Angel, Part 9 – The Call

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The parties ended the same, taking the cash and getting drunk off our ass, then fucking each other raw till we passed out. Her body was young, firm and supple. She easily withstood the ravages of those long nights and trailer appointments in the hood. I’m a creature of habit, and, true to form, found my rhythm and performed flawlessly. Except for the little splits in my sanity, the little blackouts now and then. Was it because of stress? Alcohol? I really think my Angel is making me crazy. Love, damn the love that drives me, that won’t let me go, that keeps me tied to her. Shit, it didn’t matter, I barely had time to think about serious things, she kept me going and going. Isn’t this how the military breaks their prisoners? Lack of sleep, push, pain, push, pain, push. I knew I was coming apart, I knew what was happening to us. The paths that we walked down, never had a peaceful end. I kept going and going, never looking back, never having time too.
 
She wanted more. More money, more exposure to the life, more manipulation. This meant one thing inevitably whispered her name. Call girl. Which, has a legitimate sound, and like exotic dancing, is legit, but what she had in mind was to be paraded around, bought lovely things, be spoiled with attention, and then…to culminate the affair. Any woman would love that, but she wanted to make a business of it. In other words, a prostitute. I found this out, not by her telling me, breaking it to me easy like the private parties, but by soul wrecking surprise. I came to the club to drop off flowers, a spontaneous thing I did for her, my Angel. One of the girls met me at the door. She said that my Angel wasn’t there. She left with another guy. There it was, the brilliant crack of lightning as my mind and world shredded down the middle and splintered into a thousand self-destructive shards. Those shards hungered for more than my destruction. Oh no, I had more sinister intentions. Rage, mixed with betrayal, love and overwhelming curiosity to know all the facts. Perfect for creating a devil for my angel. I found the code to her voice mail (she still had the generic code set on it, go figure) and listened to the man arrange the date. I listened from the pay phone outside a little rat hole back city bar. It was dark, all the lights seemed yellow, dim, and barely holding their own. Leaning against the booth I replayed it over and over. Tears began, coursing down my cheeks in an angry, hurt mess. They would not be the last tears, nor would I be the the only one crying.

 

Angel Part 1 – The Lure

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The face of an angel. Papa always told me to beware of the woman who had the face of an angel. I’m not referring to natural beauty, but the innocent purity and helpless look that compels men to protect her, regardless of their logic. That’s how it was with her, an angel. I should have known better, my guard was down, my heart was broken, my mind was confused, all from going through a hell on earth known as divorce. I managed to find my solace, like so many others, at the local brewery, throwing down drink after drink in an attempt to drown myself or lose myself. I was at a low that only happens once in a lifetime, I lost everything, hell, I even lost my teeth to an unfortunate, “turn of events” known as getting my ass stomped. At that time, I figured, hell might as well lose these too, and spit them out at the feet my attacker, spitting out more than teeth, I spit out my self respect and self esteem. This is where she found me, a woman like that finds you, like a wolf finds a rabbit . I sat alone, a good drunk at the edge of the dance floor eyeballing the pretty young things, an old guy with no front teeth. I was as content as you could be, spending the last dime, on the last drink, and knowing I had nothing left to lose. I sat, unaware of the changes that were about to happen, and happen quickly, like lightning, and about as unexpected too. Turning up my beer to ease my pain, I lowered it satisfied, just as the angel approached. It was a line dance and the whole line of women were advancing like troops on the field, I sat giddy, like a kid in a candy store. But she, 18 years my junior, she stopped my whole world. Black tight pants with a gold belt that followed the curve of her waist and accentuated every not so subtle twist of her strut. She purposely stepped a little further than the rest of the line until she was directly in front of me. Me, a silly man, a deer in the headlights, eyes wide open, not knowing the wreck about to happen. Ignorance and lust, nothing like it to make a man sit stunned, a mark in every sense of the word, the angel, she knew she had me, she knew. That was it, she knew what she was going to do.

Also published in: Broowaha
12012011 

Angel, Part 8 – Drug of Depravity

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I took her to the club the next evening and we walked out back to light up before I left. I stepped over popped balloons, looking at first glance, like a kids party gone wrong. My shrinking naivete was talking, but when one stuck to my foot that explained it all. That’s were she chose to tell me what her sinking mind was planning next: she wanted to do private parties. Mother fuck me hell of hells. How many levels of pain are there in following this broken Angel? My mind tumbled down the stairs of her attention driven wanderings. I supported her, God knows I wouldn’t want her alone with a bunch of drunk men, but for how long? She would introduce me as her “bodyguard” so her tips weren’t affected. If the customers knew she had a boyfriend there, their cash would stay in their pockets. So there it was, I’m downgraded, at least publicly to “someone who watches out for me” which is quite a bit different from “someone I’m in love with”. I learned a bit of self control after my explosion in the club and the hardness settled in nicely around my heart, like when it’s cold and I pull the blanket in close. But the blanket never seemed big enough and part of me was always feeling the cold breeze of greed and deprecation blown by her incessant curiosity and growing boldness.

She made the arrangements and scheduled her appearance at a party in, of all places, a trailer park. I shook my head in disbelief. A shitty trailer park? Why couldn’t she see the sick way her life was turning? I went, nervous and sweaty, shaking inside with fear and disbelief. Showing no emotion in my eyes, I awkwardly performed my tasks, playing her music and verbally acknowledging what was acceptable. Her eyes lit with childlike excitement as she played the role, her young body teasing the men to a dull frenzy. She turned and smiled at me, enjoying her power over them, over me. Something fucked up happened though, I felt turned on by this, seeing her in vulnerable positions, just short of following through. Guilt over my arousal, confusion over my new role, and a consuming love for her, brought the flames from the devil’s den to the door of my mind and fueled a fire that changed my desires forever. This is how it happens. How a man can slowly become the thing he hates by following a woman he loves. My appetites wet by this indecent exposure set me on a new collision course of right and wrong, love and lust, money and sex. Caught by my Angel, my innocence used against me, luring me away with knowledge of depravity, a drug of different sort. I tried to resist this descent, but my Angel, she swallowed the hook, the only question was, who held the line?

The Queen – Chapter 12

picture credit:mnginteractive

Leaving with my head still full of meds and wine, my lust still on her lips, we knew our next steps controlled the destiny of years. I didn’t care for what my life was before her. To be by her side, to feel her hair brush against me, to hear her voice call my name, these are what my life consisted of now. We waited on the corner for a ride she arranged while I was asleep. I nodded briefly, a victim of my hangover, and woke when I heard the muffled, “thump, thump, thump, thump” of its muffler.  The car reminded me of an older converted cop car. The hard seats were uncomfortable as I slid in, as my knees rubbed against the armored back of the front seat and I stared at the only eye I could see of the driver in the rear view mirror. Putting my finger through the holes in the security screen to pull myself forward and maintain my balance, I used this distraction to subtly adjust my gun. He deposited a short rubber burn on the road that left a wispy smoke reminder marking our departure from this nether world. I liked riding in this unmarked car, it was sufficiently close enough in appearance to standard issue PD vehicles that it garnered startled reactions from the ambling drunk zombie-like old men, twitching meth addicts, and keen-eyed dealers of illicit pleasures. I laughed at the antics of the riff-raff loud enough for the driver to give me a warning look through his one-eyed mirror. He took his job very serious, and I did as well, knowing that these paths took me through dire straights of exploit and malice. His eyes were cold, like looking down a deep sinkhole, the kind that scared me as a kid but provoked me to explore their dark depths. I loved and hated the feeling of danger. I wanted to both challenge any intimidation of my world, and run like a scared rabbit. She looked out the window, soft hair flowing over her shoulder, holding my arm with a vigorous grip, like a bear holding its prey. My emerging knighthood beckoned me to protect this vixen queen, facing the death-wish actions I had all my life. Thousands of insults and shame producing injustices added many logs to this bonfire of rage. Having held rejection as a lover, I didn’t really give a shit whether I died or lived. But now my anger and boldness met my fear and insecurity, and as I reached under my shirt to dig the gun’s hammer out of my side, I remembered that this is why I work my mundane, back breaking job, so I might see her and escape from the listless world that was mine, outside this Queen’s castle.

Angel, Part 7 – Razor’s Edge

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Angry tears dried quickly on the long ride to the county jail. My wrists swelled as I squirmed in pain on the hard plastic seat of the sheriff’s car. Begging for him to loosen the cuffs, it was a cry that went unheeded, there was no way he was giving me slack. Laying on cold cement floors of the jail added now to my list of exciting experiences while with my angel; the excitement part of the lure for this lonely old man to pursue this young angel. They released me on my O.R., a term I had previously no knowledge of…my “own recognizance”. What was happening to me? I never acted like this. The rack and chains of jealousy are powerful catalysts to change a humble man into a creature of demonic rage. How close are love and hate? I fondled that razor edge, looking over into that dark chasm shadowed with the darkness of rage.

I managed to get back home, cold, miserable and confused. She was there, sleeping. A bottle of tequila lay empty on the floor, some pills scattered on the table. I woke her with a kiss. Evidently the owner’s decided against playing in this particular fire. Gently I pulled her blond hair to the side. Sleeping like this, I could still see some lingering touches of innocence. Her face, so gentle and pure again, like the angel I first met. She stirred, and seeing me, a reassuring smile spread from her face over her body, responding to me, reaching out and pulling me into bed. She felt so good, her body relaxed from the alcohol and pills, she pulled at my belt clumsily, I in a heated rush ripped the tired jeans from my body. 

We rolled around for hours in ecstasy. I fell asleep exhausted from the release of emotion and sex. She fell asleep, content that she still had the reigns, the prey had not left, he was just a little exhausted. The predators will chase and wait till you have lost your will before they pounce. She knew all she had to do was let me fight myself, she would clean up the mess after that. Fighting myself. Little did I know or understand that this whole game was of my making. I could have ended it at any time. Onward I went, my character eroding, my ambitions evaporating, and my soul, slowly withering under my assault.


The Queen – Chapter 11 – Taking out the trash

The sting of the needle, inserted quickly out of necessity, brought me back to consciousness. The gray bearded, decrepit doc had me laying on the kitchen counter, working out of an old leather bag which resembled the texture of his skin. Evidently I was out for a while and as he busied himself cleaning up, I looked over my shoulder, seeing the body of our attacker wrapped in heavy plastic, red smears on the inside looking like a crazed water-color painting. My Queen was calm, her hands stroking the blood, my and his, from my body.  I noticed a strength in me, her strength, unafraid and capable of handling these situations, enabled me, giving me confidence and lifting me above fear. She was amazing, and I owed my life to her now, as she did me for had I not taken the hit, she surely would be the one in water colored plastic. I saw her reach under the counter, pressing something, the cabinet above the sink shuttered and then flipped into itself revealing a stash of items, the most prominent of which were stacks of green, fresh money, the counting straps still banding them together. Grabbing a couple of bundles she handed them to the doc, the street has its own health care system. Letting sleep claim me again, I dreamed of the nights with my queen, her body an escort into the galaxies of pleasure beyond my experience.


The doc left satisfied and we settled into an evening of wine and pills, my Queen drowning my pain and apprehension with kisses down my neck and chest, settling into a rhythm with her hair in my lap. Closing my eyes, I turned to see the body again, I inquired about how to handle the trash. “The cleaners would be here soon, don’t worry.” She went back to her self-imposed task of intimating sexual pleasure on her bodyguard. As I grew closer to the summit of my desire, I recalled that this was the reason I worked my mundane, back-breaking job, to guard her and escape from the listless world that was mine, outside this Queen’s castle.

Related Posts: The Queen,  Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10,  Part 11,, Part 12, Part 13

The Queen – Chapter 10 – The Resistance

 image credit: nahom1

Whispering directions to her room, her voice was scant, forcing me to listen. Speaking softly, she could make others stop their routine to pay attention. Her eyes pulling them, me, closer as we leaned in to listen. She led me to her house, a loft in an unpretentious part of town. The door popped when she opened it, perhaps she hadn’t been here in a while. My Queen had access to many places I’m sure, not to mention the access she gains so readily to the hearts of her subjects. The smell of incense, strong and lingering, permeated her sanctuary, adding an element of Eros to the sultry décor. I turned to put up my jacket, damp from the evening dew of our walk, and bending down to untie my boots, I noticed she was gone from the room. I knew where she went, a trail of garments, first her jacket, then more personal items, her black and lacy bra, her panties stretching out from tip of her high-heeled shoes, all led to the shower, now filling with steam.


Following this not so subtle trail was easy, and looking up I caught sight of her voluptuous body sliding behind the clear shower glass enclosure. My voyeurism was cut short by the steam of the shower rapidly filling the now heated bathroom, my body filled with heat of a different sort. The door was left open, in an invitation that I should join her. I quickly disrobed, the tiles giving a sharp crack of complaint when my pistol hit the floor, in my haste I forgot the gun was stuck in my waistband. I heard a giggle come from the shower, she called out, “I have something to handle that”. Meaning a holster, I thought, however, I was naked now and saw she had rubbed the mist off the glass to peek at my manhood. I responded almost immediately, grateful that she knows how to excite me beyond every threshold of passion I ever knew.


I watched her hands caress her body, her glistening skin a perfect canvas for the long streaks of soap trails. She knew how to touch herself, her mouth responding with open acclamation of passions’ triumph over her body. I reached out to touch the Queen, with one hand she took herself and the other took me. With a rhythm born from an ancient percussion of tribal hedonistic dance, we moved together. Every part of her taking me without reservation. I watched as her nipples swelled with anticipation, my tongue gathering the hot streams of water from their graceful tips. I pulled her leg up in the crook of my arm and proceeded to take deep her offerings of pleasure for my parched soul. She responded to my every move, not just receiving me, but giving me herself. We entwined over, around, under, our bodies desire facilitated by the hot water and the oil she poured on our tangle of lust. My Queen, my queen, you have taken me as I have you. I kissed her deep as I finished, only to hear the sharp break of glass and feel a hot sting drive itself deep in my shoulder. 

Blood spattered across my Queens cheek, the bullet passed through me and hit the tile, a few inches over from her head. With her eyes wide in fear, but hot with rage, she grabbed me tight and pushed me through the shattered shower door, I, even in shock, knew what she knew, my pistol was right by the shower, under my pants. With a huge shove that could only been born of adrenalin, she ran me into the intruder. As he and I stumbled in a frantic and fierce dance of death, she grabbed the pistol and with confident defiance placed it within inches of his ear, pulling the trigger, putting an emphatic resistance to the defilement of her palace. The shot deafened me, my ears were ringing, my mind was cloudy, my vision going blurry, my voice only asking if she was OK. She whispered, her voice strong and controlled, that she was fine but she needed to get help for me immediately. As I let her words lead me to hope, I recalled that this is the reason I worked my mundane, back-breaking job, to guard her and escape from the listless world that was mine, outside this Queen’s castle. 

Related Posts: The Queen Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7

Also published in Broowaha