He is a rather elegant gentleman, someone who has been around the world, doing many important things. He has a wealth of knowledge, and knows how to tell an interesting story. So, he is a delight to listen to, and I only rarely have to ask a question to confirm any detail. There was, however, something I had to ask when he told me the following true story.
He was in England, several decades ago. He was just starting out, making his way onwards and upwards with the British aristocracy. He had access to an after hours club. The rich, after all, can't be bothered with the everyday laws and rules designed for lesser beings.
The place was crowded and smokey, and all he had on his mind was a beer. But going up to the bar he could not help but notice a well dressed figure slumped over, obviously having enjoyed far too much that evening. Behind him was a black fellow, trying to go through his pockets. A thief, a pick pocket! He yelled out, and somehow the guilty ears of the thief heard him. The thief turned, and exited a nearby door. Now at the bar, he asked the bartender: 'Did you see that?' The bartender shrugged, and said "Would you be so kind Sir, to assist this gentleman home?'
So much for that beer! He shook the 'gentleman's' shoulders, getting him half awake. 'Do you know where you live?' Yes was the muttered reply. So it was out onto the street, into a taxi, and sure enough, the drunk gave an address. The journey was rather far. Paying off the taxi took more than half the money in his pocket, making him realize he did not have enough to taxi himself home. But the house was huge, and both a maid and a butler came out to assist the master for the house inside. It was a luxuriously appointed residence, and the maid insisted he stay overnight. The Master would want to thank him in the morning. Thinking of his unexpected expenditure, he agreed. He was ushered into a deluxe bedroom, and spent a restful night.
The Master was in fine form the next morning. They had a bountiful breakfast in a wonderful room overlooking a fancy garden. The conversation went well, and a different score of servants took care of their every need. In a way to indicate that money was not of any concern, the taxi fare was repaid, with enough extra to cover the return trip. A tour of the house was given, with a huge picture of a beautiful woman in a place of honor in the living room, being the highlight of the tour. It was the homeowner' dead wife. He said he had only started drinking after that loss.
Feeling sympatric to the loss, my friend suggested the gentleman seek professional help. The man seemed to stiffen. Don't you know who I am? he asked. Seeing the look of puzzlement, he gave his name, a name that was instantly recognizable. He was one of the leading psychiatrists in England, a man famous for curing the woes of others. His cliental was the very rich and famous of England. Actresses especially sought him out, and demanded his attention. Often they stayed at that luxurious mansion while they sought their cure.
'And do you cure them?' my friend asked.
The man roared with laughter. 'Cure them? There is nothing wrong with them that a good fuck would not cure!'
My friend somehow impressed this member of the Elite. He was invited to various parties and social engagements at the mansion, and met many interesting people there. He even ended up in a romantic relationship with one of the actresses seeking treatment.
That triggered my question: 'And was she cured?'
My friend paused a second, realizing what I had asked.
To my relief, he roared with laughter at the thought. Eventually, his laughter subsided, and he could answer.
'No' he said, 'the sure cure did not work that time!'
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