The Grand Father

Beta Israel women members of the IDF

 
Nothing could harm him.

Not even his own mistakes.

His palace full of  eighteen-less startlettes and whores outraged the public, but enough of his supporters were thrilled that their Chosen-by-God representative was still able to entertain himself the same way that they would like to do - in his '70s - that he managed to maintain some political clout.

The dèbacle had led many around him to show their true nature but, in all honesty, he expected them to be the pitiable, morally handicapped pieces of shit that they were.

It didn't stop him, no more than it had in the decades during which his own triumphs taught him their hard lesson.

Everybody around him was some ambitious piece of work with the moral fiber of a corrupt bureaucrat, the capable ones more dangerous than they were worth, the not capable just spineless sycophants.

 He had grown to accept it like a fundamental law of his universe.

He raised from the bed, went to the piano, and started playing  a sad song.

When he felt like that, he used to call one or two of the mares in his stables and have some fun, but that was no longer an option.

The public kept a somewhat keener eye on what he did in his private life, ever since the discovery of how he spent his nights.

He was growing old, he knew that. He was growing old and he had no doubt whatsoever that whatever laid after death for him, be it the afterlife he was taught about in his childhood as a catholic choir boy or the atheistic void he had grown to prefer, was going to be shit.

He sighed... had he really underestimated the CIA? Had he stumped too hard on their sensible feet, with his foreign policy?

His private lifestyle hadn't really changed in years, everybody in his entourage knew it and tried to profit a bit from the vulnerabilities it opened in his public persona.

Like everybody always tries to exploit whichever asset they may have.

There was no reason for everything to blow so out of his control.

Was that the problem? Beyond the blunders like the friendship with an unpresentable dictator, was it true that Mossad had infiltrated his stable of young whores? And that CIA already had some inside his circle, detected it and pulled the plug - before the whole situation became embarrassing for the USA?

Like they helped the judges that sent in exile  his political mentor, back in the 90s.

- He calls them "communist" every other day, but he knows all too well that the support that allowed a small group of judges to dismantle a nation-wide system of corruption,  consolidated over twenty years of political praxis, didn't come from the likewise corrupted Italian communist party. 

Or from the collapsed  intelligence services of the convulsed Eastern bloc.

Someone in Langley had probably appraised the whole mess the country was becoming, predicted that it was going to blow up  all the more explosively if the shit was allowed to gain more momentum, and they pulled the plug.

He sighed... he knew how to evaluate most people - which is why he valued much the few non-piece-of-works that crossed his path - but had real problems when they were moved by faith or ideals.

He understand the rascals, doing their scams for a dime. He is a grand-time rascal himself, he would  admit it willingly.

In his experience, everybody become a rascal when you pile enough zeros on the right of their check - a part old men like himself, who are more swayed by a nice, young, firm woman's ass.
But when it came to people motivates by ideology - sense of duty, patriotism, honour - his skin crawled uneasily.

He re-read the note.

He remembered the girl fondly - her ass was a masterpiece of black flesh, her smile as luminous as only African women can be and, in the caravanserai's of his little sluts, maybe the most honest.

He knew her as an escapee  from Sudan and its vehemently Islamic and gynophobic  government. 

He didn't know that she had "escaped" with all her family.

Not as a single lusty woman, running toward a world ready to pay well for her graces, but as a child in a Beta Israel family, relocated by the government of Tel-Aviv.

That her ass was  as much a product of  some drill sergeant of the Israeli Army as of her passion for dance.

He had never suspected it - and now an ISI suicide bomber had killed her and other five women in a lesbian bar, in Tel Aviv.

He looked at the note, arrived through a tortuous path from some corner of the "as devious as deviated" Italian intelligence community.

It was improbable that her past would come to light - the Shin Bet having even less interest to let the world discover that she had been an operative, than he had desire to have yet more dirty laundry aired in the open.

He looked at the photo on the Washington Post. 

Not a nice photo, it didn't show how gorgeous she was - lesbian? He never saw that either. Then again, he hardly ever saw anything that he didn't want to see.

He sighed, the melancholy tight around his heart - Fuck Off, We only life once.

He got to his mobile, and asked his new master of ceremony - the old one proved to be too much of a grafting bastard, even beyond what His generous nature could condone - to find him a couple of  19 years old brunettes, ready for some rough play.

He sighed again... ah, the good old times.

When he need not so much Viagra, or even to check that all the girls were of legal age.

Her ass was marvellously tight, it required her some true effort to take it in.

Could she have killed him, that first time?

Something moved inside his trousers, and went limp  -again.
 - Sigh.

Better three girls.

For old time' sake.