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coming.
He was still gradually coming out of his ecstatic sexual excitement, lying in a
sedate state, when she brought in the food. She was wearing nothing, and he watched her
with astonishment as her plump body moved with quick agility as she set the table. She
liked beautiful things, and she always set the table with his finest silverwares, cups, and
china plates. The aroma of the cooking was refreshing, and he began to salivate.
“Father,” she said, “the table is set.”
It was his cue to bring out some wine. He was a great wine connoisseur and was in
high demand as a judge in competitions among local wineries. His wine collection was
exceptional in breadth, and always fully stocked with aged and recent bottles, because
all the local wineries supplied him with complimentary blends—sometimes to bribe him,
and sometime in admiration of his taste and talent in wine tasting.
He brought out a bottle that a friend sent to him on his last birthday. It was not a
local wine, but from an old French vineyard. He opened it and filled the glass. They were
both without clothes as they sat at the table and toasted the dinner.
“To my most beautiful, graceful and elegant Paulina,” he said, raising his glass.
“With all my love, father,” she said, “to your health.”
They drank and began to eat. She talked rapidly as they ate. She could never keep
her mouth shut, which was a sharp contrast with him. He only spoke when he needed
to speak. The only exception was when he was with her, because he always felt a
compulsion to say something.
“I was a little worried, father, when I knocked on your door and got no answer at
first,” she said. “I thought maybe you were not at home. And I so wanted to see you so
much that I felt very sad. But then I saw the light coming from your study. Could you