Message-ID: <26464asstr$969693002@assm.asstr-mirror.org> From: "Sean Farragher" X-Original-Message-ID: MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset="iso-8859-1" Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit X-Priority: 3 (Normal) X-MSMail-Priority: Normal Importance: Normal X-MimeOLE: Produced By Microsoft MimeOLE V5.50.4133.2400 Subject: {ASSM} From TxM6 Queen of Diamonds Gets Fucked Date: Sat, 23 Sep 2000 03:10:02 -0400 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: kelly, Vulpine Also From TxM6 Hyperfiction http://www.txm6.com (updated 9/16/00) http://www.txm6.com/enfer (updated 9/17/00) http://www.txm6.com/lcfallon http://www.farragher.com (Poetry updated 9/20/00) TxM6 is entirely a work of fiction for adults only. Copyright (c) 2000 Sean Farragher. 1092X Queen of Diamonds Gets Fucked Taxi Dispatcher: "Next up. Get the Bags," For seven years, waiting on the taxi stand Henry dealt cards, swapping fables, while he held his sacred Hudson Street taxi, Car #4, in place at Ground Zero, Bridge Plaza North, Fort Lee, NJ. Henry did not just play at cards; he dealt words and bartered secrets with fellow highway-mavens slash vagabonds. He listened fervently to intricate commentary: who's fucked up, who's stealing, and what driver had gotten lucky. Henry didn't set himself apart, and he would never believe that he was stuck in his cab and deserved it. Always the optimist, he believed in his luck. After all hadn't he survived fucked up Nam. Hadn't he rolled over in so many slicks, he could count the welds? Once upon a year ago while playing solitaire, waiting at the taxi stand, fourth or fifth up, hoping against hope that he didn't get the "bags" which was driver slang for a pickup at the local A&P or another loony shopping call. Concentrating, Henry looked down on the smooth well worn borrowed cards: three of spades and a four of hearts covered two black kings unsteadily held on the crest of Henry's opinionated thighs. Suddenly, the queen of diamonds flipped across the steering wheel falling between Henry's feet, somehow caught the edge of the well between the two front seats. Sliding mysteriously, inside, hidden, tucked under, unseen, until it popped free, months or years later; finally resting under the ripped front rug and the brake pedal. Wedged between the hinge of the accelerator, and wires dangling underneath the dashboard and taximeter, the card collected the spirit of the taxi stand. Henry had always intended to retrieve the missing card, first when he had tossed it, but also later. Anything happened, distracting everyone's attention, and he didn't. Over the months, the rains came followed by snow, ice, and salt. Next three teenagers had a soda fight in the cab spilling sodas and coffee, Burger King wrappers and McDonald's added accents. Finally, after countless fares, arguments over round trip drug runs, stiffs, luggage, car washes, that tenacious queen of diamonds, dirty, stained, head separate from body, reappeared. Henry mounted the relic on his dashboard, pressing edges to edges, joining neck to head, and arm to shoulder. He had no idea why I kept it, but Laurie when she noticed it, accepted it as a talisman, a sign from a future passed. Henry laughed. "You're stoned, aren't you? "No, I though you saw that too," Laurie said, surprised by hesitation. "I do, but I often collect artifacts for collage." "Let me keep it for a while," she persuaded. Not expecting refusal. "OK," Henry smiled, but holding the torn playing card tighter, he released it slowly, playfully not letting go, knowing he couldn't win, and then softening his posture when Laurie, knowing Henry, she caressed first the inside of his lips with her finger, pushing first one then two deeper into his mouth, exploring his teeth, forcing his mouth to devour her, and as she fucked he suckled hard loosening his grip on the card, until she could snatch it back crushing it with her tightened fist. "Don't worry, I'll give it back. Besides, ..." The more Laurie kissed the more she wanted more than a kiss. These tall unnatural statues Henry and Laurie had fused together on the shot gun side of Henry's cab, kissed until she pushed him over, then raising him up, rocking him down, swaying to the jazz played radio like oak and pine dancing, although no one could be certain, who was the oak, the man or the woman. Suddenly, Laurie handed Henry back the Queen of Diamonds, "Here, write something on it, and Henry wrote simply, "I will love you until death do us part." Laurie answered, "I will, writing on the margin of her half of the card, what at first seemed out of context, but considering what would happen, appropriate: "your hands as your desires are rough and perfect." Henry repeated the phrases. Laurie kissed him as tenderly as a child and as passionately as Cleopatra. After embrace, pulling back, sighs, Laurie, after reading what Henry had written nine times nine, she felt that sudden dread called "loss." At first Laurie inexplicable ripped the queen of diamonds asunder, tearing it open against its old scar; so now they held half of the whole queen now almost quartered. Hearing that undeveloped howl from the Queen, Henry felt uneasy, and accepted his half reluctantly finally putting it away as Laurie's half disappeared in her purse. Laurie grim terrified held Henry. He said nothing, held her hand, kissed her forehead. It was as if Laurie saw the shards of a terrible glass dream, and taking that hurt from the splinters of the playing card almost as a warning. What she said to herself: who? Moods change, and as if the lights had darkened back home in their bedroom, Henry was agile and persuasive in the tight musculature of his taxi kissing Laurie, teasing her breasts, under her blouse, with gentle fingers and then spitting out an undulating tongue, he breathed the nipples, finally, kissing them whole, rising up, like a swimmer, breath rustled the sum of her mouth, as she breathed back, also an athlete, a suffer, taking him inside the wave, rising atop him, covering his hair and his swerve with her hands, pushing him up higher, and then downward, throwing her tits, saying that word, these are mind, eat them, bite them, rubbing his face and his hands insistent as passionate as that quickening before orgasm, rushing his neck, his eyes, his every sensory station, and then pulling them both out, exposing her cunt, ripping her pants, thrashing the pubic pear at him, as if he were the source, the sun, not caring what anyone saw or said, she rose on top, rubbing him as old fisherwomen rubbed salt into flesh, wanton, whistling with breathlessness, and then as she came, unexpectedly, from just his hands on her nipples, and the passion of their breathing. At the end, Laurie collapsed as the waves against the hard sand, sinking down as the ripples disappear, and Henry told her how when he came in his pants her ass shimmered, her body glowed, as she came, holding him like iron, her half of the queen of diamonds falling from her tee shirt pocket. September 1992 In another card game, after the kidnap and murder during the spring and summer of Laurie Fallon, time pushed ahead as if it were a stalled truck lost in September 1992. None of the card players missed at first the nine of spades, not even Henry who should have suspected something, until the game failed, when one wag, fearing he had been cheated, counted the deck, found one card missing, and wandering around the taxi, looking for the missing card, wedged under an unsuspecting driver's ass, Henry remembered the half card Laurie had given him, last year, after fucking, and holding his half in his hand, all Henry could read, was until death, love Laurie. The future never happens. Laurie was not dead. No one had been kidnapped. Bored Henry, insensitive to the Frankenstein Murders, reported almost daily by the media, played cards, drove his cab, and returned home to Laurie as if nothing would happen. April 21, 1992 Ten days after, Henry, disconsolate, missed Laurie. Terrified, he believed the police would save her. He felt certain. Nothing would happen to a beautiful pregnant woman he loved more than himself, and then the fiend, calling himself, Abel, left the mutilated Laurie ground up, pressed to death, decapitated, and horrible, as some trash on the taxi corner. That didn't happen. Henry imagined it. Laurie survived. Again time shifted, and Henry's taxi rose out of the swell of the GW bridge, into upper New York, near 175th Street, winding around the access roads, between the crack pimps and whores, over the heroin needles, tires and bare feet of the homeless rubbed easily against the screams of a hundred more murders, actual and imaginary, serial and solitary. Pain had no secret scheme. It itched, and Henry rubbed his palms, anticipating a change seven months before Laurie's murder, dismemberment and disposal on that same taxi stand where they talked, held hands, and when it was later, and he was lonely, had some furtive sex under the yellow stains of the traffic light, in the same shadow of the bridge, against the same yellow curb where Laurie's head would roll from a garbage bag, and rock until the still motion gravity pushed back against Satan, and Henry reaching for his lover's mouth, tasted the amalgam of tears, cigarettes, and cheap booze, thrown away discarded with the bones, muscles, and hair, so careful combed, her dead, made up faces, gruesome and beautiful in the early July light. All this didn't happen. Laurie lives. Everything happened in the mind of the victim. There was a perp. What will happen cannot be stopped, nor can the fates alter what's unreasonable. Laurie survives by accepting temporary grace of innocence and laughing about it like a kid who discovered he was a really good liar. Soldiers at War: Laurie Fallon KIA. October 20, 1965 through July 11, 1992 Henry recalled Vietnam when he found the queen of diamonds, a third, and then a fourth time. The card had no symbolic value. Not the death car, and not life, but something between, a symbol of boredom, and like an old coat with frayed sleeves, Henry put it on, walked the room decent. Henry drove to Laurie's funeral and he heard the belly laugh of the bugle, and then the sharp familiar cadence of military mourning here and there, Vietnam and Fort Lee, at the DC Memorial, and at Laurie's grave. On Laurie's grave he placed her photograph and the two halves of the queen of diamonds, carefully joined as if they never had been separate. Henry mourned Laurie, like most lovers; he missed hands, eyes, and as the sun flickered on the horizon caught the sleeve of the dark gray night, as a final sigh and a blessing, Henry raised up the queen of diamonds, placed it behind the sun visor of his cab for safe keeping. Henry watched Laurie dance. He watched her smile at Aaron, take her clothes off and put on a new skin. He saw her born again not as a Christian but as a spirit. Henry watched the lovely Laurie Fallon transform into a woman of the streets, or an angel of the company of thieves. He loved all her masks and promised to restore them all. -- Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: | | FAQ: Moderator: | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Archive: Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository | |, an entity supported entirely by donations. | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+