Circe

Amóre; what is that, he wondered, before, before her, before the raw Circean glimpsed across the buzzing dance crazed rhythmic beating pulsing room. Erudite, perniciously droll his father was, he could have been, the old generation, but not him, no sir; he was master of the universe. It took a while to traverse the room, jam-packed with hot, febrile bodies in karezza writhings, bodies touching; love, or lust, on their minds and on his. "May I?" "May you what?" She taunted; neither spoke; both stared. His head bowed in obeisance, bright red shoes his focus. Power shifted, as both knew it would. Quarry now the huntress, wolf killer relishing command, his submission. Slowly, mischievously; a wink; words; "take me to your room, this moment, now undress me; like you have already." Vainglorious once; now, kin to a witless fool, he stood, helpless; she stared; x-rayed him with her cold steel-blue eyes; "you're blushing," she whispered. The words like zephyrs softly caressing his face …