The Queen, Part 13 – Comfortable Violence

 

spiffynorthwest

The throbbing in my shoulder matched the muffled sounds from the headers of the car. Sweet liquid morphine and shots of Jack Daniels had their desired effect, easing my body and mind out the bowels of this craziness. It’s amazing how fast life can change, from dreary and boring to “What the fuck!” in a hot quick second. I noticed things were getting easier, surprises less surprising, and choices made by previous choices. Violence became a common thing, life and death, no longer fragile and precious, but cheap and forgotten. The only lives important were ours. It wasn’t the fight for life, because I had life and it never was this exciting or crazy, but it was the fight for survival. I know survival is life, but there’s something about staring at the wrong end of the gun on a regular basis that ingrained a grit, a hardness that’s comforting and that sedates the complacency experienced by the blue and white collared grunts, performing the same routine, longing after a little dough to buy a house or car, or the beautiful trophy wife. I imagine cavemen had this same excitement, and really, that what this was. Caveman style, fight for survival, kill and maim to push ahead and escape. Some men are born for this lifestyle, and for me? Well I didn’t know, but I knew that guns now felt comfortable, my aim was sure and not shaking, my stride confident with my queen by my side. I guess that even if I didn’t start in this “trade” it seemed that it grew on me. These thoughts eased me into another deep sleep, the lullaby of mufflers at 70 mph, and the comfort of cold steel pressed against my skin and delicious lips, parted slightly with just a little strain visible on her china face. Where this was going, I didn’t care and it seemed my career description was rapidly changing from my old mundane, back breaking job, but the goal was the same, that I might see her and escape from the listless world that was mine, outside my Queen’s castle.

Knights Of Sleep

“Making love with a woman and sleeping with a woman are two separate passions, not merely different but opposite. Love does not make itself felt in the desire for copulation (a desire that extends to an infinite number of women) but in the desire for shared sleep (a desire limited to one woman).”
Milan Kundera, The Unbearable Lightness of Being

I feel the pull of desire against my eyes


The drawbridge lowers deep in my castles of thought


These arduous doors are opened by a courting call


Lit by darkened dreams not from the day


But by the undulating billows of subtle night


Missing my physical touch I find only a Queen of slumber


I reach for you to hold the fading ethereal way


I am left with only the encroaching knights of sleep

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.

The Queen – Chapter 1 – The palace of the Queen

Her voice, a siren on the rocky shore, drew me in, to places forbidden and dangerous. The allure of the illegal, the sensual, kept me long after my defenses buckled. I saw her in the black light shadows, scantily clad, the glistening drops of sweat running down her ample chest. Seeing my hungry eyes, she turned to her pleasant task. Her back, arched cat like as she crawled to the pole, the center of her throne room. I, like an obedient subject, took my place among the ranks of worshipers. Her eyes never left mine, except when her quickened moves took her face from one side to another. Long her spell kept me there, reaching for my money, her money, till I had emptied my pockets. Then desire fated me to stand in line with her other hapless captives, to empty my account, her account. 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.

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

Also published in: Broowaha 
11242011

  Image Credit: ivor-kovic.com
            

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

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

The Queen – Chapter 9

Image credit: ciracar.com
We walked out of the camps, no glances this time, no questioning looks, instead I could feel respect, an empowering feeling, especially for a man like myself, merely a subject of the Queen. My Queen now followed me, letting me lead for the first time, she was still in control, and where else should a shield be, but in front? I walked confidently, knowing the way back, my pants sagging a little from the weight of the black piece stuck in my waistband. It was nice that they filed down the sharp edges of the sight and other areas that might snag should I pull it out quick. Now the knight had a weapon other than that of brute force. Experience told me that this gave me another form of attack, that of threat, just seeing it would cause others to think carefully of executing their nefarious ideas. I felt solid, strong, and honored. My queen was close, every so often when I slowed, she pressed against me and put her hand on my arm, letting her elegant fingers trace softly down my dark tanned skin, then grabbing me firmly before letting go. This Queen, how is it she learned to use every element to communicate? I knew that firm grip she gave was a vote of confidence, not of me, but of her skill in leading us. It was an assurance that things were as they ought to be. Though I was first, somehow I knew that physically being in front did not put me higher up, but put me more in her control. That didn’t matter, what mattered was, tasting her again, pressing my mouth roughly against her, leaving a trail of wetness down her tattoo. I physically smacked myself to pull out of the day-dream, she looked surprised at the move, in fact jumped a little. I looked at her and made references to the bugs flying about, but surely she knew 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, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10,  Part 11,, Part 12, Part 13

 Also published in: Broowaha

The Queen – Chapter 9

Image credit: ciracar.com
We walked out of the camps, no glances this time, no questioning looks, instead I could feel respect, an empowering feeling, especially for a man like myself, merely a subject of the Queen. My Queen now followed me, letting me lead for the first time, she was still in control, and where else should a shield be, but in front? I walked confidently, knowing the way back, my pants sagging a little from the weight of the black piece stuck in my waistband. It was nice that they filed down the sharp edges of the sight and other areas that might snag should I pull it out quick. Now the knight had a weapon other than that of brute force. Experience told me that this gave me another form of attack, that of threat, just seeing it would cause others to think carefully of executing their nefarious ideas. I felt solid, strong, and honored. My queen was close, every so often when I slowed, she pressed against me and put her hand on my arm, letting her elegant fingers trace softly down my dark tanned skin, then grabbing me firmly before letting go. This Queen, how is it she learned to use every element to communicate? I knew that firm grip she gave was a vote of confidence, not of me, but of her skill in leading us. It was an assurance that things were as they ought to be. Though I was first, somehow I knew that physically being in front did not put me higher up, but put me more in her control. That didn’t matter, what mattered was, tasting her again, pressing my mouth roughly against her, leaving a trail of wetness down her tattoo. I physically smacked myself to pull out of the day-dream, she looked surprised at the move, in fact jumped a little. I looked at her and made references to the bugs flying about, but surely she knew 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, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10,  Part 11,, Part 12, Part 13

 Also published in: Broowaha

The Queen – Chapter 8 – Rising stakes for the Queen

We made our way past improvised camps of itinerant castaways, their barrels burning, a social network of the basest sort. My queen looked out-of-place, as one with money and wherewithal always appears when in the company of poorer souls. Those souls who, though lacking money, had knowledge, knowledge of the street, a resource we needed, and motivated our journey through their living rooms. No one likes a stranger this deep in the underworld of the city. The looks I garnered, rivaled that of my queen, they scarcely giving her a glance that they might see through my disguise, which, was not a facade by any means, I was truly as I appeared, a naive man accompanying royalty through dire straights. 

My queen had thrown her coat over the backpack. Her runway strut moved the conspicuous lock to break free of its camouflage and catch the sun, gleaming, drawing attention. A few started to come toward us, as they walked closer, they seemed to have second thoughts, my queen staring at them with her sensuous eyes, eyes now used to convey a very different type of message. Amazing how she can maneuver and manipulate circumstances with just a look. I thought of my weakness to her gaze, how she melted my resolve and conformed me to her will. Breathing deep, I focused on the issues threatening our incursion. 

Like an inner city subdivision, all the houses looked the same, only the color of the boxes and blankets, or the store brand of shopping carts parked outside, marked the differences. After passing a few of the camps, we came across one, that by outward appearances, was another of the same. The homeowner, a frail ancient man huddled under layers of coats, all worn well past usefulness to the ordinary wearer, looked up at us, and not standing, seemed to say all he needed by reaching out his hand. My queen passed him the backpack, which he confidently took and began to decipher the lock. Cussing under his breath when his first attempt failed, he tried again and had success, allowing me to breath easier, nothing was what appeared in this world. 

In an unexpected gesture of trust, evidently gained by my advancement through the ranks to his residence and my queens unflinching manner, he threw the blankets off a sturdier looking cardboard shelf, decorated with graffiti and empty cigarette boxes. The revealing, showing a clean and organized assortment of guns, maybe a couple dozen or so arranged in an order unfamiliar to me. Pistols, small ones that could fit in your palm, larger revolvers, chromed with scopes, lining case. His hand flowed over the choices, like a diviner finding water, finally settling on a flat black pistol. Handing it to my queen, she in turn, handing it to me. She leaned close and with whisper that caused my hair to stand at attention, asked if I knew how to use it. Of course I did, destiny prepared me for this reason, that I might leave 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 

 Also published in Broowaha