Sex Lives of the Super Wealthy

Sex Lives of the Super Wealthy

By Greg

I first met Ryan during our junior year of college. We had been introduced by mutual friends. Ryan was a nice-looking guy and very well-mannered. I could tell right off that he had been raised with some class. Most of the guys I had dated up until then were immature; of course, they were interested in just one thing. Ryan was different; he was driven, and he had goals. He was a business major who was really into making good grades and developing the right connections.

My name is Brooke. I was a fashion design student. From early on, I’ve always loved clothing and have been fascinated by the many different styles. Someday, I planned to run my own couture firm. I am tall, five-ten, and wear my auburn hair long; I think it looks more professional that way. My friends think I should be a model, but that would be a short-lived career. Building my own company, influencing the styles, and producing them are where the long-term successes are at.

Ryan and I hit it off right from the start. He was the perfect gentleman, and we dated regularly. Shortly after we met, we became intimate and started seeing each other almost every day. I loved to just sit and talk. We would share our daily struggles and our future dreams. Ryan seldom offered much information about his childhood or upbringing. I was originally from the Midwest. His East Coast style and culture were exactly why I had come to this area. I did find out that his parents were only a couple of hours’ drive away. Mine were still back in my home state, where they would always stay.

I learned that Ryan was an only child. At first, I thought it was sort of cute how he would refer to his parents. He never used warm references to his mother and father, such as “pop,” ”dad,” or anything personal. Eventually, I got it out of him that his father’s name was Simon and his mother’s name was Laura. I sort of got the impression that the father-son relationship might have some competitive issues.

We had been exclusive for almost six months when my parents came to visit. They had come up east and spent a long weekend visiting. Both approved of Ryan. My dad was impressed with his drive to one day run his own business. My mom thought he was handsome and a good match for me.

Shortly afterwards, I began pestering Ryan about meeting his parents. He seemed to keep avoiding the issue to the point where I began to think something was wrong. We were serious about each other at this point, and I really wanted to get to meet the people who could potentially be a part of my future. Almost a month had passed before Ryan finally agreed to drive up to see them. The weekend weather was supposed to be beautiful.

Ryan was a very cautious driver, and it seemed like it took an eternity to get there. We drove through some of the most gorgeous countryside and soon entered what seemed like a very exclusive area. The driveways all had gated entrances, and most homes sat back some distance from the main road.

We had just passed a cluster of stately-looking mansions when Ryan started slowing down. On the right was a small turnoff. He slowed, coming to a stop in front of a huge, black wrought-iron gate. Massive stone walls at least eight feet high adorned the edges. The walls trailed off into the woods along each side. Ryan honked twice, and instantly the gate jolted to life and began opening. I was searching for a first glimpse of the house but saw nothing.

We started down a curving drive that wound through what looked like a golf course. The grass was perfectly manicured, and the vegetation was lush. We must have driven at least half a mile, crossed a small stream, and turned sharply to the right before entering a clearing. The view ahead stunned me. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I remember a chill going through me and goosebumps popping up on my arms. My eyes locked in on a structure maybe another half mile ahead. It was nestled on the flattened crest of the next hill. It wasn’t a house or a mansion; it was a full-on English-style castle.

“Stop the car, Ryan!” I pleaded.

“What’s wrong?” Ryan asked, slowing the car to a crawl.

“Wait, please stop!” I repeated.

Okay, I must have stared at that view for a full minute. Ryan finally touched my arm and asked if I was alright.

I turned to him in disbelief. Ryan: “You said they were well off, but you never said anything about this!”

This was beyond my wildest imagination.

“Are you telling me this is your home?” I asked, staring at him.

Rather sheepishly, he admitted, “Yes.”

Ryan was acting almost embarrassed by the grandiose display in front of us. The car started moving again. I remember thinking over and over the phrase, “the one percent.” This was the super-wealthy, the one percent that everyone talks bad about at parties. I was petrified, and I wanted to just turn around and go back.

“They live in a goddamn castle,” I kept thinking to myself, over and over.

Ryan just blew this all off and said, “You’ll do just fine.”

As the car approached a stone courtyard out front, an “honest-to-god” butler appeared at the front door. He greeted us both and then led us through the most magnificent foyer to an adjoining room. Ryan’s parents were there, awaiting our arrival. His mother put down a book and stood as we entered. She warmly received a hug from him. I walked over nervously and received the same.

To this day, I can vividly recall my first impression of Simon. Ryan’s father was standing right in the column of a brilliant beam of sunlight pouring through a series of two-story glass windows. The stiff and proper posture he held reminded me of some ancient nobleman receiving visitors. He extended his right hand politely and greeted Ryan like a guest instead of his son.

I stood frozen in awe. Simon was wearing an impeccably tailored Armani suit, which probably cost at least ten to twenty thousand dollars. His Forzieri Italian leather shoes were spot-on in the latest style. The cuff links, tie, and silk pocket square perfectly complemented the ensemble. His watch, of course, was a stunning Rolex. All told, he was probably wearing two hundred thousand dollars’ worth of fashion, and yes, he was probably the most distinguished man I had ever laid eyes on. He was maybe fifty, with just a touch of gray at the temples. I felt like he was sizing me up. Was I pretty enough? Was I refined enough? Was I in love with his son because of all of “this?” I was a total nervous wreck.

Simon shattered all my expectations by walking right up to me. His steel-blue eyes locked on me and disarmed all of my defenses. He gave me the warmest embrace. His arms enveloped me like a warm blanket. I felt like a small child in their favorite place.

Within two years, Ryan and I were married. Our wedding was the envy of all of our friends. “Father” spared no expense. His son’s wedding was not to be outdone. We had a full orchestra and caterers jumping to everyone’s slightest whim. Our honeymoon in San Tropez was the stuff of dreams.

It was maybe a year into our new marriage when passions began to cool. What I thought was so important about Ryan at first now seems to be our biggest problem. His work occupied all his waking time. He was so driven to have his business succeed that he would come home exhausted. Our love life also suffered. What used to be romantic was now just a routine. He’d jump on me missionary style, every time, ride me, grunt a little, roll off, and be snoring within a couple minutes. Hell, I was still in my twenties; I wanted more than that.

I was still working out of our home, mostly refining my own designs. I seemed to run into closed doors or dismissive attitudes at each of my interviews. I was frustrated both professionally and sexually.

It was on one of our visits to his parents that I first began to seriously look at Simon. He was the absolute alpha male. His manners, his poise, his style—this man was both able to amass great wealth, and yet he would spend extravagantly on his desires.

Ryan’s mother seemed to have few interests other than reading her books. I’m sure that she had her social circle, but otherwise, she had grown somewhat pudgy for lack of any real purpose. She was always warm and friendly to me, yet seemed generally disinterested in things. Maybe she had been born into all of this and just took it all for granted.

Ryan and I got invited to go along with them on a trip to Italy. I had never planned on anything like this because we were still struggling to get our careers going. Ryan always poured all of our resources and all of his energy into his business. He had flatly refused Father’s assistance, preferring to succeed on his own. I finally convinced Ryan that we needed a break from work and would do well to get away for a while.

I was like a little kid on a Disney trip. We were flown by helicopter to meet up with a yacht already at sea. Yes, of course, they had a helicopter. For some reason, they always referred to it as the MD, for short. It was always parked in a little clearing just behind the main house. That is how Simon got to and from his offices. Simon didn’t actually fly it, although I’ll bet he probably could have.

There was a man who was always around, Mr. Keeven. Along with being the pilot, I think he was some sort of bodyguard or personal assistant. He was a buff, former-military type who was always present when Simon went somewhere.

We caught up with the yacht in the Atlantic somewhere off the coast of Rhode Island. Landing on a yacht, what a thrill! Talk about an entrance! The yacht was magnificent. It had to be at least a hundred feet long. Ryan never said it belonged directly to them. Things were always referred to as belonging to the firm. They just had exclusive access whenever they wished. It was a complete luxury. Everything was constantly attended to by the staff—meals, drinks, anything you could wish for. The attention to detail was incredible, right down to the fresh flowers placed in our stateroom each morning. Mr. Keeven and the helicopter stayed on board and made the trip with us. How cool was that?

There were already two other couples on board who would be making the trip with us. One couple was a close friend of Ryan’s mother and her husband. The other couple included a younger girl, nearer my age. Her name was Nicole. We hit it off right away. She, like me, seemed awestruck at all the trappings of wealth. She was with a somewhat older guy, whom she just referred to as “just a friend.”

Nicole and I would lay out for hours on the deck laughing and sharing stories, mostly of the “if our friends could only see us now” type. She and I would talk about our future aspirations and goals. That was kind of silly, seeing that we were lying on a yacht headed for Italy, so “Like, how do you really top this?”

During the trip over, I was constantly dragging Ryan away from his phone. I was becoming seriously agitated at his inability to leave work behind. He took calls constantly and had reports faxed to him. I was becoming livid.

We had just left the Azores Islands, and our next stop would be in Marbella, Spain, to refuel. I hoped the distance would force Ryan to forget about work. But the yacht had the latest in technology, unfortunately, and satellite transmissions were easily available. We spent a wonderful day in Marbella and were soon on our way to our final destination of Anzio, along the west coast of Italy.

When we arrived, I thought it was simply the most beautiful place on earth. We anchored in a harbor surrounded by similar yachts, most of them somewhat smaller. We were greeted as though we belonged. There was a sense of wealth about the place, but it was understated. Everyone there was super-wealthy but dignified and reserved in how it was displayed.

We were only there two days when Ryan got an urgent message that he was needed back in New York. I was ready to explode. We were to travel up to Rome for the day, and instead, he was making arrangements for a flight back home.

After Ryan left for the United States, Nicole tried to cheer me up by arranging a shopping trip up to Rome anyway. I was shocked as we boarded a tender to ferry us to shore. Mr. Keeven was accompanying us. He never left Simon’s side. I knew how important he was to Simon. I knew this had to be on Simon’s order. This gesture did not go unappreciated by me. There were other bodyguards and a driver waiting on shore, but that was just the way Simon was.

I was still mad as hell at Ryan as we made our way to Rome, but soon Nicole’s giddiness and all the attention got me out of my funk. We ate lunch within sight of the Coliseum. We shopped like celebrities, and with a wave of Mr. Keeven’s hand, all was taken care of. Dresses, new swimsuits, fine shoes—you name it, we bought it. I continually looked to Mr. Keeven to try to get a sign that this was all okay. He simply gestured with a hand that all our wishes were to be taken care of.

Sometime during the day, I found that I didn’t miss Ryan at all. Nicole and I were like two schoolgirls on spring break. We shopped, toured, and just plain had fun until our feet hurt. On the way back to Anzio by car, we traveled through the rolling Italian countryside. I stared out the window, taking it all in. I couldn’t shake the feelings I was starting to have for my father-in-law.

Simon was the consummate gentleman, super wealthy and driven, and yet he would lavish favors on everyone around him. He was a man who knew how to enjoy his wealth. He had learned the fine art of delegation. Nothing happened that he didn’t direct, but he allowed others to handle all the details. Ryan was driven to succeed too, but he always had to do everything himself. Where Ryan worried about everything, Simon focused on his guests and enjoying life.

Watching my father-in-law over time, I was always impressed at how he thanked everyone for everything, from the staff member who topped off his morning coffee to a doorman who held a door open for him. He noticed everything, looked the person in the eye, and graciously acknowledged them. When he spoke with someone, you had his full attention. No cell phone interruptions, no distractions—he looked you right in the eyes, and for that moment, you felt like you were the most important person on earth.

When Nicole and I returned to the yacht, I sought out Simon and gave him the biggest hug. I was kind of emotional and almost lost it. I was disappointed in Ryan, yet I was still having the time of my life. I kissed Simon on the cheek and held on to him longer than I should have.

When we left Anzio and began the return trip, Nicole and I resumed our spots on the bow. The warm Mediterranean breezes cooled us as the sun put the finishing touch on our tans. Of course, we had to try out our new suits.

One morning, while Nicole and I were up there, Simon came over to us. He was, as usual, very gracious and wanted to be assured of our complete comfort. We were both wearing our new, very revealing bikinis.

The warm sun bouncing off the deck was glorious, and we both pleaded with him to join us. A smile came across his face. He laughed and graciously excused himself by making a joke about “spoiling the beautiful ornaments on his deck.”

Nicole and I had many conversations there. More than a couple times, we were more than a little drunk. The staff seemed to keep tabs on us, and as soon as we would start to run out, someone would be out to refill our glasses.

During one such time, Nicole and I got very personal. I was probably bashing Ryan for being such a workaholic when the topic of Simon came up. I know I said a lot more than I should have. I do remember saying something like, “I thought him sexy, and father-in-law or not, I’d “fuck” him anytime, anywhere.”

We both laughed and continued on with our bawdy confessions. I don’t remember it all, but I hoped it would never get repeated. Returning home to Ryan was just more of the same. With all of his energy poured into his business, I was becoming more and more frustrated.

It was during a weekend trip up to the family’s estate that things got really serious.