Asamor

Chapter 1

Gray eyes meet gray eyes, the only flaw in them being the almost glowing blue spot in the irises that look like they might just be a speck of glitter. He stares at himself in the mirror, thinking about everything. Everything that he has in his life, and how meaningless it all is. He lives the life that everyone wants, the life that every bachelor dreams of.

He looks himself over in the mirror, seeing every flawless inch of himself. From the waist down, he's wearing silk pajamas that look like he stole them from David Hasselhoff. Above the waist, he sports the chiseled six-pack and pectoral muscles that every man wishes for. He looks like a marble statue, but with a tan. On his right shoulder, he has a tattoo depicting a blue serpent with a black rose in its fangs. His short, black hair is neatly combed back, making him look like he was in the process of getting ready for a date, though the sleeping woman in his bed would say that the date was already over, and it had, apparently, gone well.

If only he could remember her name, then he could wake her up with a kiss and thank her for the lovely evening, even though he didn't really remember much about it through the alcohol-induced haze.

Unfortunately, he didn't usually remember their names the next morning. The names of the women he would bring back to his room for a night, show them a night of passion they'd never forget, make them crave more of him for the rest of their lives, then forget even their names come morning. He would kiss them, thank them for the lovely evening, then send them on their way with the empty promise that he would call them.

No one could resist his charms, even if they knew the stories. As soon as he laid eyes on them in a bar or on the streets, they were goners. Whether they were single or married. Even the wife most closely devoted to her husband couldn't help but fall under his spell if he took an interest in her. With just a look and a smile, any woman would become his next conquest.

He could turn any woman he wanted into the next of his empty, meaningless hookups. It just came naturally to him. When he was a bit younger, in his mid to late teens, the prospect that he could literally have any woman he wanted thrilled him to no end. He spent every night with a different woman from the time he was sixteen and for the next four years. After four years, however, something strange happened.

It grew old. He had always seen it as a challenge of sorts. But one day, he just started seeing it differently. Seemingly overnight, he had gone from thinking "Women can't refuse me!" to "Women can't refuse me..." It had stopped being a challenge to him, and now he realized he craved more.

So, he had started trying to get to know the women before he took them to bed, trying to make a connection with them. Even so, without fail, he forgot anything he learned about them come the next morning.

The first time he noticed this was shortly after he turned twenty, right after he decided to try getting to know them. He had taken a beautiful woman out to the best restaurant in Luxuria, and he remembered truly enjoying his time with her. They talked all night, and he believed they'd had a lot in common, and that by the end of the date, he was truly wanting to see her again.

Then, the next morning, he woke with her in his bed, and couldn't remember anything about her. He could remember taking her to dinner, and talking, and laughing with her, but it was as if he was watching a silent film. He couldn't hear a single word she'd said the previous night, even her name.

He tried again the next night, this time taking her on a moonlit walk through the palace grounds. Again, they talked and laughed all night, and he somehow managed to not let her find out that he couldn't remember the previous night. Then morning came, and again he found himself unable to remember a word she said the day before.