Now, he sat there, in his easy chair, sipping his scotch. Another year older. He hated the thought. One step closer to death, and what did he have to ...how for it. Sure, his kids loved him. Everyone did. He was rich. Everyone loves rich people. When you’re rich you can do what you want. Who’s going to stop you? No one, that’s who.These thoughts turned over and over in Donald’s head. He hated feeling older, he hated having a wife that kept getting older. He hated it! He wanted someone who could. Arlene beckoned to Vox, and they slipped out, perhaps to wardrobe. Vox teased her hair into a high, full mane. Arlene wore a kilt, as close to Marcyne’s as possible. I don’t know how to describe her top, but I can best call it a leather bodysuit, dramatically cut, with lots and lots of leather straps. Her legs were bare, but she wore leather thigh-high boots.It was something of a warrior look. She had had Vox put her in heavy makeup, which, I realized, to her was war paint of a warrior.She. More

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