The Women that I Have Loved…
and Their Swords
Burnvictim on November 11th, 2009 at 12:05 pm
It isn’t often that a fellow meets a lusty lass with a sword and does not fall in love right away. This is sort of my amorous history: I see a maiden fair and the glint of steel, I dismount my pure white stallion Grivendolt, I pledge her my undying love for the rest of the Ren Faire season. So it goes. Or so it has gone. Only a few can really shine truly brilliant in my crown of medieval romantic achievements. And here they are:
Asleana, a draught of innocence that I did imbibe so many late summers ago. Her father was a farrier and he did make for Grivendolt shoes of pure silver–useless, alas, but his addle head was wounded in the War Against the Dog People (AKA Vietnam). Asleana loved to sup with me. She brought me tankards the contents of which varied depending on the dress of our company. If it was black silk, then grog we did drink. If it was fur, then mead. If they donned the attire of workmen with NASCAR caps atop, then Bud Light was quaffed apleanty. She really knew how to play skittles. She smelled of honey… or maple syrup, now that I think of it. She remained a pristine snowflake (AKA I didn’t fuck her).
Zelyra was a blonde warrior-maiden of the Sandy Steppe. A princess, if I recall correctly, descended from some displaced Aryan line. She wielded a falchion, held it aloft at almost all hours as a show of her might. But I did managed to convince her to lower her arm, at which point I grabbed her weapon away, and forced her to deal with a weapon of a fully different sort (AKA my dick). She did not remain so pristine, but she did appear snowy (AKA covered in cum).
Ah, beautiful, youthful Eubesemay, how could I taint you with my worldly touch? Nay, she was espied by me only from a secret vantage point, behind the stand which sells turkey legs. I watched her swordplay as she faced off against other swordmasters of the realm. I spilled my ghost for her, far away from her fragile body, for I feared it might burn her as an acid burns the face of your enemy once you have throw a phial of it in his face. I think she was probably too young to understand my love. But I wrote her a letter confessing all this to her, none the less. She was tragically slain by her own blade later that month. No one can figure out how she managed to stab herself as she drove her Plymouth down the highway, but she was pierced clean through, as if she wanted to make love to her sword. It was a very fine sword, and sold at 25% above standard value in GP.
Felzleeshie, she had an amazing outfit. I cut it off her amidst the fury of passion. This was during my Zorro phase, so you can imagine how I was dressed. She said at first that our costumes clashed, and then she said that I should have asked before cutting her clothes away. But I told her how I was overcome with her beauty and her plumage and she gave herself over to me complete (AKA I got to 5th base). She smelled of eels and brimstone, which you wouldn’t have guessed by looking at her picture now would you? Beating off to this image doesn’t beat me–I loved her true (AKA up the poop-chute).
Shiralamandra, it would be easy to say that she cast a spell on my heart (AKA my dick), but magic isn’t really real, and sex appeal is. Let’s face it, fellas, some witches are just hot. Too hot for words, but not to hot for cocks. She had a really nice sword-stick, and I even let her stick the brass pommel in my hinterlands (AKA my barnacle). She seemed to derive great pleasure from this, which disgusted and enticed me alike. She once stabbed me for no good reason. I really hated that bitch.
Gwyndlass, O temptress true! You are peerless in your class. She wielded her blade like none other. She wielded it, dare I say, like a man. She commanded and demanded and when she was done all of that, she reprimanded me. And I took all that she dished out for I deserved it. I’m a bad boy. I forgot my sword that year, so I had to rig up a crude club. I felt so foolish. I needed Gwyndlass to give me orders. I didn’t even mind when she head-butted my mother, and that’s usually a deal breaker. I wish she hadn’t run off with that barbarian Mike.
2 Comments
Poopjaw | November 14th, 2009 at 2:29 pm
Whoah there, you need to brush up on your spotting skills.
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The last chick is e-x-t-r-e-m-e-l-y terrifying.
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I need to get to work on a banner stating ” Google’s #1 Website about Negro Tits “