View allAll Photos Tagged Calloused
(charcoal on paper; 8Hx 9W in)
CALLOUSED AND ROUGH - These may not be the type of hands we usually see, yet I feel like they are, by far, one of the most beautiful hands I have ever had the opportunity of drawing when I knew about "their" story.
These are the hands of a man which shows the signs of hard manual work he has to endure every single day of his life.
This drawing is based on Mr. Paul Henderson's photography.
I found the paper I used for this piece when I was working in China- I love it's texture. It's quite delicate though.
www.saatchiart.com/art/Drawing-A-Father-s-Hands/980307/35...
There was a time when I believed in all words.
This time being when I was young.
I would listen, believing over the years
my ears have become calloused and somewhat deaf
to the words, false to the heart from which they spoke.
I cried, often in silence from the hurts,
but the wounds would soon heal, the scab disappers,
leaving only a scar to remind me.
Now I listen with my eyes.
[Collected]
Gosh, just seeing those imprint on the wooden soles reminds
me of her feet sweet scent and taste... yummy...
What do you think? Worth a lick? A sniff? Nasty comments are welcomed ;-)
Want to see more pictures of her modeling and shoeplaying with well worn wooden slides and clogs? you can find much more pictures in:
The Magpie Oculus
Part 2
Acte 1
In for a Pound
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Wales, UK
10 years later
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A Midsummers Late afternoon ‘Formal wedding Reception’
Carmarthenshire, Aberglasney Manor House, and Gardens
Enter here to visit the charming place:
www.google.com/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&s...
An attractive lady is seen swishing about as she demurely makes her way to and then inside, the deserted garden that is hidden from the olde stone manor by an ever-growing strip of woods and olde hedges.
She had heard tell of these gardens while conversing with a group of fellow guests that were gathered around the cheese and wine tables inside the manor’s reception hall with its glass ceilings.
Interest piqued, she had stolen off to sneak a peak around.
After all, as she had been snidely telling the same group, it was quite boring being here alone attending this function, without any escort! Her husband, Sir so and so was a very important man of course! And being so very vital to his business was currently away on one of his overseas business junkets.
She was wearing one of her usual thin, slinking gowns that said husband enjoyed having her wear.
This particular one was made of shimmery silk, dyed the deep blue of a sunny Bahamas ocean. As she moved, it almost resembled ocean waves as the pretty fabric whipped and swirled along her rather petite figure.
Her jewels, as could be expected, were sapphires. Quite the collection of overly expensive gems which royally sparkled like the same ocean that had inspired the matching colour of her evening gown! The Lady’s baubles, though shining with a royal radiance, were no match for those on display at the Tower of London, but could be considered a close cousin to them!
Which begs a question, should someone be flaunting jewels like that under every one's nose then be also telling tales about her husband being away? Can almost hear the thieves smiling wickedly, as well as feel the insurance agents’ shudder, can’t one?
But, totally believing she was out exploring alone, the pretty lady made her way along the cobblestones that made up the pathways amongst the roses, fountains, and ivy-covered statues that were displayed with an almost reverence aire in the interior of the hidden gardens.
As she wandered about, finding herself increasingly bewitched by the tranquillity of the magic garden terrace she had found, she remained blissfully unaware of the two pairs of eyes that had been, with piercing interest, following her every move since she had made her entrance!
From a hidden vantage point that extended out and above the high hedges that surrounded the garden proper, one set of those eyes was watching! They belonged to a large sassy magpie, perched with expectantly fluttering wings in the gnarled branches of an old wytch elm.
The bird penetratingly observes the young female human, especially eyeing the enticing glitters from her jewels. Most noticeably the pricy bracelet that from one wrist is rippling blazing pinpricks of blue and white fire as she moves about.
Enticingly those sparkles are, erupting from around her wrist as she lifts up a rose up to smell its sweet fragrance. Then again, the show is repeated, as she flicks, one by one rose petals into what had been the still water of a fountain.
Spying a bench, she swishes over, adjusting her gown before slipping upon the coolness of the mossy stone bench. Appearing to become immersed in the surroundings as she closed her eyes and leaned back in delight, her long hair spilling out behind her, exposing her longish, glittering earrings dripping down like identical twin blue waterfalls from her earlobes.
The magpie flies in for a closer look, alighting silently upon the sculpted head of a bow drawing cupid statue. The bird instinctively remains mute lest he is noticed.
He then suddenly cocks his head, as he observes a second figure, a human male, and he flies securely away to an even higher perch, letting out a soft caw at the intruder.
The dreaming beauty opens her eyes and catches movement as she spies the gentleman approaching.
Opening her eyes to their fullest she turns and smiles. He had been one of the groups inside, and had also coincidently, been the one to bring up the story of the secret gardens.
She turns to face him, eyes smiling impishly, for a truth to be admitted, she was not lying about being bit lonely, and a brief rendezvous with a charming mystery man may prove quite a pleasing interlude to spend an hour or so!
He comes up, and with a bow, gestures his permission to join. She nods smiling, granting consent, and he slips down upon the bench, keeping a discreet distance between them. He begins to speak, his deep Welsh accent again charming the London born and bred high society lass.
And as it turned out for them both, the rest of their afternoon encounter had indeed produced a quite pleasing interlude, within the isolated secret garden and its’ magic terraces. The whole area they ended up having all to themselves.
The gardens’ charm grew upon the couple, to the point of a dance being offered and accepted. They danced for a long time, with the melody of twittering jays, long tailed tits, and other gremlins like darting bird denizens of the secret garden being used to keep the dancing humans in rhythm.
After that magical afternoon, they made their way back and parted with a hug before going their separate ways. The warm feelings that had intertwined, intrigued and fulfilled the young female beauty, staying with her for quite some time afterward.
^^^^^^^^^^^
After the pair of humans leave, all is quiet for a few long, waiting minutes, before the wilder denizens deem it finally safe again to prowl about.
One of them being the inquisitively sassy magpie. He flutters down from his perch and lands upon the outer rim of a fountain by a bench. Curiously he pecks at the rose petals floating about in the fountain’s cool waters. The petals still carry a whiff of fragrance from the lilac perfume of the lady who had thrown the petals there.
Then the Magpie’s darting black eyes keenly pick up something else of interest. With a soft inquisitive caw, he leaves the fountain perch and darts down to the base of moss rose bush for a closer examination of the glittering object that lay amongst the roots.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
The girl wearing the swishy blue gown and magnificent sapphires was now indeed very happy.
The yearning pangs for her absent husband had been sated for now by her most excellent experiences encountered during her unplanned tryst in the gardens earlier. This happy, warm feeling lasted well into the late afternoon while she remained at the reception. Lasting right up until she realized, with a chilling cold dawning, that her quite expensively jewelled bracelet, the one that had been dangling from around her gloved wrist, was now gone, rudely vanishing without even giving any proper notice!
She had, at the time, been chatting with a white collar wearing priest who had approached her and began to inquisitively barrage her with questions. She put it down to him being bored because he was there alone, out of his normal realms, and did not really know anyone there. He had asked her a question concerning the unintentional cross-shaped decoration on her cocktail ring, and it was as she held it up for him to see that she made the dreadful discovery that her wrist was bare.
The bloody thing must have snagged on a rose bush and fallen off while she was out in the gardens!
She reasoned this, as she took polite leave of the overly friendly priest without really explaining her reasons why. Happy to be away from him, she anxiously made her way back to retrace her steps in the now moonlit garden.
None of the same eyes watched this time as she fruitlessly searched, alone in the now disenchanted secret garden for her missing jewels!
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
The scene fades away.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Well hello again!
Quite glad to see you have kept up with us for the continuation of our story.
It had now been 10 years since our group’s successful trial run in Monaco at that year’s Bal de l'Eté.
Since that time our team of three had worked hard at perfecting our craft with its employ of our rather unique team and work strategies. The team, whom you’ve met in the first story, still consisted of:
My wife, the charming Irish beauty and undoubtedly the brains behind the scenes. She is also the natural actress of the operation. Her smiling ways having more than once saved the game from being lost.
Myself, the Welsh born frontman, whose light fingers were used more than for lifting up a frothy pint. Though I am a male of course, and so do make my share of mistakes. But with my wife’s loving tutelage, have managed to hold up my own part of the venture.
Then, of course, there is Sammy, the runner of the group. His unmatched skills allowed us to successfully carry off the sparkling fruits of our operation. Sammy adores my wife, and she is the only one who can ever truly smooth out the ruffled feathers he gets whenever I fail to carry out my end of the played game to his satisfaction.
And the game we played?
Well, let us just say it involved the targeting, lifting and secreting away of certain pricy jewels in such a manner that, like a magician uses misdirection, no one knows for certain how or what exactly had happened to cause the loss! The jewels, always worn, were also always found by us exclusively at the various upper-class end functions we were attending at the time.
And admittedly it had been paying off fairly well!
We were careful to live modestly within our means. So we were able to afford the time to carefully select our potential avenues without undue haste and no worries if not one glittering opportunity failed to come within our grasp on those planned evenings out.
So, for 10 rather intriguing years my wife, cohort Sammy, and I were able to satisfy the playful urges whose enticing callings had led us to select this rather unique path to make a livelihood.
And we always had a good time of it, wine, dance and thrill of the hunt…even if we were successful or not! Many adventures over those years led us delving down avenues that created an abundance of daringly bold tales waiting someday to be intriguingly, innocuously told!
For 10 years we had managed to attend some rather glamourous functions, see my pretty wife attired in some rather eye-catching fancy dresses and adorned with the beckoning glittering array of colourful jewels that ever so divinely kept one’s interest! Also at a rather surprising percentage of these events, we had managed to ( with our cohort Sammy ’s unique assistance) guile'ly steal away with a few pieces of select, insured jewels from wealthy ladies who could certainly afford to weather through their loss.
For 10 years we had operated in this manner, throughout the kingdom’s wide realms, staying safely away from our own nesting grounds, as we sagely built up and grew our nest eggs.
And so far, we had apparently not come under any suspicion from any of the local constabularies in the areas where we had operated! Since the jewels had luckily been assumed lost, fallen away like warm pearls will sweat off a lady on a cool evening ( as the olde Victorian saying goes).
But it was to be the autumn of the 10th year when that charmed existence would finally be really put to the test! Although deep down we knew it would all have to come to an end sooner or later. We had always figured, and hoped, that it would be up to us to say when the games we played would be up.
Now, almost two years past that autumn, I have finally begun to write this second chapter, a yearning to tell the tale that has been with me since day one! In that space of time, I now have had quite a bit of freedom to, with a writer’s eye, reflect on those events that led up to and ended in that tenth and final year of our unique team’s operation.
It’s funny how sometimes one can do everything perfectly, not deriving from the pattern they have done hundreds of times before. But by a thin chance someone else with the seeing eyes of a hawk, a bloody nosey hawk at that, happens to put two and two together, and like a house of cards, ones whole life’s plans can start to slightly sway in the wind, precariously threatening to tumble…
Well, quite enough then with the building up of my story’s mystery and intrigue. Let's start the tale properly then, and let the facts speak for themselves, shall we?
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Chalfont St Guiles
It had been an early thaw that year, and several spring birds had already begun to plan parties to celebrate.
Through contact with a mutual friend of the family, we had been invited to their daughter's Debutante Ball.
The fact that we had to secure an invite left this event to be fair game in our books! For it had been our practice that any affair where my wife and I received a personal invitation to attend, were always off limits in our opinion. So, to those, we went with the intent just to enjoy ourselves, not to conduct business. Although a bit of practicing play between ourselves could be expected.
But this private Ball was not covered by that particular umbrella!
This debutant affair also promised to be a late party.
It was being held on the well-lit green that stretched out for a full 2 hectares, starting from the front of the quite large, definitely ugly, olde stone manor, and ending up to the main roadway.
When we arrived, there was a band was playing soft music on a raised stand next to a refreshments table just outside and below the manor’s stone terrace that was being used as the makeshift dance floor.
It was also announced on the invites that it was to be a dry party.
But, of course, was not! For the odd flask or twenty-two, that had naturally been smuggled in must have been fairly large ‘uns judging by the already rather tipsy posh guests that became more and more abundant as the night wore on.
Though I should talk, for my own silver flask of Brandy held enough to keep my wife and me cheerful enough also. Though I had to watch how much I was imbibing. For this venue was going to by no means be an easy walk in the park for us this evening!
We began by splitting up, starting with mingling in and about in order to get a quick lay of the land.
The young debutante, pretty in diamonds and frilly lace, had led her gangly group of sponger friends to hold court in the back gardens. So, in a sense, there were two parties in full swing.
My wife and I did not bother with the finely baubled fillies in the back gardens, concentrating our efforts on the magnificently jewelled thoroughbreds located in the front area.
My wife was the first to get a drift of some of the gossip swirling around, and soon, via a dance, drew me into it also.
It appears that the Elder Daughter (the debutante was her kid sister) had a boyfriend, a rather pointy nosed ner-do-well git from the other side of the tracks (attended Harrow, not Eaton! dontcha know!)
My wife observed that this bloke obviously was eyeing up all the young skirts present, his wandering attentions totally unnoticed by his pie-eyed, doting wealth-blinded girlfriend.
Said girlfriend had also apparently smuggled a flask of her own, probably stuck in her garter belt, hidden by the long swishy skirt of her costly party frock. Judging this by the way she was prancing about and giggling with silly recklessness with her own posse of leeching acquaintances.
This elder daughter was in her mid-twenties, adorably dressed (by one or two maids?) in a sheer silken gown of deep purple. Diamonds beautifully blazed from her gloved wrist, fingers, and necklaces. Two necklaces: one a diamond pendant swinging about on a silvery braided chain, the second one was a blazing collar style necklace of impressive diamonds, that sat just off the high neckline of her gown.
Either one worth the attempt, but the sparkling collar was obviously her mother’s jewels and thus the more intuitively attractive lure of the two.
As the long afternoon threatened to progress into the dusk, I was to be found nursing my drink from the flask, while watching from afar, my wife swishing her way about.
This evening my lady was wearing a newly bought, sleekly enchanting, gown of meadow green satin, embellished with flickering rhinestones. This posh frock had been slickly flowing and ebbing along her fine figure in a most mesmerizing manner all evening She was also wearing her party emeralds, the “good” set, and they sparkled most attractively as she flitted about! So, I found myself, as always, stealing looks upon her whenever the opportunity arose.
I was mulling over this when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I had been so lost in my lubricious thoughts that I had not even noticed her disappearing, nor heard her approach.
“Mon Cher, forget about me will ya, and get to work !” I heard the words softly spoken in my ear..…”Sammy boy is getting twitchy, close to his bewitchin hour ya know…”
I turned and looked into my wife’s smiling (yet stern) eyes.
“Yes commandantee,” I said, with a saluting nod.
Then I admitted sheepishly, “Not to muddle the issue darling, but, ahem, where is she, I sorta lost track?”
“No kidding my love, I don’t think you were on the track of anything but me, and my jewels are not on this evening’s menu, save play for later, but business now please…!”
I felt a brace of ringed fingers discreetly slap me on the tush, and with a flicker of her emerald earrings, my wife nodded her head sideways to where the elder daughter, along with that rippling fire still flaming from her brace of necklaces, was idling in a dark corner of the dance area. She was surprisingly alone, and I should have been the one to notice that!
So, it was to be her, the elder daughter that we decided, with the time remaining would be our victim!
Sammy was more than ready, watching, waiting as he bobbed his head about, which I knew was his habit while holding his lonely vigil. He was stationed high in the shadows of a tree just above a hedge on the west side of the house. There was a narrow cobblestone path meandered its way along the interior of the hedge, and it was pretty much deserted, all the action is behind, and on the opposite side of the stone-built manor that evening.
With the elder sisters leeching friends now apparently watching the elephant in the room, namely the Harrow-educated boyfriend’s antics with a toffy, giggling female, I was able to walk up and easily steal away the older daughter for a dance.
She took me up on the offer, especially after I lyingly mentioned that I had attended Harrow and I was suddenly “in like flint!” She chatted away amiably, if not also a bit slurred, as I led her off. Thick as thieves we had now become, as we went to the large stone patio that had been converted for use as a low lighted Ballroom.
I took her warm, decidedly inebriated figure, sanguinely into my arms and we elegantly waltzed around the stone-floored patio ballroom to the music. I kept her on the outer fringes, making small talk.
As I did, I studiously worked open the clasp, and easily lifted off the collar necklace of dazzling diamonds from around her throat in the process.
Leaving the pendant still intact, swinging ever so vexingly free along with her gown as we finished, I thought that the pendant appeared to sparkle a bit more brightly now that its competition around the lady’s throat had been removed from contention.
Edging close to the low wall of the patio, I dropped the purloined necklace over from behind my back. I could swear I heard it plop onto the grass. I twirled my pretty partner around, and from over her shoulder, I watched as my wife moved in from the shadows of the trees close by.
The dance ended and I walked the damsel back towards the refreshment table. Before reaching the tables, I touched my dance partner on the shoulder and she turned, smiling, to face me. I again apologized that I could not offer her a drink, and she giggled.
During our dance, I had mentioned how boring it was without a swig of any spirits in sight. She had giggled then also and then had confided in me of her secret stash.
Follow me she now said gaily and I did.
Together we ducked around the refreshment table and headed off to a far corner on the east side of the house. There she lifted the hem of her flowy gown, and from a garter, pulled out her small, thin, 14k plated gold flask and offered me a drink.
I calmly took a careful swig of what I found to be warm vodka and handed it back.
For what thief in his right mind would casually hang around drinking with his victim after lifting the darling’s jewels? Not many I dare say!
But soon, right on a hoped-for queue, we were joined by her jealous boyfriend, himself two sheets to the wind. I was introduced and spotting my opening, tactfully made my excuses.
So sloshed was this young man, that he failed to yet notice anything amiss with his lady, and I was not going to give him any length of time to do so.
I left the sniggering couple to their devices. A sojourn into the woods I believe was on their agenda. The idea quite possibly suggestively guided into their lovely drunken minds by me!
I re-joined my wife, we then daringly did one last casual turn on the ballroom dance floor.
“Mission accomplished, Luv?” I pointlessly asked for I could see the answer in my pretty wife’s eyes.
“The package was dropped off onto the cobblestone path as prearranged!” she stated cheerfully, hugging me in turn.
“Bye the bye love, remember Benny C?” she asked me, as I raised her hand and twirled her around me in a circle.
I had to think for a minute, then came the dawn.
“Yeah, the snotty whelp a couple of years behind me at the seminary, always had a thing for you, didn’t he now!” I teasingly answered.
“Me and anyone else in a skirt!” she snorted. “Well its 'Father Benny' now, and he is, or was here at the ball. I couldn’t get away without dancing with him, sends his regards of course!” she informed me with a rather wry look in her now fully green eyes.
“I'm sure he does, suppose I should track him down and say hello. I said a bit wearily, not bothering to hide the snideness from my own voice!
“Well, he said he tried to find you, but told me that you were obviously enamoured off somewhere with another pretty young thing! I think he was trying to make me jealous laddie!”
“What do ya suppose he meant by ‘again’ I wonder? Told you that he always was a bothering one! Becoming a priest hasn’t changed him one bit. Wonder how his congregation finds the git?” I thoughtfully said out loud.
“Well let us not try tracking him down, to find out luv! I don’t think I could handle more of his sweaty palms again dontcha know!” my wife said sweetly enough, though irony was dripping off each well-chosen word.
So instead we sought out our hostess, giving our regards and congrats. She was magnificently attired in a taffeta ball gown that must have cost her husband a mint. Her jewels were sparse though. A pair of glittering earrings, a pair of thin diamond bracelets and her wedding rings. I found myself wondering why her throat was barren of jewels?
Taking leave, we casually strolled out the front gate to claim our coupe.
My wife leaned against me and said to me as we drove off into the night,
“Cette jeune peste d'un beu sera que les dames tombent, mark mes mots !”
She sighed then said
“Loved her pendant also, but that sparkling necklace will be a nice final trick before starting our Holiday, now will it not my love?”
I smiled meaningfully as I placed my foot on the accelerator and started the beast of a car out onto the main road.
We arrived back home to find an excitedly pert Sammy Boy eagerly waiting to receive his worthy praise. For the glittering collar of diamonds that he had gathered for us were now laid out in magnificent sparkling splendour at his feet.
So it was that two quiet weeks later, on a pelting rainful blustery Saturday, we were to be found flying out of the country on a fortnight’s holiday, for a visit to our dear friend Tatiana.
Totally unaware that there were dark clouds of a quite different storm gathering and brewing in from a new, but not entirely unexpected, quarter!
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Chiltern CID
(Covering the Chalfont St Guiles area under its umbrella of protection)
A fortnight after the Debutante’s coming out ball held in the Chalfont St Guiles area.
Inside the old brown brick building that houses the police station.
Scene entirely played out in the Chief Inspector's office.
^^^^
The Chief Inspector looks up as his summoned detective strides, a bit reluctantly, into his superior's office.
The Detective is wearing a slightly abashed expression on his handsomely chiselled face, for he knows that there are questions to be answered, and he wishes that what thin answers he has to give are going to be enough to shield him from probably being properly chewed out by the Chief!
“Drawn and quartered” was the phrase used at the station for some unfortunate Bobby who came under the Chief’s irate wrath for not properly following procedures! Or in the detective's case, tardiness in producing results in an investigation.
The poor sod did not even have time to shut the door when the question, like a stinging bullet, spit out of his superior's mouth!
“Now, what progress on that diamond collar necklace that took a bender at that Lord’s young daughter’s debutante thing last month in Chalfont, Detective Inspector !? Starting to take some heat from the City Super on a seeming lack of any progress! Has the bloody thing even been found yet!”
“N-N-No sir, it appears to have vanished…” the D.I. stammered, wilting under the harsh grey eyes of the Chief Inspector.
“Vanished eh..well tell me this lad how does a £25,000 (insured) necklace of diamonds simply vanish!?“ the Chief shouted, then continued on without waiting for an answer.
“Well Detective Inspector, it decidedly does not! There has to be a quite logical reason, and that reason must be found!! At least according to the Super, and Her Ladyship, the girl’s mother! She insists her daughter's boyfriend played a part in its disappearance… apparently, she also expects results along those lines!”
The Chief paused to catch a breath after decisively snapping all this out at his poor Detective.
The beleaguered detective answered, rushing his words before the Chief was able to yell some more mainly because he knew his answers would be anything but a satisfactory one!
“Yes sir, well the facts are that her Ladyship’s eldest daughter was wearing her mums necklace without permission. But then the lass, her ladyship’s daughter I mean, appears to be a bit vague about any events what went on that evening, even at what time the necklace was actually missed.”
He took a quick breath himself before continuing.
"Apparently 'someone' had smuggled in drinks, and the lot attending in her age bracket was pretty much plastered by the party's’ end.
No one at the party recalls seeing it missing from around her throat and several actually could not say what jewels she had been wearing atoll to begin with! The daughter herself supposedly did not discover it had disappeared until her mother asked about it the next morning!”
The Chief Inspector arches an eye, a habit that was not a good omen, to anyone!
“I know those facts, Detective. I need something new to report to the Super, now don’t I? Didn’t this lass notice it missing as she went to undress for bed, sounds like a bit of tosh if not!?”
The detective answered smartly.
“Well there is some confusion also along those lines: she says she passed out, still dressed for the evening, on the bed in her room. Says that there must have been an Hors de orve which she ate didn’t agree with her. But from what I got, she was fair lit with drink and no one of the servants can recall when she had gone up to bed. Apparently, there was some horseplay going on deep in the woods late that evening if you know my drift, sir!”
“Do go on Detective, this is all so very interesting!” the C.I. said smoothly, not trying to hide the dissatisfaction of his ever disapproving mood.
The D.I. went one, choosing his words like one would carefully choose their steps walking blindfolded amongst a yard full of rotting eggs.
“Well I investigated the boyfriend and he is certainly a gigolo from a toff family of foreigners. Any of whom would probably have no problem lifting the family silver! But there has been no record of any jewels disappearing in his vicinity before this accusation, and he is rather educated, Harrow, (the Chief Inspector snorted rudely at that information,) so not just street, so really nothing definite there in his history, er, to implicate the bloke?
The servants also, most have been with the family for ages, doubtful any of ‘em would have lifted jewels the daughter was wearing while passed out, if indeed she had still been actually wearing it at that point!”
“but…”
Questioned the Detective, rather hopefully, as he ended his statement and saw the fire again flaring up in his Chiefs hard grey eyes.
“But what detective!?” He snarled, sounding ever like a short-tempered feral mutt who someone had the audacity to have chained.
“Well sir, my cousin, the priest, was attending a reception up Carmarthenshire way, at the Aberglasney Manor House earlier this year.”
He paused, cagily watching his superior’s eyes before deeming it safe to continue on.
“Well, he mentioned a lady in attendance there, lost her jewelled bracelet, 22,000 worth! It was reported as being lost in the gardens. That is what she believed happened, that it had simply fallen off in the gardens.
But my cousin, Ben is his name, remembers seeing that she was coming out of the gardens with someone he recognized from seminarian university, a fellow student two years ahead.”
The Chief Detective cut callously in!
“Carmarthenshire is not our jurisdiction lad, ‘AND’ just pray to tell! Why are you discussing a case with your cousin!” The chief exploded, taking a step forward, daring the Detective to satisfactorily explain his reasoning.
The Detective bravely weathered the storm of his chiefs words.
“He is a priest, sir, so he can keep a tongue in check. But he is a bit of a snooper, and when him and his mother, my auntie, were over, he happened to see an envelope I had received from her ladyships jeweller. He asked about what it was all on about. And then, when I stayed mum, my Auntie started inquiring for Ben,and one thing led to another, you see, um, that’s how it went ?”
“Ok, not really interested in yer family tree detective am I! So this bloke fancies himself a Father Brown chap, knows someone? What evidence is that of anything I ask you!? The Chief Inspector snorted in ridicule.
“Well, er, no, not evidence, at least not in and of itself ...”
“Explain yourself quickly Detective, I am running out of both patience and time here!”
“But, so you see.” The detective stammered, visibly afraid that he was not going to be able to sell the Chief on his detecting and make him “see”.
“Make me see, please DI, quickly, I do not ‘ave all night here! And I also may need a new patrolman for the graveyard shift!” The chief said with an evil promise.
The Detective bravely sallied on.
“Well my cousin Ben, as it so happens, was also in attendance at this debutante ball affair. Apparently he is performing deacon duties at His lordship’s, the Girls fathers, parish. And that same man was there, at the ball also.
Saw him with the daughter then, well that...”
But the chief was cut off in correction,
“No sir, he did not see that this boke atoll this time actually, but rather ran into his wife, who told him her husband was somewhere about. But it got me thinking to check back over some of my papers.”
“Papers DI, what papers?”
DI: “well I urm, you see, I had been taking the liberty of checking past occasions in the realm where expensive jewels were reported to have become mysteriously missing to insurance companies. Went back 20 years or so I did.”
“Most of em, the missing jewels that are, were eventually written off by the insurance as simply haven fallen away and somehow being lost, so no information gathered was not bothered with to have been kept on file.. so, no information on guests was collected on that angle.”
“But there have been a few reports over the past years that stated that there was believed to have been shenanigans afoot, and robbery was mildly hinted at, and sharp concerns were filed with local police through the insistence of the insurance companies. Those cases were left open, and still on file at some stations.”
“I was able to collect around 30 files of those unsolved case files that had looked into for signs of robbery going back 20 some years. Well, 18 of those files came with complete guest lists.”
The detective was cut off in his report by the impatient Chief!
“Yes, detective, let us finally cut to the chase, shall we now?!”
“Er yes sir, well you see, on 12 of those lists the some of the same names came up multiple times.”
“So I had been checking those names against the Yards police records, but none had been convicted for thievery, though a few had some minor dalliances against the rules. So, I figured it was all a dead end down that alley. But, after talking with my cousin, I double checked that list and... this blokes name popped up on two of the more recent ones as being a guest. The same bloke that was recognized by twice my cousin at the two other posh functions, from both of which jewels had been reported lost!”
The Detective then triumphantly points to a name on the list.
“Let me see that list constable… right, That’s the name then?”
“Well, a nice bit of detecting here,( this was said with reluctance), But this cousin, I see he was charged with breaking the peace, but that was almost 15 years ago, he and a lady were making noise at a pub, getting the locals stirred up over a price increase on the beer! Hardly a thief's mannerism, eh detective!”
“He’s not my cousin sir, rather a bloke my cousin went to seminary with, and that lady is now this Gents wife”
“But he seems to be the only one connected with these jewel thefts, ours and that one up in Carmarthenshire?
The Detective stammered as the chief inspector shoots him a look!
“Point being detective, where does this all get us to then, are you bringing this chap in for questioning?”
“We will sir, the bloke my cousin saw, that may be a bit of a sticky wicket, bringing him in.”
“Sticky wicket! Haven’t heard that one used in a ripe old age Detective, what make this wicket so sticky concerning this chap?”
“Well sir, he is the fourth son of a sitting parliamentary official, a titled vice-lord no less, and his wife, well, er, her father is a high crown court judge.”
The detective said all this quite sadly, knowing what was coming.
“Good lord Detective inspector! You can bloody well pick em! Do you really think we should stir up a hornets nest like that without solid evidence implicating this bloke!!” The chief inspector blew up at his subordinate incredulously!
The Detective quickly spoke, hoping to quell his Chiefs temper before it continued to grow any worse!
“Well not really, above suspicion, this gent.”
“He is the Earl's 4th son, with no title, no support from the father's house. He appeared to have been studying for the RC seminary, but left before his last year.”
“Since then, for the past 15 years, he and his wife show no real income, he has held no steady jobs outside teaching part-time at university, the criminology department no less.”
He sees his superior arch an eye at that. “I know sir, suspicious that, but apparently one of his ancestors help found the ‘Yard’, so he is teaching a history course based on that subject.”
“He also calls himself an investor, but where is his investment capital coming from?”
“The wife?” asked the Chief Inspector, calming down a bit as his mind began to mull things over.
“No, ‘er parents are still alive and spending it! She receives a small bit as a stipend, but not nearly enough to support their lifestyle of attending parties. Nor is it enough to explain the backing for his investments. Plus, She has also never worked atoll after her university studies!”
“ Money has to come from somewhere I would say, but it is not apparent as to exactly where?”
The Chief Inspector looks over the report carefully.
“Are they living above their means? How much went missing on the other two affaires this bloke was at?”
“The jewels? Two pieces, together valued at around £2.”
“Two Thousand detective?”
“No sir, two hundred thousand.”
Whew, the chief whistled, there is your investment money if it was this gent. So, they are living well above their means.
“Not really. They live on a small cottage on 5 acres, kinda pricey, but not overly extravagant. Bought from a sister of the wife’s father, her Auntie. They don’t throw many parties themselves, but obviously, appear to be able to attend a lot.”
Then he looks up at his chief as if to ask to ask for an opinion.
“But, just saying if, if he is involved, how is the gent getting away with it? The chief's voice had now lowered to a thoughtful grumble.
“Well sir, that lot is known for being, well rather snooty and not believing one of their own would be a thief. And they do like to party, like their drink ya’ know. Not really all that concerned bout their valuables. For to them the value is nothing, not to someone who spends a bloody fortune on their toys and vices. And you know how these rich young things are, they lose a bloody toy, just gives them an excuse to buy a newer, better version.”
“Still detective, a crime is a crime, and if one has been committed in my jurisdiction I’ll be damned to let them get away with it, no matter if the victim doesn't show any worries over it’s loss. Not sure we have enough really to go on here?”
“Either it’s this gent or the gigolo boyfriend, have to be suspected if the necklace was stolen.”
“But then, the necklace could actually have been lost, lord knows what that randy couple could have been up to? If he was pawing her rudely enough, it’s a wonder she wouldn’t have lost all her jewels in that manner!”
“We checked the grounds sir”
“Well, I want them rechecked detective , and then recheck the bloody house, tooth and nail, all of it you see!”
“I will tell the super that we are awaiting further developments on our leads. If nothing turns up, and you are sure about that lover's late-night tryst, then it will have to be written off as being lost somewhere in the woods. And I will not, mark my words detective, be happy about reporting that as an outcome!”
“So, keep an eye out. Keep the shadow on that Harrow-educated foreigner boyfriend!”
“And as for this smarmy professional party guest?”
“All to a bit A.J. Raffles’ish for my liking, just keep out an ear. If he’s our bird, perhaps we can get some salt on his tux tails!”
“Find out also, just what other experience he has acquired that gives him a bloody right to teach criminal history... one never knows what that privileged lot can really get up into and away with!”
“Yes sir, smartly said the detective, relieved at finally being dismissed.
He half salutes and heads gratefully out the door hearing his Chief muttering behind his back.
“A Harrow lad? Really !”
Fini
Part 2
End Acte 1
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Dirty and sweaty from wearing them the whole day - I bet you can imagine the intoxicating scent of her smelly soles and the feeling of her rough heels over your tongue... any takers?
After wearing those well worn leather flipflops the whole day her sweaty warm aromatic and slightly dry soles and heels are a real treat... care for a byte or something else?! ;-)
Every Season Has Its Own Glory (James Watkins) not hdr
Every season has its own glory,
Every purpose has its own time,
Every moment has its own story,
Every story has its own line.
I have walked deep into cities,
Shining brightly never to fail,
Listened to heart cries,
Lost in the morning,
Standing on corners
Stagnant and stale.
Where is the hope
That brought forth the laughter?
Where is the song?
The music unveiled?
Why are the choices so
Wasted and bitter?
Gathered in hatred,
Broken and pale.
I have seen (new) stars on the mountains,
Fed on the movement of heaven and earth-
Fired by the framework
Of perfect perspective,
Fueled by the turning of terrible truth.
Come now and sing of mists in the forest,
Sensual sonnets of songs in the dirt-
Come and behold the delicate balance
Of seasons and reasons and rhythms
And birth.
There are the voices lost in confusion,
Crushed in the thriving, deepening swale-
Calloused and cold the circling convenience,
Crippled emotion commotion prevails.
Beacons in quiet of last true performance,
Heralded nature in singular cause-
Perfect and pure
Though wasted and slandered.
Washed by confession
In smoldering awe.
Severed connections, squandered projections-
Revered reflections by stammering tongues-
Coined by controlling contriving convections,
In different directions now written in stone.
Now is the time to look to the heavens,
Now is the moment to take up the cause,
Now is the voice of blazing amazement,
Borne on the winds of the gathering storm.
Listen to stream, listen to forest,
Listen to flower, and staggering fawn-
Listen to voices rolling like thunder,
Come drink of the waters
And dance with the dawn.
Wrapped in the garments of natural beauty,
Facing the force of the burgeoning call-
Strong in the seasons of life and creation,
Firm on foundations that never will fall.
James Watkins 09-01-08
Are you ready to bury your nose in those sexy worm soles and fill your lungs with her intoxicating scent? This pictures was taken just few seconds before sprayed all over with nice load of organic lotion... care to add yours? ;-p
electro-crucified into truth-detectorship she sits and faces her fate speechlessly crying out all there is to give away with the callous indifference of the surroundings conveying our shameful blame.
//These words suggested by the inscrutable links of friendship serve to add Janos Kepes’s personal verbal articulation to Richard Wohlfart’s photographs, a single if relevant item of an infinite set of possible resonances.//
*
Zones II. – at closer range
Hasselblad camera with Polaroid film back, our home-made radio remote trigger, synchronized flashes and stands: this is the technical equipment that was used us to take a self-portrait series in my intimate environment, so that I as a photographer can exclude the presence of a fellow photographer, thereby avoiding the anxiety such a situation should normally cause. It’s a pair work. My partner calls, talks to me, asks questions, argues, gives orders and at odd times, without actually seeing them, shoots pictures of my personal Zones without actually seeing them. Meanwhile my real self increasingly blends with the artist and this „surreal role”. The objects, colours, the whole setting of my life is virtually converted into a stage by the special lighting.
At one point the artistic concept starts a life of its own and transforms thoughts and feelings. Can it be kept within strict bounds? Is it allowed for the artist to stray or even „cheat”? Can anyone discern the new intentions and breakpoints while the technique is unchanged? No matter how vague the outlines, these zones finally make sense as a whole, if only for us.
Kriszti Mag, Richard Wohlfart
The sweet scent from her feet after wearing those clogs the whole day is irresistible. She is so fv<king hot!!! luckily i've got a chance once and than to get a hold of those wonderful aromatic well worn clogs... Heaven!
The Order's forces overwhelmed Siwa, those who weren't brainwashed by the Order, were slaughtered by those in Black Cloaks. Screams filled the air, but our brave adventurers pressed on and saved any that they could. When word got out that Princess Margaret had been kidnapped, Our team joined forces with Callous the commander of the Prenomen army, to save her. Venturing into the sewers below the city, they found the Princess, tied up and being held captive by the Black Cloaks. They waited in the shadows hearing word that they wished to take the prisoner to 'The Scarab'. Eager to fight, Sekarr rushed out from the shadows blowing their cover and a squirmish erupted. When the battle seemed lost Koruel's wild magic helped end the conflict, but caused Sekarr to fall into a deep slumber and a mild paralysis.
Sekarr awoke, and to his horror he was re-living his worst nightmare, his family was being killed by the Goliath Savarious. The memory that had haunted him his whole life, and the enemy he had sworn to kill were plaguing him once again. He lashed out in defiance, hoping to stop this living hell. These dark visions ended and Sekarr found himself awake in a hospital bed, these visions had caused him to lash out at his friend, Koruel and Lia. Sekarr with tears in his eyes apologied saying he was seeing things and would never hurt his new family. Koruel and Lia embraced their brother in arms and reassured him all was safe now.
_____________
Continuing more DND photos in LEGO form ;)
Summer is cvmm|ng and it seems that her stinky dry soles will
need some lotion... any volunteers??
From some reason she doesn't like to wear those hot dr. Scholl's
like clogs but i'm sure that nasty comments will make her change
her mind ;-p
Want to see more pictures of her modeling and shoeplaying with well worn wooden slides and clogs? you can find much more pictures in:
Hyenas or hyaenas (from Greek ὕαινα hýaina) are any feliform carnivoran mammals of the family Hyaenidae /haɪˈɛnɪdiː/. With only four extant species (in three genera), it is the fifth-smallest biological family in the Carnivora, and one of the smallest in the class Mammalia. Despite their low diversity, hyenas are unique and vital components of most African ecosystems.
Although phylogenetically they are closer to felines and viverrids, and belong to the feliform category, hyenas are behaviourally and morphologically similar to canines in several elements of convergent evolution; both hyenas and canines are non-arboreal, cursorial hunters that catch prey with their teeth rather than claws. Both eat food quickly and may store it, and their calloused feet with large, blunt, nonretractable claws are adapted for running and making sharp turns. However, the hyenas' grooming, scent marking, defecating habits, mating and parental behaviour are consistent with the behaviour of other feliforms.
Spotted hyenas may kill as many as 95% of the animals they eat, while striped hyenas are largely scavengers. Generally, hyenas are known to drive off larger predators, like lions, from their kills, despite having a reputation in popular culture for being cowardly. Hyenas are primarily nocturnal animals, but sometimes venture from their lairs in the early-morning hours. With the exception of the highly social spotted hyena, hyenas are generally not gregarious animals, though they may live in family groups and congregate at kills.
Hyenas first arose in Eurasia during the Miocene period from viverrid-like ancestors, and diversified into two distinct types: lightly built dog-like hyenas and robust bone-crushing hyenas. Although the dog-like hyenas thrived 15 million years ago (with one taxon having colonised North America), they became extinct after a change in climate along with the arrival of canids into Eurasia. Of the dog-like hyena lineage, only the insectivorous aardwolf survived, while the bone-crushing hyenas (including the extant spotted, brown and striped hyenas) became the undisputed top scavengers of Eurasia and Africa.
Hyenas feature prominently in the folklore and mythology of human cultures that live alongside them. Hyenas are commonly viewed as frightening and worthy of contempt. In some cultures, hyenas are thought to influence people’s spirits, rob graves, and steal livestock and children. Other cultures associate them with witchcraft, using their body parts in traditional African medicine.
Hyenas originated in the jungles of Miocene Eurasia 22 million years ago, when most early feliform species were still largely arboreal. The first ancestral hyenas were likely similar to the modern banded palm civet; one of the earliest hyena species described, Plioviverrops, was a lithe, civet-like animal that inhabited Eurasia 20–22 million years ago, and is identifiable as a hyaenid by the structure of the middle ear and dentition. The lineage of Plioviverrops prospered, and gave rise to descendants with longer legs and more pointed jaws, a direction similar to that taken by canids in North America.
The descendants of Plioviverrops reached their peak 15 million years ago, with more than 30 species having been identified. Unlike most modern hyena species, which are specialised bone-crushers, these dog-like hyenas were nimble-bodied, wolfish animals; one species among them was Ictitherium viverrinum, which was similar to a jackal. The dog-like hyenas were very numerous; in some Miocene fossil sites, the remains of Ictitherium and other dog-like hyenas outnumber those of all other carnivores combined. The decline of the dog-like hyenas began 5–7 million years ago during a period of climate change, which was exacerbated when canids crossed the Bering land bridge to Eurasia. One species, Chasmaporthetes ossifragus, managed to cross the land bridge into North America, being the only hyena to do so. Chasmopothertes managed to survive for some time in North America by deviating from the cursorial and bone-crushing niches monopolised by canids, and developing into a cheetah-like sprinter. Most of the dog-like hyenas had died off by 1.5 million years ago.
Just look at her soles after wearing those well worn wooden clogs the whole day...
Can you imagine the scent?
Want to see more pictures of her modeling and shoeplaying with well worn wooden slides and clogs? You can find much more pictures in:
The rhythmic patter of raindrops could be heard from outside the drawing room. It had been raining ever since Johnny and the other adventurers returned from Antarctica.
The past week had not been easy, barely sleeping, barely eating and barely able to think about anything other than what happened.
He tried to drown out the thoughts, focusing on the raindrops. And the faint hiss and crackle of the nearby fireplace. And then the familiar voice that spoke.
'Interesting' the voice said as the sound of shuffling photo paper could be heard.
Johnny was only half focused on the voice. He rocked slightly in his chair.
'The architecture is certainly remarkable, vastly different from the other sites that have been discovered' the voice said. Looking through further photographs.
Johnny stared intently at the floor, focusing on the ornate patterns that twisted and turned and shifted.
Just like-
He flinched suddenly, clamping his hands to his head.
His surroundings began to drown out, like he had been submerged in liquid.
It wasn't until he felt a hand on his shoulder and the voice cut through the liquid fog of his mind.
'It's okay, you're not there anymore' the voice murmured softly.
His eyes met the brilliant green of Arthur's. Who knelt down reassuringly. His soft features and bushy beard highlighted by the warm glow of the fireplace. His moustache formed a half smile, though it was one that held concern.
'I'm sorry' Johnny rasped. Trying to wipe the beads of sweat from his forehead with his calloused, clammy hands.
'You've been through a lot' Arthur replied, standing up and leaning on the desk.
'I just can't stop thinking about the temple, that creature, all those tentacles'. He shuddered.
'Shoggoths will break even the strongest of minds' Arthur said, slowly pacing around the room.
'We barely escaped from that temple before it attacked. The dynamite held it off. But then' Johnny gasped, closing his eyes 'The Baron'.
'You and I both know that megalomaniac would meet an unfortunate end' Arthur replied 'After what happened in China it's astounding that he could even brave the Antarctic'.
Johnny began to slowly rock again.
'You should have contacted me' Arthur sighed.
'I thought I could handle it'
'Not every expedition will end in finding ancient treasure and fighting off a few mummies' Arthur sighed 'There are some places humans aren't meant to explore'.
He looked at Johnny, who's large bulky form filled out most of the armchair. His skin was paler than usual, dark bags had formed underneath his eyes due to the lack of sleep, his moustache and chin unkempt and dotted with stubble.
Arthur moved to the plush armchair parallel to Johnny.
'Tell me about the nightmares' Arthur said.
Johnny sighed, leaning back slightly in the armchair.
'They always start the same' he sighed 'I'm inside the temple. Looking at the bright beacon, all those moving images of planets and moons surrounding it. Then I hear the other's voices, Pippin, Harry, Kilroy, Jing Lee's. It's like they're all trapped within the walls.' he sighed again, taking a deep breath.
'Suddenly, the creature bursts through the floor. All those shifting eyes and mouths screaming and gnashing. I run, taking different paths in each nightmare. But it always finds me, it's always right behind me. And then...'
He cupped his hands around his face, silently sobbing.
'It's trauma induced by the phsycic and psychological properties of the creature and the temple' Arthur exclaimed 'It's not easy to deal with'.
'I just want it to stop'
'And it will, I'm going to make sure of it' Arthur said calmly.
Johnny looked at him, somewhat puzzled, somewhat relieved.
'There's two options for this' Arthur murmured 'I can either teach you how to subdue the trauma, negate the psychological effects of your experience'.
'or?' Johnny said, looking worried.
'I can erase the memories' Arthur said, leaning forward in the armchair 'You and the others will forget the whole experience, it will be like it never happened. It's your choice'.
Johnny sighed 'We saw so much there, some of it quite beautiful. I don't know how the others would feel, especially Kilroy. After what he saw'.
'What do you mean?' Arthur replied.
'He found this chamber, some sort of observatory or astronomy chamber. There were maps and charts and carved into walls, so many stars and planets we never knew about'.
'Maybe it's for the best that the knowledge found there isn't recorded' Arthur said concerned.
Johnny shook his head 'He kept talking about a particular star map. Said it matched a map found at another site in the Oceania region. He said it had the same red star'.
Arthur's eyes widened, a strange surge of cold dred slithered down his spine.
'Did you just say a red star?'
Her soles are really one of the best...
just look at her slightly dry soles absorbed by the well worn insoles smell and imagine the intoxicating scent ;-)
You can tell from her slightly dirty soles that she has been wearing those high heeled well worn wedgies the whole day the sweet aroma is just irresistible!!! Care for a sniff A lick? Something else?
OK now... those are probably her hottest slides so far. When she puts them on I know its going to be very hard for me not to go out of control - I know its going to be hard for you as well ;-p
Comments are highly welcomed.
Want to see more pictures of her modeling and shoeplaying with well worn wooden slides and clogs? You can find much more pictures in:
How about that nice French pedicure and those smelly dry and sweaty heels? No doubt - this bitch is a foot fetish heaven ;-)
Any takers for a long sniff after wearing them the whole day?
Want to see more pictures of her modeling and shoeplaying with well worn wooden slides and clogs? you can find much more pictures in:
Acte 6 Retribution
Sub titled : Just Desserts
Still back in time before the Police Constables disconcerting discovery, we rejoin the small party in the alleyway. Sir Edmund had just fallen faint on the pile of alleyway rubbish where he ended up after his rather unfortunate misadventure with the Gypsy youth called Josey, who hiself his sneaking back up in the shadows. . Lord Edmund’s wife, The Mistress , unawares of her Husband’s fate, is still being led by Josey’s older companion deeper into the shadows of the very same Alley.
The now impatient Mistress found herself being led about 25 feet further down the darkened alleyway from where they had left Josey and her husband, the Lord Edmund. Suddenly the tall bearded Gypsy youth stopped, turned, and led her down into deserted court yard, surrounded by backsides of tall, empty looking brick buildings. The place reeked of old garbage , stale beer, and worse smells best left undescribed. The scurrying feet of tiny rodents could be heard , but not seen, in the dim light.
Well, where’s the girl!, the Mistress demands, looking around at the barren courtyard, failing to see anyone else around.
Well mum you see, that’s the bit of a trick I was tellin you bouts, and from his waistband they Gypsy lad draws a long knife, its blade gleaming wickedly as it is caught by the Moon lite just now peeping through the parting dark clouds.
Put that thing down young man, and get me the girl, The Mistress shrilly commands him, unfazed by the blade, not truly understanding what is taking place( the curse of a privileged, overprotected childhood).
Silence, the young gypsy bellows, spitting the words in her face, then leaning in whispers evilly into her ear, his lips moving her shiny dangling earring…lets have that purse now mum. Finally The Mistress realizes the Gypsy lads intent.
Now, never in her life has anything like that ever been dared tried on her, and an even newer, at first unrecognizable feeling is felt, as dread washes over her, making her cower before the youth, no older than her husband’s stable boy, Tim, who had felt her strap earlier that morning. A surrendering moan escapes her lips, no she states, never!. Unheeding her commands, The purse she is holding is callously wrenched from her slippery gloved fingers grasp. She just stares at him, unable to find her tongue as he opens the small purse with its rhinestone clasp, and looks through it, lifting up a ring of keys with rising interest.
At this time the gypsy girl appears out of the shadows behind The Mistress, wearing the sparkling diamonded bracelet, and nonchalantly swinging the gold watch by its chain as she holds its gold fob, coming around she is smiling mischievously at the Mistress, who straightens up as she catches sight of the imp.
The Mistress, loses any vestige of her panic, and in anger and rounds upon the girl as she stands mockingly in front of her. Why you thieving harlot, The Mistress hisses, attempting to smack the girl, who jumps just out of reach. Suddenly The Mistress words are cut off with a meek squeak as the point of the lad’s very sharp knife is pressed under her chin, forcing The Mistress to raise her head, effectively shutting her up. Apologize The Gypsy male snarls wickedly in The Mistress ear, apologies now, tell her you are quite sorry Mum…!
The Mistress stands frozen, a stern look upon her puckish face, her lips pursed in defiance, even with the knife pressing threateningly under her chin. Teach you some manners I will he hisses again, as he raises his hand, slapping her on the cheek, the Mistress’s dangling earrings fire bright glittering salvo as her head is whipped to the side, the point of the knife opening a thin scratch along her chin, which quickly wells up with crimson blood.
She turns her face forward, facing the pair of young hooligans, glaring at their insolence to someone of her high stature. She is stubbornly holding her ground, all feelings of distress replaced by arrogance and superiority. Well now, the Gypsy Lad says to the Smirking Gypsy girl, as he points the knife in between The Mistress’s breasts, its prickling point effectively quelling any more feelings of retribution. Looks like what words she won’t give to you, will have to be given in some other manner. The Mistress listens, confused by his words, then what he says next, makes his attentions all too crystal clear.
For lack of an apology my girl, he says to the petit gypsy lass, let’s say we accept some other compensation, shall we? The young girl beams, as her eyes dart to the Mistress, looking her up and down , eyeing the gemmed jewelry the Mistress is wearing, sparkles of which are reflected in her coy doe wide dark green eyes.
The mistress still mute with rage, her hands clenched, her arms rigid at her side as she looks into the Gypsy male’s stern eyes, as he moves his knife up, once again pressing up into her chin. Suddenly, her arms are grabbed by a pair of strong hands and pulled behind her back. Ello, took your sweet time about it, the Gypsy youth holding the knife says to the unseen newcomer. No names are said, and whoever is now holding her remains mute, but the Mistress assumed it was the one called Josey. The Mistress tries turning her head, put is prevented by the knife. Where’s my Edmund, she manages to squeak out the words, but receives no satisfaction.
The Gypsy lad holding the knife reaches out his free hand, grinning! Leave me alone, the Mistress orders him, trying admonish him into obedience, bur the gypsy boy just smirks as he methodically , briskly gropes along her body, admiring and inventorying her plentiful jewels, opening her sable, and the satin Bolero, as he checks her over for anything hidden from view. He misses nothing, even her hair is carefully raked through, undoing the braided bun in the process as a diamonded clip is pulled off and handed to the gypsy lass. Her ladyship, shirking back from his touch, now begins to whimper, no, not my jewels! He reaches up, his eyes bugging, as his hand snakes up between her ample breasts and lifts her necklace, admiring it as she tries to shake her head no, but is unable to do so because of the knife. She tries to say more, but the words of discipline stay dry in her throat, choking her as she realizes, finally, the futility of her predicament. The Gypsy boy then nods to the girl, handing her the purse, the honor is yours he says….
The young girl taking the open silver clutch purse, smirking, her eyes ablaze with delight, reaches up her free hand and takes hold of the necklace, pretty thing this, she says sweetly, mimicking her earlier words. She pulls the necklace from around the Mistress throat so the clasp comes forward, then nimbly she flicks it open with the fingers of one hand, and pulls it , swishing freely along the satiny fabric, until it falls from the gowns’ neckline. Thank you mum, the Gypsy girl whispers as she places it inside the purse, and reaching up touches a dangling earring, I’ll have those next she says, almost like she is talking her herself, and yanks off both, one after the other. She than gets into her work, and soon the Gypsy girl’s invading fingers friskily finish stripping the Mistress quite clean of all her shimmering, expensively large collection of jewels; rings, bracelet, brooches, the entire glittery roster. It had all been carried out like some bizarre rendition of reverse trick and treating, with the Gypsy girl peeling away and placing the jewels into The Mistress purse. When she finishes, the Gypsy girl steps back, looking with interest inside the now bulging purse, now containing a small fortune, quite unseen for the likes of them who inhabit this rea of the great city.
Suddenly The Mistress’s hands are let go, and before she can properly react, male hands briskly grab and slips off the sable from her back. Then the satin bolero is also peeled off and she sees both passed to the waiting hand of the gypsy girl. Still held in her place by the point of the Gypsy’s knife,The Mistress’s eyes grow big with dread, as she feels the back of her long slick gown being unzipped, and allowed to fall freely down to her feet, piling up in a shimmering pool.
This exposes the long, luxurious purple slip she is wearing, complete with small rhinestones decorating its straps and bodice. As the Mistress is standing there, frozen in awe struck disbelief , the knife is taken from her chin, and used to slice each of the rhinestone slips straps, and the mistress grabs the top of the now free hanging slip, and holds if fast to her chest in an effort to preserve whatever remained of her quickly waning dignity.
The Mistress tries to find words of protest, but she is too unbelieving that she , a lady who considers herself to be far superior to common folk of their ilk, is absolutely dumbfounded that they are daring to treat her like this, fails to be able to give any words their proper voice.
The older gypsy lad holding the knife steps back. Now he says, shouldn’t leave a lady standing, and he points his knife to a stack of crates. She stands there glaring. Move it on now mum, he suggests , his voice carries with it a with mocking tone of fake obedience. The Mistress unwillingly does so, and moving to a crate, sits down, the smell of something rotten permeates her nostrils as she faces her aggressor. The other two have seemingly, cowardly, disappeared somewhere into the shadows she notices with thoughts of righteousness.
The Gypsy lad mocks her, there, cannt say we didint leave you nufing, eh mum.( indicating her slip, gloves and high heels)! And by the ways, apology accepted he added sarcastically, mimicking a curt bow.
Then almost immediately her eyes are blindfolded from behind ( they hadn’t run after all) with something made of cloth that reeks of decaying meat, and she hears the pratfalls of several pairs of feet running off. And then, all is silent, except for the beating of The Mistress heart from a mixture of rage and incredulity.
As all is once again quiet around her, and believing she is now alone, The Mistress continues holding up her slip with one hand, while with the other reaches in back, groping for the blindfold. Suddenly her whole being jolts as something furry with sharp claws runs over her feet, and a noise, not quite a scream, but close, gurgles from The Mistress’s dry throat.
Ere now, the mistress hears the voice of an old lady, , whose there? , no rat by the sound of things, she continues on, approaching. What have we here, the old lady says to herself, a damsel in distress by the look of things, whit no dress, and she cackles at her bit of humor. Her dearie, lets get you up and The Mistress feels a pair of cold hands helping her shakenly to her feet.
Then her ladyship feels those hands, not giving her aid, but quite the opposite, as cold fingers began going over her. Then, with a dry cackle, and the old hags words reach the Mistress ears, left you with nothing dearie but a shiny slip, too bad, but old Chizzy will check anyways. The Mistress balks as the pair of cold hands grope her figure, the second time that evening! The Mistress recoils, knowing the old hag is looking for anything of value, when quite unexpectedly the Hags hands shoot up into the Mistress underarms, and The Mistress raises her arms automatically as nerves are pressed, and the slip falls down her figure gathering into a slithering heap at her feet. The Mistress tries to protest, her hands going to her blindfold, but she is pushed, and falls over the crate into a pile of cold ashes. Each of Her hands are lifted and she feels her long satin opera gloves pulled off, and then her high heeled shoes are yanked from her feet before she can begin to offer any type of resistance..
Thenk you dearie! the Hags voice close enough now that the Mistress can smell the wispy oders of whiskey and old pipe, as it reaches her nostrils. Old Chizzy thenks ye, for your contributions this evening, Honey. The Mistress hears the old hags cackling laugh as ‘Chizzy” makes her get away with the last of the Mistress’s pretty possessions.
For a few minutes all is again silent, The Mistress lays upon the pile of asses, dazed by what has befallen her, but then, the cesspool like orders from the garbage surrounding the ash pile start to overwhelm her making the Mistress snap back into the cold reality of her situation.
It was then, that , for the second time, the sound of shuffling feet is again heard approaching, and the Mistress tenses up, now expecting more ill fortune, not that she really had anything left of value to lose.. But then a familiar voice, Edmund’s, calls out. Dear, where are you? The Mistress tries to answer, but, her voice dry and choked has trouble making words. Finally she does manage to call out to her husband, but her voice is noticeably missing its’ usual sharpness.
Edmund comes to her aid and helps her up. After he undoes the blindfold, she finds herself looking into his questioning eyes, and she actually hugs him. Edmund, startled at the long forgotten display of affection, finds that it takes him a few seconds to regain himself. Hear, cants having you catch your death of cold, he says, almost lovingly. He helps The Mistress find coverings from the piles of old trash in the form of a couple of rough sacks of old, mildewing burlap.
Hair disheveled, streaks of dirt and ash covering their figures that are covered with dirty, rancid rags they make their way down the alley, to where they believe their car and chauffer are still waiting. Edmund and the Mistress are both a smelly, reeking mess, moving slowly as their bare feet hobble tortuously along the cobblestone path. But as they make their way, The Mistress tells Edmund what had conspired. As she does, The Mistress feels more of her old self returning, and begins to chastise the three gypsy youths, and how she will make them pay for their rude indiscretions’. Edmund is in total agreement.
As they make it back to the alleys’ entrance, a figure appears out of the mist. The Mistress squeals in startled shock at the dark figure standing at the end of the alleyway, she grabs Edmund and pulls him in front of her as one would a shield.
----
As the dark figure peers into the alleyways entrance, he suddenly see’s two shadowy forms emerge from the misty pool of light given off from the relit street lamp. The pair is both tottering like being quite intoxicated, smelling like something a rat would have dragged out of the garbage, faces streaked with ashes and muck, barely half dressed. Suddenly, spying him, one of the figures makes a quick move, placing the other in front.
At that moment the figure raises his hand and suddenly the night’s silence is completely shattered by the shrill wails of his street constable’s police whistle.
End of Acte 6,
Watch for the final two actes of this woeful saga;
Acte 7 (Harbinger) and Acte 8 (Footfalls - including the obligatory Epilogue), coming soon….
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Kah Kit Yoong----Thanks forstopping by...love your
work.....Knottyy (Darien Chin) pointed me in your direction....Not HDR
Standing on the Precipice (James watkins)
Standing on the precipice-
balanced at junctions,
space and time-
there are no excuses here
no explanations or rhymes.
Locked in lavish rhythm
far beyond the brink-
hid from help or rescue-
on jagged edge distinct.
Weighty voices-
tomorrows bearing-
form forces by the day...
Wound tight
in folds of failure-
by faltering historic foray.
Naked standing truth-
whirl winded and filleted-
open now -
body bleeding-
clean by choice-
ruthless rights parlayed.
Ring round the
restless righteous-
tormented tongues
twisted and advanced.
Weapons trained-
fitting filled-
hopelessness entranced.
New toys
for large little boys-
clicking clocks
in finest fashion.
Positioned perspective-
poisoned possessive power-
from places unimagined.
Whining women-
worn-out white wheezers-
talking days on end-
endless hours
of wasted words-
useless air-
precious spent.
Children torn
apart at seams-
families drugged
and drenched...
Callous toned
nightmares
running wild-
seeds scattered
in the wind.
Lost by generation's
darkened doubt-
aflame
the fearless world-
tossed aside by
hellish schemes-
now rampant-
flags unfurled.
Gone the green
and yearning years-
foundations
fairly laid-
of priceless pearl
in wisdom grown,
crown jewelry
on parade.
But new
the turning earth begins-
choice
once again delayed.
Come cold and calm
courageous men-
run boldly
to your fate.
And stand in
earnest errand bare,
an era
at the end-
now bind yourselves
betrothed and braced-
to finish
without fear. (James watkins 2004)
Best Large-
Every season has its own glory (James Watkins)
Every season has its own glory,
Every purpose has its own time,
Every moment has its own story,
Every story has its own line.
I have walked deep into cities,
Shining brightly never to fail,
Listened to heart cries,
Lost in the morning,
Standing on corners
Stagnant and stale.
Where is the hope
That brought forth the laughter?
Where is the song?
The music unveiled?
Why are the choices so
Wasted and bitter?
Gathered in hatred,
Broken and pale.
I have seen new stars on the mountains,
Fed on the movement of heaven and earth-
Filled up by frameworks
In perfect perspective,
Fueled by the turning of terrible truth.
Come now and sing of mists in the forest,
Sensual sonnets of songs in the dirt-
Come and behold the delicate balance
Of seasons and reasons and rhythms
And birth.
There are the voices lost in confusion,
Crushed in the thriving, deepening swale-
Calloused and cold the circling convenience,
Crippled commotion emotions prevail.
Beacons of quiet in last true performance,
Heralded nature in singular cause-
Perfect and pure
Though slandered and wasted
Displayed in transitional
Smoldering awe.
Severed connections, squandered projections-
Revered reflections, stammering tongues-
Coined by controlling contriving convections,
In different directions now written in stone.
Now is the time to look to the heavens,
Now is the moment to take up the cause,
Now is the voice of blazing amazement,
Borne on the winds of the gathering storm.
Listen to stream, listen to forest,
Listen to flower, and staggering fawn-
Listen to voices rolling like thunder,
Drink of the waters
And dance with the dawn.
Wrapped in the garments of natural beauty,
Facing the force of burgeoning call-
Strong in the seasons of life and creation,
Firm on foundations that never will fall.
James Watkins 09-01-08
Any volunteers for a long aromatic sniff from those smelly soles after she was wearing those flipflops the whole day?
Just imagine the intoxicating scent after walking around in those well worn slides the whole day. She'll be glad to hear what you'd like to stick in there ;-)
This is how her feet looks like after a long and hot day of walking in her flat slides.
I got my bonus at the end of the day... what would you ask if you were me?
Dirty and sweaty from wearing them the whole day - I bet you can imagine the intoxicating scent... any takers?
Her long toenails are killing me... one of the longest I've seen. Hope to get the chance to do something with them soon, bet you'd like that as well ;-p
I think that this snap is one of my best ever.
It always reminds me two open mouths that are eagerly waiting for my hot <vm... and yeah - she have got it ;-)
What do you think?
Want to see more pictures of her modeling and shoeplaying with well worn wooden slides and clogs? You can find much more pictures in:
WOW, what can I say... one of my favorites
This pictures got it all - toes, heels, ankles, worn wooden slides and highly aromatic soles after walking in a hot summer day.
to all you slides fans - a sexy teasing shoeplay treat.
Hope you all agree.
When I see this picture I don't know what to do first - sniff lick or spray ;-)
She'll be glad to know what you think.
Want to see more pictures of her modeling and shoeplaying with well worn wooden slides and clogs? you can find much more pictures in: