We walked out of the camps, no glances this time, no questioning looks, instead I could feel respect, an empowering feeling, especially for a man like myself, merely a subject of the Queen. My Queen now followed me, letting me lead for the first time, she was still in control, and where else should a shield be, but in front? I walked confidently, knowing the way back, my pants sagging a little from the weight of the black piece stuck in my waistband. It was nice that they filed down the sharp edges of the sight and other areas that might snag should I pull it out quick. Now the knight had a weapon other than that of brute force. Experience told me this gave me another form of attack, that of threat, just seeing it would cause others to think carefully of executing their nefarious ideas. I felt solid, strong, and honored. My queen was close, every so often when I slowed, she pressed against me and put her hand on my arm, letting her elegant fingers trace softly down my dark tanned skin, then grabbing me firmly before letting go. This Queen, how is it she learned to use every element to communicate? I knew that firm grip she gave was a vote of confidence, not of me, but of her skill in leading us. It was an assurance that things were as they ought to be. Though I was first, somehow I knew that physically being in front did not put me higher up, but put me more in her control. That didn't matter, what mattered was, tasting her again, pressing my mouth roughly against her, leaving a trail of wetness down her tattoo. I physically smacked myself to pull out of the day-dream, she looked surprised at the move, in fact jumped a little. I looked at her and made references to the bugs flying about, but surely she knew that this is the reason I worked my mundane, back-breaking job, to guard her and escape from the listless world that was mine, outside this Queen's castle.
First written in: opinionsofeye.com