A Calling of Bluffs
Grrr...I still don't know what I did Friday evening after I got done dropping off Lara at home. The only clue I have is that vision, and I haven't even been able to confirm the validity of that! The snow is gone...It's been gone for a while now, all melted away in the bright, warm sunshine. Hopefully it will come back in time for me to do what must be done, but first, to the main points of today!
I just woke up around noon, and here it is, 12:10 and I'm on the computer, pecking this out so I don't forget. (Unlike Fri-HEY! HANG ON!)
It says I updated this on Friday night at 11:21 pm...I can't remember a minute past 7 at the most. How on earth did I come to post at 11:21 without mention of any boozing of floozing, and still have a memory impairment? I mean, I could see an alchoholic blackout, but I can't even type when I'm impaired, let alone string together coherient, almost correctly-spelled sentances. Either something happened to me after I went to bed, or someone updated the post for me, hoping I wouldn't notice my lack of memory. (Obviously it was someone who thought I relied on such things, as do some people. I think I've mentioned him before, but he doesn't remember anything within the past three days, anything before or after that and he knows it perfectly.) But no...
Blast! Another conspiracy! Not good, not good, not good! (Esta muy mal!) No tengo gusto! NO GUSTO NO GUSTO!
Sorry, I have a few friends who are into the whole Spanglish thing. Not that that's spanglish, it's just me mixing spanish and english without intending to. Consider yourselves lucky I don't speak fluent gaelic like my grandfather, or I imagine you'd be even more lost.
But back to last night's events. They never showed. I was at the appointed place, but they weren't. I know, I know, you'd think that a threat from a guy who's no more thna 5'10.5" tall would be taking deadly serious, but for some reason they just didn't buy it. So, upon realizing this, I was faced with two choices. Either a: go hunt them down and gut them like fish as implied in the original threat; or b: do nothing, possibly go home and have a nice long hot soak in the tub, preferably with someone with me.
So there I was, midnight, at the lake. You can be darn sure I wasn't about to go and try and hunt them down, considering they could be anywhere in the state, with myself too giving to my clients to charge them with GPS tracking bugs that I could stick potential sources with. Now seemed as good a time as ever to perhaps try invoking the "For the love of god not again!" sense, perhaps targeting them specifically, but I was alone, and with no one to help me or even know enough to help me if I fell again and smacked my head on the cement sidewalk upon which I stood.
Or was I?
Nope. Wasn't.
So, I should be pleased right? Perhaps they had shown after all. Or, perhaps that rustling in the bushes was just some deranged foreign goose, taken with the blood-lust so long pent up, here to kill my domesticated ass. In truth, I'd almost have rathered it been that instead of what it actually was.
Auburn hair, catlike smile, long katana and sheath grasped tightly in her ladylike hands: who else could it be other than Mara?
"I knew I'd find you here Jason!" She said, her voice dripping with glee. I stood, alone, hands in the pockets of my jeans under the parkinglot's lamplight, and merely shrugged.
"Only so many places I could be in Upstate New York. Lucky guess."
"Hardly." She said with a snerk. (That's sort of like a cross between a snicker and a snort, for all you people wondering just what in blue-blazes I mean by such a thing.) "I saw it on Lara's dry-erase board. 'Call Jason after he gets home from Saratoga Lake...If not there by 1:30 call police, or if truly worried perhaps one of his kick-ass relations." It sounded about right, but I hardly trusted in Lara to call anyone kick-ass, especially Tanya after their little restroom skirmish.
"You drugged her I take it?" Mara wasn't banking on the fact that despite how much her twin sister obviously adored and was taken by me, she still had no use for my relatives.
"More or less. But let's focus on the here and now." She stood, arms held aloft slightly from her sides, sword and sheath each being, (judging from most of the kung-fu, oriental action movies I had seen), considered a weapon in their own right. After all, we all know how much it smarts to get smacked with a long wooden strip in the head, face, rear, etc. (Though then again, a well ordered spanking might not be that bad-erm, um, moving on though.)
A cold wind blew between us. I still stood very still, hands in my pockets and staring at the well armed Mara. She was wearing a rather seductive looking crimson kimono of some sort, tied tight 'round the middle with her chest prominently displayed. Upon her sockless feet were sandals, also red, tied by thin thongs to her soles. I imagine it the entire mood was much reminicent to the beginnings of many an ancient battle between two sworn enemies, still and quiet, with naught but the lapping of the waves to disturb it.
Horror of horrors, a wannna-be fag-hag and an avidly straight metrosexual. (Not my term, but one aptly applied I suppose.) Not a good combination for a battle, but never the less here we were. I, unarmed with naught but my slender witt and unwitting skill to aid me (in addition to my own hands, feet, teeth, etc. I suppose), and her, armed with one of the most deady weapons of all times. It was then that I actually came around to pondering one nearly overlooked fact: Was Mara actually trained in the so-called 'exquisit art of the Samurai sword'?
"In answer to your question Jay, which I can see forming in your mind, what with the way your eyebrows lift and your gaze rests upon my blade: yes, I am." Gulp! Ok, I was worried now. Very worried. Not as worried as I would be, say, if a hungering jubjub bird who'd just come off an unsuccessful slim-fast diet were staring me down, but Mara was relatively close to it.
"Why-?" I began, but was promptly cut off.
"You know what it is I want to hear." She began to circle, and I found myself revolving on the spot, watching her stalk me like a cat, one which could and most likely would spring at any moment, without to much as an inkling. "Say it! Say it and I'll let you go running home to dear sweet Lara!" She spat, literally spitting afterward on the ground by my feet.
"Mara, I don't have any idea what you're-"
"YOU DO!" She skrieked, brandishing the blade at me, "I KNOW YOU DO! I can see it in your eyes Jason!" She cried out, and I don't know why, but I could have sworn her heart were breaking, judging from the tone in her voice. "Jason! Say the words I want to hear, or so help me you will never be able to service my sister again!" With that, she lunged at me, blade arcing out, dancing in the silver lamplight, and I only barely moved out of the way fast enough to come out unscathed. Not to say my clothing didn't, she made a good cut to my coat, a long, slender rip now evident. But at least she hadn't drawn blood.
Quickly I thought, what on earth could she be after from me?! Wait! What had I first noticed about her when she came? No, not the dread that it was her. No, not the fact that she held a knife that would make Ron whatshisname who always sold them on TV flinch. AHA! Her wardrobe!
She wanted me to compliment her on her wardrobe! She had done it, she had finally discovered the secret of the perfect outfit! The one high-holy rule bequeathed to us by the gods and dieties of the fashion realm. "Dress as thou wilt!"
"Mara!" I called out, just barely able to dance backward as she made a cross-cut, this time slicing the front of my jacket down and across. "Stop! I know what it is you want to hear!"
She paused, momentarilly, and it was then that I realize she'd merely been toying with me up until now. She could have dispatched me readily, severing any parts she had indeed desired me to part with, and I would have looked like a fool all the while she was doing it. One could tell from the balance of the blade in her hand, the stance she took when paused and resting, the unflinching gaze with which she watched me as she said, "Alright. Do tell."
I gathered my thoughts, my mind still reeling with all the realizations that had just struck me, and I said. "You have finally uncovered the secret to which you, for a long time, vainly sought to find through me. The secret to the perfect wardrobe. 'Dress as thou wilt' ; never forsaking who you are for the sake of who you want to appear like."
She considered this for a moment, and then quietly sheathed her blade, took a step toward me, and smacked me as hard as she could with the flat of the enveloped weapon.
"OW!"
"It took you that long to realize that I wanted a compliment on my wardrobe?! What the hell does Lara have to do to get get you to mutter all those mushy lovers' bits, threaten your car's paint job?!" I rubbed the back of my head where her weapon had struck. It really pained me, and for some reason I had finally had it up to- well, there I suppose, of all the abuse she put me through. And so, without further aduie, I grabbed the blade, wrenched it free from her grasp, and taking hold of her twists pulled her down over my bent knee and spanked the hell out of her right there in the deserted parking lot.
Believe you me, there was nothing sexual at all in that spanking. More a letting loose of some-many-years pent up fury and frustration at being taunted by her for my style and grace. "Nasty- bitchy- cunt- no-good- horrible- horse-faced- hag! " I grumbled out between smacks. I can't say whether or not she was horribly pained by the whole ordeal. Lord knows she did squirm in the most disturbing of manners there on my leg, but I kept a tight hold on her, not wanting to let her go until my rage had abbated.
Mind you, I'm not abusive or anything when it comes to girls, or females in general for that matter. I merely subscribe to the belief that if you want to play rough and tumble with the boys, expect to get treated like one and not just some prissy, haughty, untouchable 'lady'. It just won't fly. Period. Plus she ruined a perfectly good outfit, so right there all bets are off!
So later on, there I was at home, up in my room, snuggled down into bed despite the chilly drafts in my olde colonial stlye house, talking softly with Lara on the phone. I had guessed right, she had been drugged. (She claimed that she should have known better than to accept a dish of ice-cream from her caniving sister, fudge brownie ala mode or no!) I appologised for acting so rashly, but she understood completely. Plus, she said it evened us out for what she did to Tanya; not to mention we both would have done the same thing in either situation.
"I miss you." I cooed at her over the phone, wriggling in my bedsheets as I did, hugging my microbead pillow to my chest. (A material which many a man has sworn they should consider making breasts implants out of, but no matter...)
"I miss you too." She cooed back, and while I don't know exactly what she was doing, I like to imagine her being scantily clad, nigh on naked in lacey red satin, lying there atop her sheets in her sweltering room. Sweat dripping down her toned thighs from the heat, as she rubbed her long, lucious legs together, flicking them and folding them about as she tossed and turned on the bed, hopefully thinking of me.
"I miss you more." I said, feeling a groan deep in the back of my throat, which I fought to surpress. The thought alone was driving me mad, considering how badly I wanted to be there with her. But lo, she was probably just in her PJ's, yawning and wanting to go to sleep. But still, even that would be preferable to being her, alone...
"I can see that happening." It's such a wonderful feeling to find your perfect match in the world. I loved her vanity, considering how formidable it was compared to my own. Besides, who knows, maybe she really was naked and I wasn't just imagining it from the tone in her voice. "I miss your ass." Oh yeah!
"My ass misses you." Mind you if anyone was listening (which, I suppose, you are now), they'd probably would have thought us slightly mental. Which, also in retrospect, I suppose we are. Suppose, what a funny word... It comes from Old French or Latin even. Something along the lines of "to place" or "to put under". So I (surprise surprise) suppose the root fits in leading up to the modern day definition.
It was late when we finally managed to say goodnight, and afterward I couldn't sleep. All I could think about were things like the two men in suits who didn't show, our missing memories, the vision, and of course my fantasy of a scantily clad fem who was all hot and bothered just from talking to me. (Which, sadly, happens more often than one would think.) I can't remember when exactly I did finally fall asleep, but I did sleep well. Deep breathing, soft, subtle dreams, a comfy pillow, you name it.
I didn't wake up until late today, as I said before. And even still, I doubt I'll be doing more than watching a movie with Lara at her house, perhaps getting all snuggly on her bed and playing footsie. You know, the damn cutsie stuff couples like to do, who are less worried about what other people think and more concerned with entertaining themsleves with their own childish games; in which they secretly delight. But still, I’m too tired to do much of anything that requires actual physical activity today. (Well, maybe one thing, but not much else. Hehe!) I should actually try to get caught up on some of my homework, upon which I am lagging, but oh well. Girl First, Work Second, School Third. Tis my way. (Any other way and I lose sight of my priorities and wind up very, very unhappy in the end.)
Ah, and there she goes now, my darling Angle. Ring away dear cellphone, connect me with the one whom my heart doth treasure so!
I just woke up around noon, and here it is, 12:10 and I'm on the computer, pecking this out so I don't forget. (Unlike Fri-HEY! HANG ON!)
It says I updated this on Friday night at 11:21 pm...I can't remember a minute past 7 at the most. How on earth did I come to post at 11:21 without mention of any boozing of floozing, and still have a memory impairment? I mean, I could see an alchoholic blackout, but I can't even type when I'm impaired, let alone string together coherient, almost correctly-spelled sentances. Either something happened to me after I went to bed, or someone updated the post for me, hoping I wouldn't notice my lack of memory. (Obviously it was someone who thought I relied on such things, as do some people. I think I've mentioned him before, but he doesn't remember anything within the past three days, anything before or after that and he knows it perfectly.) But no...
Blast! Another conspiracy! Not good, not good, not good! (Esta muy mal!) No tengo gusto! NO GUSTO NO GUSTO!
Sorry, I have a few friends who are into the whole Spanglish thing. Not that that's spanglish, it's just me mixing spanish and english without intending to. Consider yourselves lucky I don't speak fluent gaelic like my grandfather, or I imagine you'd be even more lost.
But back to last night's events. They never showed. I was at the appointed place, but they weren't. I know, I know, you'd think that a threat from a guy who's no more thna 5'10.5" tall would be taking deadly serious, but for some reason they just didn't buy it. So, upon realizing this, I was faced with two choices. Either a: go hunt them down and gut them like fish as implied in the original threat; or b: do nothing, possibly go home and have a nice long hot soak in the tub, preferably with someone with me.
So there I was, midnight, at the lake. You can be darn sure I wasn't about to go and try and hunt them down, considering they could be anywhere in the state, with myself too giving to my clients to charge them with GPS tracking bugs that I could stick potential sources with. Now seemed as good a time as ever to perhaps try invoking the "For the love of god not again!" sense, perhaps targeting them specifically, but I was alone, and with no one to help me or even know enough to help me if I fell again and smacked my head on the cement sidewalk upon which I stood.
Or was I?
Nope. Wasn't.
So, I should be pleased right? Perhaps they had shown after all. Or, perhaps that rustling in the bushes was just some deranged foreign goose, taken with the blood-lust so long pent up, here to kill my domesticated ass. In truth, I'd almost have rathered it been that instead of what it actually was.
Auburn hair, catlike smile, long katana and sheath grasped tightly in her ladylike hands: who else could it be other than Mara?
"I knew I'd find you here Jason!" She said, her voice dripping with glee. I stood, alone, hands in the pockets of my jeans under the parkinglot's lamplight, and merely shrugged.
"Only so many places I could be in Upstate New York. Lucky guess."
"Hardly." She said with a snerk. (That's sort of like a cross between a snicker and a snort, for all you people wondering just what in blue-blazes I mean by such a thing.) "I saw it on Lara's dry-erase board. 'Call Jason after he gets home from Saratoga Lake...If not there by 1:30 call police, or if truly worried perhaps one of his kick-ass relations." It sounded about right, but I hardly trusted in Lara to call anyone kick-ass, especially Tanya after their little restroom skirmish.
"You drugged her I take it?" Mara wasn't banking on the fact that despite how much her twin sister obviously adored and was taken by me, she still had no use for my relatives.
"More or less. But let's focus on the here and now." She stood, arms held aloft slightly from her sides, sword and sheath each being, (judging from most of the kung-fu, oriental action movies I had seen), considered a weapon in their own right. After all, we all know how much it smarts to get smacked with a long wooden strip in the head, face, rear, etc. (Though then again, a well ordered spanking might not be that bad-erm, um, moving on though.)
A cold wind blew between us. I still stood very still, hands in my pockets and staring at the well armed Mara. She was wearing a rather seductive looking crimson kimono of some sort, tied tight 'round the middle with her chest prominently displayed. Upon her sockless feet were sandals, also red, tied by thin thongs to her soles. I imagine it the entire mood was much reminicent to the beginnings of many an ancient battle between two sworn enemies, still and quiet, with naught but the lapping of the waves to disturb it.
Horror of horrors, a wannna-be fag-hag and an avidly straight metrosexual. (Not my term, but one aptly applied I suppose.) Not a good combination for a battle, but never the less here we were. I, unarmed with naught but my slender witt and unwitting skill to aid me (in addition to my own hands, feet, teeth, etc. I suppose), and her, armed with one of the most deady weapons of all times. It was then that I actually came around to pondering one nearly overlooked fact: Was Mara actually trained in the so-called 'exquisit art of the Samurai sword'?
"In answer to your question Jay, which I can see forming in your mind, what with the way your eyebrows lift and your gaze rests upon my blade: yes, I am." Gulp! Ok, I was worried now. Very worried. Not as worried as I would be, say, if a hungering jubjub bird who'd just come off an unsuccessful slim-fast diet were staring me down, but Mara was relatively close to it.
"Why-?" I began, but was promptly cut off.
"You know what it is I want to hear." She began to circle, and I found myself revolving on the spot, watching her stalk me like a cat, one which could and most likely would spring at any moment, without to much as an inkling. "Say it! Say it and I'll let you go running home to dear sweet Lara!" She spat, literally spitting afterward on the ground by my feet.
"Mara, I don't have any idea what you're-"
"YOU DO!" She skrieked, brandishing the blade at me, "I KNOW YOU DO! I can see it in your eyes Jason!" She cried out, and I don't know why, but I could have sworn her heart were breaking, judging from the tone in her voice. "Jason! Say the words I want to hear, or so help me you will never be able to service my sister again!" With that, she lunged at me, blade arcing out, dancing in the silver lamplight, and I only barely moved out of the way fast enough to come out unscathed. Not to say my clothing didn't, she made a good cut to my coat, a long, slender rip now evident. But at least she hadn't drawn blood.
Quickly I thought, what on earth could she be after from me?! Wait! What had I first noticed about her when she came? No, not the dread that it was her. No, not the fact that she held a knife that would make Ron whatshisname who always sold them on TV flinch. AHA! Her wardrobe!
She wanted me to compliment her on her wardrobe! She had done it, she had finally discovered the secret of the perfect outfit! The one high-holy rule bequeathed to us by the gods and dieties of the fashion realm. "Dress as thou wilt!"
"Mara!" I called out, just barely able to dance backward as she made a cross-cut, this time slicing the front of my jacket down and across. "Stop! I know what it is you want to hear!"
She paused, momentarilly, and it was then that I realize she'd merely been toying with me up until now. She could have dispatched me readily, severing any parts she had indeed desired me to part with, and I would have looked like a fool all the while she was doing it. One could tell from the balance of the blade in her hand, the stance she took when paused and resting, the unflinching gaze with which she watched me as she said, "Alright. Do tell."
I gathered my thoughts, my mind still reeling with all the realizations that had just struck me, and I said. "You have finally uncovered the secret to which you, for a long time, vainly sought to find through me. The secret to the perfect wardrobe. 'Dress as thou wilt' ; never forsaking who you are for the sake of who you want to appear like."
She considered this for a moment, and then quietly sheathed her blade, took a step toward me, and smacked me as hard as she could with the flat of the enveloped weapon.
"OW!"
"It took you that long to realize that I wanted a compliment on my wardrobe?! What the hell does Lara have to do to get get you to mutter all those mushy lovers' bits, threaten your car's paint job?!" I rubbed the back of my head where her weapon had struck. It really pained me, and for some reason I had finally had it up to- well, there I suppose, of all the abuse she put me through. And so, without further aduie, I grabbed the blade, wrenched it free from her grasp, and taking hold of her twists pulled her down over my bent knee and spanked the hell out of her right there in the deserted parking lot.
Believe you me, there was nothing sexual at all in that spanking. More a letting loose of some-many-years pent up fury and frustration at being taunted by her for my style and grace. "Nasty- bitchy- cunt- no-good- horrible- horse-faced- hag! " I grumbled out between smacks. I can't say whether or not she was horribly pained by the whole ordeal. Lord knows she did squirm in the most disturbing of manners there on my leg, but I kept a tight hold on her, not wanting to let her go until my rage had abbated.
Mind you, I'm not abusive or anything when it comes to girls, or females in general for that matter. I merely subscribe to the belief that if you want to play rough and tumble with the boys, expect to get treated like one and not just some prissy, haughty, untouchable 'lady'. It just won't fly. Period. Plus she ruined a perfectly good outfit, so right there all bets are off!
So later on, there I was at home, up in my room, snuggled down into bed despite the chilly drafts in my olde colonial stlye house, talking softly with Lara on the phone. I had guessed right, she had been drugged. (She claimed that she should have known better than to accept a dish of ice-cream from her caniving sister, fudge brownie ala mode or no!) I appologised for acting so rashly, but she understood completely. Plus, she said it evened us out for what she did to Tanya; not to mention we both would have done the same thing in either situation.
"I miss you." I cooed at her over the phone, wriggling in my bedsheets as I did, hugging my microbead pillow to my chest. (A material which many a man has sworn they should consider making breasts implants out of, but no matter...)
"I miss you too." She cooed back, and while I don't know exactly what she was doing, I like to imagine her being scantily clad, nigh on naked in lacey red satin, lying there atop her sheets in her sweltering room. Sweat dripping down her toned thighs from the heat, as she rubbed her long, lucious legs together, flicking them and folding them about as she tossed and turned on the bed, hopefully thinking of me.
"I miss you more." I said, feeling a groan deep in the back of my throat, which I fought to surpress. The thought alone was driving me mad, considering how badly I wanted to be there with her. But lo, she was probably just in her PJ's, yawning and wanting to go to sleep. But still, even that would be preferable to being her, alone...
"I can see that happening." It's such a wonderful feeling to find your perfect match in the world. I loved her vanity, considering how formidable it was compared to my own. Besides, who knows, maybe she really was naked and I wasn't just imagining it from the tone in her voice. "I miss your ass." Oh yeah!
"My ass misses you." Mind you if anyone was listening (which, I suppose, you are now), they'd probably would have thought us slightly mental. Which, also in retrospect, I suppose we are. Suppose, what a funny word... It comes from Old French or Latin even. Something along the lines of "to place" or "to put under". So I (surprise surprise) suppose the root fits in leading up to the modern day definition.
It was late when we finally managed to say goodnight, and afterward I couldn't sleep. All I could think about were things like the two men in suits who didn't show, our missing memories, the vision, and of course my fantasy of a scantily clad fem who was all hot and bothered just from talking to me. (Which, sadly, happens more often than one would think.) I can't remember when exactly I did finally fall asleep, but I did sleep well. Deep breathing, soft, subtle dreams, a comfy pillow, you name it.
I didn't wake up until late today, as I said before. And even still, I doubt I'll be doing more than watching a movie with Lara at her house, perhaps getting all snuggly on her bed and playing footsie. You know, the damn cutsie stuff couples like to do, who are less worried about what other people think and more concerned with entertaining themsleves with their own childish games; in which they secretly delight. But still, I’m too tired to do much of anything that requires actual physical activity today. (Well, maybe one thing, but not much else. Hehe!) I should actually try to get caught up on some of my homework, upon which I am lagging, but oh well. Girl First, Work Second, School Third. Tis my way. (Any other way and I lose sight of my priorities and wind up very, very unhappy in the end.)
Ah, and there she goes now, my darling Angle. Ring away dear cellphone, connect me with the one whom my heart doth treasure so!