I hope I'm not screwing up, I'm writing a much longer story that will go into a different category. In that story I created a character that fascinates me. But in the other story she has a relatively minor part. But I think she deserves further exploration and as a result this is a long story but all in one piece. Thus it's posting in Novels and Novelettes Category where it could also go in Non-Erotic.
As my sub-consciousness' want is to have stories knock on the door of my mind as I lay in bed crawling awake some mornings. This is one, but the much longer story I'm writing is 20 chapters long with each chapter being 15 to 20 thousand words each. But it's not finished and I've invested a lot of time and effort into it. So I hope writing this one doesn't reveal too much of the other ones plot, thus screwing up.
But this character fascinates me and this story knocked on my mind somewhat forcefully. Plus, it's a custom fit for this character. She's a damaged character yet a very unique one. A powerful charismatic individual in spite of herself, yet one you can't help feeling a certain amount of empathy for. She's a shy retiring introvert who's also a Warrior Queen, both in the boardroom and out. At least I hope I can show that in the story because it's what she pounds into my head some mornings.
This story starts out somewhat slow with all the heavy action in the second half. It's also close to 60,000 word count, so if you want a quick read, this isn't it, also no sex. But have patience because it should be an action-adventure with a very interesting heroine.
Time
Heading
which
heralds forward or backward movement of the stories time line.
Hard time
Heading
is the time of action and violence.
When the font is italicized like this introduction then it indicates a foreign language.
Double curly brackets {{ }} indicates a special internal mental conversation.
Standard disclaimer
. "Characters in sex scenes are eighteen years old or over. All characters are imaginary, any resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental."
Again with my disclaimer indicating this story as being total fiction. I'll make some mistakes in police procedure, existing laws, and in the history of Japan and Japanese weaponry. I've tried not to but I know I will. Plus I took some literary license in the method of naming individual swords and their heritage. I hope these errors will not affect your enjoyment of the story.
No sex in this story but lots of action, graphic violence, some female nudity and foul language, plus a small incident of rape and subsequent justice.
Included are lots of Japanese swords, machine guns, karate, lots of action, lots of death. No sex... PG-13?, didn't I say no sex? Just like family movie night in Any town, USA.
Death and violence but no sex equals family movie night? And we wonder why kids are shooting each other in schools. Conflict resolution by extreme prejudice as taught by public mass media every single day.
Enough soapbox rant.
I'm not the least bit hypocritical... really I'm not.
'Man's infinite striving to be the best is his duty. It is its own reward.' Mahatma Gandhi
So please enjoy Betsy the Warrior Queen, Sword Bitch, Wife and Mother.
Time
is at the beginning and the end.
(Sensei Taji Toiguchi:)
The first time I saw her was out of the corner of my eye and everything stopped! ... my mind instantly focused and my adrenaline spiked. I do not mean that all physical motion stopped because it did not. Just things inside myself stopped... and I froze. That part of me that is the instinctive animal reflex. Freeze... don't move in the presence of danger and hope it does not see you. If it does... RUN!
But looking at her with my eyes as she stood in the front entryway of my dojo. I could not understand why my body had instinctively reacted like that. Her stance and body language screamed timidity. With head bowed her downcast eyes roamed the entire dojo seemingly focused at floor level. Yet somehow I 'knew' that she saw everything.
Although I didn't understand I had... even in those first few heartbeats. I had realized the ultimate paradox that is her.
Because as she moved again, my body snapped tight and my nostrils flared to scent the predator. But now my eyes and my mind can see why. It was in her movements, the difference between the movements of a lioness and a gazelle. Both are powerful, and elegant in their own way and graceful yet completely different, but she moved like them both.
There was a special economy, power and grace to her movements. Highly trained precise body mechanics that could not move that way accidentally, or even naturally.
It had been a long time and half a world away since I had seen someone move like that, and he had nearly killed me,
Yakuza
scum. Son of my skill, pupil of my heart, betrayer of my soul and dead by my hand... scum, just
Yakuza
scum.
I have not always been this old dojo owner teaching pudgy children to punch, kick and not fall over. Trying to teach obnoxious older children to swing a stick and not stab each other or themselves with it, teaching them the traditional words and beautiful movements. While they stand there on one foot in white canvas pajamas and colored belts... and try not to fall over.
But here I stand as a glorified babysitter watching a lioness stalk my domain hidden in plain sight. Yet I feel more alive than I have for the last 30 years. Strangely somehow I do not think she has spotted me yet.
So I'm content to watch her as she wanders in among my little charges and their
Katas
. The surprise that is not a surprise happens when she corrects the movements of a young girl into the correct form and motion. Proof she's been trained in the
Bushid
ō,
the Way of the Warrior. Even squatted down she towers over the young girl, she has to be six foot six or more.
The young man that I had been could see her remarkable beauty. Old man I was knew beauty could freeze a man long enough to provide for his death, if she wished to take it. Yet aesthetically old man that I am could appreciate the unique beauty of her too. Faced with that beauty why am I thinking of danger and death?
But I am, and I have no reason to except her movements, those highly trained precise movements. You cannot just train movements like hers. You have to start with something exceptional in the mold. Then you become a blacksmith on a very young child who doesn't understand. Almost beat it, temper it, and forge it into that truly exceptional warrior.
But the danger she radiates comes from within and can in no way be taught.
Although I was born and raised in Japan, and my wants and sense of what is beauty in a woman was imprinted on me then. I have lived in America long enough to know her beauty is much more than common beauty.
There are a lot of common everyday women who are beautiful; they are feminine and beautiful to men. Especially to their men; to their significant other, to the man that loves them. To their parents, siblings and children they are special and beautiful.
But... There's that one in ten thousand... no... Hundred thousand that's something... something more. One whose features are more symmetrical, more ethereal, even somewhat surrealistic; whose body is just several levels closer to aesthetic perfection, whose carriage and movement become close to the dance of life. Most of all they have something... something that says they are 'other' then we are. They are almost alien to us, with an internal power and presence that we can see but never emulate.