He sits in the corner of his shangri-la in his worn leather chair, claiming its better for his back than the spot on the sofa next to his wife. Pipe and fizzy coke to his left, tablet in lap, phone in hand; and multiple chats and emails with various women from one end of the country to the next and a few in-between that are within reach, crisscrossing over a vast and virtual world.
He is everything that each of them need and want him to be; and while he becomes their own personal situation, savior, healer, dream weaver and incubus, in truth, he is no one at all; just a lazy, fat, pathetic womanizing pig, insecure in every conceivable way, stroking his ego and feeling like a man as he manipulates the puppet strings that take them to the point of professing undying love, praise his beauty, his intelligence and beg for another shot of his big fat cock that he promises to bury inside them to the hilt; and eagerly does so with any of them he can get his hands on.
He looks at himself in the mirror every day and instead of seeing his true self, he points the camera, pulls a pout and shoots off a good morning kiss to his harem, betting with himself which one responds first. He manipulates and lies with such ease and grace, obviously a trait mastered at a very young age. He’s filled his head with so much fantasy, for so long, that he actually starts believing the bullshit lies he spews. And insofar as keeping them all straight; he simply uses the same lines over and over, with slight variation depending on the essence of the woman he’s playing at the moment; the dark side, the light side and even the insignificant dull grey, because she’s two cubicles away and eager to suck him off.
Quite simply, he is a self-absorbed emotional vampire; whose energy field was weakened in childhood, and so to compensate for this loss he mastered the ability to drain and feed off the vitality of others; unconsciously as a child perhaps, but finely honed and crafted over the years, and abused most fervently the older he becomes.
For the keepers, he showers with gifts and listens while they ooh and ahh across the miles; thanking him profusely for his generosity and sensitivity in knowing just exactly what suits them and makes them happy, falling evermore deeper in love with this King, would make them his Princess while keeping them well hidden from the Queen; then he buries the receipts in a cubicle drawer and pays the bills in secret, each and every month.
This vampire does more than drain physical and emotional energy; he winds his wretched self into the crevices of your soul, as he clutches your heart then suckles like a pig on a teet, until he has drained you of everything he can extract, leaving you lifeless and gasping for breath while he points his attention to the next victim, until you’ve recharged and then he inevitably returns for another round of feeding.
And yet no one takes responsibility or accepts the truth of this soul sucking womanizing fuck, and so he continues, even now, as he faces the fire, securing another secret lair where he can meet and feed off some gypsy blood while walking on the dark side for a while.
Makes you wonder just how many women it will take to fall in love with him, bare their souls and stroke his ego and cock before he’ll feel like a real man. In truth, he’ll never be a real man; he’ll always be the pathetic pig sitting in the corner getting his fix at the expense of others. A pitiful waste of human space if ever there was one; a sick fucking joke that not even a mother could love…
El Supremo, Indeed!