PASSION FOR TINION (WIP Novel 120,000 words)
© Cupideros, October 21, 2006
CHAPTER 43: THE ROMANCE NOVEL
© Cupideros, Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Queen Morah in a see-through negligee and Lord Tweezer, in a red robe, played several board games: Chess, The King won. Backgammon, The Queen won. Monopoly, A draw. Go, The King won. Scrabble, The Queen won. Carefully each avoided any tough questions, requiring trick answers. Each wanted things to work out for Tinon’s sake. As he helped her put up the black squares and white engraved lettering, he found her fascinating in thinking mode. He also admitted to himself never allowing this luxury into his life. Warriors don’t play games, he once told Akyria. Warriors don’t have deep relationships. Warriors finish what they started—in this case war with the Quodarians.
Queen Morah put up the wooden game trays and closed the lid. She pleased herself by living out her maternal instincts. After all, she agreed to a child because Tinon needed healing. She didn’t let down the OGR. . She alone conducted the OGR grand meetings? No one else has conducted them. She’d be able to hide her pregnancy for at least five months under the blood-red OGR robes. But what then? In the eighth month? Ninth? Surely her identity will be discoverable in the last trimester. Then it’s a matter of finding out all the women pregnant on Tinon! No woman or girl would betray her! Queen Morah was one hundred percent confident of this. And sure finding out who was the Uber Bitch might be a daunting problem for an individual or organization. For SILTH or even the GSS the tasks might be doable, even if extremely difficult. One of Tinon’s women had to be the Uber Bitch—this they might already know. If she doesn’t hold the meeting, people might assume or guess her identity. She’s pregnant some man might say. However, Queen Morah countered, what good was the OGR without a planet to live on! She was still the Uber Bitch, an inspiration and a force to be reckoned with on Tinon. “We should play Clue because you and I hold back many secrets,” as she walked over to the food tray. She bent low.
Her black negligee fell into the soft folds of her flat ass, reminding him how silky soft inside she felt. He saw a hint of her sex. Having a flat tush also made Queen Morah delightful to Lord Tweezer’s searching brown eyes. He stretched, his abdomen muscles rippled. His eyes alert watched her return from the food tray. Her black neglee billowed out behind her.
“Awe.” She pouted. “You’re bored and want to fight.”
He grabbed her, turned her around, and pulled her down on the bed. His red robe open for he only closed it when the cooks arrived. Queen Morah nestled between his outstretched legs. Her butt cheeks cupping his flaccid sex. He folded her arms over her belly and held her wrists. “Asks me anything!”
Queen Morah giggled. “How unfair. I can’t even see your eyes.”
His laughter caused his naked abs to massage her back through her thin black negligee. “Some people train themselves to lie. The eyes don’t tell if people speak truth.” He kissed her neck. He then nibbled on her right ear.
She sighed, stared straight ahead, trying to guess how his eyes looked. She reversed her hands to hold his hands. Her palms barely able to cover his larger, hairy hands. “Tell me how’d you get that facial scar?” She paused. “Such a gorgeous strong face. I suspect your father prevented you from being a pretty-boy.”
‘A gigolo.” Lord Tweezer let out his longest laugh since they had been cooped up together in her bedroom. “You’re full of surprises.” He rocked her from side to side with his thick body forming a bowl, and her body responding like supple Jell-O. “You’re aware of my interest in heraldry.”
“Yes.”
“Heraldry obsessed my father. I was rather nonchalant about it. We’d dress up in full armor and go out onto the field, didn’t matter if the day was too hot, raining or freezing winter, seven foot of snow on the field. Other aristocratic families played these heraldry games with us. For it is a game of recognizing shields and coat and arms from a distance. From a distance because political alliances came into play. They didn’t have cell phones then. You knew which coat and arms might help you or sell you out. I am bored and don’t want to play. He gave me a backhand with his steel glove.”
“How cruel.”
“I wanted to be a conservationist. Care for the planet…but I was turned into the opposite.”
“In what ways?”
“You heard on Tinon’s past, on the West Side, we engaged in “Plate Warfare.”
“Despicable.”
“When every country is doing so. You have no choice.”
“That one of the reasons Tinon so unstable today.”
“From a conservationist point of view, this turned out to be a good thing. Once we couldn’t launch nuclear weapons because of the fragile atmosphere. We launch old conventional bombs at the joint plates under the earth. These Plate Wars caused considerable damage to the enemy. They also destroyed their neighbors too.”
“No wonder Tinon’s always grumbling.”
Lord Tweezer picked up her right hand, brought it backward up to his lips. He gently kissed her hand. “Only on the west side apparently.”
“We’re pretty quiet over here in the east.”
“No one wanted to merge peacefully for a greater end. We became nasty fighters.” Lord Tweezer paused. “My turn. How did you develop such stealth?”
“Martial arts.”
“Is that it? Two words.”
“Martial arts training.” She turned around to face him. Her soft nurturing face bore into his brown eyes.
He shrugged. “I’ve martial arts training, and I stomp around like an elephant.”
“You were trained in Power martial arts.”
“I had a type of ninja martial arts.” She intertwined her hands to make flapping butterfly wings. “I call it Butterfly martial arts.”
“Your style suits a woman’s psychology.”
She laughed loud. “How so?”
“You wouldn’t want to wake up our baby would you—stomping away after you feed him?”
“Is that your excuse to avoid child rearing duties—your stomping around?”
He thought carefully before he answered. He did not want her to feel abandoned. In truth, he knew little about raising a child, only how to kill men, women, children. “At least I have a excuse.”
“True. Most men simply avoid it without saying a word.” She paused. “Honestly I don’t mind, raising our girl child.”
“Boy.”
“Girl.”
“Twins run in my family line.”
“Scientifically the woman decides if it’s going to be twins. But any way, where is your twin then?”
“He didn’t make it.”
“Sorry to hear that.” She paused. “I didn’t know.”
“Doesn’t matter if it’s the males or females, we Tweezers have twins.”
She found their disagreement saddened her. What’s wrong with a girl child? “We have been stuck in this room for a while. How about a palace tour?”
“You trust me a little.”
“A little.”
“Why don’t we go outside and stretch our legs?”
“So you can run away!” She laughed and squeezed his hands. “You’re not going anywhere until we’re sure the baby’s tucked in.”
“When do you think it’ll be? I’ve pressing problems back at Galan.”
“Soon. Soon.” She broke away from his embrace and stood up. Let’s have a big dinner and watch some antique-earth-action movies from my Pritee-U1 box. That will simulate your need to get outdoors and stretch your legs.” She retrieved her remote from the divan in corner of her room. She pressed a button revealing her CyberPages screen from behind a sliding slab of wall plaster.
“Action simulation is better than sitting all day.”
Walking back to him, she turned on grave smile. “I hardly call making soup a sitting all day activity!”
His hard, and cabin fever dark eyes, softened. “Making Soup…making soup…. How to describe it?”
“Making love.”
He reached out and grab her hand. “Making a romance novel.”
“We’re not making a romance novel,” she said in a coy tone, pulling her hand from him. “In a romance novel, the two people experience many difficulties keeping them from getting together or deciding to be together. By the end of the book, they decide to be together. Then they look forward to all the wonders you and I have enjoyed.”
He smiled broadly and grabbed her soft hand, without a ring on it. He marveled at her simplicity. She didn’t seem nostalgic at all. His ring, her ring, gone into the fire. Still they both found pleasure in their marriage togetherness; no matter how short-lived it may be. He found this comforting. “Yes, definitely beyond deciding togetherness. Okay we’re made a love novel.”
Her heart lurched in pity as his hand secretly searched for her wedding ring. She allowed him this Improper Psychology, reaching for proof of his love for her. Material things, the best man or best girl, how many flower girls, how long her wedding dress train, the photos and how many layers on the wedding cake, do not matter. It’s what in our hearts. Our hearts makes a marriage--marriage, she thought. “Think, Lord Tweezer, how many girls and women, out there on our planet, Tinon, alone, are stuck in the romance novel phase. They cannot consummate their relationships; they cannot spend time together frolicking in silly activities,” she pointed to the tray loaded down with Monopoly, Scrabble some distance away by the bedroom door. “They’re searching for a way to cross that romantic bridge to their palace of love.” She raised his strong, callused hand to her lips as her blue eyes canvassed the tiny golden sparks in his brown eyes. “We don’t have to cry or fret or worry if we’ll ever join together.”
His eyes bolted on to her blue pools and he wanted to swim in her emotions. But he remained silent. Can a King afford such luxuries, he thought? True some couple out there can’t achieve the love novel. Does that couple understand the cost of love? Nearly everything is at my disposal for making a loving marriage. Yet, love cost. How well off the lad stuck in his romance novel. He can dream of a better drama than possible in real life. His fantasies never bore him. He easily moves from thought to thought proclaiming his love and does not have to show it. He is a character to be envied, not pitied. All heartbreak and trials remain postponed until his love novel begins. Fate drags man, in all his animal superiority, into breeding his kind like any other animal. He is a slave to creation. He remembered vaguely The Last Prophet’s words on why women wanted to breed, but so sketchy was his memory of it, he felt unsure to accept any truthfulness to his recollection. The Abyss wants children and we people must call it love, because so mundane and boring is this work, what else would trick us into believing living and getting on with children is grand. Do we not cry or fret or worry about our children? Will we not cry or fret or worry if our children will find love? We must polish the mundane “must do” events to give life the drama of dreams and fantasies. Our entertainment, television, movies, music, computer games, high cultured museums, no matter how sophisticated and technologically savvy are no different than the bloody Roman coliseum games. In this, the common boy and the King are no different, Lord Tweezer thought. Neither one has left Plato’s cave unscathed by the harsh sunny reality outside and they both long deeply to go back inside that cave of murky innocence. Every man dreams of the high-road marriage but wants endless romance SMAG (Sexual Men’s Abracadabra Goddess GraspGrind and Groan Magazines) with twelve minute consummation as it’s peak. Women who want SLAG (Sexual Ladies Abracadabra God GraspGrind and Groan Magazines) with an hour consummation as it’s peak seem able to compartmentalize SLAG to some minor significance in their lives. Why women and girls wanted marriage and children remained a mystery to the common man and to Lord Tweezer, the King. “Women are blessed. They understand love with flute like clarity,” he managed to say at last.
Queen Morah smiled carefully. These ponderous thoughts brought a man into the deep waters of his heart. This precarious time must not be interrupted or trivialized. Such a young green shoot of love requires a nurturing caring hand, prudent watering and looking after. She made sure her smile was not too broad and not too shallow as she lay across him and retrieved her pillow. “Pillow Fight! And she swung the first blow bonking him on his head.”
End chapter 43.
The greatest religion is the religion that loves.
The nation that eliminates all religion shall surely die.
Religion is the bread and thread of the nation.
Even corrupt religion if it is the only religion
Left in the nation, shall not be done away with.
For the Abyss alone destroys or restores or starts religions.
FROM THE 3,500 SAYS OF THE LAST PROPHET CE.
