Suddenly, I was in a position of power and not so tired. We were both in our fifties and married for over thirty years. Dana was five-foot-one-inch with 38 C breasts with a nice ass. So, I said that I would drive if she went "commando camouflage". She asked what that was and I replied, "No underwear and completely shaved."Dana was not happy but she had only two choices - drive herself or give in to my terms of surrender. She said, "Okay, you win. Go get clean up and I'll take care of everything else."As I was showering, I came up with another slant on the casino drive. I got out the convertible, put the top down and got Dana a sun hat. She appeared wearing a red button-down blouse with black denim shorts. As I assisted her into the convertible, I checked to see if she kept her part of the deal. She did and seductively unbuttoned another button on her blouse to expose more cleavage. We drove to the farthest casino and had a great time. We won some money and had a lovely dinner plus. That night, I took up my ritual once again, the image of her eyes etched in my memory, her unvoiced sentiments echoing in my head; Would you have burned a city for me? That night I dreamt of Paris in flames the color of her cascading tresses o-O-o A week later I found myself in San Tropez on business, soaking in the sun and the sight of white sails standing out against blue skies and bluer waters; sigils of the truly privileged, unobtainable in their floating mansions. I knew, if I’d bothered to spy upon them, I’d be able to catch glimpses of the new royalty, those whose crowns were bought and sold on Wall Street, mercenary mistresses hanging on their every word, cocktail in hand, store bought breasts spilling out of designer swimsuits. Yes, I had become cynical, but with good reason. After all, I was one of the sharks gliding in their wake, feeding on their extravagant chum. Suddenly sickened, I turned my attention elsewhere, my eyes widening in surprise as familiar sight strolled.
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