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…


Money Talks

Know your ‘-llions’


Sexdecillion (Sedecillion)
Novemdecillion or (Novendecillion)

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.


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.


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


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.


Death Becomes Him

I can not believe that this impetuous, over-pampered and carnally-minded simpleton actually picked up that phone call… 

I swear by the throne of Jehovah, I will kill him first chance I get. 

Ring… Ring… Ring… Ring… 


“… I kept hoping that you’d pick up one day…” 

“Uhmmmm… Yeah… I was conflicted.” 

“Because of what I am?” 

“What are you exactly?” 

“I could show you…” 

Laughs…“For real?” 

More nervous laughter… “Where are you exactly?” 

“Here.” She answered from behind him. 

I kept watch over him. He could not see me, but she could. 

From that day they were inseparable. That day in which he had unwittingly summoned her by accepting her ‘hello’  from’ the other side’. They talked a lot. Very often. He was a very curious soul. 

He was exactly thirty three years, three months, three days, three hours, three minutes and three seconds old when he (unfortunately) stumbled upon the ability to ‘summon’. 

I confronted her one night when he was asleep. I was after all his protector. In righteous indignation I insisted on being told her plans. 

She knew that I had the power to translate her spirit back into the abyss. I am holy and righteous. Maybe that is why she demurely replied me in almost suspicious humility. 

She told me that she loved him. 

“But you are a succubus, a demon!” I recall blurting out. 

She then reminded me about the time the sons of God took for themselves wives of the sons of men. And how they cohabited in love and harmony ever after. It was their offspring that became unruly, not the abominable anomaly. 

I can not believe that I am admitting this, but she was right. 

I immediately summoned Headquarters for wisdom; and reinforcements were expeditiously despatched. The Company clearly considered this client untouchable. He was the apple of someone’s eye. He was clearly special and the beloved of someone important. 

We watched as ABIKU taught him great mysteries. She revealed ancient Truths and Verities that he clearly hungered for. She showed him the treasures of darkness and the hidden riches of secret places. He inevitably became very rich and prosperous speedily. He practically rode the high places of at least two worlds. 

She was plump, shapely and comely. The human vessel she chose was as he found pleasing. She inexplicably favored him for his warmth and meekness. Under our surveillance, she metamorphosed into human (female) tendencies of jealousy, tears and domestication. 

They were under no illusions about who and what she was, and yet they proceeded to know each other carnally. Because of her default (basic) existence and office, they copulated often, and with reckless abandon. Succubi are carnal like that. She was extremely pleased with him. They were in love. 

It has been a decade now. Their unholy liaison is now confirmed by the presence of a ruddy, cheeky and naughty lad. ABIKU is a mother. 

My name is Chrioni. I am the messenger of Yahweh; (The Alpha and The Omega, The First and The Last, Holy of Holies, Jehovah.) 

I am the head guardian angel primarily assigned to this mortal, and then to his family. 

The situation has all of us messengers befuddled. And from the murderous looks of the demons snarling and hissing constantly at ABIKU, her kind are incensed beyond belief. 

We are all watching and waiting. 

Have You Bought Your Copy Yet? 

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