Oh Love!

Abandoned caves, desolate tundras

Palpitating heart, hacking sobs…

Truth; you are always in my heart

Truth; is that you could not wait

Truth; we can never be what we were

My love was pure and honest

My love was open and playful

My love was lustful and naughty

I told you that, ‘I don’t share’

I told you, ‘I love you’

I told you that, ‘you are mine!’

Misty boughs, rainy valleys

Phlegmy nostrils, rheumy eyes…

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Money Talks

Know your ‘-llions’

:

Million
Milliard
Billion
Trillion
Quadrillion
Quintillion
Sextillion
Septillion
Octillion
Nonillion
Decillion
Undecillion
Duodecillion
Tredecillion
Quattuordecillion
Quindecillion
Sexdecillion (Sedecillion)
Septendecillion
Octodecillion
Novemdecillion or (Novendecillion)
Vigintillion
Centillion

Thank me later.

You are welcome!

Never Say Never

I think my neighbors wife fancies me.

I think she would like to have sex with me. She told me so. So I know what I am talking about.

The above has nothing at all to do with the story I am about to tell, but I feel that since you and I are close, I can ‘share’.

Uhmmmm, you. Yes Sherlock, I am talking to you.

So… to my story;

I could tell that she was in a bit of a mood. The weekend did not have the effect she had hoped for. She is my friend, at least she thinks that we are friends. In truth, we are mere acquaintances, I would give an arm and a leg to have sex with her. I will not be friend-zoned.

I have rarely seen a woman so desirable! I swear I hyperventilate whenever she touches me.

At the risk of sounding like a borderline psycho, I think that she knows that I want her. I think I see the thought in her gaze sometimes… Sigh!

She is currently in a long-term, long distance relationship. As soldiers, we get moved about a lot. He is a single dad I gather… Late wife was killed, divorced or “raptured”, I truly do not give three stagnant mounds of shit. Baseline is that he is wife-less and woman-less.

Bummer!

She loves him and would love to marry him. He loves her and would love to marry her, but apparently his mum is a bitch. We are a traditional people, parental blessings are a big deal hereabouts.

She loves his daughter who I hear is the spitting image of her mum… Have to hand it to my Infatuation, she has balls! Why on earth would I want to be visually reminded of a rivalslashpredecessorslashcompetition daily?!

So, my Infatuations’ man is a wealthy heir of some sort.

She is a rebel. A doctor turned soldier.

He particularly loves the fact that my Infatuation gets on quite well with his daughter.

But then he loves his mum. I think that he is a bit of a wuss, a spoiled boy-man with a limp phallus and tiny testicles.

Spineless weasel!

When I was a younger, I once stole some money from me-dad, bought candy with the cash and sold it all the same day. I made twice the cash and returned it to his wallet. No drama, no fuss, no reaction.

The above has nothing at all to do with the story I am telling, but I feel that since you and I are close, I can ‘share’.

Uhmmmm, you. Yes Sherlock I am talking to you.

My Infatuation had hoped for a commitment from boy-man over the weekend they had just shared, it clearly did not go as planned. Her phone had been ringing, vibrating in her khakis (to the point of arousing her I’m sure…) She is ignoring him. She would ordinarily die for this boy-man, so I guess that things went south. Far south.

Ordinarily her predicament would be to my advantage, but I don’t like seeing her hurting; Her grip on her assault rifle was too stiff, her scrutiny of travellers was downright predatory, her eyes were bloodshot and puffy, but she was still breathtakingly beautiful.

Our checkpoint was a few kilometers from one of our borders.

Light smuggling and migration was tolerated; Illegal aliens driving, riding, running and walking back and forth through the borders to farm and trade agricultural, perishable produce. They were typically friendly, nervous or preoccupied folk.

Soft work, no big deal.

She had turned momentarily to tell me something, characteristically brushing real or imagined hair, lint, and or specks from my face, hair or camouflage-attired chest (I told you she liked me back!), when her eyes suddenly glazed over… Her lips receded off her teeth in a frightening snarl… Her right shoulder dropped about an inch allowing the strap of her assault rifle to release the messenger of death into her hands. She smoothly pirouetted 180 degrees into a combat-ready crouch. Gun raised, safety off and trained onto a Toyota 1998 model almost chugging past our check point.

Her movements were duplicated and replicated in a way only soldiers instinctively react. Years of training prepare us for situations like this. In nanoseconds all six of us had our sights and muzzles locked and trained on the (now suspiciously looking dark-tinted windows of the) hatchback Toyota.

She hoarsely screamed for the ignition to be turned off and the keys tossed out of the window onto the dusty asphalt.

Now whatever my Infatuation lacks pales in comparison to her instincts. Her sixth sense is acute! Her extra sensory perception has repeatedly saved the lives of fellow officers over the years.

Luckily for him, the driver complied. In further compliance, he exited the vehicle and moved to pop the see-through trunk of the hatchback. He was not the only occupant of the vehicle so whilst I covered her back, my team ‘strategically secured’ the other passengers.

The driver’s body language was off. He was sluggish and shifty. So from about two meters away, my Infatuation got him to uncover a suspicious looking blanket therein. Her assault rifle was swinging somewhat carelessly by the strap over her shoulder, her eyes riveted on the blanket.

The blanket suddenly sat up and fell to reveal a distraught and groggy-looking child of about five years old.

“Papaaaa!” She wailed in despair. Looking wildly about.

My Infatuation was for some reason standing mouth agape staring at the child. Rifle forgotten.

The driver lunged at my Infatuation, a dagger mysteriously in hand. I calmly planted a short burst of about twenty high – caliber bullets into his face. The impact from the M16 dissolved his face into a red splatter of blood, bone, flesh and gore. He crumpled unceremoniously without further ado.

My team also opened fire. Another passenger had foolishly ‘reached’. It was a massacre. The entire fiasco had lasted all of ten seconds.

By the time I blinked, my Infatuation had already snatched the child in her arms in a tight embrace. The child was curiously familiarly hugging her back too.

“Aunty Diana… I want my daddy…” the child requested tearfully.

“She is Myra. David’s daughter…” My Infatuation replied to my probing stare.

Surreal.

My Infatuation had just inexplicably rescued boy-man’s daughter.

Shit!

The incident cemented their plans for marriage. They were joined a few months later, after she had left the army.

Diana had sex with me on her hen night. It was to be a one time thing she explained… Lesbianism was not going to be a habit for her.

I squirted for the first time in my life that night.

I will always love you Diana.

xoxo…