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“Lola, by any chance did you watch Lily Phillip’s fucking a hundred cocks?” I asked over breakfast.
“Who do what?” she replied.
“Don’t be coy.”
We were sitting on the roof deck of a fancy five-star hotel in South Beach. To my right was the famous Ocean Blvd. and then the Atlantic. To my left was the roof deck pool, cabanas lining the side of it, and a bar at the far end. In the pool and lying out in the early sun were topless women and their husbands sunning themselves and drinking cocktails. It was only ten in the morning, and at that hour a Bloody Mary is basically breakfast. Or, at least it is when you’re on vacation.
“Of course I watched it,” she finally blurted out. “Why?”
“I was reading an article this morning that was quite enlightening about it.”
“I bet you were,” she said with jealous derision in her tone.
“Do you care to read it?”
“What’s it called and what do you find so fascinating about it?”
“It’s called ‘Lily Phillips: One Woman’s Dream of Don Juan’ or something like that. In a nutshell, it says that there is an archetypal sexual fantasy for men and another for women.”