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Always jackin your pathetic little dick to my pictures. . . .

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He was hesitant to knock on the stranger’s door. He didn’t know why he was here and he didn’t like being caught off guard either. All he knew was that he was summoned to meet an associate from a company he had been working with for a business meeting at a local hotel. He was starting to sweat. There was something about this that was making him very uneasy.

Approaching the door, he took a deep breath. His heart suddenly leapt into his throat, and then plunged deeply into the pit of his stomach. That scent, it was her. His mind tried to rationalize the thought. It couldn’t be. She didn’t know where he lived. His mind was playing tricks on him. She didn’t know anything about him accept what he wanted her to know, which wasn’t much and she certainly didn’t know where he worked. He’d barely spoken to her in the ten years since their affair.

He wrapped his knuckles against the hardwood door three times. It felt like an eternity before anyone answered. As the door opened, a big man behind approached him with what he knew was total disgust “You must be Jeffrey,” he snarled. “Come in and sit over there,” he pointed to the elegant chenille sofa that lined the far wall of the room. “Want something to drink?”

“Yes, Scotch if you have it.” The clanking of the ice hitting the glass was ringing in his ears like a god dam freight train and that fucking smell was starting to drive him insane.

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Even though he had to get the flat tire fixed, and the front end of my car realigned, it was worth it. In fact, I probably deserved every bit of it. During the previous, brief months of our affair I had always taken the lead, playing the role of teaser, playfully tormenting her in ways both fair and excessive, taking her to the brink of her feelings, until she would teeter, balanced between ecstasy and anguish, suspended by my touch, and beg to be let go. And, when I looked back, after it was all over, it was what I really had needed – what I had craved someplace deep inside.

I imagined that I took the lead with her because it was a role to which I had become accustomed – without even realizing it – being in charge. For years I had spent my days behind a desk, on a jet, or in meetings, running the company. Hundreds of employees around the world took orders, marched forth with the company’s mission, and strove to do better. It was my job to lead them, to set a course for our organization. Over time, as the days and months went by, I became accustomed to directing, to controlling events around me, and to shaping my world. Each morning I would rise in the early morning darkness, select a crisp white shirt, and knot a necktie under the collar with the same precision that I would slash multimillion dollar budgets, open and close factories, and make dozens of other decisions that spanned the globe.

We had met at a political fundraiser, one of several dozen such events that I was obligated to attend every year. This particular January evening the banquet room was full of well dressed people nibbling cocktail shrimp, and the candidate was making the rounds, a nearly-authentic smile on his face, an aide close behind him, scribbling notes discretely. I had paid my respects and was standing against the wall near the bar, catching my breath, watching the circus spill across the room as I sipped a scotch.

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Download Video

Digital Drugs:  Euphoria
Format:  Highly Addictive Subliminal Video
Length:  6 Minutes

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