Keira Knightley Wails Dirty Blues Ch. 02

"Aaaaah! God...KEIRA! My God! I am going to cum in you, sweetheart!!! Oh my God!" I cried, bracing myself as the refreshing feelings took over my whole being.

My brain began firing plentiful surges of dopamine, nothing mattered at this blissful moment. It was a moment of creation.

I would succumb to the paradise between Keira's sweet legs. I had lasted for as long as I could inside her. I gritted my teeth, now it was time to claim her with love.

"Please, please...last just a half-second longer for me, lover! ....pleassse!" I heard her implore lovingly with a gentle half-mumble as she patted my chest. Panting, I held my breath slowing down my pace at her humble request.

Her tender lips kept releasing the most delightful moans and wails against my hot ears every time I stuck my cock inside of her, claiming her. I was ready to explode inside of that heavenly body!

Once her skinny, porcelain arms began to push my black as molasses frame away from hers, slipping against my sweating muscles, I knew that I was bringing on her orgasm!

I brought her head away from our impassioned love-making session, clutching her by the nape of the neck. I then lightly took her whole neck in my right hand, like prey. I wanted to see her helpless fox-like face shrivel up in ecstasy before my eyes the moment I released my sperm into her.

I froze because this wasn't the face I expected to see. It had changed! It was Gracie looking back at me with my hand around her throat, not the actress whose face was in all the movie posters at the time! What the hell was happening?!!

Pillowed behind the sensual beauty of the thick curves of her Asian eyelids, Gracie's steely sequin eyes were staking me with rage. She was usually defiant, but in a flirty way that stemmed from insecurity, never filled with wrath like this. This couldn't be Gracie!

"Did I hurt you... B—o-y?" The face menacingly asked, scoffing.

"Gracie?!!!! It can't be! It just can't be you!" I cried, feeling petrified and uncentered.

The way she spoke to me was so disheartening. It was blood-curdling and metal-like, not human. I tried to pull my pelvis away, but I was still inside her! I was holding its jaws inches away from my face. The skin was scaly, hot and crawling with what appeared to be moving spiders as I escaped from the nightmare I was having.

Although the dream quickly passed, sleep paralysis kept me pinned to bed. It had to be the witching hour: when demons, phantoms and ghosts can slip between the worlds.

There was a presence in the cabin with me. Perhaps in the same room with me. I could sense it! Something was looking right at me...from somewhere. I could not move, only I was awake. It was catatonia in my own body! It was like being trapped in a coffin of flesh. Was I dead?

"Enter, the golem, no?" Interrupted Carlo...in a foreboding murmur.

I suddenly stopped narrating the story to him. Stopped telling him about the dream I had on the day that Keira Knightley, the real actress, was invited to stay at the ranch with the Hobbs and myself. It was about nineteen years ago.

Sun-beams were pampering us all like lazy kittens on the expansive, peaceful, paradise-like terrace of the Cafe Les Deux Magots in the city of lights...Paris. The morning was a few minutes away from becoming the afternoon with small crowds being seated around us for brunch.

"Exactly, only this was no goddamned golem. This was actually an incubus," I answered, Carlo's eyes widening with the information.

"You obviously found a way to communicate with it. What is their domain called? The place where all spirits gather at the witching hour, especially evil ones?" he added with curiosity.

"It is called Sitra Ahra, or more generally referred to as The Other Side," I answered.

"Like the song Jim Morrison wrote..."

"The reason why he's buried in Paris, my friend, is because he could write like that...about those topics," I replied in a tangent from the matters at hand.

A woman sitting near us out on the terrace began casually speaking to her waiter about the upcoming transit strike in Paris after settling her check.

Her license had been suspended she had said in her native tongue. She would have to find some people to carpool with for her trip south to Lyon. Carlo had been busy ogling all of her body parts since he sat down.

She was this extremely French, blonde-haired, alabaster beauty with rich blue eyes. We both became curious and followed their conversation for a bit until the waiter left.

"Did you know that the ancient Greeks inhaled the volcanic vapors to bring about a trance and communicate with the Gods? Jim Morrison did that with drugs." Interrupted Carlo, again.

"Well, Jim Morrison was truly a shaman, it wasn't all just an act for us!"

"And what about this Dolores again? That woman in the ghost town you were helping?" He probed.

From having my daily strolls under the clouds of Dolores's unconscious, I had been drawing a bit closer...closer to finding this malicious entity, this...thing!

I had been busy chasing this sprit-demon, or dybbuk as they are called, for a while. For almost twenty years now.

...It was still inside Dolores and had already caused far too much heartache on Earth. The tide would slowly turn for this...child-like human that was still on the loose...I thought to myself, before answering Carlo's question...

"Dolores? She will surely go insane if I don't hurry. I was in dire need of divine allies when the time arrived. Even a fallen angel could help. My confidence had been damaged by Gracie. I was weak. I figured some hustle could get me through this somehow...I turned to the incubus for help."

As a former all-American athlete winning had been everything to Carlo Vista; be it winning fair and square, winning ugly, or via a series of nasty fouls. You are remembered for the rules that you break, he often reminded me.

Sometimes I questioned why I liked him, yet here I was admitting to getting things done in exactly the same way.

He knew the word well...hustle.

We had both wanted to become guerrilla journalists then. In fact, after we first met and applied to La Sorbonne together, one of the first serious questions Carlo Vista put to me was...what my angle was, my masterplan.

But I was no grifter like him. My morals wouldn't let me cheat in that way except maybe if I had nothing left to lose which had sadly been the case ...then.

"You mean ask a demon to turn on another evil force!? For it to help you to handle a dybbuk? Your enemy's friend is not your friend, Blues!"

Carlo was acquainted with my little network of healers and seers, the Little Indians. He attended meetings and let us host a few of them from the palatial apartment that he had with his wife in Paris. Chartreuse Gushivi and I encouraged him to come to more, and possibly join us, but he was mostly there to socialize and network.

So many important people, big cheeses from every walk of life dabbled in the occult, and still do. Carlo always kept his circle wide, at least he was a loyal friend.

Carlo would joke that he never wanted to drink our Scooby-Doo, "scary" Kool-Aid, adding that he wanted to...some day...make it to heaven if he could. The God-fearing Italian-American in him wanted to be saved in the end.

His career as journalist jump-started after college because he was skilled at brazenly conning his way into places where he did not belong.

Carlo did not possess the patience to endure any stagnant wages and he could not commit to all of the serious writing and waiting involved in order to become the journalist of distinction that he wanted to be. Reporters often have to watch and wait for their stories to develop, and there's a ton of bureaucracy involved most of the time.

He stayed in Paris, regardless, pursuing a career as a freelance photographer a.k.a. paparazzo specialist. He benefitted from the lucrative sales of the spicy pictures of celebrities.

This was after marrying his wife Cadence. His one-time editor and wife led him into that enterprise. She was a former high-society prostitute and the scandalous owner of a French tabloid.

"I didn't want to. I had never tried something like that. But, yes, the spirit torturing Dolores told us how it had entered Jean-Michel Basquiat. It was easy for the spirit to enter the painter because Basquiat was only a child when he was struck by a car in Brooklyn.

I had wanted to get the bastard back for that, to be honest. It had to be rotten to the core. Yet again, this same spirit was squatting the body of a living human. If that isn't a dybbuk, I don't know what would be!"

"That's right. Your family knew Jean-Michel Basquiat. Your mother!"

"Yes, we loved him dearly! I needed help. An alliance, even with an incubus, could be the solitary game-changer I was looking for. Maybe it had never been done before, but the dybbuk had to be stopped somehow because it would not be able to stop itself."

Like Jung said, "everything that we don't stop, we are doomed to repeat." This was a sick individual with a heart that was completely misled and a soul that was equally lost. Human once, yes, but with no idea what contributions in life were all about.

"Yeah, I see. That's fair enough, but not all of us can live happy virtuous lives in the garden of Eden, Dirty-blues!"

"What about love, Carlo? The basis of everything??" I pressed onto him.

"Well, yes, love can be, ahh, heavenly?? But, do remember, another creature once cried '...awake, arise ...or be for ever fall'n!' I need a crummy cigarette!! Remember when you could actually smoke in these cafes, like a human being!?"

"You're quoting Satan from Paradise Lost, aren't you? But I don't think he smoked, Carlo! Some people compare the ban on smoking to the ban on absinthe within French culture..."

"Exactly! What's next, bans on leering?" Carlo cried, I guess because he never pretended, or intended, to ever hide his shameless leering at women's bodies.

"Really ..Leering, you say?" I asked him, nodding and holding back my laughter.

"Anyway, did you ever even learn its name?? This...dybbuk."

"I hope there's never a ban on leering, or you could be commuted to serving long life sentences behind bars just from this morning!" I responded.

Carlo chuckled at my comment because he knew I was right, his eyes gradually becoming solemn again pending the name of this mysterious person.

"And, then now...the name? It has to identify itself, don't it? It's in all the rules, everything in the universe is given a name."

"It told me that I would never be able to defeat it. After taunting me like that for days, it confessed to me that its name was Ofonius Tigellinus, if I am pronouncing it right.

This was only after a lot of grumbling, spitting, bargaining and moaning.... Intense questioning, mind you, wherein I demanded that it identify itself through Dolores. It finally did, with a sly grin. It wasn't easy!"

"Who in the hell could that be and from what goddamned time?? What a peculiar name!"

"It seems that this dybbuk wasn't exactly a nobody in life! I learned that it used to inhabit the majestic palace of gold and vermillion that once belonged to emperor Nero. It had died by its own hand in 69 A.D. The body had never been buried properly. Both the suicide and the un-anointed corpse are the markers of a dybbuk."

"Well, Nero's throne is probably now in a lava pit somewhere west of hell for killing his own mother! So this creature must have helped him take care of business!"

"Exactly! He was once one of Nero's closest henchmen up to his dirty old tricks again!"

Carlo sat with his arm flung behind the backrest of his chair as we talked...slouchy, as usual, a bit distracted. It had been his sitting-style since I had known him...strange. When I looked ahead, I knew why he was a bit distracted, at least this time. Carlo made his mouth into an "O" shape and was mock huffing into the air.

The woman sitting near us from before who had been getting ready to leave was now busy aligning her perl-colored pantyhose in the sun, sitting up on her chair. Her warm, creamy calves and rich thighs were trapped under the delicate sun-bathed nylon.

Once she moved to stand, I too couldn't help but caress the narrow shoulders, snake-like back, and lithe figure on this creature with my own eyes. She gracefully began reaching for her suit jacket from the coat racks near the gate. She had a figure that was wasp-like as she slipped her back into this dressy plaid yellow and black blazer.

"Je t'aime, my darling!!! Of course, you can carpool with me tomorrow, if you like!! You must have gotten your license suspended for driving me nuts!!" Hollered Carlo.

Carlo Vista grabbed at his camera and mock pointed it at her body. Everyone around us, including me, looked at him in shock.

The girl began smiling off the side of her mouth whilst exquisitely walking to the curb where her bicycle was parked. Her trim yet fleshy bouncy buttocks were tumbling behind her yellow mini dress as she walked; a slim cigarette dangling from her moist red lips.

As she moved to light the tip of her cigarette with her legs in an inverted "V" over her silver bicycle; her lighter appeared to barely be able to flicker in her small child-like hands. Her waiter rushed to the curb to light the tip of her cigarette for her.

"You're such a goof, Carlo Vista!" I mocked.

Still on the receiving end of Carlo's dirty leers, this beauty continued to smile sloppily before plopping her perfect tush upon the old fashioned silver bicycle. She propped it backward for him in front of our surprised eyes, still puffing away at the ciggy.

"Mon Dieu, was that for us?!" Cried Carlo as the girl peddled back out into the city via the Rue de Rennes after a series of prolonged giggles; the hem of her skirt billowing upwards letting us catch glimpses of her tight light-blue panties in the breeze.

"What a goddamned little hussy-angel!" Exclaimed Carlo.

We calmly watched as the bicycle began slowly disappearing following the swath of bike trails near the zooming traffic.

"I can see why you like living in Paris! You just can't help yourself with the cussing though, can you, Carlo!?" I huffed.

"Cuss' words are like poetry, my friend! Lemme' just get this all straight! So, you made a deal with an incubus so that it would help you track this...ancient man and...lead him to the crossroads??" Carlo asked, looking playful but solemn as he studied my eyes behind his sun shades.

"No, Carlo! A dybbuk must be trapped, and inside a box usually. They elude the crossroads. Only the final judgment can probably have any sort of impact on beings like them."

"But you made a pact with the incubus to capture it, the dybbuk?"

"As dangerous as that seems, yes. I had gotten pretty reckless after Gracie left me. I didn't give a damn about anything."

"I love it! You're one wild son of a bitch, Dirty-blues! You really took that little fling with that China-doll, haute-couture woman that serious!! You know what the repercussions are for putting your own body up as collateral on a deal like that with a fucking demon?!!"

"I absolutely did and I still do! Let me continue with what happened at the ranch..." I cried, wanting to return to my story.

"Not even Gushivi is nuts enough for that! That's a no-no, Dirty-blues!! Looks like your greatest weakness is a woman after all!! Paulette told me so despite your being a lady's man by reputation! She was right!!" Carlo boasted.

I was embarrassed but had falling in love with Gracie Ipswich been such a crime?

Carlo chuckled, pounding his heavy boot against the floor like a frat boy; pointing his meaty finger at my embarrassed face; the frames of his waxy shades glinting against my eyes in the sun.

"Gushivi wouldn't know, bozo! She's too busy these days opening up restaurants like Wolfgang Puck does and lecturing at the Sorbonne on Stonehenge and the health benefits of fasting!"

"You're kind of right. She is currently leading a support group for alien-abductees from the university, wild stuff! But how can you say that about poor Chartreuse! I am sorry for what happened with your old lady, but you know Chartreuse grew up an orphan in Afghanistan of all places, don't you? They killed off her family and she is a wanted fugitive there to this day!"

"Yes, wanted for teaching Sihr to the masses. In other words, witchcraft! She had the Islamists pulling their own hair out from the roots!!"

"Good for her!!" Replied Carlo, laughing, "but I don't think she would do something like try and hustle a high-ranking demon, do you?"

"Worse! Gushivi had a piece of the action in her day just like all of us! I happen to know that Lucifer had a price over her soul over some silly nonsense. She managed to con her way out of a dark favor. She barely escaped the first great Angel by marrying a dangerous jinn!"

"Ahhhh, that's interesting! In that case, it sure pays to be lovable, don't it?"

"Can I talk?! Or do you not want to hear about how Keira Knightley fits into all of this?"

"This is why I love you, Dirty-blues! Please continue! I am all ears..." Remarked Carlo, planting his palms upon the table and interlocking them like a choir boy...

And so, I began telling him the rest of the story.

Chapter 2.1

My friend from town, Levi, was a big help getting me over my split from Gracie. In my mind I would never return to Chicago, just slowly go mad in Helena, Montana. He tutored me on some of the fundamentals of life and what gave it meaning and beauty to him. I had forgotten all about what that stuff meant to my sorry ass.

Montana is a heavenly place and Levi was its son. No matter how drunk or depressed I was, after saying hello to the Hobbs because he knew them, Levi would lead me out as often as he could in his pickup truck.

We talked and talked and enjoyed simple activities. Long hikes, fishing, and walks helped me think. I did not even fully consider the repercussions of what I was thinking about doing until I told him.

He told me that my plan was crazy, but was of the opinion that what was worth doing was worth doing well.

Lots of new guests came to stay with Archie and Abigail. A few was erased from my memory completely. There was this other woman who stayed for a while who I didn't get along with at all.

Jade was a painter, like Abigail, and ran a hotel in Tibet. I thought maybe it was Jade that was attracting this incubus from the beginning, but it wasn't. She had nothing to do with it.

Guests like Jade made me want to run away to my quarters as soon as I drove into the ranch toward the end of my day. I remember that by the time I met Jade, I seriously pondered a swan dive from the roof of my cabin, or hoped that the Ku Klux Klan would come get me. If they even had a chapter in Montana!

Her opinions on law and order in society were quite fascist. The Hobbs had similar views at heart, I discovered. They were members of the same party as the likes of Margaret Thatcher and John Major. I was beginning to think that the incubus was just there to laugh in my face.

When Jade left and they announced newer guests, I didn't even bother to ask who they were anymore... There were so many.

Anyway, the day arrived when I was told by the Hobbs that the latest visitor would be moving into the other cottage soon. An athlete, they said. I yawned.

They had said that she was an olympic skater and a good friend of their daughter Astrid.

A figure skater named Veronica Ivanovich, or something. She was nineteen years old and would be flying into Helena late one evening, directly from the Winter Olympics which were being held in Japan that year.

Something about that information didn't quite add up. I didn't know exactly what it was until later...