Sarah was sitting across from me in her room, I was visiting them at a sleepover, she was stirring cold tea with a spoon with such frenzy, as if she was drowning a little demon there.

"He did it again, you know? With the secretary this time. Fuck her. God, I'm tired!"

Her father, Theodore, is a 43–year-old man whose charisma seemed to know no bounds, and lust even more so. Sarah wished he would just calm down. He found a woman who would really captivate him, stop this endless conveyor belt of novels.

"You know" She began, putting down her spoon

"Sometimes I think he's just unhappy. He's looking for something he'll never find in these short affairs."

I was silent, thinking over her words. It was easy to judge, but what was it like for him? To live with such a burden, to be a slave to your instincts?

"I want to," Sarah sighed "To make him happy. So that he would no longer be a walking sex act, or for one woman in his life."