Discovering Two

He flipped over the front of the book to see the title. It was Dostoyevsky’s The Idiot.

“Well, that’s fitting,” B laughed and closed the book. He fell deeper into the recesses of the chair. He brought the glasses up to his face and thought, If this is what an estate man does, then let me be an estate man for just a couple of minutes while the whiskey does its work.

B let Dostoyevksy’s words run through his mind like a new mantra — it’s life that matters… the process of discovering… the everlasting and perpetual process… — and slid the glasses onto his face.

The moment the brass touched the bridge of his nose, B was paralyzed. Heavy. His head snapped back into the chair. A tingling warmth crept through the soles of his boots and into the soft palms of his feet, running up his calves and the back of his knees. It was simultaneously the most wonderful, yet excruciating sensation B had ever experienced. Still better than the rewarding release of a hard sneeze or a good cum.

As the warm