Connie left the hotel disappointed. Wyland sat on the bed, feeling worse that he had in a long time. He couldn't get it up. Limp as a wet fucking towel. God, how cruel life could be!
She was sexy; A lithe and beautiful figure underneath the boring business suit, with a thick, gorgeous mane of silky, dirty greyish blond hair above and a smaller but equally beautiful tuft of dark blond below. Her breasts were small, with tiny nipples, that were still beautiful and perky, untouched by the cruelty of gravity that so afflicts larger breasted women. Her butt was perfectly round and shapely. She even danced naked for him, a drunken, silly, off balance dance, but still... nothing had worked. He had tried using his tongue and hands to please her, but it was insufficient. She got sick of the embarrassing display he had put on, and got dressed and left, herself feeling dejected and unattractive. She went home, drank some more wine, and went to sleep.
Wyland was there in the hotel room, feeling as lonely as one can, also crying. He hadn't been with a willing girl in years, perhaps a decade, and now it was like his body didn't remember how it worked. No, he was hard at the restaurant, that couldn't have been it. He had been so horny and ready to explode that he was worried about endurance, which after the fact, seemed like a silly thing to worry about. He was still too young to need a pill.
She had seemed genuinely attracted to him. He had pulled off his shirt, and she had growled a little kitten growl at him, and pawed at him, and gotten even more horny than she was before. She had been dripping wet; The whole room smelled of her sex.
He was definitely attracted to her. She was fun and beautiful and friendly.
Why?!? Why had this happened!?
His mind raced from embarrassment, to anger, to thoughts of suicide, and then back to the quiet, empty room, seen through tear stained eyes. It had to be a curse. He was convinced now. Was he getting closer, and now the world was actively mocking him, instead of the passive insults he had endured before? Wyland got a sudden urge to punch a hole through the wall, angry and impotent rage welling up inside him. He screamed at the empty air, pounding the soft bed with his fists, and then, head in hands, really started to cry. A whimpering, toneless cry into a hotel pillow.
After a little while, he remembered what she had told him at the restaurant. The Cunninghill brothers. They might know, they certainly were involved somehow. If they could throw a curse, they should know how to lift one. He didn't even care anymore. He didn't have a life worth living if he didn't solve this, so he wasn't worried about the consequences. An unsuccessful, lonely, loveless life awaited him if he chickened out now. His dejection and despair fluidly turned to resolve and courage. He straightened up, sniffed back the snot in his nose, and pulled out his laptop to look up who these god-damned worthless shit-stains were.
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