Friends of a Feather

Today I had my friend Caspar Royale drop by as I am well aware that all the little kittens in town find him ever so dreamy, poor little pusses, imagine their horror if they knew the truth about Caspar and his varied sexual proclivities! The little ones would spend their entire day staring at him during which time I would interject with embarrassing questions to put them off guard, for their faces open as a book allows me to glimpse inside their innocent minds when they were not watching. Despoiling innocence is a pastime that has amused me for years and despite my desire to find the identity of the mystery rose who piques my interest, I have no intent of ever giving up my trifling amusements.

Liselle barely acknowledged Caspar’s presence, which was the usual degree of warmth she is inclined to show another being. She wanders through my house as she has a tendency to avail herself of whatever possessions of mine that take her fancy, something I do not dispute. I am wise enough to know when payment has been made, and my fair sister has paid well with her pale alabaster skin. Only the baron could bring the colour of life to her face and he was a coward tied to the apron of a fractured ornament. Caspar did his usual blend of friendly and seduction, as shrewd as he is opportunistic, he knows the boundaries well, as unspoken as the past between us, yet as solid as a wall of iron, and he knows his place which is to serve my interests. If tell him to amuse and mortify a little miss, the very fact I show interest in her would be enough for him to know the boundaries of how much to amuse and how much to mortify. Caspar has always had his uses and his lack of moral fibre is what I consider one of his greatest assets.

In the art of social interaction with women Caspar is king for his handsome face reminiscent of a movie star first captivates and then his voice smooth as honey then ensures the hapless female is ensnared. He is happy with our arrangement for it allows him entrance to a world whose door is firmly closed to the son of a dockside labourer. Caspar uses his skills well, in and out of bed and at this moment, he was providing me with an entry into the world of new lovelies. It is not that I have any difficulties approaching or communicating with these darling buds, I have discovered that my reputation often precedes me and so they are intimidated when faced with the greatness before them. Some of the bolder ones will approach with glance or smile but it is the shy, retiring creature that stirs my loins, the one who has no inkling of what lurks beneath these depths, this is the maid I would so honour with my life lesson. How I adore making them scowl, sulk, anger and fear me-- I am after all the man they love to hate!

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