N/A: English is not my first language, if you notice any mistakes, please let me know, thank you very much.

𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐑𝐘!
HAVE A BEAUTIFUL SEASON
AND TRY NO TO DISGRACE
YOUR FAMILY IN THE PROCESS.

«keep it in the family»
it doesn't mean fucking
your own family member!

2024.

Have you ever wondered why poor people are often more beautiful than rich people? If your answer was a) incest, b) more endogamy, 3) mental illness due to endogamy, you've hit the mark. Also, a person with money doesn't have to worry about such superficial things. The poor need beauty to make their way through the world, but the rich do not need it, the world is already theirs.

 Tony Baddingham was clearly one of those poor people. On the other hand, Rupert Campbell Black is what you might say of an exotic heartthrob, a man with a "je ne sais quoi", a thunderous English charm, and white teeth, which is the only thing that matters. Do you know how much the dentist costs? Yes, exactly. Maintaining your perfect teeth costs a fortune, and it is more worth it than getting Botox or a facelift.

 Health is sexy in Britain. And you know someone has money when they're not exactly attractive, but they draw attention just by their presence.

 Perhaps that's why, unlike Basil, his brother hesitated. Thinking. People with money, raised on money, don't need to think. The consequences are nothing. One is confident from the cradle, it has always been that way, without anxieties, without one's own rudeness in the middle of the night. Tony always took a second to think, that's what gave him away as a poor man plated with gold. Bas, on the other hand, was born with wealth already at his disposal.

 It's interesting how two siblings can be so different, even with the same upbringing... No. It's never the same kind of upbringing. You always love one child more than the other; the rich accept that truth much more easily.

 I knew I wasn't my parents' favorite even though I was an only child. They wanted a boy, they never pretended otherwise. I never pretended I liked them. We were always cold. I requested, they paid.

 Maybe that's why, when Dad was assigned to Chile in 1985, the only thing that went through my mind was knowing that I wouldn't be able to count on money as quickly as before. It was then that my trust fund was advanced, and I was able to live more peacefully. How could I not? Half a million British pounds.

 I was young, but not stupid. Furthermore, starting to hang out with Bas, as friends, helped me find myself in a place of desire that I had never been able to be a part of.

***

1986.

Sofia and Basil Baddingham had a curious relationship that they maintained in the privacy of a hotel room. And you only hide something when you don't want others to find out, because you will be judged, you will be pointed at and not everyone had the cool head to face it at that moment.

Although, Basil takes flights every few months to visit Argentina and feast on thoroughbred stallions and mares, they had formed a strong relationship through erotically explicit letters and panting over an international line. Each time Basil returned, he brought her gifts: dresses, some jewelry, and a bunch of books that were impossible to get in Argentina. Bas was the first man who made her feel desirable. The first one who placed her in front of the mirror while he caressed her tits and erect nipples, with one hand hiding between her legs to touch her without taking his eyes off.

 "You're gorgeous," he said hoarsely on one of those hot summer afternoons in 1986. "The tightest fucking hips I've ever held in my hands, perfect for squeezing while I pound that tight pussy of yours."

 Sofia always got wet with Basil's kisses and nothing else, with that prodigious tongue that not only served to give the best compliments a woman could hear. They were a contrasting mix in the mirror. Red hair against brown skin. She was short, and he hunched over to finger-fuck her pussy, leaving a trail of kisses on her neck, burning her skin, like brands on horses.

 They were once again entangled in a constant dance of mutual adoration, locked within the walls of a hotel, with the windows wide open, sweating and exuding pleasure, dry moans and semen dripping down their legs were an incentive to continue being part of the same destiny. Bas became infatuated very quickly. Sofia still had her reservations.

  The man also ate her pussy exquisitely. He was not the first, many had eaten her pussy before, when she refused to lose her virginity due to irrational fears of intercourse. She had already overcome that stage by entering university, so she constantly found herself with Bas with his face between her legs. Sometimes it was boring, but always satisfying.

  And at the age of 22, Basil had been a breath of fresh air in her life that would allow her to reach a new level of entertainment. She felt completely abandoned without her father around. But even someone like Basil, a thoroughbred colt, was not capable of entertaining for long. Races were only exciting when there were several competitors, fighting to exhaustion to get a prize, the thing they wanted so much. Basil had already given her what she wanted: sex, the good kind. 

 What else? Nothing, absolutely nothing more. Because Bas Baddingham was one of the most boring people in the world when it came to passing the time. He was an eternal tourist in Argentina, and he never seemed to want to stay longer than he had to.

 She would take him to Ezeiza, the airport, and they would say goodbye with a long, romantic kiss, like in the movies she so liked to watch, burned and ruined on old VHS tapes. With Bardot or Hepburn starring in them, making her believe that maybe one day she would have that intensity. And although for a moment she thought she had it, Bas's true stability was in England, not there with her.

 And perhaps she was not the love of his life either. There was someone who held a place in Bas's heart and mind, and that was Rupert Campbell-Black. How could you compete with an Olympic jockey working for Her Disastrous Majesty, Margaret Thatcher? He had the name, the money, the charm, the history and the legacy. And above all, he had a penis.

 Sofia had not thought about it since she was a child and her parents' constant disdain for her genitalia was evident, but something about that forty-year-old man made her vulnerable and insufficient.

 How much would he and Bas have experienced in those school meetings at Harrow? Rupert was supposed to visit the campus when he was about twenty years old. Being admired by the young gentlemen, and meeting Bas in the interim. Stories about boarding schools are more than real, and no exception in Harrow.

Sofia wasn't afraid that Bas didn't love her, she didn't care about that. But the fresh air she had brought with her was fading into a condensed cloud of heat atypical of their relationship that prevented her from breathing.

 Things did not improve when a cessation of tourism in the country was established, nor was a state of siege imposed. The democratically re-elected president still maintained her powers shared with the leaders of the army. Military service was still obligatory, and the presence of any ambassador in the territory was a crime. They expelled all British politicians in an attempt to regain some sovereignty over their own country, forgetting that it had been the same State, years before, that had made it possible for wealthy families to buy tracts of land and basically control everything that could be seen in the long plains of the Pampas region of Argentina.

 Her house, located in the province, was nothing more than a lonely and melancholic bastion that Sofia tried to avoid at all costs. What was the point of having everything, if you were so alone?

 She blamed Bas for it. He had given her a gift, his company and his attentions, and now he had simply disappeared.

 With the arrival of the new polo season in 1986, many of Sofia's compatriots found it difficult to get reservations. Federal law in the city and surrounding areas prohibited British guests from staying there. It cost the hotel industry thousands of pesos, and cost Sofia space in her own apartment. She wasn't going to let Ruper Campbell-Black sleep in a hostel, not even in her wildest fantasies.

 "I miss you too", he said.

 Perhaps the worst part of living together was that Rupert expected Sofia to take care of everything like a good hostess. The girl only blushed at the cheeks, accepting the fact that she had never had a proper education to be a socialite. She did not even have a debutante ball, due to the problems that both she and her father faced in leaving the country in the late seventies. Sofia was just another prisoner of a glass castle, with large windows overlooking the port, and a French structure mixed with the Florentine style.

 "No, honey, as soon as the polo season in Argentina ends, I'll travel to New York. Tell your brother, make a list, I'll buy you whatever you want."

 Sofia supposed that spying was not the proper term for her usual activity of reading in her art deco living room on her maroon sofa while Rupert Campbell-Black paced up and down with the phone held between his long mahogany fingers. He talked to his children most of the time, and insisted to Sofia that he would foot the bill, but she didn't care. The only thing on her mind during the month of March and April when Rupert stayed under her roof was the long-awaited trip to New York he planned. Something about publicity work and a tournament.

 Basil left in early May, on a flight that stopped in Amsterdam. He didn't say anything more to Sofia, just hoping she wouldn't make a fuss. She was good at that. She never complained, Bas must have liked that attitude. He came back dispassionately with her, but he came back, and that was important, wasn't it? It had to mean something.

His friend, Rupert, paraded around Sofia's house with models and actresses, and married women, for a little while longer.

 It was... welcoming. Rupert never approached her like that. He had no preference for young girls as far as she knew, which was unusual for a man. He liked experience and confidence, soft but full skin, with womanly curves, real curves, not the infirmities of a girl who had just left high school ready to devour the world. And all her friends wanted a piece of Rupert.

 Without Basil, and boredom on the surface, disinterested in her career in Literature, Sofia jumped from party to party on his arm. Some media took pictures of her, her face was already something known in the newspapers. They followed her as much as anyone in the royal family. The daughter of the British ambassador? Everyone wanted to know where her father had disappeared from the face of the earth, leaving too many political questions unresolved. It was not her business, of course, but they made it seem as if it were. As if she should talk about it and give an answer to the problem that the British brought to the country with the seizure of the Falkland Islands.

 Rupert tried to reassure her every time thousands of journalists arrived at the door of the building. He was very good at that damage control. It felt like for the first time, Sofia had a real friend she could trust.

 "What's up in New York?" Sofia asked him one winter morning.

 The Polo season was over, winter had arrived, and he didn't plan to leave, with the cold temperatures being harsh. They had a bad habit: they would get into each other's beds, more as a game than anything really erotic.

 Rupert sometimes played jokes on her, but he always looked at her with the seriousness she deserved, as an equal.

 "Work."

 The record player was playing a slow, rhythmic song by some Argentinian rocker, but no one was paying attention. The record player was always on, playing music, making it impossible for them not to start dancing together from time to time in the hallway.

 "Come with me," he offered one night while they were drunk and lying on the balcony.

 Sofia had finished her drink minutes ago and needed something else, something to anchor her to the ground so that she could keep her mind in its place, instead of just walking into the wolf's jaws.

 Rupert Campbell-Black was a bad idea. Sofia, at that age, had a penchant for those.

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