Chapter 141 — Old Buffon's Origins
Years of Heartflutter · Page 33 of 214
Today, however, Dalsk was furious—yes, utterly furious. Since boarding the Alice, no one had dared to slight him.
Every day Dalsk lived the high life amid others' flattery and fawning. Every night, Hollywood starlets came to him of their own accord, keeping him thoroughly content.
The pinnacle of power was no more than this. Looking back at those prim and proper politicians and businessmen, they were really no better than he was, yet they put on airs of righteousness—wanting to bed women, and still sneaking about it.
Dalsk's ego had swelled to the extreme; he saw himself as a local emperor, a king—a king who could do whatever he pleased. Today, however, he had run into something deeply humiliating.
Any woman he set his eyes on threw herself at him—never mind whether she was a pure and virtuous starlet in public or a silver-screen goddess; in his bed she was no different from any high-class call girl.
Every woman who had slept with Dalsk received a check for a huge sum—enough to keep these people struggling for a year, even several. Small wonder those women flocked to him. Sometimes, in a single night, there would be two, three, even four women serving him in his bed at once.
Dalsk never refused them, and never tired of it. In his view, he need only crook a finger, and the beauties aboard would line up for him to pick and choose.
But all of that had been ruined by one loathsome woman. This Dalsk could not tolerate. This Hong Kong star—did she think she was somebody? To reject him in public?
Dalsk was beside himself with rage. This was a challenge to his dignity, to his authority. If everyone followed her example, he might as well quit the game altogether.
True, this star had some fame, and her father was a businessman—but a small merchant of that caliber was, in Dalsk's eyes, as tiny as an ant, not worth a moment's notice.
What had happened was this: today Dalsk had accepted an invitation from a Japanese friend and deigned to attend a party given by Orientals. In his view, his identity as a white man was immeasurably noble, and to stoop to attend a party of colored people was already giving them ample face.
Had that Japanese not flattered him so lavishly, calling him the most awesome and boundless figure under heaven and on earth, putting Dalsk in splendid spirits at once, he would never have attended the party at all.
That Japanese man was the boss of a certain yakuza outfit, angling to do some heroin business with Dalsk, and so he was all servile bowing and scraping toward him. The moment Dalsk arrived at the party, the fellow had rounded up a whole bevy of famous porn actresses to keep this dirty old lecher company.
The feeling of being feted like a moon surrounded by stars put Dalsk in fine spirits, his mood expansive. He pulled two of the actresses into his arms and began to grope them freely, up and down without restraint. The two women, having received their instructions from the Japanese boss, played along with Dalsk to the hilt.
But the instant Dalsk laid eyes on another girl, one of a beauty almost celestial, he immediately felt that the two women in his arms were nothing but two piles of dung.
Dalsk's eyes nearly popped out of his head. Yes—this girl was far too beautiful. Years of wallowing among flowers had made his palate exceedingly finicky; women who could pass his scrutiny at all had grown rare, let alone anyone who could set his heart stirring.
It had been a long time since he had wanted a woman this badly. Yes, this long-absent feeling thrilled him immensely. Though every night he went through the mechanical motions in bed, that was merely release; it had been ages since a woman could move him like this.
Dalsk promptly let go of the women in his hands. In his eyes now, the only thing left was that Oriental girl.