<div class="floatright">(http://greginhollywood.com/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/tumblr_o0sj5egrzI1qamfowo1_500-400x400.png)</div>I step into sheer decadence. And it feels so fucking familiar.<br/><br/>Lurid exclamations fill the air, everything from deep, guttural proclamations of the creator's name to repeated flinging of colourful curse words. And through it all I smile. It was only a tiny flicker of movement on my upper lip but it was there. I had learnt that evolution took place over millions of years and that in that time man attained the skill he needed to master base impulse. But given the right circumstances and the severing of action from responsibility, everything changes.<br/><br/>I wondered why such perfect - or imperfect - environments were necessary for us to break free. And in so doing, decided that it was silly to be bound by any kind of limitation. YOLO became a hashtag for a reason, after all.<br/><br/>An unintended consequence of being, for want of a better phrase, enlightened, was that I gained a substantial amount of followers. People clinging to me for they saw me as an excuse; a means to an end and I could see them coming from a mile away. What chance did those standing three feet away from me have? Wannabe actors, mostly men. Trust fund kids looking for a good time. Politicians wanting an introduction. Their efforts desperate, transparent, pathetic.<br/><br/>I have no patience for them, but I also cannot antagonise them. It would seem my lifestyle - rich and openly kinky - required that I be versed in diplomacy. Thankfully, I was always a quick study, and it took mere minutes to manoeuvre past the mass of humanity in the house and find my safe haven. The jacuzzi.<br/><br/>I took off my shirt, balled it up and lobbed it into the laundry basket while pretending to be LeBron. "That's how you win the fucking championship." A silly little grin propped itself on my face, and it only grows as the catcalls from the peanut gallery keep mounting. The temptation to show off is preposterous. I'd got as far as deciding the best pose to show off the guns when she caught my attention.<br/><br/>Eyes full of mischief and curves so mesmeric that they could tempt all of the patron saints to send in two weeks' notice and line up by hell's gate. Of course, women like that are rarely single. Or even alone. And I could sense at least a dozen men in the immediate vicinity - not withstanding the one that currently held her hand - going through that imaginary lock box filled with pick-up lines. Poor sods. They've cottoned on that I've cottoned on. Each face falling. Then grumbling. And eventually dispersing out of sight.<br/><br/>And then there was one. I walk straight up to the couple, who look a fine match by any definition of the term, and say, "Mate, d'you mind getting the lady and me a couple of shots of whiskey? We'll be over there by the hot tub." My gaze shifts to her now and it is like a predator sizing up prey. "If you'd be so kind as to lead the way, please."