Ceasar and I spent the day in the observation lounge chatting while the girls spent their day going to the beach and spa.

The observation lounge was an enormous room filled with comfortable couches, lounge chairs, and armchairs arranged around a large circular bar in the center. The bar was fully stocked, and you could order whatever drink you wanted, including specialty coffees.

Near the entrance was a sweets station. The station served an assortment of sweets from around the world, all made fresh to order. Given how many fresh sweets I’d eaten these past few days, they were definitely worth the wait.

We were the only ones sitting at the large bar; Cesar ordered a chocolate martini, and I got a black coffee. It paired well with the large gooey cinnamon bun I ordered.

“Have you heard the story of Mr. Hands?” Cesar asked, taking a sip of his martini.

“No, was he some kind of martial artist?” I said, taking a bite from my cinnamon bun.

“No, no, far from it,” Cesar said. “I watched this documentary about him called Zoo. When he was alive, he worked at Boeing as an aircraft engineer. He lived in Washington State. He was a really normal dude, was previously married, and had some kids with her. But after a motorcycle accident, he lost the ability to experience certain sensations, and as a result, he got into some kinky fetishes. He would engage in his favorite fetish at his ranch up north outside of Seattle, in King County, Washington.”

What the fuck is he going on about?

“He would enjoy the nice weather and the beautiful countryside. While he was up there, he would occasionally get railed by his horse. Real shit. This was how he got his rocks off on the weekend; you can Google everything I’m telling you. But anyway, Mr. Hands enjoyed this experience for a while, but after some time he thought it would be more fun if he got some friends to join in on his fun activity. And that’s exactly what he did. Mr. Hands went out and found 10–12 other dudes to go up with him to his ranch, where they’d all have fun and partake in the festivities with some food and beer.”

Mother of God, I’m eating. Please go back to chess analogies. Wait, what kind of sales pitch did he use to get all those dudes to join him? On second thought, some things are better if they stay a mystery.

Cesar took another sip from his glass, and unfortunately, he continued. “This went on for way longer than it should’ve. But it all came to a stop one day when Mr. Hands's favorite stallion got a little too excited during the act and severed his spine. He died shortly after. Now you’re wondering why this disturbing story can be an inspirational story to us all.”

“I don’t think this is inspirational at all, but I don’t think it's going to stop you from telling me why.”

“It's not.” Cesar said, taking a sip from his glass. 

Wonderful.

“Maybe you’re like me and you often spend your time thinking, ‘How am I going to achieve my goals?’ or ‘What if I don't get the life I dream about?’ Every time you have these ugly thoughts; you can come back to the story of Mr. Hands. If that mad lad can recruit 10-12 other dudes to go up to his ranch to get banged by a horse. There are literally no excuses for you not achieving anything you desire. If Mr. Hands can do it, so can you.”

“You know you’re a strange dude.” I said, taking the last bite of my cinnamon buns.

Glad I'm not easily grossed out. I would've hated wasting that amazing pastry.

“You’re not the first person to say that, and you probably won’t be the last.” Cesar laughed until only a smile remained as he stared at his glass.

He looked up at the ceiling and continued, “I know I’m not normal…far from it, honestly. But once I heard the story of Mr. Hands, it was like a fire ignited in me. It was almost as if I’d been reborn. Since that day, I’ve been able to achieve anything I’ve put my mind toward. What helps the most is that I'm up at three every morning to go jogging every day. People think it's because of some bullshit like I want to stay fit or it's my morning coffee. No, that’s how losers think. I go on those jogs to get a head start against the sun. I want to make sure the sun watches me rise and knows I’m working harder than it."

This motherfucker wants to work harder than the sun!? Syd, where are you? Please save me!

Cesar took his hand off his glass and then faced me; he reached out and placed a hand on my shoulder. “That needs to be you, brother; you’ve got to unleash that dog in you.”

“Noted, for the record I still think you’re the strangest person I’ve ever met, but you’re not that bad of a guy.” I said, cracking a smile and removing his hand from my shoulder. “Let’s move on to a normal, non-inspirational conversation. How long have you and Maria been dating?”

Sitting back in his chair, Cesar looked up at the ceiling again. “I think it's been about 5 or 6 years now.” Cesar said, picking up his glass and taking a sip.

Seriously? Maria must be the most loyal woman alive to put up with this guy for that long.

Placing the glass back on the table, he continued. “Honestly, I’m having a hard time remembering what my life was like without her. She's become so important to me I honestly don't know how I'd manage without her.”

"That sounds amazing. Are you two thinking about getting married?" The moment I asked, Cesar's face fell. He looked down at the bar table with a troubled expression. "Everything alright, man?"

"I need you to hear me out, Tom, and this conversation never happened. Don't breathe a word to Maria because when she gets mad, she's terrifying. What I'm about to share would send her into a rage, and she'd destroy me. Before I say anything else, promise me this. If something bad happens to me, if I go missing or die, remember that I'm not suicidal. Never was."