Sex is not love, but we sometimes abuse the ones we love the most.  Even love can be toxic.

;

   Marion Lovell {FF/gb Saph Ince Fant}

   "Secret Touches." I looked up from my notes.  "Often, the best way to tell something is wrong is if we're not supposed to talk about it.  So, if you or someone you know is touched by an adult, and it's a secret, it's best to find someone you trust to tell about it." A little boy raised his hand, "Yes, you have a question?"

   He got up, and looked around nervously.  "Like my momma?" This can be difficult enough without the whole school there to hear it.  But they middleschoolers were notably sober, and serious, considering the subject matter.

   "Yes," of course, "Your mothers are perfect examples of an adult you can trust." He looked down, confused.  "Or policemen, teachers, other faculty, if you don't know anyone you can trust, you can call either of the hotlines on the back of the handout." He sat down, but his posture, how he looked around, and the expression on his face gave me reason to follow up after the presentation.  We wrapped up early, to leave time to talk to anyone who might need more individual care.

   His teacher called him "Chris?" He stopped, and turned.  "Would you like to talk more privately?" He hung his head, as if in trouble, but they gave me a room to use.  Walking past the low wall with windows to the playground, a lot of the other kids were taking advantage of the early day to run around and play, but I noted sever talking, to eachother, and every visible faculty.  Reporting usually goes up after one of these presentations, which is why we do them.  Also, the K-9 officers were always a big hit.  There was a line to pet the well trained German Shepherds.

   He wiped his eyes.  "It's okay to cry, do the boys tease you?" He nodded, "That's normal, but it's not okay.  You understand, it's not anything wrong with you, they're in the wrong." He nodded, "Now, your mother hasn't been telling you to keep secrets?"

   "Here," he shrunk away from my patting his back.  High between the shoulders, but he stooped even further.  Holding the door to lead him in. The folded tables, and chairs were stacked up against the wall, leaving some room in the middle for 2, across from one another, but not a desk.  "Have a seat." He picked the closest, so I could keep an eye on the door. I put my notes up on my leg.  "You're not in trouble, Chris.  Is that short for Christopher?"

   He looked up, "Christian," shook his head.

   "You can trust me, anything you tell me is confidential.  That means it will not leave this room, unless you give me express permission.  Okay?" He nodded.  "Good, now were you told to keep a secret?" He closed up again, crossing his forearms in his lap, as if to hug himself.  He didn't fidgit, his knees were held together, and he slouched.  Over, enough for his forearms to rest in his lap.  "I can't help but sense that something is bother you, but I find that talking about it, helps us deal with emotional trauma better than trying to deal with it on your own." He nodded, but didn't look up.  "Hm, keeping, certain secrets hurts, your feelings, and keeping it bottled up just makes it hurt worse, and worse.  I'm here to
help, but I can't if I don't know what's troubling you so much."

   "h." He just sighed.  Shrugged, but didn't look up.  Great, that leaves 20 questions.

   "Did someone touch you?" He shook his head, "A friend?" no, "Expose you, or themselves to you?"

   He looked up, eyes and face wet from quietly crying.  "What's 'xposed mean?"

   "Take off their clothes, or make you take your clothes off, to expose privates." He looked away.  Not down, avoiding my eyes.  "Okay, that's okay, it's not your fault." He dropped his head, and went back to crying silently.  This was going nowhere, "Do you think your moth, hH!?" He looked up, his eyes were still tearful, but then I saw something else.

   Fear.

   "Has your mother told you to keep any secrets?"

   "She, snh!" he wiped a dribble of snot from his lips, "Momma says some things is private, like your privates.  So, if you touch them, or even look at them, it's very very naughty, and I get in trouble."

   "What kind of trouble?"

   "She spanked me?" He winced, but at least he was opening up.

   "What were you in trouble for?" He looked away again, "It's all right, you're not in trouble now, i just have to get to the cause of your feelings, to help you deal with them."

   His head fell, "My sister," now I could hear the lump in his throat, "She come in my room, naked." He looked up, "I didn't look, honest!" Avoids eye contact too, "But she pulled my pants down, and said 'that's fair'." He started sobbing, quietly, but I picked him up, and held him in my lap until he calmed down enough to go on.

   "Oh," I held his head, "Dear, that's just normal anatomical curiosity. Sometimes, that's how boys and girls learn the differences, when they get to be that age."

   "She don't got no wee wee."

   "No," I sat him back on his seat, "She's a girl, and girl's wee wees are on the inside.  That's all." He sniffed, "There, feel better?" He nodded. "Is there something else, you need to get off your chest?" He shrugged, holding back.  "Something that confuses you, or you don't understand?"

   "This was long ago, now she's a lesbian."

   "Is that the secret?" He nodded.  "How, do you know she's homosexual, does she have a girlfriend?" No, "Did she tell you?" Shook his head.

   Well, that's odd.  Most children don't express a sexual preference that young.

   "Well, since it's her secret, I think it would be best if I talked to her." 2 children, in an at-risk situation.  Still have to narrow down the source, the cause of all this trauma.  I led him back out, "Could you tell me which class she's in?"

   "She don't go to this school," he shook his head, "She's only 9."

   That's definitely odd.  The way he described it, she exposed herself to him, "Long ago," which at 9 could be just a couple years, but that's definitely disturbing behavior for someone as young as 7?  His teacher came out of the office, and waved his file.

   "You can go, Chris."

   He stopped at the door, "Momma picks her up first." Pushed open the door. "Uh!" He never, offered anything, without significant prompting.  From what little I could pick up from the little time I had to watch him, it was almost like a cry for help.

   "This was everything I could get." I flipped back and forth between grades, and reports.  Copies, but legible ones fresh from the ditto machine. By the blue, and the spotty lines down it.  I found him before she did, not hiding, but he didn't stop to play, or socialize with friends.  Just standing at the curb, looked thoughtful.  "He gets bullied, a lot." It says [Fighting] but that can also mean being picked on.

   "Does he fight back?"

   She shook her head, "That's why he's bullied." Those types of boys, once they find an easy target, they tend to focus on them.

   He just walked, slowly across the playground.  Head, and shoulders low, ignoring the laughter, and playing all around.  A ball bounced, right behind him, but he didn't react.  His teacher went out, "Terry," she yelled, "I told you;" rushed to chastise the girl that threw it.  I caught the door, and followed him.  Of course, I had given him a lot to think about, but he just stopped at the curb.  Waiting with his textbook, and workbook held in front of him.

   "So," he didn't look up, "What Tina did, was." but at least he had stopped crying.  "Normal?"

   "I'm not so sure," it could easily be explained, "She just showed her hers, and you showed her yours?" He nodded, "That is normal." Anything else; Given the rough timeframe, as curiosity before she developed romantic feelings for other girls.  It may have traumatized her as well.  

   He was quiet, so I looked for more answers in his records.  Incomplete, they went back to last year's elementary grades, but not before that.  "Did you move, here?" He nodded, "Where from?"

   "Philadelphia." Mental note to send for those records, and his sister's. His place of birth listed as Honesdale, however.

   "And your father?"

   "He's a fuckin' deadbeat." Normally monotone, his voice changed.  impersonating someone, I assumed to be his mother from context.

   "And, did your mother remarry?"

   He shook his head, "She hates men." He didn't look up, "There they are." They pulled up, and I heard the transmission, shifting out of gear.  

   Windows down, I bent over to look past Tina, and she turned.  "The fuck're you?"  Her face a caracature of rage.

   I handed my card to Tina to pass over.  She turned back, eyes front, perfect almost rigid posture.  Her brown hair in ringlets, like her mother's darker black.  And the messy shock of curls on her brother.  He got in, oddly went around.  The trunk, looking back for traffic, but got in behind her.  "Dr.  Anders?" She glared over the card.

   "I'm not a Doctor, mrs Lowell, but Chris is showing some behavioral problems, which indicate emotional trauma at home."

   "It's Lovel." German pronunciation?  "And he prefers Ian." I looked back, but from his expression looking up, he most certainly does not.  She handed the card back, "It says you have a Doctorate."

   "Yes, in child development, but I'm a social worker with CPS, specializing in emotional trauma." And abuse.

   "Well," she reached up for the shifter, "I have to help them with their homework, and fix dinner, so;" She pulled it down out of park.

   ...School traffic, the busses loading in another lot from where I parked, with the police cars, and the K-9 van, but I couldn't feel comfortable letting them go back, and as I stood up, I looked down, trying to figure out what was nagging me.  Tina, sat perfectly, hands on her knees, eyes front, then it all started clicking together.  "Well," she pulled up slowly, "I have your address, so I can come by later." She slammed on the brakes.

   Good Girl/Bad Boy.  She gets everything, all the attention affection... "However, there were some issues, which I have to address before they become Legal issues."

   She put it in gear, "Are you threatening me?"

   "Of course not," I leaned back down, "you." She smirked, sideways, eyes front so her mother didn't see.  ""Chris may have some psychological issues, which will only get worse with the police, so now is probably the best time."

   "IAN!" her foot slipped, turning to raise her hand, and then she kicked it to a stop again.

   "MRS, Lowell!" She stopped, looked guilty.  Literally this far from striking him.  He gets all the abuse, punishment.  Tina exposed herself to him, and he was spanked for it.

   "What did you do." Calmer, she put her hand on the seat back, but he had his books up protectively.

   "No," she stopped, up on her arm, ready to pull back an open handed slap, and realized the situation.  "Christina.  I think it would be better if we talk in the car." Police cars parked right behind me, a Canine van to show off the dog, and another to unload all the presentation material.

   "I don't know what he told you,"

   "But you won't hear it talking over me.  Now," I am threatening you.  "Either, I can come with you, to check out their living situation, or I can go back in there, and talk to the authorities." I reached in, pulled the stem on the door lock.  She turned, I think I saw the start of a smile, but she locked it down.  Looked at the mirror at a break coming up.  "Well, get in?"

   "Buckle up, Chris." I pulled the lap belt over my hips.  It was going to be a rough ride.

   [Preferrential Pedophile] Huh!  The same damned stereotypes I've been fighting my whole life, she reached down and shut off the turn signal.  "Lovel, is that German?"

   "Frankish, originally.  Related to the Loels, and the Lovells, but my great grandmother didn't change the spelling when she emigrated from Vienna." She looked back, in the rear view.  "And he prefers Ian."

   "No," I looked back, "He doesn't." How you handle a bully backing down just encourages them, and puts you in their place for you.  "Actually, he prefers Chris.  Isn't that right?"

   "Ian is fine." Yes, mother.

   "Isn't that confusing?"

   "Why did you name them Christian, and Christina?"

   "Huh!  Well, it's a long story." She looked up, away to lie, "His father named him Christian."

   "And Christina?"

   "A childhood friend." Of course.  "What kind, of behavior are we talking about?" At least covert incest, possibly more.

   "She exposed herself to an older boy, and made him expose himself to her." She looked back, in the side mirror, then her eyes locked back, straight ahead when I glanced over.  She touched her shoulder, she didn't react.  No expression on her face, whatsoever, like a doll posed on a shelf. "Is this true?"

   "Yes, mother."

   "Huh!  Well," makes excuses, "That's normal," she shrugged, "So she has a boyfriend, a bit young, but she's always been gifted." Helping her with her homework gives her an opportunity for control, over her grades, and learning.  To correct what the teachers get 'wrong.' I'd seen it before, all of this, just not in this unique combination.

   "Incest," I shook my head, "Is not normal."

   "WHO SAID ANYTHING ABOUT INCEST!"

   "Chris did," I sighed, rubbed his shoulder to reassure him.  "That's what brought this to my attention.  Now, in my experience," her eyes searched, trying to process all this, and think of a good excuse for all of it which gave me time to talk; "It's best to determine the cause of such behavior before the authorities are involved, for the children's sake."

   "Is that why you're doing this?" She rolled her eyes, dismissively.

   "Yes, I find police aren't reliably equipped to deal with these circumstances, properly.  The result often further traumatizes the victims."

   "She's not a victim." Yes, she is.  She's your victim, but parental incest is an abuse of Denial.  I'm not abusing her, I love her.

   "That still has to be determined." Now, she has to prove it to me.  "Are you, in Private school, Christina?" She just shook her head, looked forward. She was dressed, almost in uniform, what some sects would call Modest.  "Do you go to church?" Recently, a lot of charges of pedophilia have surfaced, especially in the catholic diocese.

   "We are Atheists."

   "But you were raised Christian." Can't ignore the subconscious naming. "Catholic?" Guessing, "Protestant?"

   "Bruderhoffen."

   "I'm sorry, my German ist nicht mir gut.  Is that Pennsylvania Dutch?"

   She nodded, "Society of Brothers," like Quakers are Society of Friends.

   "Puritans."

   "You know the Mennonites?"

   "I have worked with some, yes."

   "Not unlike them, I grew up in a community."

   "In Honesdale."

   "Not far from there, but they kept us.  Well, like prisoners.  To protect us from the world, until I ran away.  That's why I'm raising them agnostic."

   "Not Atheist." Like she said before.

   "Huh!  Well, I don't believe in God, however if Christina." also emotional neglect.  Ian is out of sight, out of mind, until something goes wrong to blame him.  Otherwise, she only has eyes for her daughter.  "Decides she wants to believe differently."

   She has a 'choice.' The illusion of 'Free will,' so she doesn't think of herself as a tyrant.  Except her daughter is frozen, like a statue.  Afraid to betray anything, or attract any attention.  Emotional pick a card, a choice as long as you chose what I've chosen for you, reinforced every day. Telling her what's 'right.' Of course, that lies out the window if she decides she wants to be a Lesbian, for example.

   "Why the interest in our beliefs?  Are you, spiritual?"

   "I haven't seen any reason to believe in god." Actually avoiding any more triggering subjects.  Again, it could be explained in the car by her mother's driving.  Always on the edge of road rage, so probably best to steer clear of any emotional minefields until we're safely off the road.  Also, she may relax somewhat at home, where she feels more in control.  I will learn a lot from how she keeps it, I expect obsessive compulsive neatness.  Possibly with micro-messes to indicate areas of emotional avoidance.  Like her son's room, she'd order him to clean it, spank him for not doing it, but not have the level of focus to keep it perfect.  Like Christina's.

   I wasn't disappointed, but right in the door I was struck by something else.  Antiques, looked like mission furniture, very well made, and perfectly maintained.  Why, you can see your reflection in the polish, but simple, almost austere, unadorned.  Also, textiles.  A tapestry, or family quilt, embroidered, and held up on a fringe of macrame'.  "You have a lovely home." I looked at the back, wedding ring pattern, but nothing hidden behind it.  Just a wall.

   She closed the door, "Now," locked it, "I will not be threatened in my own home."

   "I don't want to threaten you, however in my experience, police are ill trained and equipped to investigating these cases, and that could be even more traumatic for her." I turned, looked down.  "Now, where would you feel most comfortable, Christina?  Here, in your room?" She looked up the stairs, no.  Not there, too traumatic.

   Her face brightened, "My mom has an office!"

   She apparently doesn't want us going there, "Perfect." Right, shift subjects real quick, mentally shuffle files around, "Upstairs?" She's manipulative, not demanding, but given an option, picked the worst one for her mother.  Or, took the opportunity to go in the forbidden space, Her domain, but her expression was definitely glee at getting away with it.

   "Down here," the hall behind the stairs.

   Like a Grandmother.  Retired, puttering around, nice garden out front, "What do you do, professionally?"

   "I work from home.  Telecommute."

   "What does that mean?" I understood the word, and prefix, just not what that means in the context of a career.

   "Systems analyst and network administrator.  For the University, and other local networks."

   "Computer networks."

   "Yes, like your social services network, or the AP."

   "Associated Press."

   "Yes," I followed her down a hall, past the kitchen, which was draped with hand towels, dish cloths, needlepoint, and knit.  Spotless, everything in it's place, but decorated, again like a Grandmother.  "In here," she held open some French doors.  To a den, but with bookshelves, I looked around.  "Classics," I ran my finger over the edge of a shelf, not a mote of dust, on the old looking spines either, pulled out a hardbound set of Dumas (Musketeers, Iron Mask, and Monte' Christo) and the top of the pages were dusted as well.

   "Mostly non-fiction," I left it out, slightly, sat down.  "History, it's a bit of a hobby."

   She looked, didn't get up to push it back in line with the others, nor seem distressed by the urge to.

   "First, I would like to talk to the children, together."

   "Not without me." See, now that's the problem.

   "Well, unfortunately, Chris in particular has problems talking about," anything, or at all without being forced to, "Certain things in front of you."

   She nodded, turned to him.  "Ian, tell her what she needs to hear."

   "Yes mother."

   "Now Ian, do you remember when your sister came in your room, naked?" His chin started to wrinkle.  "It's all right, relax.  You aren't in trouble, close your eyes if it will help." He nodded.  "Okay, take a deep breath, do you remember what you were doing before that?"

   "Playing?"

   "With toys?" he nodded, "What were you playing with?"

   "Cars, and trucks."

   "Good.  That's very good."

   "Are you hypnotizing him?"

   "No, Mrs.  Lowell, I'm trying to eliminate distractions so that he can remember better." So, you're not helping.  She's not in denial, she's actively covering up.

   "Leave her alone!" She got up, stood in front of her.  Defensively.

   "Come here, 'Tina." Calmly, she crossed her legs, and held her across  her lap.  Which isn't easy without your leg falling asleep.  Held her protectively, no doubt afraid of losing her.  I turned on my chair.

   "Now, Christina.  How would you describe your relationship with your mother?"

   "We're in love," she looked up.  Her mother glared, tried to shake her head, without looking like she was.  The family secret, what I was here to expose.

   "Now," she turned back, "There's love, and then there's love.  You understand that there's a difference between how a mother loves her daughter, and how lovers;"

   She interrupted, "I love her," she shook her head, "And she loves me." I felt a little sick at the way they held eachother, "That's what in love means." She says, to an adult.

   "Yes, however there are different ways people express love for one another." She nodded, "Such as hugs." She let go of her mother's neck, "Kisses." She nodded.  Folded her hands in her lap, not on her knees, but protectively, over her privates.

   "I thought this was about Ian."

   "What this is about." I took a breath, "Is the family situation.  I don't need Chris right now, and he might not want to hear any of this."

   "Go do your homework," trying to Control herself, now.  Wouldn't want him to hear any family secrets, however.  He went in his room, down stairs, but Familial Abuser.  Sure as soon as I saw the front room, decorated by the Grandmother.  Possibly passed, but the quilt up on the wall, from macrame fringe tied over a rod like a tapestry.  i looked behind it, no window, but the back quilted in Wedding Ring pattern.  Crochet throw over the back of the vintage 60s conservative couch, China cabinet, no pictures oddly enough.

   "Now," probably sleeps on the couch, a study, not sure what kind of work because everything is put away.  Here's the picture, singular, "Make yourself comfortable," in Her space, she took the couch, so She sat next to her.  I rolled Her chair from behind the desk.  "First, its best to find the cause of the trauma, before we decide how to address her behavior."

   Wish I had her school files too.  "Is this about her father?"

   "What about your father?" She hugged her, to silence her in her blouse, but it could look protective.  No, it still could be protective, don't run away with your assumptions.

   "I caught him, changing her diaper."

   "And?".  That's not enough to explain anything.

   "And, huh!".  She looked up, to the left, then down at her.  She looked back up, "That's why we moved here, to get away from him."

   "She was in diapers, so she must have been a year or two old?"

   "She was potty training," she shook her head, "So maybe 3?"

   "And you're what, 8 or nine now?" She nodded.

   "Nine.  You don't think starting so early made her misbehave, do you?"

   "I have to hear it from her, though." I turned back, "Christine, do you mind me calling you that?" She shook her head, "All right, Christine." Hard to build trust with her possible abuser right there, Her arm around her.  "Do you remember your father?".  She nodded.  "Do you remember when you were potty training?".  Most people can't, remember anything before about four to six, but that was 3-to-5 years ago.  She looked up, to the left, then her eyes switched over to the right.  Away from her mother, but, "He touched me."

   "In your diaper?" She nodded.

   "And on the potty, and when he tucked me in at night."

   "Touched you how?"

   "In the," she looked at her mother.  "Privates?"

   She nodded back, "Its okay, dear.  Tell her what he did."

   "All right, when you say in the privates, do you mean in the private area?"

   "Uh," she thought, "Inside the outside?"

   "Between the folds." She thought, nodded sincerely.  "Touched you with what?" A washcloth?  I can tell they are lying, both of them to cover the mother.

   "Fingers?  Well, one finger inside, but the other fingers outside.  Then she licked my butt." She covered her smile, and blushed.

   "Your father." She nodded.

   "Oh yeah," she pretended to burst out a laugh, "His fingers." Came out more like a scoff.

   "Do you have any trouble telling male from female?  I mean boys from girls?" She shook her head.  "How can you tell?"

   "Boys where pants." That's how she pronounced were, but common confusion for her age.

   "Okay, however, I am wearing pants."

   "Yeah but not boy pants!" She laughed.  Good, backing off from the triggering subject, just have to circle around.  "But if I wore boy pants, say jeans.  Do you have any jeans?" She nodded.  "All right, if I was wearing jeans, and they didn't have any decorations.  Just regular anybody jeans, how would you tell?"

   "Well, you're shaped like a lady."

   "Yes," I nodded "Good, however girls aren't shaped like ladys, so if you saw a boy and girl, dressed the same, do you think you could tell the difference?"

   She nodded, "Girls are pretty, and have long hair."

   "What's this have to do with anything?"

   "Well," I looked over at her, "Now that we have a proximate cause, I have to eliminate other possibilities."

   "Like when she just said he instead of she." I frowned, she saw it, "Or vice versa."

   "Yes," I turned back to the little girl.  "Do you know what homosexuality means?"

   She nodded.  "It means Abomination.  I learned it in church," she looked at Mom, "I just went to the bathroom, I went right back to Sunday school," didn't have to ask if they were christian, also part of the décor.  "But I heard Pastor Roberts, he said when men love each other like women its a abomination, and they will be put to death."

   "Yes," she turned back, "However when women love each other, they are called Lesbians.  That is also homosexual." As good an explanation as any, however it also shows she hasn't been exposed to the concept before.  Therefore, the family secret is not that she is a lesbian.

   "Oh," looking back at her mother.  "So, do you think I'm" she closed her eyes and cried.

   She held her to her blouse again.  "I don't know, dear," she looked at me angrily.

   "Mom," she squirmed.  Reluctant to say anything, but her arm tight around her shoulder, "Nh, you're hurting me?"

   "You can go out, and play with your brother now," she ran off, "We don't want to traumatize her any more." She got up, held her hand out, reaching for her, but I closed the door.

   She got up, and the mother looked after her with longing.  "You have homework."

   "They can finish their homework before Monday." We do these presentations on fridays so as not to interrupt the week too much.

   "Do as she says," she nodded, "Keep an eye on your sister, Ian." Noticably shaken, she still had to try to maintain Control, and was protective of her to the end.

   "Yes mother."

   "Close the doors."

   "Yes, Mother."

   "So," I looked back, "Samantha." There's also a noted difference in her demeanor when the children are out of sight.  "Is it all right if I call you Samantha?"

   "Sam," trust, "If you like." Becoming friendlier, more personal, trying to make me trust her.  Manipulative, but subtle to most people.  I've worked with it before, however.

   She got up, "Would you like a drink?" Hands shaking, she turned to a small neat bar.

   "I don't."

   "Well," she looked to a cut glass decanter, "Do you mind?"

   "It's your house," I reassured her, "Your liver." She poured some sort of whiskey, the lid off the ice-bucket, then picked up a selzer for a spritz instead.  "Huh!" She sat down, opened a wooden box, and pulled out a cigarette.  "Smoke?"

   "Go right ahead."

   She took a drag, "Huhhhh!" Took a long breath, and set it down in a matching cut crystal ash tray.  Like the highball glass, and bar set, her nose cane down, exhaling from her nose smokilly.  She straightened, and the relaxation was replaced by that rigid, Puritan pose.

   "Well, Sam." She braced herself, straightened, and subconsciously assumed the position.  Uncrossed her legs, "You might as well say what you came here to say." Hands folded in her lap, her eyes said cut the crap, and get on with it.

   "All right," I stood up, "I'll go ahead and ask how long you've been molesting your daughter." Pulled the Trigger.

;

   Morion (FF NS.  The two accounts are different due to 2 points of view, with a "Nervous Breakdown" in between.  Trying to keep the distracting psuedopsychiatric asides to a minimum, but Mother subconsciously edits out psychotic seizures to fit them in with her internally consistent delusional. I layman's terms, she "Blacks Out.")

   "Like I said," she sat calmly by the doors, "I find it best to understand the causes of behavior before deciding on a course of action." I winced, put down the rye spritzer, and flicked the ash off.  With the children gone, "Well," I thought back, "I guess you mean his father."

   "What about Chris' father?" I gritted my teeth.  Pushing my buttons, she knows I hate her calling him that.  Chris, and Chris, constantly reminding me.

   "Well," I let it out, "I caught him, changing his diaper."

   "Before Christine was born." I nodded.  "This is why you divorced him? They are half siblings."

   "Yes," and I reverted to my maiden name.  "Well, when I saw he was," Look down, shamefully, "Excited by it.  We had a fight, and I threw him out."

   "He had an erection." I nodded, lips tight.  Took another sip to wash the taste out of my mouth.

   "I couldn't see, how he was touching him, but.  Well?  He got angry, when I pointed it out."

   "Did he abuse you?"

   "He Tried to." Firm no.  "He thought, because of the way I was raised that I was Weak." He found out, that I was Not.

   "Let's get back to that.  How was your childhood, with the Bruderhof?"

   "You aren't familiar with them?"

   "Never heard ovem." She has an accent, a strange one.  Sounds like a drawl, but she covers it.  Speaks properly, not unlike a doctor, or a therapist.  Another sip to cover my smile.  2 can play this game, and I always win.

   "Well, first of all, they raise children in Creche." She nodded, "That means we all grew up at the school, in dormitories, until we come of age. Not with our parents, we know who our brothers and sisters are, but we all referred to eachother as Brother, and Sister." Even our cousins.

   "Society of Brothers."

   "Yes, like the City of Brotherly Love.  The Pitts were Anabaptists as well."

   "I see."

   "What does this, have to do with my children?"

   "Now," she shook her head, "Calm down, it just helps me to understand how you raised them." Held up a hand, "You obviously hated the Brotherhood way of life, so people from environments likeat tend to overcompensate in
some areas."

   "Like insisting I raise My daughter," the right way?  "How is that an overcompensation?"

   "It isn't, however I was referring to her." She glanced away, "Well, the inappropriate way she sees you."

   Like the questions she asked, "She loves me." I shrugged.

   "She said In Love, you saw her face, she considers you her lover."

   "I haven't the foggiest where she gets these ideas from." Probably that damned school, they won't let me teach her myself, they say I'm not qualified, but I can get the lesson plans off of newsgroups now, and nobody is better qualified to teach My daughter than I.

   "Relax," my brow loosened a little, so I looked up, stubbing out the butt.

   "I am calm." Stop saying that!

   "The first thing we need to address is how you're abusing Christian."

   "I'm not," and I quote, "Abusing Ian."

   "You almost struck him, in the face right in front of me, and 5 cop cars. And caused an accident losing control of the car.  You have to see this is a serious problem."

   "Boys need discipline."

   "That's not Discipline, it's child abuse, and it's causing his behavioral problems."

   "Well, I don't know what these Behavioral Problems you keep talking about are, but I haven't heard a damned thing from any of the teachers."

   "No, because he doesn't act out.  He doesn't act, he ignores everything, and withdraws into his shell, because you conditioned him to be a victim. The boys know, and bully him for it.  He can't fight back, he just freezes up, and lets them abuse them any way they like.  Just like he lets you, for fear of setting you off."

   "Look, bitch, talking to me 'likeat' is really starting to piss me off."

   "Because you're a bully, and you're raised your son to be bullied by other bullies."

   "I will not,"

   "Calm down, now."

   "No!" She didn't make it through the door, "Get out!" but ducked the ash tray, "Get the fuck out of my house!" I slammed the other open, but she backed down the hall.  "This is my house, and I will Not be accused by some Children's Services Bitch with delusions of grandure!" She laughed, but I cut her off at the dining room.  She fled past the sideboard, and ducked the gravy boat.  Never liked the damned thing, but now I had a full thanksgiving set.

   "They're gone." I stopped.  She held the doorknob, to the front hall, right by the door, and my tremmors came back, "Now if you so much as scratch me, you will never see them again." She stood up, straightened, but still out of reach.  I could still throw it, across the table.  or maybe push it back to pin her in the doorway.  Not sure why it was locked, but I had her cornered, she knew it, and this feigned bravado was just to cover up her fear.  "So, put the knife down, Now.  Before you ruin all our lives."

   I dropped it, "Hh?" I don't faint.  I never fainted in my entire goddamned life.  I remember back in the day, when women would swoon at the drop of a hat, but you notice you never see that any more?  She kicked it away to spin and clatter on the floorboards to the corner, and I found myself on the floor.

   She's a coward, a yellow bellied poltroon, she fights with words cause she can't fight with action.

   Yeah?  Well she just kicked your ass with those words.

   "Is there somewhere you can lay down?" She helped me up, "Uhn!" Damn near broke my ankle, so I kicked off my heels.  "Come on," she helped me down on the couch, "Looks like you're going into shock," pulled the afghan down from the back, and tucked me in.  "I'll be right back," she ran in the kitchen, came back with water and a wet cloth for my head.  I slipped the back of my hand off my brow.  "Hh!' she took the half empty glass from my shaking hands.

;

   Mother.  {FF NS.  MC, with a Psychological note: This is a while ago, so terms like Gaslighting weren't even in common usage at the time, much less with Social Workers who probably aren't qualified to diagnose anyone with anything.  However, this is also in the days of Poster Diagnoses, where school Councilors looked around the office, said "You have, ADD." And their eyes stopped on a Poster provided by the makers of Ritalin.  If you go in for a checkup today, you will probably find a poster of the Spine, or Knee, provided by the makers of Oxycontin.  This isn't about that, but should tell you why certain characters use antiquated diagnoses like Manic-Depressive, and fixate on certain disorders.}

   "So, do you think that's it?" They went out, but Ian knew to watch out for his sister.

   "Homosexuality?  I don't know, children are too young to decide that, however sexual abuse can confuse them."

   "So, her father made her hate men, sexually." Good an excuse as any.

   "No, if it affected her behaviour, it would present more as a Conduct Disorder.  She would behave much worse, but not attempt sexual play with her siblings."

   "What kind of behaviour?"

   "Oppositional/Defiant.  Ironically, she's too well behaved for that to be the cause."

   She sat down at the table, so I sat across from her.  "Is that her records?"

   "No, it's Chris's."

   "He prefers Ian."

   "No," she shook her head, "He hates it.  'Tina too."

   "No they don't, they call eachother that, all the time, you think I don't know my own children?"

   "I believe you neglect Ian."

   "Then what's that have to do with Tina's behavior?"

   "Nothing, I'm here because of Ian."

   "Do you think his father molested him?"

   "No, I think he suspects that you molest her, and he's covering for you."

   "What!" Vase, "How DARE!" missed, "You?  Get out of my house," She made it to the door, but I stopped by the side board.  Displaying the full Holiday set, right down to the gravy boat.  She ducked, I always hated that goddamned thing, anyway.

   And a set of silverware.  "They're gone." She stopped.  Cowered.  "And if you so much as scratch me the police will be here before they get back." My hands shook, "Now, calm down.  Put the knife down." I felt cold, and the room spun.  "Come on," she put it on the table, "You may be going into shock, is there some place you can lie down?" I gasped.  "Here," she took the afghan off the back of the settie.  "Take a deep breath, I know it's a shock, but don't do anything to ruin all our lives.

   It felt like a heart attack, though!  Not that I ever, had one.  But I imagine that it must feel like that.  I heard water, then she came back, "Here," she gave me a glass, and put a damp cloth over my brow.  "He said you're lesbians.  Both of you, have you any idea what would make him think that?"

   "Well," I thought, "I certainly haven't molested my daughter, but he may have seen me, with another woman.  I'm not married, it was just a fling, it didn't last because I'm not a homosexual."

   "However, you were open minded enough to experiment."

   "Huh!" I remembered, "I did it, to get back at him.  He cheated on me, with her, so.  I guess I wasn't thinking, but I thought fair's fair."

   "So this was back," she thought, "Before you moved?" She opened the folder and checked.  "From Minnesota."

   I nodded, relaxed.  "Did it come up in the divorce?"

   "Oh, we weren't married."

   "Why not?"

   "I don't know, he didn't want to pay for a big expensive ring, or the wedding.  So, when we eloped, I didn't have to change my name back, either." She frowned, a lot.

   "So, you separated.  You said you moved here to get away from him."

   "He had a temper, and with the baby."

   "Cristina," she nodded, "Why did you name her Christina?"

   "I don't know, I always liked that name.  If they both like the name Chris, then isn't that confusing?"

   "I think it's a joke.  They don't call themselves Chris, so it's not confusing, but is that why you named your firstborn Christian?"

   "Well, his father said it was a good christian name!" She didn't laugh, or even smile.

   "No, you always liked the Name Christina." So, if it's a boy, we'll name him Christian.  "You didn't name them after anyone?"

   "Well, not like Jesus." That would be blasphemous.  "I guess, I knew a Christina, growing up."

   "Were you friends?" I nodded, "Best friends?" Sure.  "More than friends?"

   "I told you, I am not homosexual."

   She came back, with a chair from the dining room.  "Are you comfortable?" I shrugged my arms out of the Afghan.

   "I feel a little hot." Good, She threw it back, and sat down, "Now, since it appears to be a central cause, and you where there, I'd like you to think back to when you caught them playing naked together.  Relax," I let the cloth settle back on my brow, "I'm not here to judge you, we're just trying to get to the root of the problem.  Now, was it here, or back in Minnesota?"

   "No, it was this year.  Or last year, over the winter break, but I don't remember if it was before new years."

   "Good, now where where you?"

   "Back in the office."

   "Good, and why did you go to his room?"

   "I heard them."

   "Playing?"

   "Laughing, I wasn't busy, so I went to see what they're up to."

   "Good, all right, then you saw them naked."

   "They weren't naked, he had his pants down."

   "But she was naked."

   "I suppose, I chased her right out."

   "Yes, but she leave any clothes behind?"

   "I don't know, I didn't look?"

   "Was he aroused?"

   "I don't know," I looked at her, "I didn't look."

   "All right," she put her hands up, "It made you angry."

   "Well of course, I caught him exposing himself to my;"

   "Jealous?"

   "Of course not, she's my daughter!"

   "Yes, of course, but." She stuck out her pinky, "She went to his room," held it back.  "Naked," 2, 3, "and Made him pull his pants down, did she know you're in the next room?"

   "How should I know that?"

   She stood up, picked up the chair, and carried it back.  "Calm down," she sat down, between the dining room door, and the hall.  "Now, relax.  I know this is hard, but try not to react with Anger, it's how your Denial works." She held up her hand, "And don't tell me 'I'm not in Denial'."

   "That isn't what I was going to say."

   "Fine," she sighed, "Lie to me, I can tell, but lying to yourself is bad for your children." Or, they wouldn't be flashing eachother in their rooms. "Huh!  All right, so do you have any idea why she would want to make you jealous?"

   "My Christina," I sat up at least, "She's very bright, but she's not like that."

   "However, the one time she awkwardly tried to seduce her brother, then stopped, she almost went out of her way to get caught."

   "Huh," I looked down, "No." Shook it, but, "I can't imagine why she would do that."

   "Me either, which is why I had to talk to you about it, to find out.  Now, I can't in good conscience leave them here, tonight, together, because today's trauma could cause something unpredictable."

   "Like what?"

   "I don't know, but cases like these, nothing good."

   "What do you know about cases like these?"

   "From the ones I've seen?  They usually produce some sort of psychopath.  However, you can still help by Thinking about it.  Not the same excuses you've been thinking over and over, those are to cover something up, but if anyone can understand it, it's you.  You just have to stop lying to yourself.  Now," she checked her watch, "I'm going to have to leave soon, if I'm going to find them both placement tonight.  The other option is the Shelter, and neither of them want that."

;

   Christine {Ff NS.  Md Ince Mnem}

   "Christina, do you prefer 'Tina?"

   "I hate it," she shook her curls, "How about Christine?"

   "All right," she left her hands folded in her lap.

   "Now, you know everything you tell me is confidential.  That means;"

   "Nothing I say will leave this room," she nodded, "Chris told me."

   "All right, now I'd like to discuss, how you leaned to play naked, with your brother."

   "Mom." She nodded.  Honestly.  She rolled her eyes, "Well, not with my brother.  She didn't know about that, but she said when I was older, I would be old enough to get a boyfriend, and a husband."

   "You mean then a husband?"

   "And a boyfriend, she told me my husband doesn't need to know about him."

   "So secrets," seemed to be a big thing.  "She told you not to tell anyone about, telling you this?"

   She shook her head, "She showed me."

   "What did she show you?"

   "Everything, how to give a blowjob, and a handjob.  How to get turned on, and wet so it doesn't hurt."

   "She used," how to put this, "With visual aids?"

   She shrugged, "She got her toys out."

   "Sex toys."

   She nodded, "Mhm?  Dildos, and vibrators." She giggled, "She has a strapon!" I must have looked horrified, "She didn't put it on or anything, she pushed it back in the box, and got out the stickydick."

   "What's that?"

   "It's like a dildo, but it really looks like a dick.  It's got balls and everything, and a suction cup, so you can stick it to a table."

   "So she could show you how to, masturbate it, and suck it."

   Nodding, "Then she fucked it, and showed me how to play with yourself."

   I nodded, "None of this is, upsetting you," or triggering?

   "No, I like it.  She doesn't do it with me as much.  She just uses the strapon on her boyfriends."

   "She didn't remarry?"

   She shook her curls, "She doesn't like husbands.  She hates men, really. Just likes to fuck them."

   "Did she have you watch?"

   "Goodness no!" she gasped, then giggled, "She tries to hide it, but we know what she's doing."

   "But she never touched you?"

   "Well, I already told you she licked out my ass."

   I thought, that was.  No, I totally supressed that image.  "How, no.  Why, how, did she explain that, or talk you into it?"

   "She said that guys like it, for when I get a girlfriend, or to find a woman who loves that.  Huh!  It was over a few conversations, mind you.  And she doesn't never say the same thing."

   "Because she's lying." She nodded, "Huh, she is full of excuses.  There's some she believes, those she fits into her denial, the delusion that lets her sleep at night, and gives her emotional feedback, which is why she does it."

   She just nodded.

   "You'll understand it some day, I'm sure."

   "Huh!" she rolled her eyes, "She's my mom, I've known her all my life.  And I read her stories, you seen any of the smut she writes?"

   "She shared some of her fantasies." She's more open, if not any more honest that face-to-face.

   "That's how she does it.  She tells stories, make them sound real good to turn you on, and doesn't really separate reality from fantasy very well."

   "Okay, let's get back to what she did to you.  Are you saying she still molests you?"

   "Well, not since you got us out of there.  I'm surprised she didn't kill you, and plant rose bushes over your body." She gardens too, keeps busy to distract herself.  "But now, she just checks me."

   "For what?'

   "She says she's seeing how I've grown, and checks my cherry to make sure I'm not sexually active."

   "You aren't."

   "I play sex.  I'm 9, probably shouldn't do all the stuff I do, but I mostly just play with Christian, because he needs it, and I don't want to molest any other children."

   "Do you think you would?"

   "No," she shook her head, seriously.  "I don't have any friends.  They tease me, call me weirdo, but I avoid it.  Because I know, my mother raised me to be a child molester."

   "And you know it's wrong."

   "I don't know what's right, she never taught me that, but I know they're children.  They're not ready for that adult stuff, and I don't want to do any of that stuff."

   "Then what do you do with Ian?"

   "I'm his mother." HUH!  "He doesn't have one, or she doesn't treat him like one.  He can't get it up, but he likes it.  He likes it up the butt. She was right about that, boys like that, or at least he does, and I like it too."

   "What, exactly?"

   "Well, if you're going to make me say it, sucking ass, and fingering him. He likes it, and it makes him stop crying.  He begs me to, and cries until I do it anyway.  I don't know why, I didn't think about it, I just started doing it, and I can't stop." She cried.  I was actually a little surprised, and appalled, but I never saw so much emotion come out of that scary little surpressed psychopath she raised.  "No," she pushed me back. "That won't help," so I sat down.  "Huh!  just let me deal with it.  Snh! I don't, I can't let you hold me, and lie to me, it just makes it hurt worse. Huh!" Wiping her eyes, "I don't even, really think I like it.  That doesn't stop me, but it doesn't even turn me on.  I don't know if I can be turned
on, sexually now."

   "Well you're young." She nodded, a picture of sadness.  Her shoulders went down, when typically she sits so straight, and upright.  "Most of the molestation victims I've work with at your age, have a chance to deal with your abuse, before you're old enough to start a more healthy, and adult love life.  But, I'm going to have to keep you apart, now.  You understand."

   "Um," she looked around, "Could you get me out of that shelter?"

   "Why?"

   "It's all girls, and.  I'm afraid, I'm scared for them."

   "Afraid of what you might do?"

   "I'm already thinking about it.  Too much, not all the time, but more, and more, and I can't sleep.  With them, in that dorm.  Hhhuh." Her hands start shaking, so she clasps them together in her lap.  "I'm.  It's not safe for them, with me in there at night."

   ;

  

Mother Love {FF NS FB}

   "Relax, get comfortable.  Now, to better understand the cause of your problems, I'd like you to think back to your first sexual experiences.  Now, in the story you wrote about your husband, you said that you're molested by another girl in the creche?"

   "Well, I'll call her Evette, if that's all right?  She's a lesbian now,"

   "And you find that, distasteful?  I can see it in your face, let's push your fears about being homosexual asside for the moment, was she older than you?  This Evette."

   "Yes, she left.  The creche, when she started bleeding.  She showed me first, and then she went to speak with our teacher, but before that, we.  Played, sex games.  Like Doctor, first, since she was the only one allowed to see us naked, she showed me what she had in her underpants, and had me show her mine.  I never, looked down there before, they wouldn't let us have mirrors, for vanity.  Just like my name is Marion, because naming me Mary would be Hubris."

   "Or Evette instead of Eve."

   "Exactly, but then she said we could play husband, and wife, and try to figure out what husbands do with their wives, that we weren't supposed to know about."

   "Who played the husband?'

   "We took turns, I don't remember who got to play him the first time."

   "That's good," leaning in.  Put her elbows on her knees, "I had thought, one possibility, though it's not a rigid diagnosis, yet.  Do you sometimes, feel like a man?"

   "I can't imagine what that would feel like."

   "Or a boy, trapped in a woman's body?"

   Think about it, "Like a, transexual?  I thought that was for men."

   "Yes, however, it goes both ways.  A common theme I picked up on in your fantasies is role reversal.  Playing the man's role, and feminizing the victims." I sigh, close my eyes.  I'm starting to hate that word, but she waits, patiently.  "And typically homosexual acts, like sodomy with a strapon, and analingus."

   "I never wrote about that."

   "No, but you thought about it.  I heard about it, from your daughter."

   "Then where did she hear about it?"

   "From you, while you're molesting her."

   I sat up, "I didn't," couldn't even say it, "I could never, do something like that to her!"

   "She told me about it, I taped some of the sessions if you want to hear them."

   "No!"

   "She cried."

   "What?" She never cries.

   She nodded, "I know.  I swear, she teared up, and cried.  I couldn't believe it when I saw it."

   "She's lying."

   "No, you're lying to yourself, I didn't know that you're this deep in denial, do you black out, or do you think you just bury the memory?"

   "Snh?" Wipe my eyes, "I don't know?" I just found out, I.  Im. "Whmhmhmhmhm!"

   "I'm gonna take a break anyway," she walked over to my desk.  "You mind?" I looked up, waved my hand for her to take a cigarette.  "I didn't know you smoked."

   "I quit."

   "You can smoke in here."

   "I need the fresh air."

   She tried to light it on the back pork, with matches, they kept going out.  "Hh," I held one for her, "Thanks."

   "Huh," I leaned back, in the shade from the awning, barely covering my face from the low afternoon sun.  An airplane flew over behind us, I closed my eyes, and smelled her cigarette.  Waiting, she'd never finish it, but the word 'Denial' kept flashing through my head.  'Victims,'

   I'm a child molestor, "Good," I molested my daughter.

   "Good," I said, my fingertip, slipping out, still a virgin.  "Hhhuhuh. You gonna finish that?" I looked down, over half left, flipped it between my fingers back to my thumbnail, and lifted it to the center of my lips.

{B.  Singer, she holds and smokes them exactly like Kaisa Soza.}

   "Pb, Snhhhhhhhh."

   "Flashing back?"

   "I don't remember the, feeling.  Anything."

   "You probably weren't feeling anything.  You blacked out, psychotic seizure.  You probably weren't even aware of what you're doing.  'Mommy went away'," My daughter?  "You're pure Id in that state, you're capable of anything."

   "Freud?" Veinnese, just like Hitler.  "Why are you being so nice to me?" I almost killed her, twice?

   "How do you mean?"

   "I just don't understand," She's not going away, I can't chase her away with a knife, and I really did, go full on "Psycho," {Hitchcock} mommy dearest on her, and she's still here.  I never, even believed in that kind of loyalty.

   "I like to think I'm a nice person." She opened one of the doors, "It's hot," I looked down, flicked a long ash off with my thumbnail.  "And you need to think a moment." I nodded, took another puff.  "Pb."

   I put it out, and waved the smoke away for no reason, before I went back in.  "Get comfortable," she said, so unbuttoned off my vest, and took out a couple buttons in my blouse for good measure.  "H." She just waited, patiently down the hall in my office.  Still sitting by the doorway, the open side.  The children gone, so nobody to hear us talking.

   I grabbed some ice from the kitchen, dropped in in the bucket, and a couple cubes in a highball glass.

   "I don't believe in violence, as a solution to violence.  Even violent thoughts and feelings tend to escalate, and I believe you supressed your feelings.  To the subconscious, so that you can maintain your perceived control over your thoughts."

   "Mhm?" I pursed my lips, and tapped the filter of another cigarette on the lid of the box.

   "You mind?" she got up, walked to the bar.  I shook my head, "Got any rum, or tequila?" She bent, then crouched down over her heels to look in the bottom of the cabinet.  Held the doors, around her knees.  Set a bag of Crown Royal on the top, and a bottle of Canada Dry in the ice bucket.  "Whisky girl,' she rubbed her chin, "Eh?" Pulled the old Jim Beam from the back.  "You have any coke?"

   "RC, in the Fridge," Ian likes it, in the morning.  I don't neglect him, do I?  How do you neglect someone in a blackout?"

   She answered from the hall, "You don't," she put her hand up, coming through the door, and walking back to the bar.  PSH!  "It's a Blinder, you put up to focus your attention on your favorite.  Emotional Neglect, while giving all the affection to Christina.  Good Girl/Bad boy," She turned by the door, and sat down.  "Hh, it's your gender roles," she shrugged, "As you taught them to your progeny."

   "Can you Fix me an RC/CR?" She looked back.  Crown Royal, Royal Crown. "2 fingers in an Old Fashioned glass, and top it off with the Cola." Finish my dry rye on the rocks.

   "Ice?"

   "I have some," Sip, and drop in cubes as I make room for them.

   "So, why'd you move to KC?" making conversation.

   "Kah!" That didn't last long.  "For work.  The main hub is, well we're only 2 hundred miles east of the geographic center of the US."

   "I thought you telecommuted."

   "I do, but I also have to go in to the office, periodically.  For meetings, and the like, and it also cuts about half the lag."

   "Lag?" She's not familiar with computers.

   "Yes, transmission takes time, whether it's mail, phone lines, or sattellite.  So, the entire logistic system works better the less hysteresis in the system, and the central hub is the point where it's least retarded."

   She nodded.  "Have you given it any thought?"

   I set down my drink, but she, knows when I need a break, and when I'm slipping back into denial.  "Hh!" I nodded, and stubbed out in my ashtray. It held up better than the gravy boat, which broke off it,s base, but will never hold gravy any more.

   "I believe the most pressing issue is the irrational fits of Violence." Oh good, let's talk about that.

   "You know what causes them?"

   "Nobody knows what causes them, but we are narrowing down your Trigger set.  That's the stimulus, and situation that tends to set you off so you can't control yourself."

   "And you don't know why you don't remember them?"

   "Okay, Freud was wrong, about a lot of things, but modern psychiatrists still understand a more progressive form of the Conscious.  The Subconscious, tends to be unique.  So, for examples when Sigmund talked about Symbols, like the phallus, castration angziety, and regressing to the anal stage of development, what he was really doing is subconsciously expressing his own hangups in his own symbol set."

   I nodded, I had Freud, right there on the shelf.  Red them in German, Neitzsche as well.

   "So, before we can interpret dreams, fantasies, and subconscious motivations, we have to understand your Subconscious, which seems to be largely symbolic."

   "And the key is the symbol set." I got it, "It's encoded, so the Conscious mind can't understand it?" Like machine language, and Command Line.

   "Right, so as far as Violent Triggers, you appear to react to Fear with Anger, and Violent Rage is a response to Disobedience."

   "Okay, you said Situations, too?"

   "Yes, you can, possibly learn to control your urges by avoiding situations, which trigger you to offend."

   "Like what?"

   "It depends on which behaviors we're talking about, but your sexual abuse seems to be directed preferentially to your daughter."

   "Hh," I tried to cover it, by picking up my glass, but my hand shook, and the ice rattled before I could bring it to my lips.

   "That's another kind of trigger.  Flashing back to repressed memories, from your blackouts."

   I swallowed half watered down whiskey, and cola, and crunched the ice in my molars.

   "The memories are going to start coming back now, I'd expect nightmares as well, but I want you to keep in mind that they will not be wholly accurate.  Where possible, I will correlate with you, witnesses, but for the time being, try to write out, what you can remember, when you can." She checked the clock, "I should be heading out."

   "You have other cases?"

   "I'm, on leave.  I had a bit of a meltdown myself, recently, and that's causing troubles at home.' She will not talk about her family.  Which I can understand, why she doesn't trust me now.  I'm not sure I trust me now.

   "Sam?" She turned back in the hall, shifted her bag on her shoulder. "Do you think I am, subconsciously, homosexual?"

   "Hh," she came back, "No, homosexuality is a choice."

   "You said that, but I know it isn't."

   "Might as well get this debate out of the way," she pulled the strap over her hair, and set it down by her chair.

   "Nature/Nurture?  Okay, to justify my position, first let me say that I grew up in a closed experiment in sexual repression."

   She nodded, "Go on." Accepting my premise.

   "Now, I don't believe, (Opinion) that being forced to live with girls, and any contact with boys made me transexual."

   "So you believe that?"

   I held up my finger, "You have a point, you may be right about me wearing the pants in my family, but we're going to the root cause of behaviours, right?  Now, at any given time there was a dozen to a score of girls living in that dorm.  I left there when I was 7, or 8, and in that time, only 2 girls had any sexual activity."

   "That you know of,"

   "I was there, one of that particular lesbian couple, and the other girls didn't tell on us.  i will just assume that if any of the others felt any sexual feelings or curiosity for girls, they would have asked us about it."

   "All right, i can accept that, albeit culturally non sequitor anecdotal evidence."

   "All right, what evidence do you have that it's a learned, behavior, or conscious choice to live as a homosexual?"

   "Hh, just every psychiatrist since Freude,"

   "Who was wrong, and in a sociopolitical system founded by Slavers that Started with the principal that "All Men are Created Equal"."

   "H, all right.  You've given me a lot to think about, but i really must get home before the kids do."

   But, she admitted she had children.  I had thought she'd scheduled these daily visits because of my work schedule, but I had a lot less house work with it so empty, and I'm finally over the lonelyness.  And overcome by fear of what I was.  No, not becoming, but always was and only becoming aware of."

   And horny, I finished getting undressed to go up and pull out the bed. Get out mister sticky for the headboard, and licking his ass liberally so it will stick to the headboard.  "Where you drunk, for most of your blackouts?" I don't remember, but she said "It's easier to remember in the same state of mind you're in at the time."

   "Hh!" So, I got out my portable, and flipped up the screen to start a new document.  

;

   'Tina {F/g Ince Mole.}

   "Momma went away.  That's what I thought, I don't remember the first time, but as I grew up, I realized.  That wasn't momma, she was gone.  She'd come back, and she was just like the same momma, but then.  She'd look at me, and I knew.  Momma was gone.  Like this.  Nothing, no expression.  Wave your hand in front of her eyes, and she'd look.  She could move, get up, walk around, but.  It's not like, she was someone else. There's nobody there, she doesn't say anything.  She just, huh!  Well, she touched me.  It was kind of scary, and I cried, but then momma came back, and held me, and told me it was all right.  Then, huh.  She went away, and touched me.  Again, not right away, I don't mean she turned on, and off, over and over, but sometimes.  I learned, the best thing is to just play along, or she gets real mad, and scary.  You know, loud, yelling, throwing things.  She gets likeat.  Oop, sorry.  That way.

   The first time?  Huh, well I remember, playing naked, with Ian.  He was my big brother, but he never really played with me.  He had balls, and trucks and stuff, and I had dolls.  Momma told me, he was.  Well, I guess possessed is the word.  She never said it, but the stuff she told me.  About his father, and the sickness he had, I heard about devils in sunday school, and it took me years to put it together, but I think she really believed he was possessed, by his father's sin.  Lust.   All boys are full of lust, and you mustn't do anything to attract it.  It sounded a lot like her.  Well, not her but the way she gets when mommy goes away.  I knew, what she did was wrong, but.  Huh, if I didn't, she got violent, and scary.

   But, one day momma was working down in the office, and Ian was playing by himself in his room, so I thought I'd try a test, so see.  I hate dolls, always did, not like I wanted to play with trucks, or whatever, but with somebody.  Who could talk, and, do something.  New, and interesting, huh! I lived with Ian, all the time, but the way she kept us apart, I guess it was, new, and interesting.  So, I did the worst thing.  I knew what causes lust, seeing me naked, she told me.  So, I took my clothes off, and went down to see what would happen.  He looked way, so I pulled his pants down, and it looked so funny, I couldn't help laughing.  Too loud, because momma came in, beat the tar out of Ian, and by the time she got me upstairs, she was gone.  But, at least I had someone to play with.

   Ironic, maybe I wouldn't have thought of that, if she let us have a TV, or any friends.  Well, I guess, that's when I started playing naked, with Ian.  It's really the only way we could play, or we wanted to, together.  Mommy, and daddy, we didn't know, what daddys did.  We never had one, or ian don't remember his.  She gets a sitter, and goes out.  On a date, we can tell cause she gets out her slutty clothes, and her makeup.  Perfume to smell real pretty, but she never brought one home.  A man, she just got dropped off, drunk, her clothes and hair all fucked up, then she was back to the same old mom, with a headache in the morning.  I don't know, about once a month?  Yeah, I guess you're right, she does seem to do it when she's on the rag.  I like you, I can talk to you, and you're a good listener.

   Hm?  Oh, well like I said, we didn't really know what a daddy did.  I mean, before Ian found the stories.  His daddy's stories, he could read better, and such, but before that.  Well, I just showed him how to touch me. The way she did, when momma went away.  I didn't play with myself yet, why I must've been 6, or 7?  Tooth fairy time, you know.  Not, that.  We every got a visit from the tooth fairy.  We heard about it, from the other kids at school.  But anyway, he touched me, and i sucked his nipples, but his dinkle.  He couldn't get it up.  In the stories, his daddy could always get it up.  It was the biggest thing, and people were scared when they saw it, but it was a long time before Ian could, do, any of that.  I tried
sucking on it, and everything, but really we mostly just kissed, and he touched me while I sucked his nipples.  He likes that.  Oh, you know, my privates?  I swiped one of your pamphlets, uhm.  Let's see, that one, on sex ed?  Mhm?  Well okay, huh!  Let me see it, I don't have the whole diagram memorized, but he holds my labia open, and like rubs his middle finger in the middle.  Not in the top, that hurts.  The, uhm.  Cli'to'rus? Yeah, it hurts when you touch that, so he stayed away from that, but if I suck on his fingers too, then he can even get his pinky in, my.  Va'gin'al opening, without busting my cher, uh.  Hymen."

;

   Sam {FF...  Also, a lot more.  A lot a lot.  No spoilers.}

   CLK!  I stopped the tape, and she sighed, relaxed.  This isn't hypnosis, she does this, all by herself.  I was only now beginning to realize how to trigger it, and why.

   "Love at first sight?" She scoffed, "Phft!  Fairy tails, I thought until I saw her.  Held her in my arms, and to my breast.  I knew, even before she was born she was my daughter.  She would be beautiful, and she would love me.  Always." She took a breath, slow, but shallow, as if asleep.  "Maybe it's my imagination, but she smiled at me, wide, and toothless, then winked." Her Id state, she normally covered up with her imaginary friend. The Pirate, Morion.  The rage to cover up the feelings she's ashamed of, fear, weakness, lust.  Everything she buried so long, so she could function. When she's herself, until she goes away.  She finally heard it, from her daughter, and was beginning to accept that Morion isn't a protector.  She's a monster.  {Trying to keep the psychiatric asides to a minimum, but again.  She hasn't the foggiest clue just what the fuck she's talking about.  Try to keep that in mind.}

   "Mh," her open eyes drooped, fluttered.  "It still feels like a dream, before that a Nightmare, with Ian's father." She covered for him, a lot.  I had to get into His fantasies to discover a homophobic sadist, that's his dungeon downstairs.  "I don't remember the birth at all, Ian's.  He hurt me, it was so painful, but the second time, the doctors said I had a seizure.  Their excuse, for giving me drugs against my wishes.  Signed all the forms, and they still shot me up.  Hhuhuhuhuh!" She held her arms, rubbed them a little.  This isn't a trance, she can move, she's just remembering, not thinking about it.  Enough to lie, this is the truth, as much as she remembers it accurately.  The problem is her Id chewed on it for decades.  "What did she call it, post-partum psychosis?" I nodded, that was me, but she wasn't talking to me.  Or anyone, was she, telling Morion?

   "Mhm?"

   "I guess that's what happened," she shrugged, "And that's what made me a psychopath.  Now, I remember her looking up at me.  From my breast, the broken one, she could somehow suckle, but Ian could not.  Ever since it was damaged, when his father beat me for throwing him out." She covered it, protectively at first, then groped it obscenely, but her expression didn't change.  No expression, nothing.  What did she call it?  Oh yes: BSOD, the Blue Screen of Death.  Or, a Guru Meditation, whatever that is.  System Crash, reboot completely, return to Start: 1...

   "The strange, tingle in my breast?" she shook her head, slowly, mouth open, then her teeth snapped shut.  "That didn't happen, with Ian.  She, I could, feel her.  Voice in my head." She blinked, "But that's insane." She was back.  "Hhhuh!" Now she rubbed her arms, vigorously.  "What did you do?"

   "Nothing," I put my hands up, "That was all you, I didn't hypnotize you, you know I can't, you don't trust me enough."

   "You," her face twisted, "You raped me!" She grabbed my wrists.

   I relaxed, let her shake me.  "I'm sorry." She stopped.  "Hhh," willing, she could, do anything to me, right now.  I deserved it, I knew it, and she at least owed me that, but she stopped.  "Mari?" I blinked.  "Morion?" I twisted my arms out of her hands.

   She stood there.  "Huh!" Eyes looking up, at nothing.  Through the wall over my head.

   "Come on," I took her hands, "Let's set you down." She nodded, expressionless.  I suspected, told myself that fighting back just makes it worse, but that's not it.  I gave in, I let her.  Just like her daughter, and that seems to be the key to her violence.  If you don't fight back, She doesn't know what to do.  Morion, which leaves the rest of her Id free, to come out.

   "You remember, Morion?"

   "I don't remember her name.  Just, the Spanish family.  They came, to stay with us."

   "Spanish Bruderhoffen?"

   "Yes." Still no expression, "For Christmas, they spoke Spanish, I couldn't understand them, but they brought toys.  Dolls, I never saw dolls before." Her eyes, sparkled?  With the memory, I blinked, and shook my head, "Feliz, Navidad.  It was, like a puppet show.  They told us a story, with the dolls.  A princess in a beautiful dress, a rat, and a Soldier.  I don't know if he was a prince, or charming, I could not understand what they said, but he pulled out his sword, and he killed the rat."

   "The Nutcracker," I recognized the story.  She knows it too, has her own copy next to The Man in the Iron Mask.  She's still learning to separate fantasies from memories.

   "No, the soldier.  Then, The End.  My mother picked me up, and took me away.  To change me, and feed me, but I looked back over her shoulder." She raised her hand, reached out, in the memory.  "He was so beautiful, with his strange golden head.  Like the crescent of the moon, with a circle in between."

   "The Morion," she nodded.

   "I did not know what it was called, for years, but he wore a Morion." She sighed, "Still shining in the candle-light, until she closed the door, and unbuttoned her dress, to feed me."

   "But, the Bruderhof, raised you in Creche?"

   "Huh?" She blinked, shook her head.  "I can't believe I can remember that far!"

   "You can't," welcome back, "Repressed memories are unreliable, decades after the fact, because of the way the Id edits them, into an internally consistent delusion." Like memories of past lives...  "Huh, the best way to break that cycle, is to see the inconsistencies that proves them false."

   "But, no.  No, we were raised in Creche, but I knew my mother.  Who my brothers are, they didn't keep us away from our families.  I know I called it a Prison, but after Mass, we went to our mothers.  That's how I learned to sew, and knit, and our family history.  Back to the Hutterites when they came over, it was very important.  Especially for choosing a husband, she told me who I could not marry, without inbreeding."

   "So, you had Christmas with your family?" She nodded, "And Spaniards came to visit, from where?  I know there's no Spanish Brotherhood,"

   "Paraguay?  I don't know, I was too young.  If they told me I don't remember, and I didn't know Spanish back then.  But they were there, for Christmas.  I remember it so well."

   "Okay," never mind, "Let's get back to Christina." Wow, she just went away.  At the mention of the name, just like she said.  'Momma went away...'

   "She, huh.  I know, every child molester ever probably said she came onto me, but it wasn't like that.  I flashed back, crying, but he calmed me. Soothed me, told me it will be all right.  I'm here, and I love you."

   "Who?"

   "Christina."

   I could see the love in her eyes, softening.  Almost an expression, but just in her eyes, even the brows were still slack.

   "At the Creche."

   "No, in the nursery."

   "Your daughter.  She talked to you?"

   "No, she was nursing.  It wasn't words, that's just how she made me feel. Safe, she, protected me."

   "Like Morion."

   "Yes?" She blinked, "She, is Morion?"

   "Of course not," I shook my head, "it was probably either a hallucination, or different memories getting mixed together with fantasies, and besides, this was before you made up that character, in college?" For playing D&D.

   "No," she looked.  Marion, she was back.  "I lied, about that." Looked down, sighed, "I knew, you would never believe me."

   "About what?"

   "Morion.  She's always been here." She tapped her temple.  "She wasn't my imaginary friend.  When I was a little girl.  Huh!  It was, almost like, I was her's."

   "That doesn't make sense."

   "But I remember.  Pori, the smell of our family boat, the burning nets, the creak of the rigging, and." She held her arm.  "My arm, breaking.  My first love."

   "The Marquis de la Troi?"

   "Nohoho," she chuckled, "That was in the game, his real name was Zograph. I'm not sure how he spelled it, I was illiterate back then."

   "Morion?"

   "Mhm?  Who did you think you're talking to?"

   "Marion?"

   She shook her head.  "Marion, never existed.  She's a front, a character I made up to fit in this time."

   "So, you're a time traveler." As soon as you think you've gotten past the delusion, it reasserts itself.

   "No, well, yes.  Technically we all are, one second per second." She shrugged, "I'm immortal."

   "Right," she's Indiana Jones, I guess with some Connor McCleod thrown in.

   "Huh, toldja she wouldn't believe me."

   "Was that Marion?" She nodded.

   "She has a mind of her own, but I was born, on Antekithra, we moved to Pori when I was very young, and Mari majored in History to account for my firsthand experience of the Rennaissance.  I'm sorry about all the retcons from the D&D campaign, but I am not a Character, I am a memory.  Of the first, the Matriarch, Euphra.  Pori, I guess.  We didn't have a last name."

   "Like Euphrat?"

   "Or Oprah, it's a very old name.  Older than Greece, which was largely gone by the time I was born."

   "Then, why haven't I heard, anything about the Pirate Morion?  Hang on, let me talk to Marion real quick, she's the historian, she supposedly ruled the seven seas, tortured Torquemada to fucking death, and became the first Conquestadora, then how come there's nothing about her, in all of history?" At some point, you have to break the delusion, hopefully without triggering another seizure of violence.

   "Hh, well.  I had thought, that because of Christianity.  Now, I can't be so sure."

   "A coverup."

   "Yes, you realize, she was a threat to early Christandom, as they spread out from Byzanteon."

   "The western roman Empire," I did some homework.

   "No, the City.  Before it was Constantinople, then Istanbul, it was founded as the Greek city Byzanteon.  Then the Christians came, converted Rome, and renamed it."

   "Yeah, but that was like, in the 5th century?  AD?"

   "Of course, no Christians Before Christ, but that would be," she looked up, "Mid 7th century, I believe."

   "Yes, but you're 'born' in the 15th?"

   "Huh.  Yes, but.  I was shown, basically the hystery of Greece, including Byzantium by.  A, well.  For lack of a better word, a Demon.  That's how I became Immortal, he, made me.  Well, he changed me," she rubbed her belly, down to push her fingertip through her shirt.  "My omphalae, the reason they're so sensitive is because they have nerve endings.  It hurts like hell when they cut them, but that's how I, Morion di Pori pass down from mother to daughter.  I have been in my family, why for over 500 hundred years now." She looks up, counting, "35 generations, counting Christina."

   "Who is also Morion?"

   "Noh, well, not yet.  A Morean, but not The Morion.  It's a mantle, the helmet at one point until it was lost.  Over the side, in my," she has to look it up, "Sixth generation, but only the Memories are passed down at birth.  Ian has them too, but without the, Demon."

   "Okay, let's talk about this," delusion, "Demon.  Does he have a name?"

   "He didn't when I met him, or he possessed me.  The Immortal Strangler, I thought of him as Basiatus."

   "Is that Greek?"

   She nodded, "The kisser.  He breathed himself into me, mouth to mouth. Strangled me first."

   "When?"

   "The rape of Pori.  That happened, not like it was in the game.  I, played brave, but in real life, I was kidnapped, and gangraped as a sex slave.

   That's why, we hid in the Puritans.  I'm dormant, until I am awoken by violence, sex, or pregnancy.  And often combinations of the three, I don't know why, Marion was so twisted, this time.  Why I don't remember her mother, except, that, Monster.  Huh!  Alia, she said her name was Alia, and when I was with my DM, she kept giggling, telling me all the Dune references.  I still don't understand that part, but puritans avoid all these things.  In childhood so that I don't ruin them before they're to young.  What did you call it, Covert Incest?  Well, they aren't "Gifted." My memories aren't a Gift, they're a curse.  They make my children into molesters, torturers, and killers.  So, I hide until they're ready.  Well, that and we're persecuted for being what we are.  When people evolve, the old don't just give in, and make room for the new.  They fight, to the last man.  So, that's why I hide, with puritans.  To avoid Genocide.

   They weren't Tuscan, that was a pun from my boyfriend at the time.  The first game was in Star Wars, and that Morion was from Tatooine.  Huh, she was raised, by Tusken raiders." She rolled her eyes.  "They were Greeks, or ethnically Greek from Morea.  They spoke Ottoman, but I don't believe there were any real Turks.  Maybe the first Captain, who was rather ill, and did retire to pass it down to his second.  A lot was changed in the game, because it was His game, but when he possessed me again, that's how I knew what was going on immediately."

   "Your boyfriend, possessed you?" Recurring delusion, Puritan fears.

   "Huh, I really don't expect you to believe, any of this, but yes.  Apparently, Basiatus is still around, still fucking with peoples lives, and he created another.  Demon, ess I guess.  A succubus, instead of possessing me in a breath, he gave me her sexually, the first time.  Well, he raped me. I let him, and to be honest I wanted it, but it doesn't make it any less rape." And that conflict probably caused a relapse of her childhood Morion and Possession fears.  Puritans.

   "So," back track a little, "How did Morion get out of sex slavery?"

   "The first mate, my first love.  He took me as his own, and when he inherited the ship, he made me his wife.  Minana, most of my aunts, and sisters were already sold.  In Alexandria, I believe."

   "And the men?"

   "Killed, when they burned the boats in the inlet of Pori.  There never was, even a beach there.  The sea was a little lower, so you could land at high tide, but we basically lived in housboats, moored to the rocks of the cliff-face.  All that was changed in the game, before I took it over."

   So, that explains it.  Multiple personality, which she was finally starting to integrate with Marion, and Morion.  They could talk to eachother, instead of Morion taking over, violently, or her mindless Id blacking her out to molest her children.  She just, kept herself busy.  In the back of her mind, fantasizing, and making this history to explain where she came from.  The Puritan beliefs she surpressed just came through in her fear of demons, the devils, then another female one to explain her lust for sick perverted men.  And the "Corruptor," her boyfriend.  Too smart to write his fantasies down, but using Role Play to give her an escape.  From her loveless abusive husband to seduce her.  Then explore the violent Disciplinarian fantasies to rape her all over.  A proven victim, very attractive to that kind of sociopath.

   ;

Author

Sorry it took so long to get into the BDSM, but I had to establish the characters.  Consent is all overlap.  That ain't a line they're crossing, it's a Neutral Zone, because of Mind Control.

   Sam (FF Psyc Mnem CoDe Sedu Saph NS.)

   "Hh!" rubbed under my glasses, and took them off.  Folded them and put them back in the case.  "Could you be a dear, and mix me a Tequila Spritzer?" Dove off the wagon, haven't even gotten drunk again yet, but I turned in my chip.  "HhHhH.  Thanks." It steadies my nerves.  "Huh!" Bartender, another round?  "Reverse psychology."

   "Like my working in Computers, because of my family's Luddite beliefs?"

   "No," shaking my head did little to clear it, "Sorry, that's the popular understanding, but you mentioned that you can't remember the start.  The details, because you started so young?" She nodded, "Well, it's actually sometimes easier to start with more recent  memories, and work your way back through older ones that the new ones recalled.  Like your running away led to your husband, and therefore you could recall from that to your childhood romance." Definitely easier to read, but still pretty shakey.  "Hh, do you
know what repetition Compulsion is?"

   "I doubt I understand it." Progress, when we met she knew everything.

   "Good, all right well when our Ids chew on something they can't understand, they tend to go over and over it, like a broken record.  It's broken, though, so impossible to find something new without making it up, but you may become desperate, and relive it in real life."

   "Like Role Play, and Larping?"

   "What's that?  The latter." Actually, Role-play isn't something we've tried yet.  She's impossible to hypnotise, and I'm never any good at that anyway.

   "Well, like D&D, but you go out, get dressed up, and act it our with toy weapons, and the like."

   "Oh," not the kind of Role-Play I was thinking of, but possibly Adaptable?  "Go on?"

   "Well, you can only do so much with Dice, to randomize the odds of hitting someone, or what have you."

   "It sounds violent."

   "It's a boys game, like Pirates, Cops and Robbers, Cowboys an;"

   "Dungeons, and Dragons."

   "Right, but when I played it in college, I ran a Historical Fiction campaign.  Without all the magic, and supernatural creatures.  It's not historically accurate, but we really couldn't find a way to balance Magic that was acceptible.  So, we basically used the D&D rules in more conventional settings."

   "Like what?"

   "Well, depends on the Campaign, we started in the Renaissance Mediterranian, but as if the 14th-through-16th centuries happened all at once, and a geographic separation, East West." She nodded as much to tell me she was following, "So, for instance the Morion helmet, which was fairly common from England to Italy was mostly confined to, and symbolic of Spain, the Inquisition, and Conquestadore's.  Then, after Columbus we sailed it over to the Caribbean, Gulf Coast, and northern South America around the mouth of the Amazon.  Then, generations after that we finally wound up in the West up to about the Gold Rush to the Yukon."

   "What's a Morion?"

   "A fencing helmet, really nice for parrying sword cuts, with Rapiers, and Sabers, like the Conquestadores wore.  Here, I've got one in a closet somewhere upstairs.  I went around them, and up to Ian's room.  He keeps most of the swords, guns, and so forth, to play with his friends, most of them scattered about the floor, so I had to dig it out of the bottom of his toychest.  "Here," I stood up, Still fit, "How's it look?"

   Goldish plastic.  "Where did you get that?"

   "It was a gift, from my boyfriend in college.  I think he got them from Fiestas...  De Santa Fe?" De San Fransisco, de Asis.  "I went to Saint John's."

   She nodded, "The one in Santa Fe." Right there has to be hundreds of St. Johns' colleges, and universities.

   "So you need a character."

   "Well," she scratched her head, "I don't have a hat, but I used to play Cowboys and Indians with the boys back home."

   "Texas?"

   She shook her head, "Oklahoma.  And soldiers, and Cops and Robbers, they really liked guns, though."

   "Okay," I bent gown, picked up a rubberband gun.  "Will this do?"

   "1 shot."

   "Well, that's also balance.  Like not having Magic, pistols like revolvers give an unfair advantage, for instance against a 15th century Greek Pirate," she tipped her hat, "Like Morion, she had mostly Matchlock pistols, muskets, and swivelguns."

   "That's your character?"

   "I like the hat.  Always did, and it's passed down from mother to daughter, along with her fleet."

   "And she's a pirate."

   "Most of them were, Conquestadora, Merchant/Mercenary Privateer, Madam of the 7 seas..."

   "You mean like prostitution?"

   "Yes, one of her many titles was Queen of Whores.  She also duked it out with the various types of Christianity, around and across those 7 seas."

   "Symbolically."

   "Of course, my boyfriend was a bit of a Satanist, or called it Anti-christian, but he had a pact with the Devil.  A Corruptors' Pact in return for the souls he sent to hell.  That was his retirement plan, so the various factions we're against were the 5 churches, roughly of the
Pentacost.  All of them at war with eachother, and we're right in the middle.  There were 2, or 3 competing Popes at any given time."

   "Fighting all of them."

   "Well, raiding them, intercepting their ships, capturing them and conscripting crews to convert them to, well it became a Cult at some point. The Morions became progressively more Messianic.  Santa Marinana di Pori. Madre' los, well Morion.  Generation after generation as her power, and influence grew."

   "And because of the sexual aspect."

   "Well, the Prostitution was mostly for the men.  Part of the conversion process, adapted, and liberally changed from the Bene Jessurit Missionaria Prophetica."

   "I'm sorry?"

   "Frank Herbert, Dune.  My boyfriend was also more of a Science/Fantasy nerd."

   "So, she's like an antisaint, or Popess."

   "Only instead of representing purity, and genocide, she represented sexual liberation, and freedom."

   "So an anti heroine."

   "A heretic, the churches didn't care for her converting their soldiers, and conquerers.  One of them tortured Torquemada to death, and used that leverage to negotiate a Conquestadora's rank, the only Conquestadora that never existed."

   "But without the Genocide."

   "Hh, she mostly pirated, yes, but her crew was probably a contagion vector for all the plagues she carried over like Smallpocks.  They didn't actively comit Genocide, but she helped the Spaniards, the whole time they were waging it on Hispañola, the Mississippis, and Amazon region."

   "Mississippis?"

   "Sorry, not the river, the people.  It was named after the primary civilization on the continent, Pyramid Builders.  The Spaniards wiped them out, leveled their mounds, and burned their writings so that the only thing left was the name of the river they were lucky enough to control when we brought Guns over."

   "Oh," History major, then I took some computer classes, as a second actually profitable career.  I'm doing fairly well, all things considered.

   "So, rob from the rich, to feed their fleet, not unlike how the Mongols conquered most of Asia, but on the seas to take advantage of all the shipping at the time."

   "And sex."

   "Yes, and getting involved with the DM who got me into BDSM." ...  "Bondage, and Discipline, mostly."

   "But like S&M."

   Nod, "Only the Bondage and Discipline aspects of it."

   "Hh, well I never liked.  Well?  You know, I was the girl, who played with boys so give you 3 guesses who wound up tied to the train-tracks." I nodded.  She held up the unloaded pistol, "Pew!" flipped it around her finger, and looked back to pull out her pocket.  "So, hows the rules work for this LARPing thing?" Used the clothes pin to clip it on.

   "Well, we have to make those up, it's a bit of a negotiation, but if we work them out, then we don't need a DM."

   "What's that?"

   "A Dungeon Master."

   "Oh, good." She looked over my shoulder.  "Is that a cane?"

   No telling what Ian and his friends were doing with it.  "My father's. Sorry, adopted grandfather's roughly.  From the Mennonites I lived with until I turned 18."

   "Like Virgil, well Doc Holidays at the OK Corral."

   "Yes, let's go out and work on your character, first."

;

   Marion {g2M Auto Trans}

   I was born a sinner.  First and foremost, whatever they told me I shouldn't do?  Do that, it usually feels good, the golden rule was "Just don't get caught." So, when they told me not to pick boogers, I started to pick my nose, in private, so I could enjoy it.  For hours, if I could get away so long.  Long after I ran out of snot, and swallowed all of it sucking it back down my throat.  That's why I started playing with myself, children naturally do.  Touch their private parts, it's not even sexual.  Babys grab their feet, and giggle, because their feet are on the other end. That's how we discover our feet, and it's not called foot fetishism.

   So, there's one set: {Sin.} The second set I discovered was {Sex.} Girls don't do that, so whenever I heard about a new boy thing, I tried it.  Not out of some, iconoclastic cynicism, but because I'd done all the girl things, to death.  You know what's not "Sin?" Sexism.  So, I can't be sure whether I was always a boy tapped in a girl's body, or how much of it was jealousy at all the cool stuff boys could do.  Pants?  Pants have pockets, and button the right way.  They protect their knickers, and anything they have inside.  And, I had to pee.

   In private, mustn't let anyone see, nor even hear you tinkle.  I had to tell one of the girls, to tell an adult, when it started hurting to pee.  You don't talk about it.  Another thought there was something wrong with her when she farted.  Because that's how we're raised, with dolls, and the complex lies that girls are hollow little porcelin things sewn up around a mat of straw.  No heart, nor bowels, much less a brain, just like the Tinmen we saw across the classroom.  And playing, not with me, because the common misconception was that I was biologically incapable of climbing a tree.  {And the Theory of Evolution was a myth.}

   Now wait just a damned minute, why in creation did God give us hands, and not to climb trees with them?  Thanks, Eve.  nlm.  So, call it Penis envy, maybe us bossy bitches wouldn't be so pissed all the time if you didn't get all the good stuff.  I didn't read Fairy Tales, well except for Jobe, I guess.  I was 11 before I heard of the Easter Bunny, Jesus brought us presents for Yule, St Nikolas drove, and Ruprecht wasn't even discussed. We didn't have pictures in the story books, and they were read to us.  So, trying to understand my sex really has to account for the situation I was raised in.  No, I wasn't trapped in a girl's body, I was a prisoner, of a myth.  I didn't have the privilege of dreaming of being a Princess.

   However, for a more modern allusion, look at that story.  What does the princess do?  Wait for the Prince, that's her adventure.  Know when to let down your golden hair, get all your chores done so your fairy godmother can get you all gussied up to dance with Him, how to poison yourself when you wake up to find him dead, and poisoned, because he thought you dead.  Lie there, clutching a Rose, until He comes in, to wake you with a kiss; I could go on, but the story always ends there.  I was born dead, and damned. Why the though of Hell never scared me, it sounded more interesting.

   The first thing I did was look over.  To the Right, walking up the hill to the church.  For "Communion," honestly we ate and drank together, every meal of our lives, so really this was a chance to eat with the Adults.  Keepers of secrets, the Ruling Class, and hear the Pastor.  I learned early on that in the congregation, nobody was watching me, because everyone was there.  And in the choir box, ans long as you don't move your head, you could always look up at the boys across from us.  "Hh," I always liked boys. The way they look, the way they smell, their clothes, and all the neat things they get to do.  Especially their hands, rough, tough, I saw a boy pull a thorn from his palm, without wincing, and dust the dirt off before going back to play.

   I don't remember ever wanting to be one.  So, no.  I don't believe I'm Transexual.  {Technically, she is, a Transexualist to be more precise, but there was no distinction between sex, and gender at that point.  Or she would have heard of it.) I am a woMan.  Annie Oakely/Irving Berlin were right, I don't want to be a man, I want to be Better.  We can do things they can't, like create life, and actually get something out of their nipples.  So, i guess one thing I'm learning from myself now is Why men do it.  Why it's "Penis Envy" instead of Castration Anxiety.  Why the entire society, all of them, and deritives thereof are the inferiorities of females.  because the truth is, we are Superior.  at best, we need 1.  A bull, or rooster, to keep us fertilized, when without us, the race doesn't survive.

   The only way to cover it up is to yell louder.  Chain, and enslave us, set up prisons, build walls brick by brick, mortared with lies.  You know what have 2 legs, and flies?  Pants.  I was ignorant of why forever, it was something pants had, when I asked it was so they could put them on and take them off.  Our dolls didn't have pants, they were all girls.  We didn't have babydolls, because we're not expected to care for children.  We had wet nurses, and teachers for that.  Our purpose was to take care of our husbands.  Keep them fed, clothed, and warm.  We did not see pregnant women, in creche.  We knew where children came from.

   "God."

   So, it was for peeing.  Further back, that was for pooping, and don't poot.  Girls don't do that.  Seriously, that was sex ed, for me.  Girls don't fart, much less ever hear that word.  It was shameful, breaking gender roles to do that.  So, I farted a lot, publicly whenever I could, or saved it.  I got good at it, i even learned if i bent over right, I could "Take a breath," and hold it.  So, if you're wondering where that fetish comes from, there you are.  I also found, all the naughty places i wasn't supposed to touch myself.  Because i heard we weren't supposed to, I'm pretty sure skirts, dresses, and slips are to keep our hands from between my legs, but I found them by process of elimination.

   First, anywhere it tickles.  My favorite game was Hide and Seek.  No where else to play with myself, so I was never it, I always wanted to play, because I could hide.  Be alone, and get my hands between my legs.  I imagine that's why the insides of them are erotic, now that I think of it, i loved slips before panties.  We wore linen dresses that could stop a lazer, but cotton slips, because the more protection for that general area, the better.  It was always hot, which is why I got into jumping, they wouldn't flop up to the knees anyway, but I found I could let it slip even with my skirt still over my knees.  I didn't need to use my hands, I could leave them in my lap, and just move my knees.  Nobody looked, the other girls were either watching the preacher, or looking up.  Across the church, and the box of boys.

   "Hih!" Flap flap flap...

   That's how i learned to play with myself, first.  In public, the relatively cool puffs of fresh air, and the relatively fine cotton in my thighs, I even had to hold my heavy skirt up to keep it from getting sucked down, and I had my first orgasm.  I swear, left hand to god, I got off, slipping my hands down between my legs, and thinking about a boy.  Right in front of me, with his hands between my legs.  The backs of his fingers, held together, prayers style, and told the shoolmarm I had to pee.  Or, I nodded, quietly, so I didn't have to say it.  "Do you need the toilet?"

   She walked me back, held my hand, sat down and waited.  Listened to hear me pee, I bent over, and grunted to "Poot!" In the water closet, single stall, and a chair for the schoolmarm to set on.  They had newspapers just for that.  My skirt bunched up against the tank, bent over the front, undercloth pulled down to my knees.  To hold them, coarse handwoven Linen. Grey, like the dress, and we were not allowed to scratch.  We had slips, like sheets to protect us from the itchy skirts, and it might as well have been a crown of thorns to protect our maidenhead.

   I caught my breath, just cooled down until the feeling passed, but I thought i was in love.  With him, I didn't know his name, even though I lived with him.  I had to listen, within earshot, not to close to hear another boy call him "Jake."

   I had another, "Rapture," sitting on a log, watching him split wood in the snow.  He didn't take his shirt off, he rolled his sleeves up to the elbows, and loostened his tie.  He left, couldn't have been more than a year, or two before his voice cracked, but he wiped off his head, put his cap back on, and left the rag for me to smell his sweat.  I stuck it, in my underpants, after I brought it back to the dorm.  We were allowed this.  I could sit out, hair covered in front of God, and everyone, and watch him split wood.  The chords in his forearms, like rope covered in calfskin, his grunts, and the power he split the log asunder with one swing.  "Huh!" I could watch, and sigh.  Just couldn't do anything about it. 

Sammy {f/m TV/CD Fant}

   "Whatcha doin?"

   I looked up, had to shade my eyes under my bill, "Fishing." That boy, Joel's brother.

   "You don't have any bait?"

   "Ain't got no fish, neither." Pull out the dangling string, and drape it back upstream to wiggle down through the rocks like a snake, couldn't find a snake to play with.  "Play fishin'," or a Centipede between mushrooms.  (Atari.)

   "Huha!" he just jumped down.  "Hot as hell today."

   "Why'm down here." wiggled my toes in the wet sand, "It's cooler."

   He took his boots off, and sat on a rock.  Just like I did, on that side of the bank.  "Ahh!" Rolled his pant legs up to get at the laces.  "How long you been here?"

   "All my life," I laughed, "Loel." Right, Loel, and Joel.  "Huh, where's Joel?"

   He shrugs, "You know my brother?" Never plays with him, calls him wuss, and baby.

   "Yeah, I'm Sammy.  I played with him the other week?"

   He squinted, sun's behind you, I bet my face is pretty well lit.  "He doesn't know any boys named Sammy?"

   Now I had to laugh, take off my cap, and let my sweaty curls drop out, pull at them with my fingers.

   "Oh, Sammy."

   I nodded, "Yeah, just got my hair off my neck, you din't recognize my face?"

   "Well," he laughed, "You usually walk around all, Cousin it." I hate that, threw a rock.  "Hey!" he jumped.

   "Don't call me that!"

   "Sorry!" He looked around, "I'm sorry I called you a boy."

   Shrug ",'sal right," it happens, not all the time, but especially when I got my hair up under my cap.  Often enough to get used to it.  "Tomboy," I guess.

   "You like boy stuff?"

   "Like what?"

   "You know, like climbing treas," yeah, "Cussin, and fishin'?"

   "Well?  SPTUH!" I spat, "That's just kids' stuff."

   "Well, what about girl stuff?"

   "Like what?" this should be good.

   "You know, like dolls, house, teatime, and," he scratched his head.

   "I'll stopya right there," I put my hand up, "Now, you notice what those groups have in common?  Your own set: How come boys get to climb, cuss, and fish, girls get to stay home, take care of the kids, and cook dinner when you get home?"

   "You can't climb trees in a dress?"

   "Why I wear jeans?" Pull my feet out.  "Well, your girls sound Boring."

   "I'll say!" He laughed, "I don't like girls likeat."

   "Good," cause I ain't one.  "And for another, that's sexist." He laughed, and blushed?  "What?"

   "I just never here no girl talk about sex before."

   "Well, I ain't no girl, neither." I'm a tomboy.  That don't piss me off, it's true!  "But sexism ain't about sex, it's a lie that girls are inferior to boys."

   "Who tolja that?"

   "Huh!  It's true, I'm telling you that.  You ever hearda Annie Oakley?" He shook his head, "Well, she's a trick shooter, in Buffalo Bill's Wild West Show.  Best one he had, shot the pants of anyone that tried her when they traveled around.  And she had this song.  "Anything you can do I can do better, I can do anything better'n you." But it's a duet."

   "Nu uh!"

   "Yeah, it is, with Buffalo Bill."

   "Yeah, well what can do better'n me?" He's older, too.

   "I betcha I can out-shoot ya." I pulled out My BB gun, and pulled the lever.  Had to fish a BB out of the seam in the bottom of my pocket.

   "What's the bet?"

   "How 'bout a dare?"

   "Well, then what's the dare?"

   Shrug, "Depends on how good I beatcha."

   "Your on!"

   I got up, threw my boots over.  "Besides, what d'you think girls talk about in the girl's room?"

   "Idaknow?" He put his on, while I climbed up.  "Throw me my boots.  Same thing you do in the boy's room, boys, kissing, making out;"

   "Nu uh!"

   "Yeah, playing with ourselves, too."

   "Stop!  Get outta hear."

   "No shit.  Don't you play with yourself?"

   "Yeah, but,"

   "So do girls, and grownups, practically everone." I know, anyway.

   "Butcher not supposed to." Reach down,

   "Yeah, but.  Uuhn!  Everbody does it," shrug.  "Just not supposed to talk about it."

   "Why's that?"

   "Well, whad'ya get when you cross a rinoceros with an elephant?"

   "I dunno, what?"

   "Eliphino," clap his back, "Come on, I do my plinkin' down here."

   "Wantcher boots?"

   "Not right now," they're hot.  The grass ain't burnin my feet, he brought them anyhow.  "Not like anyone'd steal them.  What do you think about?"

   "I dunno."

   Not real bright, "When you play with yourself?"

   "Idunno," he shrugs, "Girls?"

   "Well, doin what with them, holding hands?  Huggin, kissin?" Kinda pretty, though.

   Shrug, "Just whatchou look like," he didn't look, turned away, "Nekkid."

   He ain't seen me naked, "Ugh!" Has he?  Let me beat the pants off him real quick...  "Go set up some cans, overup on that there fence," I pointed. My gun, my range.

   "Why me?"

   "My gun, and I gotta fish the BBs out." Ooh, a pellet!  "Besides," I pointed with the muzzle, but I had the lever open over my elbow, "You gotcher boots on."

   Looked like it was in pretty good shape, "Wh!" blew some fuzz off.  I loaded it first, while he wasn't lookin.  "Cocked."

   "Huh?" He looked back.

   "Clear the range," I hummed, "Where seldom is heard,.." Pt...inK!  Cock it, roll a BB out between my fingers.  This ones' a bit flat on one side, so put that back by the valve side, press it in with my pinkie nail.  "Cocked," hand it over.  "Take yer time,"

   Nice butt, always thought so.  Didn't really ever have a crush on him, but saw him all the time, and thinkin about boys, the ones you know tend to flash through your head, playin with myself.

   Ptk!

   "You ever shot before?" I didn't pat it, or swat it, or touch him, or nothin, but it looked pretty hard, under his jeans pockets.

   Cock, Pt...ksh!

   The bottle fell in pieces.  A big one, with the label off, but from 40 oz, if I remember.  Maybe a quart, he set it up.  Cock, "Here you go, now." I helt it up, ran my hand up the stock, and showed him how to hold it.  "The sights a little off, so aim high and to the left." I turned my thumb sideways to hold the nail up next to the site, "Right about here.  And you need to stand better, look," I took the gun, stepped back, "See how my leg balances the gun out front?  And my arm, square that back, and point your toes, lykiss." I pinched some dirt over with my thumb toe.  Didn't even site, it's his shot.  "Here," I handed it back.

   He tried it, "Good, that's better." With his legs back, and spread likeat, it pulled his jeans tighter, and I stuck my fingers in my pocket, I don't want to outright cheat, not that I have to.  I already won with an even number of shots.  He missed, and I don't have to.  I counted the number of beads in my fingers with my thumbtip, Pt...K!  2 misses, nodded. "Go set the can back up."

   Marked off a couple lines for me, wrote _Lowel_ with a big fat nothin under it.  "Here," I handed it back, "Why don't you take the last shot?" Dropped the shot back in the bib pocket, clean miss, I started walkin back.

   "Where you goin?"

   "Get my fishin pole."

   He carried my gun, too.  Jumped down, in the sand, no burrs.  Stepped across, the stones that were practically mine anyway.

   "Well," he jumped down, "What about the bet?"

   "Take your shirt off," I wet it in the stream, it found it's own way down.  He pulled it out, and off.  "Now, turn around." Probably would've wasted more shots to get him to drop his pants.

   WhoOH!

   "Ahi!" he jumped.  Tried to reach back, pull his head to look over his shoulder.  "Ow, that hurt!"

   "Yes, I can." ~Ethyl Merman.

;

   {Quote Note: She didn't read the jacket on the record, and thinks that's actually Annie Oakley, singing a duet with Buffalo Bill in their Wild West show, which she hasn't seen.  ~I.  Berlin.}

   Marion {FF BDS.  No M, also, notice the difference between Marion, the player, and Morion, the character.  (Also the Id-state)

   "Huh!" Not bad!  "It's not all that Erotic."

   "I thought I'd start low, and build up from there," she took it back, and tucked in her bag.  Purse/attache with a shoulder strap, to carry it all in one bag.  "So, wanna try it?"

   Preliminary rule: Make it sound good, so we can act it out later, and yeah.  Her script.  "You wanna go fishin'?" Just another language, or Dialect, actually.

   "I thought maybe we could skip ahead to the action."

   "Shooting?"

   "Huh, 1: I been shooting all my life.  Carried a .270 out on the ranch in case of Cayote, when I was little enough to be afraida Cayote.  And 2: I don't have a BB gun, and there's no way I'm handing you a loaded firearm. I mean the action at the end."

   "The flogging." Straight into the whips, "Your first scene?"

   "Yeah, but it's a wet yarn, how much damage can you do with that?"

   "Well," I got up," I'd have to show you." She asked for it, so I went out, opened the door, and heard her follow me down to the basement.  Got my keys out, and unlocked the padlock on the door all the way in the back.  "What you're talking about is basically a coach-whip." I left it open, came right out.

   "You have a dungeon."

   "And I collect whips," Hold up the cane, "This is a cane.  I am not going to hit you with it, probably not for years, but I thought it would be ideal for your toy fishing rod."

   "You got any yarn, lying around?"

   "I might." I knit, she knows that.  "Or macrame chord?" Why I don't have cats.

   "What's the difference?" She doesn't, knew that too.

   "Macrame chord is heavier and stronger," I locked up, dropped the keys back in my jacket pocket on the way up.  "Get the light, and close the door, where do you want to do this?"

   "Outside?"

   "Well, that would have all the swinging room, now wouldn't it.  Not all that private, but if we can move some furniture." Out in the living room, there's a vaulted ceiling.

   "Hh," she shook her head, "Might as well go whole hog, I don't care about privacy, your neighbors around?"

   "I don't know about the neighborhood kids," summer, "But;"

   "You think we could risk going topless?"

   "I," don't care.  She probably knows that, "I was rather more concerned about your, taboos."

   "Don't worry about that, I'll get over them."

   "Okay!" It's not that hard to tie a yarn on the end of a stick, I really din't have to bother whittling a notch in the top to loop a bight over.  "Nice knot."

   "Boywer's hitch."

   "For archers," I nodded, "But not a bowline?" I shook my head.  Picked a nice bruise purple, thought it appropriate, inkvine violet.  (F.  Herbert.) "Mood is a thing for lovemaking, and cattle." ~G.  Halleck, I laughed.  "He was always known for having the right quote.  It's recursive, like nested allusions."

   She took off her shirt, shrugged.  "Bra on?"

   "And I'm thinking, you have enough control to hit me in the midriff."

   We are both in our 40s, multiple pregnancies, she had a little Sandia scarring from stretch marks.  Not flat and tanned as a swimsuit model, and I could care less.  I'm recovering from a lot of stupid issues, that she's freeing me from.  This isn't gay, I loved her, and she, trusts me, to show it.  "And if I turn around, I can't see how you do it."

   "All right," we pulled the cover off the hot tub, didn't fire it up, but the fantasy specified a wet yarn tailed coatchwhip.  "Nh!" I tested it on my arm.  "Nh!"

   "Okay," I dipped the whole tail, "This is a Stockwhip, which means it swings like a flail," I took some practice casts, to get used to the length, "so you want to swing it, in a swirl like this." Dipped between swings to get used to the weight, Whhhhh!

   "Like Flyfishing."

   "I don't know, you ever fish?"

   "We had a stock tank," she nodded.

   "Well, ironically, I never got into it."

   She nodded, "You don't have the patience." I relaxed my shoulders, "Hh! Okay, well the water actually makes it worse."

   "Like a wet towel."

   "W'll, Yeahbut those you twist up, like a bandana, so they have a taper.  This gets all the power from the stock.  It's like a lever, you only have to move your wrist a little for the tip to move a lot, and that picks up sPeed!" WhhhHK!  Water sprayed off to a mist.

   "All right," she undid her belt.  Jeans, bandana tied around her neck, so technically still in character.  I didn't take off the Morion either, but we hadn't really started role-playing yet.  It's better to do some dry runs first, this was more like training than a Discipline scene.

   "You don't have to be naked." I haven't actually seen her naked yet, we're taking it slow.  She explained it, the slower you go, the more control you have over the escalation.  Like starting low, like a yarn whip, instead of pulling any heavy artillery out of my armory.

   "Here," she held it up, wrists together.

   "You want me to bind you?" She nodded.  "Explicit consent." One of the rules.

   "Yes, tie me up." Better to get it in writing, I'd never bound her before, "i don't think I can stand still for this, and i trust you." And my heart, she could see me feel it on my face.

   "Hh!" She threw it over one of the rafters of the portico.  And hung on. To her belt, bound around her wrists.  "You look beautiful." She smiled, looked down.  Flushed, not blushing with shame.  I remember, when she told me.  'I'm not sure, when the nightmares turned into fantasies.'

   "You ready?"

   "As I'm gonna get." I picked up the lacquered cane from the side of the cold tub, and dipped it to wet it consistently.  I actually shook most of the waste off on practice swings.  "Don't tense," brought it back, "I can't hit a moving target." Waited until she stayed relaxed, closed her eyes so she didn't anticipate it fast enough.

   "Whp!"

   "Uhn!" She dropped, hung with her hands down, and I dropped it right on the dirty concrete of the patio.  "Are you all right!?"

   "Hhh, huh?" She looked up, "Uhuh?" Got her weight under her, and stood up.  "Whew!  That was intense!" Grinned, lit up like holly berries.  Held up her wrists.  I just undid them.

   My turn.  "Hh," I unbuttoned my sleeves first.  Anything you can do, "Huh!" Okay, don't try to play this off, she's about too whip me.  That's the deal: Switch, I need to learn.  But it's a pretty big deal.  To relinquish control, let someone else do the whipping, the binding, she just set her belt down.

   "Just stand up by the wall." I looked around.  Wednesday morning, quiet, sunny, hot, dry, no sign of anyone watching.  2 middle age women playing strip and whip me in the back yard.  "And take your bra off, I'm not so sure I'm good enough to miss it.' She beat the wall.  Practicing, and dipping it between strokes like she saw me.  Didn't even look, had seen, and even felt me topless, acting out our teenaged schoolgirl romantic fantasies.  Which was, actually wonderfully romantic.  I'd, never.  Taken it so slow before.

   "Whenever you're ready."

   "I closed my eyes, and put my hands up.  On the wall, the painted vinyl siding was hot, in the sun, and i felt it on my back too.  Granted, it took about 3 hours to get a burn, which rates my skin about SPF 180, "Nh!"

   ...

   I tensed, but she just mist.  I felt the spray from the whip, and even a little air from it's passing, but it didn't even crack.  i couldn't hear it, until it twilled away.  Then drips behind me, as she pulled it back out of the water, and

   K!..  hwww.

   "Huh!" I fell down.  "Huh, huh huh!"

   "I'm sorry!" she dropped it too.

   "Noh!" I swallowed, "Gnh!" gulped, and "huH!" gasped.  "You're right," I had no idea, "that is intense!" Didn't even leave a welt.

   She helped me up, and I felt her chest flatten on my back.  Her tummy above my bottom, in her hips.  "Huh!?" her hands on my chest.  I just held onto the wall.  The paint felt soft, in my nails.

   She whispered, 'let's go back inside,' in my ear.

;

Author

Author

I may have mentioned that Stacy has decades of fantasies?

Morion has Centuries of them:

'

Oaxana (Mf Mass Rape Maim)

[   My family were fishers, and so would I be if they hadn't been taken, and murdered.  My brothers, and Papa right in front of me, Mother dragged back to be raped in their bed.  I alone escaped, I hit the man with the pan as soon as he took his breeches down, and ran out into the night.  So, he couldn't chase me outside, screams, fighting, and rape all around me in the rippling light of the fires.

   They burned the boats first, then the nets, dried in the sun to throw on the roofs.  All but the smallest, my brothers made this boat, and took me out in the sun.  To play with nets, and learn the trade, I took it from our hiding spot, and launched it by the light of the pregnant moon.  High tide, the oar was heavy, but I pushed it back and forth, turning it to pull it back through the water.  "Uh!" Even after my arms got tired.

   I could see their ship, far out from our shallow inlet, I saw the men returning by the light of their torches, the fires of my home burning behind them, but came about in the shadow of their hull.  Not the first I'd seen, ships, nor Pirates, they generally came by the light of day in fair trade.  Our small island on the way back and forth along their routes, but far from the mainland, and major islands with cities.  (The nearest being roughly Crete.) We used to play, pretend to be sailors, pirates and Navy to fight them.  Swords, shields, and the boys making thunder noises with their mouths, throwing rocks, or boulders off the cliffs to splash into the sea below.

   After hauling the men, and supplies aboard, they weighed anchors, so I fixed mine to theirs, and my bow, to be pulled (like a Dinghi) into deeper water.  Now orphaned, I had ideas on revenge, but no means nor plan to secure it.  I knew there had to be a Captain, who decided where to go, and ordered the attack.  Allowed the men to rape, kill, and burn.  My whole life, such as it was, I wasn't even all that proud of it.  Nor had I much reason to miss my family, my mother, she was a good one.  My father, and brother got drunk, and touchy a little too much for my liking.  But they were Mine, and taken from me.  That was reason enough.

   Eventually, the rocking stars, and setting moon closed my eyes, they spotted me in the morning.  I unlocked, and gripped my oar, but they just lowered a man, with a boarding axe to cut my anchor line.  Becalmed, I locked my oar to row around alongside, and tied a loop to throw up over it. "Uh!" it splashed back down, so I hauled it back in to coil it, wet and heavy from the sea for another throw.

   They called down, laughing in their language.  The man, I hit with the pan came out, then one who spoke Greek.  "Little girl," he laughed, "Even if you catch your line, we will only cut it again."

   "Uh!" It slipped down again, so I pulled it back in to the coil.

   "This man says you maimed him."

   "Yeah?" on the shadow side of the hull, I looked up, "Well he got touchy, so I made it so he would never touch another woman." He repeated it, for the men to laugh.  All but one, who shouted over them.

   "Vendetta!"

   "He demands revenge."

   "Uh!" Splash.  "Well, send him down here, so I can end his suffering."

   More laughs.

   "Your boat is too small."

   "Then, pull me up, and lend me a knife to gut him with." I hadn't time to grab mine, fleeing in my nightshift.  I tied it to climb up when he caught my anchor line.  The Greek speaker, though he did not look Greek.  His hair was straight, and he wore a funny hat.  The men pulled me, high enough to get my feet up on the side, then one on the rail to pull me over.

   "Can you handle a sword?" He held out his hand to another man.  "Carlo." He reached behind him, and pulled a broad short blade, like a wedge and flipped it to hold out, pointing back his arm, to the bend of his elbow, the horns of the guard cradled in his fingers.  It was very heavy, so I held it down, the horns of the guard on my wrist.  My first finger over the smallest to grip a flare in the middle, and held up the pommel like a heavy coin.

   He pulled a knife.  "You need a knife, coward?"

   The men laughed with the translation, but he growled, and swung at me. I got it up, to block with the heavy blade, and stepped back.  "Uh!" It flipped out, as his edge slipped of the side, so I missed my swing at his knee.  Sideways the way I had to hold it, but he moved back.  He was clumsy, swinging backhand, crouching low as if to lift a full barrel.  I had to put my leg back to balance, like a lizard standing to run.  "Nuh!" Swung back for his thigh, sideways the way I held it, but I could raise it to block, like a 2 handed shield.  I pulled back, but flipped the blade up, on my wrists, and catch his hand on the edge of the tip.  "Ah!" he pulled it back, to drop in his other hand.  Right in front of me, I hardly had to look down.  So, I stepped aside, then swung my back leg behind me out of the way of his clumsy stab.

   I batted it up at the elbow, "NuUHh!" And brought it down, pushing with my back leg so I nearly fell over, but levering it up with my wrists to stab through the broadside of his thigh.  Between his legs, I had ment to strike at something more vital, but he tried to close them.

   "Uhn!" he fell, twisting the grip from my hands, so I backed to the side, looked back, and bent to pick up my loop.

   "Huh!" I slipped the bight through the loop, but he grunted again.  "NhHUhn!" And dropped the sword to the deck.  "Rattina!" Lunged, but fell flat, so I sideskipped around.  Giggling, he tried to push up, so I could get the loop over his head, shoulders, and arms.  I laughed, jumping on his back, and he fell back to the deck.

   I pulled, the bight taut."Malakia thiliko!" I looked back to kick my heel into his thigh.  "Emito psaria!" pulld My knife out of his hand, "Salinkari; uh?  No!" I kicked, but they pulled me off, screaming.  "Let me go, let me gut him lie I promised, give me my knife back!" The one he pulled on me, I couldn't reach the sword where he threw it away.

   Others picked him up by the rope, passing it back and forth to wrap around him, and pulled a loop tight inside his thigh to stop the bleeding. It spurted, like mansblood, the man who spoke Greek pointing, and shouting orders.  "Carlo'," he stood up, wiping the broad tip on his thigh.  "Spolia paraet praedama." A broad wedge of leather bound by the tip, and slotted through the wide curve of the open side above his behind.  He unbuckled his belt, held it up, with My sword, and nodded, giving it to me.

   "Te'a lucratus estes." Far too large, I asked for an awl.

   The man with the strangest hat said "Lesina?" He snapped at another, who pulled it from his belt.

   Over my shoulder, "Nh!" I had to press it, against the rail, twisting, and wiggling it through the thick stiff leather to make a hole, but I got the buckle fixed.  Then took it off to hang it over my back, diagonal to hang under my ribs on the other side.  The strap hung down on the side, I had to borrow a knife later to trim it.

   "Are you the Kapetanios?" I wiggled the grip over my shoulder to set it in place, and hide how I was shaking.  "Then take me to him.  NOW!" Anger, kept me awake, instead of passing out like I wanted.  The men laughed.

   "Lakapitanita!" They laughed some more.  He took me back, to a door by the stairs.

   "You speak Greek?" He sat up, in bed.  Looked at me, then at his man.  "He," I pointed, "Let them raid Pori.  TELL HIM!"

   "Gli oumini, ehh.  La fanciulla, de Marina.  Illa quaestio vendetta..."

   "I lost everything, killed my family," on my littlest finger, "my home, my life, my;" I blinked, "NH!" I couldn't say it.

   "Leia orphana, Glioumini, sphugitta di mano;"

   "I am staying Here." point to the deck, "With Him until he repays me, for my life."

   "Mi proderra, eh." he scratched his head, "Ips rattuli Napolitti, et vitcit." {Also, don't correct my bastard Latin, neither.  The DM's ain't much gooder.}

   The captain looked surprised.  Coughed.  I marched out, before I burst into tears, and slammed the door.

   The men stopped.  Waited, turned to watch me.  I looked down, untied the knot in my nightshift between my legs so it hung back down over them in the morning air.  "What're you looking at?" I reached up to set my sword on my shoulder, "Don't you have anything else better to do?" Waved my other hand. "Anyone else speak Greek on here?" What the fuck are they doing this far East if they don't?  They looked at eachother, talked, and laughed some more.

   "Lakapitanita," they called me again.

   "Oachana." I shook my head.  {In Greek, the X is pronounced "Ch." Precursor to the name Aksana, or Oaxana.}

   He showed me to his cabin, his bunk.  "You have any cloth?" He shook his head, "Onboard?"

   "I can ask the men," but I was already yawning.  The excitement wore off all at once, and I could hardly get the strap off my shoulder before I curled up and started crying.  I worried, about my mother.  She was a strong Greek woman, but she kicked off the night being gangraped by privateers, then probably came out to find everyone dead, everything burning, and her only (Surviving) daughter kidnapped.  He got on the bunk, and held me until I cried myself to sleep.

   (Now, let me explain a little maritime law.  Italy was not at war, with Greece.  Just looking to expand trade farther east in the Ionian to the Adriatic sea.  Privateers are basically mercenary merchants, not above a little piracy once in a while, and armed because they hear there be Pirates about.  Not officially Italian, or Tuscan Navy, but even if they were, Greece didn't give a cintillafuck about Marina.  Not enough to go to war over it being flicked off the map for a pit-stop.)

{That was a DM's Asside. Author note, the Island of "Marina" is later retconned to be the rock of Pori.}

   ;

   "Muh?" Later that afternoon, we woke up.

   "Marina," he called me.

   I asked his name, and he say "Twah." I found out later this was short for Edmond De La Troi, the third.  In Latin, they called him Tertio, and in Greek it might have been pronouced Troy.  Also, being a Privatized Merchant ship, the crew was Mostly Tuscan, out of the port of Erkoli, Grosetto.  "Where did you learn to fight like that?"

   "3 brothers, and playing with the other boys from the Eisodo." They mostly let me play with the aspis, and threw rocks at me.

   "How many sisters?"

   "2, but they died, and another brother." I survived.

   "And, how old are you?" I shrugged.  Not really a Birthday kind of family.  I wasn't bleeding yet?  Also illiterate, I could count lines.  Probably up to about 12, which was as many as I ever had to handle before. I couldn't be sure how many lived in the inlet, how many were killed in that night, I never bothered to count.  During the day, the men talked, and on order provided the scapegotes for the Genocide.  {Greek prefix, and root. Basically salting the soil so nothing will grow, or building over the ruin.  So nothing will grow.}

   From Tertio's translation, apparently they were blown off course from Antikithra when the favorable winds changed overnight, and were supposed to determine by how far, and which direction so they didn't have to wait until dawn to take sitings.  Someone argued, presumably something to do with armed men showing up after dinner, and it escalated from there.  Unfortunately, the only man who could speak the language had to stay with the ship.  In addition to the night watch commander, the Helmsman, and the men they blamed for starting the fight/fires, there was the one who tried to touch me.

   "Give me that," I took the rope, split from 3 twists, knotted, and each twist split 3 more times.  Thick, heavy, the men talked.  "He is My prisoner." I pointed, "Tell them!" Troy translated.  "I captured him, fair and square, and I owe him for what he did to my family."

   Tertio stayed my hand.  But permitted me 1 lash with the Cat o' 9 tails so I'd give it back.  It was heavy, I could barely get my hands around it, and I never swung one before, can't even be certain how long it was, but it tore his shirt anyway, and he hung by the arms from the limb held over the deck.  "NH!" He had to take it away before I tried that again, so I went around, the front, and started on the laces to his breeches.

   "Marina?"

   "I wanna see what I did!" Ooh, bad night to invite yourself to fish fryday.  Not every night, but common enough to make it likely.  The grease hadn't cooled, and I splattered him pretty good, with a nice burn from the edge of the pan as well.  "Hm!" I turned, "Now, if anyone gets Touchy," Troi translated, "They get it even worse!" A rigger cut him down, while two more took him back to see the doceo.  They pulled down his pants, and the tatter of his shirt.

   "Don't worry, nothing I haven't seen," he showed it to me first, but he was unconscious.  Too bad, I saw the cut on his hand, but they also pulled the bandage and poultice off of his leg.  "Hm, Good Stitch," I leaned over nodded.  Stood up, shifted the strap back on my shoulder and made a sewing motion at the doctor.

   (Sawbones, you don't see any eyepatches, hooks, or peglegs, but there's some stumps, a lot of scars, missing fingers, and thumbs.) He points, hand shaking with tremmors to the boy.  "Mateo," His assistant, who got out a needle, and what looked like twisted Gut.  Like the suture, I pulled out his pants.  Shook them.  Not leather, as most aboard, cloth, didn't feel woolen, and very fine.

   He took me down, below.  Troi was manning the wheel.  Turns out the captain was bedridden with gout, fat, old, bald, grey, and not in great health.  So, Troi pretty much ran the ship, and when we got back to porto Erkoli formally signed over the privateer contract to him.  Made him captain, his ship, and crew, once we got back to port where they had notaries or whatever to make it official.  It was practically "Afey accompli" already.

   Until then, I needed something more than my night shift, so the physician's apprentice took me down to the hold, and showed my his bunk.  With the other bunks, men sleeping in them, it's a 24 hour ship, they sleep in shifts.  He showed me a spare pair, I took them, layed them back on his bunk, and started undoing the laces on the ones he was wearing.  Slapped his hands, "It's all right," got it out.  Okay, not a boy, he had some hair on it.  I can sew, hand twist rope, probably tye a net in my sleep, but britches is a lot of sewing, and this was the nicest cloth I had ever seen.

   "Nh!" I pulled his rope, he put his elbows back, up on the bunk, and just leaned back.  I bent down, lifted to suckle it hard, and pulled back the skin to wet it.  Clean, very clean for a boy on a ship.  (With the caveat that this coming from a fishergirl.) It only took a few more pulls for him to grunt, and shake his hips.  I caught it, and picked up his bunk pad to wipe my hand underneath.  Pulled the laces tight, but he tied them off himself.  I took My britches up to work on them in better light.  Cut off my sleepshift, it was too long, and I can't stop to tye it between my legs whenever I have to climb something.  That gave me some fairly fine wool to work with too, for an underclothe.  And my prisoner ended up dying in a few days anyway, I got some leather from his britches, and boots too.

   Which left me nothing to wear to bed, but I had my Troy to keep me warm, and he had a sailcloth sheet.  A lot of sailcloth, men wore it as shirts, tyed it on over their hair, wiped the bowls out after we ate, and drank.  From barrels, plenty of salt in their diet, I'll tell you that.

   I went up to the Wheel, and told Tertio I want to pull my weight, so I tied a net, and borrowed a couple riggers to help me haul up some fish.  Not a whole lot, but one of them got pretty good at throwing too.  It wasn't like doing it on the beach, or from a small boat, this was a big ship, underweigh, and I needed some help.  They appreciated some fresh fish, to go with the salted barrels they had on board.

   I knew where those came from, but what the fuck?  What was I going to do, steal one back, dump it over the side, and fend for myself in the middle of the Ionian sea?  Tertio promised to pay me back, and I held him to it.  The crew made jokes to cover the fact that they were obviously scared of me, and I earned some grudging respect from the riggers, or a couple of them, first.

   It was a long trip back to Port Hercules, anyway.  They started showing me the ropes, but there's a lot of them.  I tied my hair back, and they gave me a leader to run up the mainmast.  Drop the heavy weighted knot over to pull the rest up, bent to a larger line while another rigger was hauled up with a fid to show me what to fasten it to.  The riggers started calling me "Simia" after that, turned out I was their best climber, I heard later it means "Monkey." Took a while to learn Tuskani, too.

;

(GM/ms Hand/Bukk)

   At night, I felt Tertio behind me.  Holding me, keeping me warm, but it made me uncomfortable.  So, I turned over and untied his undercloth.  I licked my thumb, and held back the skin to rub it around the end.  "Ehm?" He woke up.

   "It's all right," I didn't stop, "I'll take care of it." I felt the bottom, and the olives in his purse until it tightened.  "Nh!" It splashed back into his beard, and I wiped my thumb off in his undercloth before I tied it back up.  So, I could roll over, and go back to sleep.

   The boys took me out, my eldest brother, and his friends.  On the boat they made, to throw nets, and play fish.  It got old waiting in the inlet for them to come back, he said "Sure, you can come along." They called me "Ballast," then I started pulling my weight.

   In summer, it gets hot, so we rowed out, the boys taking turns on the oar, and took off their shirts.  First, then their breeches, and I took off my clothes as well.  When we're out of sight of our father's boats, around the rocky shore of the island.

   Pori is a rock.  There's really only one place you can land, and put something resembling a small villiage.  Why the Tuskani called it "Islet de Marina." Just about all that's there.

   So, the boys started pulling rope, and I layed down to give them something to look at.  I learned to pull rope too, by the light of day, when everyone was sober, I didn't mind it as much.  Then, we'd all swim to cool off, and get dressed, rowing our way back around to Pori inlet.

   It's not like, when papa got drunk, and didn't finish the bottle before he passed out.  Then the boys would finish it for him, then get all touchy in the dark, and mess up the blankets.  "Hh!" He held me, "Nhmhnhihn!" Or, you know, hearing mamas screams, the last time I saw her.  The other women, the children, the men and boys.  I didn't love any of those boys, I didn't have a chance.

   Night touches, most of the girls I knew, talked about it.  Their brothers, fathers, uncles, sometimes aunts, or mothers too.  Usually drunk, and many got it far worse than I.  "Hh!' I wiped my eyes in the dark.  I much preferred the boys, in their little boat.  I lost it, the morning I came aboard.  The wind picked up, and it was left behind to drift.  I don't miss it, often, but sometimes I remember, and it reminds me of where I came from.

   The life I could have had.  The night touches, usually stopped when you found a boy, you liked.  Started going off together, climbing over the cliffs, or just wandering out to the shade of the junipers, and olive trees that clung to the rock.  To become pregnant, start a family of their own.

   "I'm sorry." He said to me, ever time.  Holding my face.

   "No," I shook it in his hands, his rough thumb wiping my cheeks, I closed my eyes to brush them with my lashes.  "Thank you, for this new life you give me." We're even.  He wiped my eyes too, and kissed my head.

   He loves my hair, "Bouchelettes," he calls it, and holds me to his chest. He has some, there.  And more, under his undercloth.  "Hh!" He is very clean, cleaner even than that assistant boy, who got all mooneyed, and followed me around with them when he saw me.

   "Hh," I was just grateful, they're damned fine pants, but why would I want him when I have my Tertio, my Twah, my Troy?

   He told them, even before we got back, and the captain signed off, new rules: No more Marinas.  Nobody gets touchy with children. I stood there, My scourge across my palms, and nodded when they looked to me.  "Audire eum, audire!" You heard him, pay attention!  I had started bleeding, I was no child, and they didn't need to know that.  They needed to know the penalty for disobeying it.

   The nodded, "Valde, mi Kapitina."

   I nodded back.

   "Now, to the ropes, men.  I want to make it to port by dusk."

   "Wind permitting."

   I beat the deck, "Tell them fuck the wind, we will make it to port, tonight, if they have to swim with leaders in their teeth!"

   "Valde, mi Kapitina."

   They set to the belaying pins, and windlasses, Tertio returned to the wheel to take the rudder.

   I sat down, with a shot for the rail guns, and a fid.  Put my boots up on the rail, and watched them.  With favorable winds, we could retire tonite at harbor, and he could make me his wife.  Easily the most beautiful man on board, and he would be captain.  My captain, the apprentice boy moped back to his master, head low.

   He's pretty too, but not enough of a man.  Yet, and why would I want him when I could have a captain?  Sorry, son, he doesn't even speak my language. "Hh!"

   The body of my scourge was too long anyway, so I pried open the knot, twisted apart the bights, and basketwove them around to splice back into a handle.  Over/under, twisting them between my thumbs, and fingertips to keep them tight, then twisting them back, gripping the heavy pommel between my crossed legs to force the ends deeper into the body until I had a decent handle.  3 tails, knotted into half fists on the end.

   I must have been roughly 12, or 13, and not a man on the crew had any misgivings taking My orders.  Because I don't ask, "Kapitina" started off a joke.  "Look the little girl thinks she's an officer.  See how she barks orders for the second to repeat, in latin.  Hahaha!"

   It was no joke any more, because I don't ask them anything.  I tell them, and by now they know the penalty for disobedience.  "Hh!" I got up, tested the balance.  WHhwhwH!  Much better, the iron shot and more appropriate length keeps it from hitting the deck, and I have much better control.

   I practiced, beating the stopper knots (Figure 8s, capsized into rough balls) tighter against the rear mast.  Then, I called up my fishing riggers to test the water off the back of the aft castle.  Not bad, haven't seen all of these, I had to ask them about them, being Italian fishes, but they showed me what was good.  I got out my table, and my gutting knife.

   Discipline.

   The myth is that a little girl doesn't know what she's talking about, or cannot back up My orders without Tertio, so I have to prove them wrong.  With Discipline.  I am seen as weak, or I was until they got to know me.  Nobody aboard believes that now.  I killed a man, 1.  Made him suffer for days, and showed them the penalty for not getting my way.

   On my first order.  "Don't get touchy with me.  See him?  He did.  Tell Them!"

   Discipline, men really are basically just grown boys.  It's the only language they understand.  "Hic vos," I handed a rigger one of the butterflied fillets to take down to the cookfire, and pulled another fish across the board.

   "Hh!" Wiped the curls from my brow with a sleeve, and used it to push the sailcloth back down to catch the sweat, picked up my fish knife, and started at the gills.  Do something, if you wait it lasts forever, and I didn't want to wait forever, for my Troy to pay me back.

   It was twilight before we came in to harbor at Catania.  We anchored, and lowed the boats, not having a berth arranged, and it was mostly a stop for provisions.  Troi disembarked for a Warship, to report to the Italian Navy, and dispatch a fast ship ahead to Roma for orders.  Then, he came back for me.

   Took me ashore, I had never seen such a place, heard of cities like Xania, but Pori, our entire island could fit in the harbor here, and they had buildings taller than it's cliffs.  He took me to the Market, Bazaar, and showed me foods unlike any I had seen, or tasted.  Fish too, but we had fish.  A butcher, with wonderful smoked and cured meats.  Pork, Beef, I had had had chicken, rabbit, lamb, and mutton, but not Guanchale, Salame...  And cloth, wonderful cloth, satin was like a breese blowing over the hairs on my arm.

   "It is expensive." my Troy noted.

   "It is for My wedding night."

   "Yes, Caputina."  He had enough to buy a square for my undercloth.

;

Fiancee' {fM Fing Frot Cons.  MM Rape.}

   Underweigh the next morning, he said couldn't take me, but my bleeding has stopped.  So, in My bed I untyed the sides of my undercloth, and took his hand.  To show him, how to touch me.  The way I do, waiting for him to get done, ordering the men for the watch, and coming to me in my cabin.

   "Hh!" I sat up in bed, pulling back the covers, letting my hair curl down over my shoulders and the swelling in my chest.  My heart, beat like a startled hare between them, but he got his clothes off, and crawled in with me.  I turned away, felt him hard behind me, through the satin smooth against my bottom and back.

   I pulled his hand over my hip, held the knot for him, and guiding his hand around front.  Down between my legs, his fingertips larger, stronger, and now smoother than mine.  Through the few scattered short hair of my beard, like the cedar, and olive bushes of Pori, he felt my lips.

   "Hn!" I nodded, my hair brushing his chest.  He felt them up, and down, then split them to feel in between.  "Hh!" Deep, touching my well.  Not within, but my woman's water, wetting his fingertip to slip back, up, slick, and hot.  "HmhH!" My hips rutted, all on their own, and he spat weltly on my back, but long before I was satisfied.  For tonight, I fell asleep in his arms.

   "Mh?" I woke, to him snoring behind me.  I don't mind, my family snored, to tell me they were there in the dark.  It reassured me, as much as his arms, his smell, his breath on my hair.  Fully satisfied, he was soft behind me, so I tied the side of my satin, got up, stretched and went out to pull on my breeches and top.

   "Kapitina?" I yawned, finished tying my laces.

   "We took on crew." And left some in port, but I didn't recognize all of them.  "Have maestro di arma bring me my sword." I watched, at first confused.  The strangers looked uncomfortable.  One looked away from my eyes, and I though 'good, he heard.' Not to get touchy, I supposed, but another came up from the hold.  Fixing his breeches, and walking funny.  "Grazze'," I nodded, slinging it over my shoulder, "And my whip."

   "Valde, mi Kapitina." He went back for the armory.

   I went down, heard the slapping, and grunts, I recognized from way back.  My parents, when they thought us asleep, took a deep breath of the deep rich manly smells of My ship, ran my knuckles along the polished planks of the hall, and felt the seam between them.

   "Uhn, ngh!"

   "Kapitina?" The man stopped, turned to show the new recruit.  Bent over a barrel on it's side, and his breeches down.  "Gugh!" He fell to his knees, doubled over, and clutching his chest where I punched him with my pommel.

   "Non raptus!" I kneed him in the hair.  "Est ne in MIA navi!"

   "It is not your ship." One of the men.  spoke up.

   I turned.  "Not yet," held up my blade warningly.  "It's my watch, and it's My order.  I serve discipline here, and I say No Rape.  We do not do that, for Tuskani.  We are not Pirates, we are privateers, trusted by the Navi di Italia.  This is Not how we do things.  If you disobey, Me on this, I will see to it that you will never." I tapped between his legs with the flat of my tip, "Enjoy another woman, nor man again.  You want to fuck eachother, fuck eachother.  I know, it gets lonely at sea, but you do not Rape.  Now, get everyone together, and present the rapists to me.  On deck. My MdA (Master of Arms) is on his way with my whip.  Now.  If you will not listen to Me, you will listen to them!"

   I turned, and walked out.

   "RIGGERS!  Bring in the boom, and throw over some lines.  I want every new recruit brought forward, and prepare to receive men from below.  MAESTRO, Where Is MY Whip!?" I insisted on one who understood Greek.  Not fluently, a sight better than my latin, but I need a second, and he is loyal.  "Grazze', Morti'."

   I tested it, twisting the tongues opposite the bights of the body, and pulling the knots, beating them tight on My deck.  "String them up.  Everyone, listen, and listen well.  I discipline you.  Me.  Nobody else, so I will not have any punishment served, but by me.  If you are hazed, broken in, so much as slapped to bring you in line, tell me and it will be repaid three fold.  Now, who was raped tonight?"

   WHKKK!

   "Speak up!  I know you're new here, but I am Not patient."

   "I," his hand shook.

   "Who raped you?  Do you see him?" My heads swung, waving along the line hanging from the boom.

   "Yes Kapitina, it was him."

   "Drop his breeches."

   "Yes, Kapitina."

   "Not you, one of you, go ahead.  Come here, boy." I held up the twist, and let it slide down by the weight of the pommel.  "Here," I held it up, "Take it."

   "Yes, Kapitan."

   "Give it a few swings, tighten it up on the mainmast a few times first. The rest of you line up.  You have 1 swing.  I suggest across his thighs, but don't damage his privates."

   "YAugh!" He swung, screaming from his wrists.

   I held out my hand, felt the twist, and weight back in my hand.  Tightened it up.  "All right," it creeked in my hands, like the tight rigging overhead.  "Who's next?"

   "Mi Kapitan?"

   "You were raped tonight?"

   "Yes, Mi Kapitan."

   "All right, have them take down his breeches, you know what to do..."

   ;

   Hold (fMs Bukk)

   "Huh!" Well, that was, exciting.  While, I prefer to do it myself, I understand Vendetta, and it is better to receive it from those you wronged. Which means I got to watch, a dozen and 3 lashes, for ever new man before I intervined.

   A little grateful my arms weren't tired, "Now," I followed them down to their bunkhold.  Relieved, I pulled the mat from one of their bunks.  Unlacing my jerkin first to pull it over my head, the square of sailcoth from my hair, and threw my head back to shake it off of my shoulders.  "Hh," I pulled an imaginary rope in front of me, "You know what to do."

   I got down, on the mat, pulled out a couple ropes to wet with my lips, and suckle stiff.  "Smq!  hH!" And more, a dozen and three.  "Morti',"

   "Yes, my captain." Not my rank, yet, but they respect me.  Now.  "Tell them, that the order has not changed." he switched to latin, "They are still new, and take orders from the seniors, who take orders for me."

   "Valde mi Kapitina." They agreed, I nodded.

   "Take up my whip, and see that it's oiled." He bowed, back out, I kept my sword.  Across my thighs, but I had my hands full, and "Swq!" So many to get wet.  "Hah!  Mh, smq!" All around me, yes, this is what I like.  I always liked, out here where I could see them, not just feel them, and they know to keep their hadns to themselves.  They did, pulling rope for Me, their strangely docked Vergae scarred from birth, like I heard that the Jews did, but never truly believed.  Catholica, which means less skin to pull through, so it helps to get hem wet, and the warm salty meaty manly taste in my mouth.

   "Uh!" I closed my eyes, "Huh!"

   "Hm!" I lay back, pulled my sword and belt up with me.  "hhhhh!" Breathed between the pulses, like a deeply bleeding wound.

   . . .

   -/_

   "Huh!" Then another, and another, until it was like a thunderstorm of blood.

   "Hhhhh!"

   Finally, it petered out.  "Huh!" I got up, went out unlacing my breeches. Sat on the steps to loosen my boots, then went up to the deck.  Naked, set my bundle of clothes in a mate's arms.  "Lower a rope," and sword belt, "I'm going for a swim." A sounding line, I left the sword stuck in the rail to mark my place.  Climbed over to catch the knot, hanging from the rail, then reached down to grip it, then the other hand.  Let the knot slip between my feet.  Calves, thighs, down to the next knot.  And the next.

   @

   |

   @

   |

   @

   Swinging free, and the hull curved away, the wake churning the waves to froth, until finally I slipped in, and let it wash over me.

   'hhhHH!" I held my breath, gripped the last knot between my thighs, and let it slip deeper.  {Where the term "Knots" come from, count them as they play out in the water to gauge how fast you're going.}

   ;]

Author

All of that was Transcripts of her D&D game in college.  Sam read them to better understand the Morion (As an Alter.  Not a mnemetic demon out of time.)

The Bounty Hunter

No man could catch her, {I picked up the belt, and looped it through the buckle as she slid open the door.} I just couldn't turn her in.

   Turned, to leave it open, her hand coming away from the handle, so I could loop it, pull it tight.  {Just like muttonbusting, girl rodeo, 'you couldn't handle a calf.'}

   "Waht," she pulled, but I gripped it to the buckle with my fist.  "No!"

   "Yer not gettin away this time." I forced her back, over the island. Her free arm sweeping past her hair, but it knocked the knife block off to clatter on the other side.  "Morion D'Elmar, you're wanted for murder, harlotry, thievery, piracy, kidnapping an' Rape."

   "Hhh," She closed her eyes.  Nodded.

   "I been waiting along time ferthis." I felt her bottom.  "Bounty of a lifetime, Ikin retire on the money;"

   "Hhhh," I could almost feel the cold steel run down her back, straightening it, and glanced up just in time to see her grip the side of the island.  "UHN!" I pulled back, but she got her legs around mine, so I had to twist, and jump out of the way.

   And let go of the belt.  Then she was on me, "CUNT!" the loose tail slapping my arm, then backhanding across my tummy.

   "Uh!"

   Her breath hot in my face, my hair, "I'll show you rape, whore." She grabbed my chest, hard.  "This what you come for?"

   "No?"

   "They send a girl to do a man's job?"

   "Please stop!" Anything but the Word.  {I don't even remember, when the nitemares turned into dreams.  Erotic, rape.  I never understand how that could be erotic, so exciting and yet terrifying at once.} "Uhhh!" Her hand between my legs, fingers curling tight, her knuckles, Her Fist!  "Huh!"

   "I'm gonna punchfuck you, Punta." Spittle sprayed from the lips, and I could hear her clenched teeth.  She threw her leg over, like a saddle.  Held my arms with her legs, her thick scuffed brown leather pants, tight over her hips.

   Her "Mmphfgh!"

   "Shit eating dog.  Impetuous cur.  You thought you could take me, ME! on in My own home?" I shook my head, {Secretly wishing they weren't there. The leather pants in the way, so i couldn't feel Her skin on my face, taste Her lust, and drink it in through my nose to drown in it.} "Bend over," I gasped, and panted, and she got them down.  My jeans.  "I'll teach you."

   "Auh!" The belt, still hanging from her wrist.  "Nauh!" {Not too hard, I can take it.  "Nhhh?" Tensing for it...} 'nhh?"

   She got my wrists up.  Back, together.  "Huh, huh uh!" {She felt so heavy on my shoulders, panting on my back, her breasts, my shirt slipping down my back!}

   "Cummon!" She hauled me up.

   "Augh!" my shoulders, "Stop, uhn." Shake my head, think, {"Albatross."

   "Are you all right?"

   "Nh," I panted, nodded, "Hh, sorry, that, thust.  Huh!" I twisted the belt with my wrists behind me.  "That hurts my shoulders."

   "No," she kissed my cheek, "I'm sorry."

   "It's okay."

   "You ready?"

   "Yeah," I nodded, closed my eyes, and took a deep breath.  "Hm, take me." Her belt, her wrists, her house, "Downstairs."

   Her dungeon.}

   She loosened her belt, held the edge of her short broad sword under my chin to tye the strap tight in front of me.  I hung my head, low.  In shame, it was stupid of me.  Thinking I could, I had a chance.  Blinded by the notariety, being the woman who brought her in.  "Impetuous," she said. She was right, I got stupid, and now I was going to pay.  I heard of it, what she had, buried deep in her fast little ship.  I staggered, as if drunken by the pitching in the hall.  The world seemed to rock, back and forth, and she jerked me along.

   "Cummon," she swore in so many languages, muttering under her breath.  "Against the wall." My hands in front of me, I felt up the tongue, tried to loosen the buckle pulled tight against the backs of my thumbs, twisting, and prying my arms a part, but to no avail.  I was trapped, and jumped when the lock hit the stone floor with a jangle of keys.  "Get inere!" She pushed me, then jerked me back around by the strap.  Backed me up, her fist on my heaving chest, cold steel curve of the guard, between them, pommel pressed against my throat. 

   I swallowed, {And nodded.

   Her eyes, went dark, lifeless, and her brows relaxed.}

   She kissed me, so passionately I just fell back on the (Leather padded) surface of the table. The sword came up, and I winced, closed my eyes, turned away.

   THNK!  I felt it, the whole table snapped under me from it sticking down into it.  "NUh!" She jerked my arms up, over my head, and down over the edge of the table.  "Hhhh,"

   {I opened my eyes.  Looked up at the beams, the floorboards.  Blinked. This isn't real.  She's not going to hurt me.  Look over to her, face.  Looking down, concentrating while somehow attaching the strap to the bottom. The underside of the table, so my elbows bent back around the edge.

   "Hh,"

   She looked up.  Smiled.  "You okay, sweety?" I nodded, she lifted my head, flattened my hair under it, and put a face pillow (Modified massage table) under it to support me.

   "Comfortable?"

   "Yes."

   "Good."}

   She grinned wickedly, up side down, then licked the tip of her tongue back and forth along the peak at the center of her lip.  "Good, at least they sent a decent lookin' whore this time." She pulled my lips open, "Go all yer teeth?" She nodded, "Good.  Might haveta knock em all out fore you suck me.  Don't want no bitin, you know how to kiss a twat, girl?" I shook my head, "You scared, it'll bite?" {I couldn't wait.  I could, well I had smelled her.  Before, not when she was wearing her leather breeches, and silk undercloth, but we never did this before, in character.} I closed my eyes.  "MH!" She covered my mouth, pulling out the crotch of my underthings, and "MMH!" My eyes went wide, from her knuckles.  Splitting me open, "NHh H H !" Sawing up though me like teeth.  "Huh!" I panted, but she pulled it out.  "Auh!" She slapped me.  In front, between them, then jerked them up in her fist.

   {Now, I understand Linen.  She hand sewed these, panties.  From Flax Linen.  Not quite scratchy, but uncomfortable until they pulled tight.} They almost cut into my buttcrack, but now her knuckles dug into my beard. Punching me down until the linen got tighter, cutting deeper, and deeper, I felt the threads creek.  Start to give way but not all at once.  Long before I heard it, the snapping, then the rip!  {It also rips open, splits. It doesn't have the strength of modern materials/weaves.)

   "Uh!" it fell tattered between my legs, and I tried to breathe.

   "I'll show you how to kiss a woman." I shivered, then shuddered, and shook so she had to hold my legs.  Her boots on the backs of my arms, her mouth.

   "Ah god!" I tried to take a breath, 'h h HhH!  AuhH!" I imagined, or tried to.  {Licking my fingertip, soaking it good and soft, but it wasn't Her tongue.  Her body holding me down.  And of course, I wasn't bound.} "H?" I stopped, then I felt, "Wh?" Something.  Else, cold, and round, and flat splitting me open.  "Nh?" I bucked, so she put her elbows in my thighs, but it slipped back down, and my lips clapped together.  Then, "Hh?" It touched me again, "Huh, nh, yuh, yeayeyeyeyeyeah!" Up and down so fast, I couldn't tell if it was going or, "Nyyyyhhhhrrraugh!"

   Climaxing.  Her pommel slipped, she dropped it, then she was on me, her mouth in me, devowering me, sucking my soul out between my legs, {And all I could to was open my eyes.  Focus on the rough wood overhead, gasping, try to catch my breath, without slipping away completely...

'

Sam {FF Saph Rimm}

   "H," I sat up, rubbed my wrists, got off.  "You ready?" I knew what I wanted, pushed her back from her shoulders.  The whips, and dicks swung on their pegs, but she didn't look back.  Surprised, eyes wide, but a grin creeping up on her mouth when she nodded.  I held, my hand up between her breasts, and reached down to pull the laces.  "Kh!" Her eyes went wide, I just held her throat, her chin up, but didn't squeeze or nothin'.  In the front of her breeches, like a bodice, or a section of spiderweb.  It sounded, so much easier in the story.  "I unlaced his breeches."

   {"His," I looked up.  Her eyes, softened.  The crease between her brows. It wasn't a masculine face, but she loves it when I call her him.  I nodded.}

   "Thanks," I bent to kiss her, the top of her breast.  "Smq, might's well make it up to you." Gripped it to make it bulge, firm and round, "Smx, some time."

   "Hh," I slipped my hand in.  Felt the satin slip on the backs of my fingers, and pulled out to loosen the laces further.  This is foreplay, the way her odd nipple flattens, they don't match.  For some reason the one on the, well her left.  Mine across to feel on my right, it doesn't go hard, the tip doesn't stick out.  Like the other side, I lift it, and feel up.  "Hh!" she touches my arms, and I stop, straighten up.  Try that, rigid, I always had poor posture, but I'm learning.  "hands to yourself." I didn't hit her, I don't have to.  She wants it, for me to slap her, boob her chest together, or grind the satin into her crotch.  That's her fantasy.

   I pulled it out, "This is Mine." Away from her sweating cunt.  Not touching her, hot and muggy, I could almost smell it.  "You don't touch me." I held my finger up, and she went crosseyed.  {"Nihnm'!} aHm." Cleared my throat, "You understand?" She nodded, "I touch you." She closed her eyes. "Hands at your sides, hold them there."

   I practiced, she showed me the knot.  So I could tie it, and untye it, in my sleep.  Better than even the breechlaces, which were enough like shoes I haven't the foggiest why they tripped me up.  'look at me.' She opened her eyes, to mine.  "Don't look away." I shook my head, and she followed.  Smiling, she was getting into it.  "Good." I went down, her eyes following, but I kept mine up.  "Don't even blink," she shivered from the satin slipping down, between her thighs, I felt my hard.  Lifted it to tickle at her most sensitive, patches.  Not spot, put pretty much everything from the knees up.  Definitely something about the inside of her thighs.  "Don'T!" Her eyes drooped, and snapped open.  "Close those eyes." I stopped, held them.  Nodded, she nodded too, but her tummy was quivering with shallow exited gasps.

   "Smx," Her beard.  The hairs, her sweat I had tasted, but the smell.  The steam boiling up below that.  Now I was teasing myself.  I wanted it, so bad, that I even denied myself, a moment longer.  "Don't close your eyes. Lngh!"

   Her legs flexed.  I held her knees, through the leather pulled down between them.

   "Spread 'em," but I could taste it.  "Snhhhh!" I blinked, then glared up when I could open my eyes.  She smirked.  Fuck, now it was a staring contest, but I've dreamed of this.  Too long, I don't care about winning, I had to taste her.

   "Hhn!" I rubbed up her shaking thighs, and reached around to grab her ass.  Staring, glaring up at her.  Daring her to blink.  Her eyebrows almost came together, but her mouth grimmaced with the temptation to just close her eyes, let it carry her away, but she kept them open.  I blinked, I had to, but not as long.  "Yeah," I had to grab her hands, pull them back down.  To her sides, she dug her nails in, but I dug my tongue in.  "Nhh, mmh!" She was bucking, but this is Mine.  She is Mine, I'm making her Mine!

   "AWLLUHLULULUL!"

   "Auhn!" she turned away.  Eyes clenched, she couldn't help it.

   "Pussy." I stopped, stood up.  Smacked my lips, and set on the corner of the table to watch her.

   "Nh, hHhn!" Shudder, then the tremmors going back to shivering.  "Hh h H!" Trying to take a breath, then another spasm, "HuhnhuhH!" Like a standing seizure.  Not full tonic chlonic, she didn't fall down, and I was ready to catch her if she did, but eventually the shiverring took over.  Knees locked, but still shaking.  She started panting, full breaths, catching it.

   "Wow," I wish I'd thought of a stopwatch, "So how'd I do?"

   "Nh!" her head flopped, "hn!" I caught her arm, helped her to the table.

   "So," I rubbed her legs, "I've been seeing this massage therapist."

   "Hhuhhhh!" She started relaxing.  "Can I." Arms still held to her sides.

   "Oh sorry.  Yeah, let's cool off a while, catch our breath." She nodded, reached up to set her face in the pillow.

   "Yeah," muffled, "That was incredible."

   I slipped my thumbs up, inside her sweaty thighs.  "Relax." She tried to, it's mostly in front, but even touching this close to it, when she's still coming down.  I rubbed my thumbs in, between her buttocks.

   "He's really good," I saw it.  Pulling her apart, and rubbing even deeper.  Almost pinching them with the sides of my fingers, but I.  Dreamed about this.  Too.  "Whhhhwww!  Relax." I managed not to giggle out loud, when it puckered, and she shivered.  "You like this?"

   "Mhm?"

   "Explicit consent."

   "Yes," she took a ragged breath.  "Please."

   "What?  Ask for what you want."

   "Please kiss my ass."

   "As you wish," I lapped up first, almost brushed it, but just the sides of my tongue rolled along her buttocks.  "Master." L.

   "Hhhh!" She gasped for another breath.  I licked my tongue in, didn't even taste soap.  Just sweat, and I went down for another lap.  "Nh!" she puckered.  "Yeah!"

   I let go, her cheeks flap shut around my mouth, and licked my tongue in to wet it some more.  )L/7(

   "HahHuh!"

   That left my hands free, to slip back down her sweaty rubbery thighs, and pulled them back together.  They slipped under my breasts, which slapped together, and slipped out nicely, but I shook my head.  "LALAWHOL!" and my hanging hair.  Trapped between her thighs, it pulled a little, she pulled my hair a little before.  Role playing, but she was learning her's.

   her role, her place, beneath Me.

   "Hhinh!" I gripped them tight, tickling, and making her struggle, flapping that ass all over my face, my cunt scented spittle all over the place, and bit it, to try to hold still, but it slipped out of the pinch of my teeth, so I bit it some more.  Not hard, enough to bruise, or even hurt, but she was really struggling, "Ahahahnauh fughod, no, alh, albatross!" She panted, and shuddered.  Shivered when I had to slip the tips, and split ends of my crushed hair out between them.  "Hh, hh, hh!" I rubbed her shoulders, kissed her neck.  "You all right?" She nodded, sniffed.  "Mh," she muffled, "Hh, can you fuck me now?"

   "Of course." She sat up, to show me how to strap it on.

;

Marion {FF...}

   "Ah, albatross.  Hihn!" I clenched, and spasmed again when she pulled out.  "Hih hin, hehn!" Nice thing about a plastic dick is it stays hard.  "Hhhhh!" Hug my chest into the table.  I drifted away, while she was fucking me.  "How long?" Blink in the shadow of my face, and the pillow around it.

   "That was about 25 minutes." It was like a gangbang, with out having to switch out dicks when they got off.  She kissed my shoulder, "You satisfied?" neck, breasts rubbing my arm and back.  Feeling down, under the table.  Where my arms were wrapped around it, pulled the loop out of the knot.  "Hhihihihn!" I finally turned over, tasted the relatively fresh cool air of the room.  Basement, saturated with sex.  I got her off, once, I'm pretty sure.  Then, I lost count.  "Hh!" I pulled my hair back out of my face.  "I went away!" I rolled my eyes, and laughed some more.

   "How do you feel?" She looked concerned.

   "Fantasic, and free?" I thought, pouted, "You think I'm really a bottom?" Shrugged, never tried it before.

   "Haha," not funny.  "No, Im guessin it's just new.  Huh!  it was," she shook her head in her hand, and her chest behind her forearm.  "Incredible for me too."

   "But," I stood up, rubbed her arms, "You only got off once?"

   "Huh, yeahbut, I'm not the hedonist you are.  I don't have as much tolerance as you do, and now my back feels like I been rode all night, and put away wet."

   "Hm?"

   She looked, "Sorry," shook her head, "Horses."

;

   Sammy {; Ampu Fant, Bind.  Not Bond.}

   "You wanna go first?" I ran my hand along the wall, low, so just the whips, straps, canes, and the Sjambok swung.  She nodded.

   "Pick the one yh;" she frowned, "I don't know," I pulled it off the the peg, "If I trust you, with the signal whip."

   "To hit you," I twisted it to creek, and her lip pulled up, eyes fluttered down.  Not a smile, more like a grimmace.  I let go, held it down the lash, though it's not a stock whip.  it just tapers from the end, with a wrist strap instead of a pommel.  Flicked my wrist backhand to at her thigh, then swung it up again to hang it on the post.  "Or to Bind you?"

   I pulled my lighter out of my vest pocket, before she looked back, TNK! Stuck the flame holder between my fingers to press it over her throat.  "Don't move," I turned her with my forearm on her shoulder, "Don't even breathe."

   She gulped, though.  I could feel it, even if she din't make a sound, but she nodded to cover it.  I brought the tapering length of plaited leather inside her knee, let the lash drape up her calf, and she shuddered. I brushed my knuckles inside the other thigh, and "Ngh!" Wish I could see her face, so "Hold it." She nodded, so I could stand up.  'Derringer' still to her throat.

   No, real, gun nor knife play.  If she looses it, with that wedge of a dagger, she can kill me before she comes to her senses, but this is about Discipline.

   I twist the lash so it creeks, and twists between her thighs.

   "Huhn!  Ngh!" I wrap it around my wrist, and pull it tighter, to slip through, even with the resistance, she clenches tighter, and starts shuddering.

   'open her eyes.' I look back, harden mine, and jerk it up.

   "UGH!"

   "Look at me..." Singsong.  She looks so sad, then she bites her tongue, from the creaking twisting braided strips of flattened leather, I have to look down, wiggle it a little between her lips.

   "Where is it?"

   "Wha?"

   "You like to write, where's your," lean in to whisper, 'secret stash?'

   "Nh," she shook her head.

   "Hands down, on your sides, don't make me Bind you."

   "Nahh!" She can't keep her eyes open, turns away.  "Naugh!" She struggles, but that just makes it twist, and pull over her clit harder.  And I know she's got to be diamond hard now.

   "I asked your kids," She looked back, staring to glare, but,

   "AUGHN!" It slipped back up to my wrist when I stepped back, out of reach, CLNKT.  I dropped it back in the pocket.  "Chistine wouldn't give it up, I had to torture it outta Ian."

   "Rhr," I sidestepped, let the lash slip almost to the end, and wrapped her fist.  Which left slack, but she couldn't turn without pulling tighter, so she got her leg over.  Which put her arm behind her.  "Whh!" I ducked, and stepped behind her.  Grabbed the whip off the post, and jerked it up.  "Ugh!" It slipped all the way up to the back of her knee, but made it easier to push her back on the table.

   "Don't make me hurt you!" I grabbed her neck, doubled the bight in my fist, and looked back when she closed her eyes.  Fell back down to subspace. 2 Ids, the violent one, Morion comes out to protect her from feeling sad, or helpless, or weak.  I felt it back down her thigh.

   "HhHhh!" She shivered again.  Her neck, she didn't even know about that one, but I don't choke her.  I don't have to, it's like picking up a kitten, or puppy by the scruff, she just goes limp, and submits.  When she's in the right frame of mind.  "Sit on your hands." One already behind her, I pulled it out, her leg up on my elbow, I hand to twist it around again to take in more slack, but I took it out unwrapping the thin lash from hers.

   And it was tight, on my arm.  Not bondage, binding.  Like the tight vest, the ace bandage under it.  I imagine like Jeunne de Arc wore under her breastplate.  No, I'm not transexual neither, but it sure is a nice fantasy.  Now, I can twist, and pry the kink doubled over in my hand like a hose in her cleft, and start rubbing her off.  Like she did, right here, our first time, with her pommel.

   She just gave in, to the feeling, the creeking leather in my hand had my eyes softening and fluttering so I had to blink it away, shake my head.  No, I'm getting her off, so she'll do me.  "Hneugh!"

   "Hn!" I grunted through my teeth, "Take it, take it bitch."

   "Huh?" She rocked her hips.

   "Yeah, take it like a man you scared little girl.  Where do you keep it?"

   I pulled out.  She shuddered and I twisted my wrist, unwrapping it as quick as I could to let the kink out.  Stepping back, "No," she sat up.

   "WhHKSH!" she jumped back, but it just split the leather grain vinyl so the cloth back showed underneath.  Hey, she already stabbed through it, but her hands slipped off, and she lost her balance.  Sitting up, she didn't fall back, but I held up the wrist strap, and pulled more out.  Grinned, and she relaxed, panting.  "Hand me the mink oil?" I twisted it to creek, sniffed it, "Got it pretty wet."

   She twisted the little handle to pop the tin, and I dipped some out with 2 fingers.  "Can't trust you with a snake whip," she looked down, at the gash, right in front of hers.  Giggled, and jiggled, shrugging with her palms down.  I'm getting it, her kinkset?  It's not just symbolic, she's an artist.  It's an art.  Blink and you miss subtle things like stabbing the leatherette table, right between my legs.  It's not sharp, but neither's an axe, she can still stab it to stick in a plywood table.

   I twisted the pommel knot, pulled tight, so there's no shot in there, just a ball of the core, wrapped in a Turk's head, wrapped in a triple monkey's fist.  With a strap caught in the horizontal bights.  So, I can loop it over, pull it through to a hondo.  Like a lariat, tapered, but the wrong way, thicker and stiffer at that end, to swing it up under her foot.

   "No," I jerked it up, "Wait,' pushed her up, "ALBATROSS!"

   She won't let me Bind her.

   "I said stop!" She fought, but I turned her over, and used the loop under her thigh to pull her heel to the buttock.  She put an elbow up, so I stuck the lash under there, caught it win the other hand, and pulled it back, with a twist-loop to catch her wrist.

   "Ngh, No, please, I said the safe word, I give up, you win, just let me go."

   "I'm not asking, now." She hates being bound, feeling helpless, so it's a barrier we have to get through, to move on.  Any further in our relationship, deeper in her mind to find whatever's still hiding behind Morion.  "Tell me, tell me where is it."

   "Behind my bed!" She twisted, "NGH!  Ah, you're hurting me!"

   "I already found that stash, remember Ian told me about it?  But I know you're holding out on me.  WHEREISIT!?"

   "Online, ah!"

   "On the Internet?" She shook her head, "Newsgroups?  BBS?" She stopped, tightened her jaw.  I leaned down, listened.  Heard her teeth, grinding.  Good orthodontist, porcelain caps you can't see, but I could feel with her tongue.

   "Now," I slipped the loose end out to the lash,

   "AUGH!" She tried to jerk, straightened her twisted back,

   "You're gonna give me a number," I hit her thigh again, "Question is, how many lashes is it gonna take?"

   "AH!  1, NHgn, NEIN!  Nshv, augh!  Stop!  Hundred,

   .

   .

   GOSUB 1

   Return

;

Author

She's named after the mother of Deanna Troi, from Star Trek: The Next generation.  Because she reminded the DM of Marina Sirtis.

Also, Historically there is not, nor has there ever been a grand Gothic cathedral anywhere near Porto Ercole, Grosseto Tuscany.  Just so you know.

;

Oaxana di Marina De la Troi

[   I was christened in the Cathedral.  The building was larger than the place I was born.  Not the islet, but the town, and probably the inlet would have fit inside as well.  It stretched up to a ceiling like ships hulls, crossing as everything does here.  I was asked to accept, some guy. Saw a statue of him, on a cross, then another, and another, thorns twisted around his head, and a wound on his side.  Sunlight streamed in colors through the walls, a dozen pictures of him carrying the t, being whipped, beaten, nailed to it, and dying between 2 more I was told were thieves.

   I lied.

   I accept No master.  I belong to no one, I swore I would never be and if this guy wants to come down, he can take it up with Poseidon.  I'd kind of like to see him get his ass kicked, again.  Looks like what he's good at. "Yeah, you bet." This is how it is with di Catholica, just something I have to do, to be with My husband, and eventually inheirit, hopefully years from now when we have more ships.  I love him, and he loves this Christos.  "Hh," fine.  They gave me a bite of bread, some very sweet wine, then we stood up before mr Sacrifice, and were married.  I followed a little of the ceremony in latin, My husband repeated it for me in Greek, lifted my veil, and kissed me.  Really nice house, I really like the art, especially the way the light shines through it.

   He got dressed up so dandy, too!  With a big round collar that crisscrossed like a knot when he put it on around his neck, a wig that made his hair look white, with curls like the tops of columns, a fine embroidered doublet quilted in diamonds, and pantaloons which billowed out in dark red with golden gussets in between.  My dress was so hot, white as it was, and was hard to walk around with all the layers underneath.  The shoulders were puffed out like his legs above the boots, and socks, which had buckles, and thick heels with square toes which curled up in front past his toes, and this bulge in front which made his manhood look enormous!  "You look beautiful."

   He looked down, and said "Actually, I find it all so very silly," He couldn't wait to take it all off, and give it all back, but we Still had to wait, since there also seems to be something about consummating in the church, or anywhere around there.  Probably why you had to wear a bazaar load of cloth to keep him out of me, and they had to bring all the maidens back in with the marlinspikes to undo all the buttons they did.  (Oh yeah, and the nicest bath I have ever had in my entire life.) We left, hand in hand, but he said the Medixi payed for all this, so it would be disrespectful, since they were sending an envoy down from Fiorenza to do all the writing, and signing, and waksing, and pressing with rings.

   Money.  Sucks.  I want to be free, my whole life I felt trapped on that island, and finally someone saved me from that, to take me to live the life of adventure I always told my brother I would have.  But first, we have to play all these games.  But I do not serve a slave.  His santo Christos?  He is a slave.  I serve no one, I am My own Master.  Finally, they gave me a sheet of paper, my Troy signed it out with my new name with a feather, and said I could just place a Xie below it.  Then the walking poof of fabric the Medexes sent dribbled some waks to squish with his ring.  All right, that it?  Can we go home and fuck now?  Because this is Not getting me in the mood.

   "Huh!" finally, I had my breeches back on, my Cinquedea strapped on over my thigh, and he had a big fat purse full of gold.  And a title, "Govenorre'." Whatever that means.  "So, you're some sort of lord, now?"

   He got a carriage, or the Medexes got it for me, since obviously I just can't be walking around in the middle of the town like this.  At least it wasn't as big as Catania, I could probably just head up the hill to the fort that looked about the size of Pori to get my bearings, or follow the slope down to the shore.  "You are not going to like it," as soon as we're back in the carriage, cobbling down the 1 street.

   "What?"

   "Hh, they, blame me for, what happened at Eisodou tou Pori." Only they say Isla di Marina.  "Hhuh.  I plan to spend the rest of my life, making it up to you," he squeezed my hand, "But this," patted his purse bigger, and heavier even than his codpeice, "Is a bonus for liberating a port at the mouth to the Aegean, and my orders are to return, and command it as a territory of Tuscany."

   "Okay." I shrugged.

   "I thought you would be upset."

   "I was upset at your Genocide.  It's over, it now belongs to you, and you now belong to me.  So, the Medixi are giving it back." I hugged him, easier to do without that rediculus collar, "It should be the perfect place to raise a family."

   He blinked, sputtered, so I kissed him.  "I love you, for being so understanding."

   "You realize, that island is Mine." he nodded, "The Medexes claim it, yet we are going not to govern it for them, but return it to Me." I laughed, "No, it's perfect," I kissed him again, "I couldn't think of a better wedding gift."

   The road got much rougher out of the town, winding around the hill with the fort at the top.  So, we could go around to the other port.  Saint, something, I can't remember, because he's not a Demigod, something in Latin. There they had a better bazzaar, since it's on the side of the island facing the rest of Tuskani, while Port Hercules is more a military and trade port for people leaving for, and arriving from Rome.

   We should have sailed around, I would have preferred to have rowed it myself, in that wedding dress than have my bones shaken to powder by wheels on that road, but at least it was cool in there, and I could be alone, with My husband.

   "Mh!" We couldn't kiss, without bashing teeth together, bouncing around like that.  "Hh!" Really starting to piss me off, we should have gone back to the ship, sailed around, dropped anchors, and rowed into the other port, which can't support our draft, much less the Warship he's supposed to report to for Command.  "Damn it!" He smiled, and unbuckeld my sword belt from my hip.

   To get at my breech laces, and the nice sweaty satin of my undercloth. "Hh!  Hang on," I got up, pulled the laces tight real quick, opened the door, and hung out with my sword.  "Stop the carriage, or so help me god, I will stab your damned head off." I flipped it back, handed the grip back in by the quillions and climbed back down while he got off the road, and found a nice pasture for the horses to eat.

   "Hahahah!" I jumped on him, and he almost fell back, out the other door.

   "Hahl!" Okay, maybe bashed teeth together through our lips again, but he turned to breathe through his nose.  Damned Medixi, and their god damned gifts we can't refuse.  "Huh!" God, he was stiff.  I kind of like the codpeice.  Idaknow why?  It gets in the way, but I likeit.  Maybe I can get one?  I got my fingers in there, between the legs of his hose to pull them out, and slide them down.  "How do you get this damned thing off?"

   He helped me, all those strings, and ties, and buttons so I didn't have to cut it off.  Having only brought my sword, and he had a belt dagger with no edge, just a very sharp point.  'snnnnh!" I had to breath through my nose, wetting it, and slipping back the skin in my mouth.  He twirled my ringlets in his finger, as he loves to do, and I find I really like them coiling around them too.  Finally I got my breaches off, and he pushed me back.  Across the carriage to the other seat.

   "No," he held my hips, "this is Mine!"

   "What!" he pulled the bows from my undercloth, but he couldn't help smiling, then tickling.

   "No, oh god!' I beat his chest, and kicked, but he had his legs between mine so I couldn't get my knees up with any power.  "Nhihahuhahaha!" I finally pushed him off, but he grabbed my legs by the breeches, and picked them up.  'ahHAuh?" I toppled backward, and my legs got in the way so I couldn't do anything, helpless on the floor between the seats.  Then.

   "Smq."

   "Hh, hhh, huh!" I stopped panting.

   But he didn't stop.  "Whlq!"

   "Uhn!" I got my legs down, on his back, but he kept kissing deeper, and deeper.  I barely had the presence of mind to look up, see the light coming in under the curtain on the door, and reach up to release the catch.  So it could swing open, and I could breathe.

   "AuooouaAH!"

   He said he had a surprise for me, and I, why I never thought.  How stupid of me, he called it my flower, my rose, I knew it had lips, but why had I never thought that he could kiss me?  And oh, my gods, above and below, throw in the muses, demis, and titans while you're at it.  I said words, I had only heard my mother use in the dead of night, with father.  All the vowels, the language of love that can only be properly shouted to the heavens so they can hear you.  Jesus?  Fuck jesus.  Aphrodite, you hear me?  Let me yell it louder, can out hear me now?

   "Sangui di christi, calicem de caelo.  Amen." he grinned in the the blazing light coming in the open door, licked his lips, and kissed me.  Then, he was in me, and I had hardly caught my breath.  I left chips of nails in his back.  Tore open his jerkin like 2 lashes from a 5 tailed scourge.  I'm sure of it, I drew blood, it got my fingertips wet before he gave his to me.  "Uh!' he stopped, held it in.  "Huh!"

   I panted.  "Hh hh hh!" And just held on.  Closed my eyes, and finally let my head fall back.  "Hh, hh, hh," I had to swallow, before it ran down my nose.  "Oh." That's what it feels like!

   His hand came down, slipped his fingers through my curls, and I could taste the lust on his lips.  His tongue, smell it in his whiskers.  "Uh!' He slipped out, and I shuddered again.  He helped me, pulled my breeches up from around my boots, so I caught my breath, and sat up to slip them back up to my hips.  Then, he fixed his hose, and showed me how to get the codpeice back on to hold them up.

   I waved out the door, for the coachman to bring back the horses, and hitch them back to the carriage.  I caught my breath, "That, was such a wonderful surprise!" I giggled.

   "What?" I had to dry myself on my undercloth, "The way you kissed me," I drew up the laces, "In here."

   "Oh," he fixed his doublet, over the shredded back of his tunic.  Smiled to himself.  "That is just, how we prepare our wives, for that."

   "Where you are from?" he nodded.  "I'm sorry about your back," I dried my fingers on my tunic, and looked at the wreckage of my nails.

   "No," he laughed, smiling to himself even more, "That is the perfect way to thank me."

   "Doesn't it hurt?"

   "Huh!  Well, of course.  You flayed me alive!" We both laughed, "But that is the passion of love.  If it doesn't hurt, you're doing it wrong.  That is why i love you, your passion.  These," he waved in the general direction of the lacey tapestried curtains, "Courtly ladies, they have no spirit.  They, lay back, and you have to do everything.  You, are no lady."

   "Hey!" I hit his arm, and he laughed harder.

   "See?"

   "I think, you mean as it was, in the church." He shook his head, ?  "I don't know, it was beautiful and expensive, but all those clothes.  How can you do anything in all that, much less make love?" We just made love!  I kissed him despite the point, and the conversation.  It took a while to get the horses hitched back up, and back on the road, so it was a good opportunity, to save our teeth.

   "Exactly.  This, is much like my home.  I am from Troi, that's what my name means."

   "I thought it means 3?" I don't understand his Latin, he doesn't use it, much at all.

   "Yes, however it is also a place, in Fronz." I nodded.  he showed me on a map once, over by Espania at the mouth of the great sea, across from Mooria.  "My grandfather was a crusader, and he founded the Abbey when he returned, and was granted his title.  He named the city after the trinity." Oh, shrug.  "Then, my father, the Abbot became Monastic.  A priest, like the one who married us at the church.  When I took a lover, I was thrown out, stripped of my title, and given a pittance to start my life.  I also received a ride to Avingon, hoping the holy see would cure me of my sin."

   "How is love a sin?"

   "Hh, there are, loves, which the church do not recognize, except as Abomination.  Had I not been noble, I would have been executed."

   "What kind of love is that?" I understand why he doesn't want to talk about it!

   "Love for another man.  As my love for you."

   "Oh," I shrugged, "That another of the Medixi rules?"

   "No, it is a rule of Jesus, and his father god."

   "Well, fuck him, then!  No seriously, if he doesn't love you, as they say he does, because of who you love, then he doesn't love you.  I seriously don't understand how you can follow those, Idiots who believe in that kind of, Lunacy!"

   "Like your Gods?"

   "I have no gods.  I know you didn't get a good look, but did you see any temples on Pori?" I shook my head, and his eyes got distracted by my curls. "Here," since we're starting to move again, or the carriage shook from the coachman climbing back aboard.  I got my hair fid out, and gave it back to him.

   "I know, I just got christened and everything, and thought I saw Cypris for a moment there," a moment that seemed forever, and I will remember for the rest of my life, "But we are our gods.  Heresy, I know, but mortals, make up these stories.  I don't know why, to understand, or think they understand, but they get enslaved to invisible masters, and end up doing stupid shit like going through all those motions to appease your slave god, or cut off their manhood to appease Hermes, but have you ever, truly seen any of them?  I grew up with the stories too, but my people were fisherfolk, So, at a very early age, I realized that every time you tell the story it gets bigger, and better, and people have been telling these stories for a very, Very long time.  So, take Hercules, for instance.  You
know of him?"

   "Uh huh?"

   "He was probably a shepherd who chased a snake off with a stick.  But then, his son told it, and it was a 2 headed snake.  At some point somebody came up with the idea that cutting off a head makes it grow two more, and the stick became a great tree that he uprooted with His bare hands, you see?"

   "But that is not how it is, with the Christ."

   "Isn't it?" I turned, to look back.  "Look, you can read.  Read it again, and tell me how many of those fantastical tales sound, maybe a little more exaggerated when you think about it, hmm?  Besides, they've only been telling that one for what, a thousand years?"

   "A thousand years is a long time."

   "No," I kissed him, "When you don't live for a handful of dozens of years, it seems like a long time." I turned, nodded, "Now finish my hair."

   "Yes, dear." he kissed my head, and hugged my shoulders first.

;

   Melee!  {(DM) PC "PC" NPCs, Role Play.  NS}

   The spotter ran up, pointed.  "Navi, Espani." I went down, across the main deck, and up to the prow where the glass was mounted.  "MAESTRO?" He could also translate.  I tried to match the slow predictable rocking of the deck.

   "Kaputana?"

   "Load, and mount the guns, sound orders to prepare for attack."

   "Kaputana?"

   "You heard me, tell the Helmsman to steer for intercept."

   The spotter, says that there's no way we can catch them.  "Well, they look small." He nodded, yes, Kapitina, but they are all trained soldiers, we are mostly merchants.  "And riggers," I've been training with them myself, boarding maneuvers.  "They are in the Ionian.  I may not be up on my geography, and politics," but I know where Espania is, "But they do not belong East of Sicilia." He nodded.  I looked back through the glass.  "What's with the," I held my hands up, in front of, and behind my head, curling my fingers up.  (as they turn.  To tack?  Must be a change in the wind, but an opportunity to close the gap.) "Uh!" I turned the rail scope, and rested my chin on it sideways.  "Moon hats?" Shiny in the near meridian sun.

   "They are Espani Navy." Stare at the horizon until the dizziness, and sick feeling goes away.  "They all wear Morions."

   "Huh!" I stood up, steadied myself with one hand to shift my sword.  Over my shoulder, I took it off, rebuckled it on my hips, and bent to tie it down on my thigh.

   Heading aft to the stairs, I saw mi Maestor di Arma at My quarters, the captain coming out, rubbing his eyes, and putting on his cap.  "Huh!" I wanted to surprise him, didn't get him anything for our wedding, and a fast scouty ship would be perfect.  For him to escort, while this one could be all mine.  Too bad he decided to send our warships ahead to secure, and start working on the Marina.  The spotter finished packing up the rail scope.  "They are coming around, Kaputana."

   Good, (here he comes.  he looks pissed...) "Huh!" I finished moving a coil of mooring leader, and wound up the weighted knot to throw it over a beam.  Tie the splice end to my belt, as it belays back down, slowly to take the swing out, and catch the ball to start hauling myself up.  In the rigging, I pull it up after me, throwing the loops over my shoulder, and opposite hip.  Making my way along, I time the much longer rocks, this high on the front mast, and jump to catch the beam of the main mast below.  "Uh!" (Took most of it on the coil,) and scrabble up with my (Bare) toes catching in the top of the sail to move along to the mainmast.  Hanging on, legs around it, and over the beam, I hook my arm around to lick 2 fingers, and slip them under my tongue.  (The captain, expecting you to be on the aft deck as usual, totally goed the wrong way, and taked over the rudder/riggers from the wheel.)

   "SHREET!" (The captain looks up, stops looking for you.) "Rigger, fetch my net!" I uncup my mouth, and take the coil down to lower the splice end. Like a short 6 tail lash, knotted, and lashed to bend to a full mooring line to windlast into dock, my fisher's mate tied it on for me to haul up. "Nh!" I had to use the beam to pull it up, dry, but with shot spliced into the ends to weight it in the water, I look back.  (To see us getting close, the shiny moon caps flashing in the sun, steel breastplates, shields,) and I had to shade my eyes.  (Long axes on poles.  With spear tips, and back spikes.  Ranks of Shield/Boarding axe backed by a rank of Halberdiers.  This, is going to be a fight.  Now, Joshua.  What are you doing?

   ...

   ) Okay, as we come about, prepare to throw, (Target?) over the Shields, and onto the Halberdiers.  Oh, and I wrapped the weighted end under the beam as soon as the sail was furled to stow.  (Okay, before that action, the enemy ship starts to pass, oncomming, broadside, and ripple fires for to aft on the port side.  Rolls.  Rollololols...)

   On my action, as soon as I have a viable action )Rolls( I clear the shields.  Is that Dex, or Attack to hit as many of the Halberdiers as I can? (Better make it both.) Okay, Dex, and...  Attack.  (Wow, okay.  I'll say you got a lot of them, overlapping with the shield line, because it's a roughly triangular net with the line attached, and the weights on the other 2 corners.  Okay, uh.  11.  (Is that dex, or attack?) I don't know, but I'm throwing the leader end back, under the beam, aiming for the midships windlass.  "RIGGERS!" Whistle if I have to.  (Okay, well determine that action on your next turn.  Uh, I see where this is going.

   Meanwhile, on the main deck, both sides are firing.  Roll, rollyroll mcrollalot.  Huhuhuh.  Mmm, Josh?)

   ...

   (Okay, back to Marina.  You got the winch teams' attention, and the tail end of those rolls were for them to bring in that slack, and as planned, start pulling a big gap in the shield line as the ships come together for boarding and a general melee.)

   Good, however, I'm hanging on for dear life, on the assumption that the 2 oncoming ships are probably going to crash together broadside, and continue to coast around eachother.  (Yeah, momentum's a bitch.) Yeah, but she's predictable (Hahahah!  All right, well Strength check?) 5 enough?  (Oh yeah, that's more than low enough, but that's pretty much your action.) Understood, but they've got a big gaping hole in their phalanx, right?  (Yeah, well not even counting the slow steady pull, they immediately turned around, and inward to try to cut the net, to keep from being pulled overboard en mass, And not hack the trapped crewmembers to pieces with boarding axes, and halberds sticking out in all directions.  So, if the plan was to cancel out the formation and with it their military advantage, congratulations, it's a total clusterfuck for our boarders.  Josh?)

   "Throw her a line." What?  "I'm a master of Arms, but I started out a rigger, right?" {Author's/pun note.  Yes, Rigger, Morti`s.  The s is silent.}

   (All right, easy as fuck Dex check,)

   "Made it."

   (Huh, all right, Marina now has a leader line wrapped over the beam next to her.)

   "With a boarding grapple on the other end."

   Thanks, Morti!  o7

   o7 "Right back atcha."

   (Huh!  And there goes my carefully planned climactic battle.  How long have you two been conspiring on this?)

   Most of the particulars were made up on the fly, my action?  (Yeah.) Okay!  Taking the leader, what's the length on the line, Mort?  "Deck to beam." All right!  Jump off, grip my leader pommel with both feet, and swing out over the enemy deck.

   (Okay, you get a boss fight!) Yay!  (You easily swing right over the clusterfuck of struggling, halberdiers, and former shield line, then land behind them basically inline with their mainmast.) What do I roll for that? (Nothing, the grapple pulls in, catches on the lashing from the beam to the mast, exactly like planned, the clouds open up, the stars align, and you land right in front of a Conquistadore', Veteran, with two Musketeer bodyguards, fixed Bayonettes.  They lower their muskets right toward you.)

   I swung in, so I'm going to hit my deck rolling for evasive action.  Dex. (Made it) and draw my Cinquedea braced grip with my left hand.  (PWH, PWH!  Okay, now make that 2 spearmen with Bayonettes, clean misses with the Evasion modifier.  The Goldcap drawing his rapier, and stepping out to thrust.) Parry asside.  Okay, can I do a combination attack?  (Depends how complex, don't over do it again, I'm counting Commas.) All right, flap up to catch the flat of his blade between mine, and my bracer.  (I'll call that THAC0, Massive modifier.) Hows 17?  (Uuuuhm.  Okay, you manage to interfere with his recovery, probably just withdrawing for a reposte'.) Okay, (Wait, 2 Musketeers..?) Left Aramis, and D'artagnan behind?  (Actually, fore and aft deck, but since you rolled between them, their roughly musket shaped spears are pointed the wrong way.  So the one on the left, both behind you, goes for a buttstock strike to your unprotected rear. Ah ah ah!  You can't see any of this, you're still locked sword to sword with the Admiral, and can't see any of this behind you.  Fuck!  Misses your head, but hits your shoulder.  Uh, roll strength/con.) 12, and (That's fine, made your con, fail your strength, so you're forced to let go of the Admiral's sword, and the Other musketeer cross-checks you with the middle of his stock like a staff.  And you're knocked off your feet.) Can I react?  (Dex chek to roll out, then it's back to Josh.  For like 2, no 3 rounds.) Easily.

   "Okay, command all the railgunners who're reloaded to focus fire on the general mainmast area." (Huh.  Care to reword that into a shouted command?) "All fire on mainmast!" (Here's all the dice, just throw them, mass combat rules.  All right, while I figure out what all that means, Captain Troi leads the charge with all the riggers as a boarding party.  And since I don't have any dice to roll, easy mop up on the routed soldiers with boarding axes, and assorted offhand weapons.) What's with the boarding axes? (Well, unlike in the movies, and the stories, it's basically the swiss army knife at sea.  In addition to being a please don't hit me with that, it's handy for cutting lines, timbers, doors, decks, firebrakes, masts, and general marlinspike seamanship.  Why it's practially general issue on all era combat ships pretty much from the dark ages to the American Civil War.)

   So, back to the Bossfight?

   (Yeah.)

   Anything on deck I can pick up for the offhand?  (Roll a D2) Tails.  (Yeah, somebody dropped a boarding axe.) "hrraaAAHH!" (You're going Berserk?) Uh, yeah?  (Okay, just making sure.  You rolled right, so come around, Cinquedea still left handed?) Yeah, but still braced back grip as a shield-sword.  The near Musketeer turns, and comes around with a spear thrust.  Hook it overhand to pull it up/out.  Diagonal, that's not a comma! (Okay, roll.  Treat it like a parry, not a grapple, he misses, and you've got a hooked Musket.  The Conqui' turns, and lunges.  Full extension because of the extended reach.  No reaction?) Saving the action.  (Good, crap roll anyway, comes up short.)

   Drop to knee, catch the pommel and swing to an overhand throw.  (Attack? Ouch.  Target?) Boss fight?  Yeah.  (Thunk!  He doesn't look too good...  Huh!  Porthos fall back, dropping, and drawing his rapier to cover his boss. As a bodyguard after all.) Swing the hatchet/Musket around, stepping back to cleat the bayonette, and swing it into the general direction of Portho's face, and side-step behind Athos.  (You seem to have your wits about you.) Okay, yeah, I guess that cleared my head.  (So, yeah, you don't get the extra attacks.) But that was one attack.  (...A backtep, and a side-step, you're done, but both of them are out of position, and that's long enough for the cavalry to arrive.  Josh?)

   "How many rounds was that?" (Uh, 2, 3, 4...  Plenty?) Okay, advance to the rail, reload the closest mounted gun with all the gunners abandoning them to move in behind the boarding riggers.  Assorted hand weapons, yadda yadda.  (Target?) Athos/ Porthos, IDFK, even the odds.  (Okay, damage?  Yeesh!  Why did I make those so powerful?  So anyway, there's now a fist sized hole in the back of his armor, a bowling ball sized hole in the front, and his ribs turn into a spray of bloody toothpicks.) "Shiver me timbers!" (Indeed, and you got enough leftover actions to draw whatever weapons you want and advance.) "Can I see Marina?" (Uh, no.  Like all the bodies are between you and her.) Then lob a leader line over them, and get it in her general direction.  (Huh!  You know, I still don't have anything resembling grappling rules for melee, right?)

   Of course!  Why I keep abusing them.  (All right, just don't even rolla 20 to conk her in the head.) "Is that Thck0r Dex?  (Doesn't matter, attack is high, and stats or low, so either's a critical failure/success.  Huh!  Marina, you can, if you want, step out of the way, and pick up a leader line when it lands.) Attached to?  "Nothing, hacked off with a boarding axe, attabout.  Uhh.  2+5=7 feet long." (So also frayed as fuck.) So, basically a crude Cat-o-nine tails.

   (Which is great, because the Boss uses the opportunity presented by the Dosido, allemande left, and all this juggling to retreat to safety, while Porthos uses it to stick a toe under the guard, and flip the rapier up into his left hand.)

   Florentine?  (No, Toledo.) Fuck.  (Yeah!) Okay, brace my shieldsword, (Boarding axe, and leader end/whip.  You pitched it, remember?) Yeah, but I'm not Berserk, my Boarding Axe WeaP is shit, this isn't a weapon, and I'm not stupid.  So, drop the leader, let it play out in full retreat, and kite him back toward the steps.  (Which deck?) I rolled right?  Right, so, Uhm, 69, that would be Aft?  (I believe so!  "Come on, Coward!") Hahaha!  I just took all three of you on, and now you're trying to intimidate a little GIRL!?  (What's your attack?) Depends, how many steps did that dialog buy me?  (Uhm, I'm gonna say about halfway up.) Leader played out?  Good.  Throw the ace, just a distraction, actually throw high to draw his eyes up, and jump over the railing with a coil loop to sweep one or both legs.  (Coil loop?) Yeah, like this, it's a traveling wave along the deck, just like the table, but it's also down the stairs.  So, Idaknow, you want to stack some books up.  (Nah, never mind.  That's Dex, then Attack.  I guess.) Okay, fuck!  (Attack?  Huh, sorry, you totally biff the landing, but that's more than good enough to grab a leg, and take him down with you. Now, I have to do some serious rolling to Porthos doesn't manage to stab himself to death trying to recover with a fucking rapier in each hand.)

   Splash!  (Huhn?) I jumped over the rail?  Threw myself overboard, with the intended effect of dragging him over with me, tangled in 7' of leader end, in full armor, with a rapier in each hand.  (And you fumbled, so you lose your grip on the pommeless line, and basically let him drown.  Uh, just tread water until we secure the deck, and the riggers haul you out.)

   "Mary Sue!"

   (Soft landing, even on a not-quite critical fumble, she gets about a breath of seawater, she's a teenage fishergirl, and there's practically nothing to hurt herself out there unless I cast Summon Big Fish to have her devoured by sharks with all the blood chumming the water.)

   "Huh!  Sure wish I was the DM's girlfriend."]