Tio_Narratore
Studies
- Joined
- Dec 2, 2008
- Posts
- 77,459
It was five years since Frank Cavanaugh had left the city, had left his job on the Street. It was his gift to himself for his fortieth birthday. A gift that came ten years earlier than he had expected. Twenty-five million dollars. That was his gift. He had been a trader and was good at it. Very good. He had his first million at twenty-seven, and after that the money flowed in. Speculation and investment fueled his retirement. He had enough now to retire as he wished, living the life of the -relatively - independently wealthy, though he still did some trading on his own.
A house in Tuxedo was one of his dreams, and now he had one. Twelve rooms and eight acres, and an indoor/outdoor swimming pool. The rooms? All spacious - a kitchen centered on an antique oak table, a fitness room beside the pool, a fully equipped entertainment room, a living room and a dining room, an office, and a one-and-a-half-story study on the first floor. Upstairs, an enormous master bedroom and four guest rooms, all with private baths, more than ample to host party guests as well as a single visitor.
It was close enough to the City to visit, far enough away to live with no strings attached. And visit he did, two or three times a month for his favorite pleasures. Ballet was at the top of his lest, followed closely by concerts. Art exhibitions were a draw for him as well, and the occasional opera struck his fancy. Seasons tickets to the Met and to the NYC Ballet, and their galas too. His companions? Dates, occasionally, but mostly escorts. Special escorts who’d satisfy his desires after the show. Ropes, whips, cuffs, crops, and such were part of his weekend packing. There were also longer trips, mostly for the same show and post-show entertainment in the States and in Europe.
He’d been living this life in this house for nearly two years without making any changes to it. The first floor, in particular, was perfect as it was, he felt, but the upstairs bedrooms were, while well-appointed, a bit uninteresting. He had bought new furniture for the rooms, including an imposing four-poster for the master bedroom, but all the rooms lacked character. A specific character, in fact. He decided he’d like the rooms to reflect his sexual predilections, but in a way that women would find appealing. Women who found his desires matched his, of course. So he advertised for a female interior designer, hoping to find one who would accept the challenge of his commission.
"Female Designer Wanted to Add Character to Bedrooms in Suburban Mansion" read the add in Architectural Review. He waited hopefully for a good response.
A house in Tuxedo was one of his dreams, and now he had one. Twelve rooms and eight acres, and an indoor/outdoor swimming pool. The rooms? All spacious - a kitchen centered on an antique oak table, a fitness room beside the pool, a fully equipped entertainment room, a living room and a dining room, an office, and a one-and-a-half-story study on the first floor. Upstairs, an enormous master bedroom and four guest rooms, all with private baths, more than ample to host party guests as well as a single visitor.
It was close enough to the City to visit, far enough away to live with no strings attached. And visit he did, two or three times a month for his favorite pleasures. Ballet was at the top of his lest, followed closely by concerts. Art exhibitions were a draw for him as well, and the occasional opera struck his fancy. Seasons tickets to the Met and to the NYC Ballet, and their galas too. His companions? Dates, occasionally, but mostly escorts. Special escorts who’d satisfy his desires after the show. Ropes, whips, cuffs, crops, and such were part of his weekend packing. There were also longer trips, mostly for the same show and post-show entertainment in the States and in Europe.
He’d been living this life in this house for nearly two years without making any changes to it. The first floor, in particular, was perfect as it was, he felt, but the upstairs bedrooms were, while well-appointed, a bit uninteresting. He had bought new furniture for the rooms, including an imposing four-poster for the master bedroom, but all the rooms lacked character. A specific character, in fact. He decided he’d like the rooms to reflect his sexual predilections, but in a way that women would find appealing. Women who found his desires matched his, of course. So he advertised for a female interior designer, hoping to find one who would accept the challenge of his commission.
"Female Designer Wanted to Add Character to Bedrooms in Suburban Mansion" read the add in Architectural Review. He waited hopefully for a good response.