Write a story about a vice.
So, in the spirit of the season, I offer the following tidbit.
-- Cocktail Maven
So many women.
Beautiful women. He’d lost count after the first twenty. From his vantage point on the highest deck, the women formed brightly-colored sluices between the black tuxedos and white-jacketed servers. His eyes alighted on the woman now adorning Anatole’s arm. She was particularly to his own taste. He liked women that were like a fine Zinfandel; full-bodied and leggy, soft on the palate, with just a touch of spice. He sighed.
Oh, how he missed wine.
Still, there were other pleasures to compensate for his inability to drink alcohol. Other vices he -- and his friends -- could indulge of an evening.
Tonight was to be just such an evening.
As the yacht pulled out of the harbor and into the open sea, he could sense a unifying, anticipatory shiver twitching under every tuxedo jacket. The ladies had been promised a night to remember. None of them would, of course. Remember, that is. He doubted very much that memory survived a bloodletting.
So many women.
How could they possibly consume all of them?
