcome home, Mom."He. He watched his fingers as this time they glided over my shiny shins, over my knees, and curved inwards to my inner thighs. I responded by parting my legs slightly. Rubbing a finger over my pussy lips, dipping it in when he was central, he felt my wetness, and groaned when he discovered just how wet I was, my legs weakened under his touch. Slowly he kissed my inner thighs, breathing in my scent. He used the tip of his tongue and tasted me. “Mm” he said, “You taste, delicious”. Then his mouth,. " "Can you tell me where?" I asked."Not yet," he said. "But it will be collocated with the third longest escalator in the world," he smirked.Hmmm. Well, I would just have to wait.Months went by. Vlad had seemingly disappeared. And then I got an invite to Vlad's next opening. But it was in D.C.! He had scribbled a personal message on the invite—"You gotta come to the opening—it's really deep shit, this time." Apparently the National Endowment for the Arts was providing the funding.I looked on. It's creepy, this, *deciding* to die. Because that's what I'vedone, in effect. But you know, our culture has a tendency to valuequantity over quality. Not how good, but how much. But I'm the other way:not how much, but how good. And when you apply that to life itself, in mysituation, there's only one conclusion you can reach. Sir Peter Medawarwould have had a fit. He was one of those who think that as long as you'realive, in no matter how wretched a state, that's enough. Sir Peter is.