In a dimly lit hotel room, the air thick with the scent of cheap cologne and anticipation, a middle-aged man sprawled across a king-sized bed, his bulk sinking into the mattress. His bathrobe, a shade of burgundy, gaped open to reveal a hairy chest and a protruding belly, glistening faintly with sweat.
A glass of red wine dangled lazily in his hand, the liquid sloshing as he chuckled to himself, his eyes gleaming with a perverse delight. His face, flushed and jovial, wore the smug satisfaction of a man who believed he was on the cusp of getting exactly what he wanted.
On the television mounted to the wall, a fashion show flickered, models strutting down a runway in glittering dresses, their bodies slender and angular.
The man snorted, taking a sloppy sip of his wine, his lips smacking as he shook his head.
