In the teeth of lost memory
Do you remember the words of Henry Miller? “Life’s wildest moment — she kneels on the sidewalk. Everything else she does is lies, lies, lies.” This is how I felt — used by every woman I’ve met so far, especially by Mrs. Vegas.
Did I find Qi, or did I not? That, my friend, is the tricky question. All I could remember was a sensation of the night on my skin, and Ms. Break de Roof with a satisfied chuckle on her face, dressed like a surgeon in the middle of a critical operation, repeating: “clamp with II, clear with III, breathe in on my count… Mrs. Vegas, we can lose him at any time.”
Just the thought of that conversation made me shiver like a leaf. And then, suddenly, the voice of Auntie Cactus came from behind the curtain: “Poor doc, you should give him an injection of prussic acid, darling. Or anything, really…” Her harsh and ugly cynicism was the last thing I remembered about the day I visited castle #69, the house of Mrs. Vegas.
Now, let me tell you, I don’t know how it feels to be unconscious, but I sure know how it feels to be wet. When I opened my eyes, I was lying in the bathtub, naked, with an animated panda mask on my face, a razor in my hand, and an expensive watch on. I bent forward, found a towel, and with a small sigh of relief, began to examine the room. Three doors, five windows. What happened? And which door is the way out of this hell?
The middle door opened. A big woman with a pink nose dressed as a queen approached my bath and, with a mellow smile — like an intoxicated flute — announced, “Hullorr, Mista Beeard! I’m so glad I found you arrlive…”
All right, all right, don’t worry, Bullet. Just close your eyes and count to five — she’ll be gone.
“Who are you?” I asked after a few hasty breaths.
“Ms. Divine Madness, a special agent of Cut & Infect. You might have trouble remembering me; you crashed from the third floor last night.”
The pictures of yesterday arrived in some kind of broken vision board quality: at first, the blue screen had fallen on my head but didn’t kill me; then, the whispers of Mrs. Vegas and the Second Assistant, who spoke about “moving the body,” “nobody could ever know because nobody has ever seen his face,” “he might have died, anyhow, of shock, after the night with Auntie Cactus;” and at the end, the memory of the giant iron hippopotamus that had been thrown at me by the blurred shadow of Mr. Beard.
As the bathroom atmosphere thickened with panic and despair, Ms. Divine Madness became increasingly aware that I needed help safely getting out of the bath. She slipped one hand into the water and opened her glittering dress with another. Every cell of me blazed with thirst. It wasn’t just the raw sexual desire that surged through my body in that second, it was the feeling of strange power. But talking with a special agent is not always easy… After all, the woman was six feet three plus, broad and strong in proportion.
“Would you like us to do a postmortem?” Ms. Divine Madness asked.
“Mr. Harmless. He died in your bed yesterrrday. Your soon-to-be wife, Mrs. Vegas, told us that he finally found Qi, which ended his life. You should see his smashed head… So tragirrrc!”
I coughed. “I think I remember that name. Please, he doesn’t need a postmortem; Mr. Harmless has suffered enough.”
“What an amazing perrrsona you are, Mr. Beaard! The kindest governor everrr! You know the storrrry of every visitor in the Prudent Village, don’t you? You really do care…” the big woman chirped in my ear.
No, I didn’t care. My hands twitched, screaming to run themselves over those luscious shoulders, to slide my tongue into her wet orifice, to touch the curves of her muscular waist. My sleepy spindle woke up and began to drool with anticipation, dreaming of entering her athletically built fountain of passion.
After a couple of seconds, I dropped to the floor, exhausted by the speed and strength of the special agent from Cut & Infect.
“I admire your squeezing qualities, Ms. Divine Madness! But I have to rush home… I mean, to visit castle #77 where the widow of Mr. Harmless lives. She’s probably wondering what’s happened to her stupid husband… And I have to visit the clinic of the Warrior Farm. Soon. Today… Now! We must save as many victims of LKED as possible!” I shouted.
“Ah, I envy how your mind works: purrhe brrilliance. But don’t be too naïve; you can’t save them all, my dearest Alphonso Beard. And it’s absurd that you have to do this kind of thing — visiting widows, listening to their crr-ph-ries, feeding their hungrrry mouthsss. You are the king, not a slave. Don’t you have an assistant for that?”
“What an idiot I am!” I laughed nervously. “Of course, I can send Ms. Break de Roof. Still, I’d like to end the problem with LKED. What about the modern research of that fellow, mmm… Alexander Raphael?”
“What?! You hated him! He was a strange man… You hired my arrr-gency to kill him.”
”Right. Of course, I did.” I trembled in disgust.
The most remarkable thing about my spindle is that it never listens. It makes its own decisions: such as rubbing itself over every inch of Ms. Divine Madness’s belly while I was speaking to her. Yes, I was tired; I needed to sleep very badly, but all I did (like the dumb doll) was restlessly pull Ms. Divine’s hips closer and closer to me. Finally, I gave up! I pressed myself against her ripe dates and slid my greedy spindle between her thighs. Let’s try it again, my way!
Suddenly, it all stopped. The bride of the castle, somewhat astonished, stood in the doorway. She produced a sharp knife from her pocket and furiously asked Ms. Divine Madness to leave the bathroom immediately.
“You are a monster! Today is our wedding!” Mrs. Vegas groaned once the half-naked special agent had left the room.
I shifted restlessly upon wet pillows on the floor.
“If I have rightly understood, we aren’t married yet. Well, I suggest that…”
“I didn’t mean it; all I just said, Bu…” Mrs. Vegas paused. “Ha ha, I don’t seem able to think normally today; I forget things and go blank for hours, darling Alphonso. Don’t you?”
Her sweet voice alarmed me, but I nodded.
“A wife is not a structure of bones, who follows house rules and serves delicious sex each night, but a wish, a dream, a tiger behind bars, or all of these together!” Mrs. Vegas pressed herself against me.
I knew I was being offered a dangerous gift — her two witchy, perky balloons were looking straight at my face, telling me, – “we know what you want, go ahead, take us,” — but something inside me yelped, “be careful with this irrational, kooky woman.”
The eyes of Mrs. Vegas gravitated toward the towel; her itchy longing was affecting me too. I swallowed my suspicion, pretended I had lost my memory, and accepted the bride in my arms. Yeah, call me Alphonso Beard; I’m a game!
Another fascinating episode, Ray.
Thank you & have a great weekend ahead, J!
You as well. 😁
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