Four Seasons - Engilsh

*Author’s comment: „Kids, please stop, go and ask Daddy before reading any further. Thanks”*

He was standing by the window of the presidental suite of the Four Seasons Hotel, watching the city. It was already late evening and he sometimes enjoyed watching the bustle – but of course only behind from the safety of the window. The lights, the bright siluettes of hotels and casinos: Wynn, Mirage, Bellagio, Hilton, Strathosphere, Paris, Excalibour. He was looking for some suitable music to represent the atmosphere of the night: Ray of Light, Livin’ la vida loca, avoiding his own at any cost. Vegas. Here the night is the day. The only light in his room was the laptop glowing on his bed, and of course the flashing lights streaming in from the outside. Anyone stepping in now, would only see a dark figure standing; but who on earth would dare to disturb him at this time anyway? His name usually does the trick. Powerful name, opens most doors. A request he whispers regarded as an order. Butlers behold his name and money, but who would try and peak behind his dark glasses? Who would ever want to hear his thoughts?
He turned to the window again. A taxi pulled up to the front of the hotel accross the street. A couple left the car, or better to say the slightly drunk girl almost fell out of the white limo. Their purpose of the night was evident. They had not clue of being watched. Knowing who kept an eye of them would have surely surprise them even further. She was a fine chick. Her clothes – that handkerchief sized glittering stuff – did not hide much of her stunning figure, in fact it put more on display than left to the imagination of a man.

The man in the room turned aback. He thought of other metropolises. Same lights. Same scenes. Loud, hip music, hip clubs, coctails of various colours and ingredients all over the place. And of course girls, willing girls. The face of these chicks blurred in his memories. Most of them also became of his lovers. Lover? He grinned. 'Every night stance is like takin' a chance/ It's not about love and romance' Was a bit of a logistics task but had to be done out of neccessity. He was just a man, and like this sometimes his blood did take over his mind. Did not regret it, the girls knew what the game was. 'Every hot man is out takin' a chance/ It's not about love and romance' Always devoted all his attention to his casual lovers, every move of his skinny but strong body focused on pleasure. He gave all he could, only one rule remained: 'Keep it in the closet'. A rule which was more than highly recommended to adhere to. Yes, he did have a dark, or to be precise a slightly darker side, to his public image, of which he did not intend to inform his audience.

It was no love, no romance, but nights like these helped to destress. He is alone now, could only rely on the mags on the bed. He was lonely all his life; in noisy and vibrating recording studios, trapped in hotels when thousands were shouting and screaming his name outside, in the tight circle of bodyguards and also when performing in front of ten thousands jammed inside of a stadium. He was surrounded by a faceless crowd all the time, but was there anyone out there who was not interested in the singer, but in the human being? Not even his causual lovers, for them he was just a man. Better this way. He would usually wait for the last minute to reveal his identity, only in the room, when it had be done. Some of the even most calm-headed girls were still shocked in these moments. Of course most of them easily relaxed, thanks to his easygoing persona or the music, or if none of these worked than thanks to the iced high-quality champagne.
He walked up and down in room pacing to the rhythm of the music. He could never be still. Took a nip from the wine. Good, as he requested: Shiraz, year 2003,Bob Mondavi from the Napa Valley. The bouquet of the wine strengthened his senses. He remembered an other night, years ago. He was in club watching a bronzeskinned young lady. She noticed him watching and walked over to him like a predator. 'The way she moved/ Her hair, her face, her lines'. A flirt like this is of high risk. 'But I loved it/ 'Cause it's dangerous'

Took an other glass. An other city, an other girl, an other hotel. She was also overwhelmingly beautiful. 'And her mouth was/ Smoother than oil' He wanted her like a mad man. 'Give in to me woman' Playful game of fighting wills and muscles. 'Quench my desire' As it were a dance. Senses, movements, rhythm. 'Kiss and touch, nothing much' Desire, Touch, Fire. 'Takin' me higher' Both wanted the same. 'She's just a lover' and no one of them wanted to give in 'Just simply do the/ Thing I say' A fight. 'Give it when I want it' Finally she lost her self-control. She completely gave in to him, giving him what he loathed the most. She whispered his name: Michael. It gave him final push towards exctasy. His words were lost in his moarn. There are moments in life when you can no longer be anything but purely honest. 'Dare me'

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