Well, you all know from my last posting (is that the terminology?) that Daddy wanted me in Monaco and I acquiesced on the basis that I'd set up the office, get it running and then I'd be off to New York.
And indeed I did, setting up a small fund operation out of a rather expensive duplex apartment overlooking the harbour but pleasant as it was, I just couldn't wait to be out of there. Too clinical. Too watched. And amazingly (for me) - too expensive. So New York it was. It was meant to be - I'd had a calling. It was my spiritual home, despite the fact that I'd never been there but over the next few years I grew to love that place for a variety of reasons - who couldn't?
One of them was that the delectable Samantha had followed me from London to be my PA in the Big Apple which made the settling-in a lot easier. Daddy wasn’t too keen on this arrangement, thinking, quite correctly that her amazing body would be something of a distraction whilst I was trying to start a little fund out there. If only he’d known that her body was just one of her charms and that she had a range of skills which would have caused the Kama Sutra to be rewritten had some of her wilder moments been witnessed. But Samantha aside (and she did it that way too), NY is a wonderful place for a rich boy like me to operate. A 24 hour hedonistic temple to all those whose mantra is greed, sex and rock and roll – sorry – forgot the illegal substances which are a necessity for surviving the frenetic lifestyle out there.
And indeed I did, setting up a small fund operation out of a rather expensive duplex apartment overlooking the harbour but pleasant as it was, I just couldn't wait to be out of there. Too clinical. Too watched. And amazingly (for me) - too expensive. So New York it was. It was meant to be - I'd had a calling. It was my spiritual home, despite the fact that I'd never been there but over the next few years I grew to love that place for a variety of reasons - who couldn't?
One of them was that the delectable Samantha had followed me from London to be my PA in the Big Apple which made the settling-in a lot easier. Daddy wasn’t too keen on this arrangement, thinking, quite correctly that her amazing body would be something of a distraction whilst I was trying to start a little fund out there. If only he’d known that her body was just one of her charms and that she had a range of skills which would have caused the Kama Sutra to be rewritten had some of her wilder moments been witnessed. But Samantha aside (and she did it that way too), NY is a wonderful place for a rich boy like me to operate. A 24 hour hedonistic temple to all those whose mantra is greed, sex and rock and roll – sorry – forgot the illegal substances which are a necessity for surviving the frenetic lifestyle out there.
Despite Wall Street beckoning, Daddy insisted on a much lower key operation in Madison Avenue. His rationale was that of a man who knew the ropes and had been on them a few times. Wall St, he reckoned, would mean that we would be engulfed by the whole regulatory scene and would be restricted in what we could do. He wanted us to be close enough to ‘the street’ to capture the whispers but not be seduced by them and so for a few months on Monday to Thursday evenings, we’d end up in Grand Central at the Oyster Bar or Metrazur, whilst on Fridays we would head down to lower Manhattan to the street to hear what was going down.
I have to say that despite the obvious attractions, the new office was set up rather well if I say so myself, although the multi-talented Samantha had no little input, finding the ideal premises in a rather nondescript building in Madison Avenue, hiring key staff and generally making everything happen just as if they were ordained to fall into place without so much as a single issue.
The one problem however was living accommodation. There was no shortage of living space, but finding a suitably spacious and luxuriously furnished pad within easy reach of the office and our night-time haunts was something of a challenge – even to Samantha. And yet she succeeded in getting some wonderful apartments after only a few weeks stuck at the Chambers, a boutique hotel just next to Central Park. I say ‘stuck’ but in fact the duplex suite at the Chambers was rather chic with 900sq feet of space and spiral staircases linking the vast rooms, but I suspect it was the balcony with the amazing views which pushed the price up to over $1000 a night. Still, Daddy would never see the bills and all we had to do was one little extra deal a week to pay for this largesse.
I actually became attached to the Chambers despite the fact that it was a ten minute limo ride to the office. It was functional, served great food and the cocktail bar was something of a magnet for the young girls of midtown which I appreciated but Samantha did not. In fact Samantha had been rather over-protective since the night she had come down the spiral staircase into my bedroom (she had taken over the upper part of the duplex) and surprised me somewhat. Until that night, and despite her various attractions (great body, amazing legs and boobs and wonderful smile), we had kept our relationship strictly professional which, I am sure, amazed her as much as it amazed me. But that night, in a sort of 2am slumber, I heard some music coming on. Not loud, but loud enough to be noticeable in the background. The Beautiful South (as I learned later) apparently, singing, ‘Don’t marry her, fuck me’. As I wondered what on earth Samantha was doing playing music at 2am, I saw her shape arrive at the bottom of my bed. The duvet was pulled back and without a word, she started spreading ice cream all over my manhood (I would call them genitals, but that doesn’t seem to do them justice). She then proceeded to lick it off in such a delicious way that the extreme coldness was a mere consideration at the back of my mind. Indeed, there wasn’t much left of my mind when Samantha finished her little culinary treat about thirty minutes later, by which time she had had some ‘cream’ with her Double Chocolate Chip, not that I had any idea what flavour it was as I lay back in the silky blackness of ecstasy!
I discovered it was DCC (double chocolate chip), a particular favourite of mine as it happens, when I reciprocated in kind a little later when my brain had slowed down. Now that's what I call a PA – remembering minute details such as my favourite ice-cream flavour?
After that, the maid only had one bed to make each day as Samantha and I made up for lost time. She was great in the office and fantastic in the sack, but how much of it was down to the champagne and cocaine cocktails she was indulging in on a nightly basis?
