Swords By Fletchina Archer
Every pore open, every sense focused, I waited, tensed
as a spring on a mousetrap, ready to spring for the kill. My knees
were bent, I was low in my stance. I detected motion and was in
on him in a flash, my foil bending with the touch. He jumped back,
pulled his mask off and said, "Jesus, what are you trying to do?
Kill me?" I didn't remove my mask, but I stood up and said, "Why
else would I have a sword in my hand?" He stalked away. I never
quite got the idea of fencing as a sport. But I did get the idea
of what it was like to have that blade extended in front of me,
hard but flexible, ready move with all the coiled energy of my legs
and body, to stab into anything that moved, impale it, penetrate
it, depriving it of motion, and of life. That idea I got. But I
liked the foil, the epee, and especially saber. That came as close
as anything in fencing to not having any rules. Like masturbation
or love making, fencing removes you from the everyday world.
If fencing winds you up tight, Tai Chi puts you into
slow motion. And after you learn the empty handed forms, they also
have swords. The Chinese swords have two edges so you are slashing
and cutting as well as stabbing. There's something at the same time
reverent and butcherly about it. You are holding this sword, practicing
cutting people in half, but doing it in a reverent slow motion meditative
way. There's no spring-loaded action here, just the power of your
body as it comes out through the sword as your focused energy. It's
all about focusing the energy of the body onto one point. You slash
from above, from underneath, from across, the ankles, the waist,
stab into the chest, slit throats. You hold onto the sword with
one hand, but the other hand supports it. Sometimes. Sometimes the
other hand is underneath the sword hand, sometimes it's helping
the wrist, sometimes it's up in the air for balance. But it's always
helping, just like masturbation when one hand is on my clitoris
and the other is exploring my labia or thrusting into my vagina,
or pinching my nipples.
I thought Tai Chi was slow motion til I got to Iado,
Japanese Samurai sword forms. That's like accumulating an electrical
charge and letting it out in a lightening bolt so fast nobody can
see it til the tree falls down. . . . or the person. There you're
holding a three-foot straight razor, with only one edge, but a razor
sharp one, and all of a sudden someone is dead because you've whacked
them with one lightening stroke. You keep it sheathed until you
detect motion, an attack, and then as fast as lightening you draw
the sword and deliver the first cut in one motion, the second motion
is final, the third cleans the sword and then you return it to the
sheath. When those guys talked about heads rolling, they meant it.
The European swords are made to fit your hand; you use one hand
on the Chinese sword, and on the Japanese sword, you have two hands
wrapped around this long cylindrical end of the steel blade that
carries all of the energy of your mind and body to a single point.
It's energizing. It's erotic. It's like you are holding the penis,
a long hard penis that can bring pain or pleasure, that you can
use for whatever purpose you decide. When you make a hit, when you
know you would have whacked your opponent into mincemeat it's orgasmic.
They say it's for the spiritual value of it, the meditation, the
sense of mastery. I say it's for the orgasms it gives you. You feel
the energy vibrating through your body, you're totally alert, totally
alive, and right there in the moment and holding onto that male
principle, that principle of hardness, of energy, of sharpness,
of . . . of whacking. Whack. Gone.
There's the story about King Richard I, the Lion
Heart, of England when he went on the Third Crusade to the holy
land to take Jerusalem from Saladin, the Kurdish Sultan of Egypt.
The story is that Richard and Saladin compared their swords. I guess
it must have been like any two guys comparing their penises or their
guns or their cars or their paychecks or their women or their other
possessions. Which one is bigger, prettier, more valuable, better
to look at. Like it mattered. Same with swords. It doesn't matter
which one is bigger or better or prettier as much as how much skill
you put into handling it. Richard whacks a piece of iron into two.
Saladin holds up a scarf and cuts it with his scimitar. That's a
sword, not an axe. That's delicately understated. Like a finger's
light pressure on the end of a clitoris, or a tongue barely touching
you there. . . . That's the difference between a European sword
and something that can channel your body's energy-or your mind's--right
through the handle, through the blade, and into whatever you want.
Into your clitoris, into your soul. Richard lost. Somehow Europeans
never got it.
Watch me. Watch me do my Tai Chi sword form my love.
I know you like to watch me naked in slow motion. The Japanese sword
forms are too fast and the sword is dangerous. The Tai Chi sword
isn't sharp, won't hurt us. I know you like my small and firm breasts,
like to hold them, squeeze them, suck my nipples, kiss their undersides.
You know I'm tall and broad shouldered. I don't shave my pubic hair.
It's lush and long and black, curly, and undisciplined. I know you
like it because you like to stroke me there, and you like the feel
of my crisp pubic hair beneath your fingers. I'm no semi-anorexic
model. I have a belly I'm proud of. I am all woman, a goddess of
curves, firm curves of muscle and flesh. I like to stroke my hands
down my breasts, to feel the round firmness of my belly on the way
to my mons where I massage my clitoris beneath the flesh til it's
hard and ready for me to stroke it. Like you are doing now as you
watch me pick up my sword. You are watching me now, watching me
work out with my sword.
The ancient forms. I hold the sword in my left hand,
concealed behind my arm. I raise it in a salute the masters, and
my breasts thrust out, then I sink into the earth, root myself to
the earth and you see my belly accentuated, feel the energy and
attention there, see my thighs taught and full. I feel the force
of the earth through my feet as my awareness expands and moves outward
so I can sense any movement, any change in the vibrations around
me. I float upward and then down, and you see my hips, my butt flex
and relax. I look to my right, as I extend my right arm and you
see my breast from a different angle, see its roundness, see the
erect nipple in profile for a moment. I see nothing, and then turn
to my left where I sense danger. I brush it away from me with my
sword hand, and look to my right again as I open my posture and
you see my breasts again thrust forward as my legs cross. I flex
my butt and my thigh muscles to feel it in my clitoris, to feel
myself getting damp as you watch and stroke your labia, open yourself
with your hand. I sense your slow building pleasure rather than
see it. My eyes are out of focus, not seeing so much as sensing
motion, feeling for changes in the field of vibrations that surrounds
me. And in that field I sense your finger on the end of your clitoris.
My left hand guides the hilt of the sword into my
right as it comes over my head. It feels like my hand is guiding
a hard penis from my vagina into yours, my love. My right hand comes
over my head for the first cut and I rise on my right leg, my left
leg cocked behind me so you can see my round butt tensed and hard.
Watch me, lover, watch my body in motion, flowing like the waves
of the sea, flowing like I flow when we are making love, but now
I'm making love with this sword. Slow motion love. Again, I tense
my butt for you to see, for me to feel in my clitoris.
The soft red tassels of the sword follow every motion.
This sword even has hair like we do, my love, long flowing hair
that moves with it's body, pubic hair that outlines and covers,
that hides and reveals, pubic hair you have to move aside with your
hand as you open me up, pubic hair that I open up as I move the
sword through its forms, now taking out an enemy to the left, now
to the right, now behind us. Watch me do my form, my love, the tassel
moving with my hands, with my breasts, with my long legs and broad
shoulders.
You see me stretch up, you feel my heat, my energy,
you want me with you, you want me to share the energy of my body
with you, you want to feel me vibrating with passion as you lick
my clitoris and make me lose control of my body, make me join the
vibrations of the heaven and earth, make me one with the cosmos
and send me floating into the void. So watch lover, watch me finish
my form, salute, and then lie down, open my legs. You know how wet
I am. You know where my clitoris is. Watch me, watch me take the
hilt of my sword and stroke myself with it. You've felt it's textured
roughness, and you know what it's doing to my clitoris as I stroke
myself. You see the blade shimmer and shine between my breasts and
you know I am flexing my butt to bring my clitoris close to the
textures of the hilt, stroking it up and down, moving it around
and around on my clitoris where your tongue belongs, lover, the
clitoris that belongs to your tongue and your finger. You kiss my
nipple as you feel me begin to shudder. You gently take the sword
from my hands and lay it aside as you move down my stomach, kissing
my navel, moving down to my thighs, and opening my labia with your
hard wet warm tongue. You hear me catch my breath and you see the
fine hairs on my belly begin to vibrate as you run your tongue so
expertly around my clitoris, you feel me shudder as you put your
hands under my butt and pull me into you, into your tongue. You
know me so well, my love, you know my every mood and temper and
just when to move from the end of my clitoris, move from circling
it to the steady rhythm that you know will push me into the void
that is neither yin nor yang but the all and the nothing of them
together.
Oh yes, lover, you know my moods so well. You know
how to show off for me, how to arch your back and show me your breasts
when your bra goes on or comes off, how to flex your butt when you
step into or out of your panties. You know how I love to watch you
masturbate and how I love to watch you suck on your lover's penis,
make it hard, and straddle it til he pleases you. You know how I
love to share that penis with you, like grasping the hilt of my
Japanese sword with both hands, firm and hard, and pulling it in
one invisible motion from its sheath and slicing through a body.
And you know I'd do that for you if anyone dared to harm a hair
on your head or anywhere else on your beautiful body. You know how
I love to feel that penis slice through me, slice into me and fill
me up, and then how I love to slide it into you and know what you
are feeling because it's just been in me. You know how I love to
stroke it with you and watch it come all over us. My swords don't
go limp. They stay erect, hard, long, and sharp.
So, my love, you know the battle that's raging in
my mind as I rub this sword hilt on my clitoris and come closer
and closer to an orgasm. You see it as I thrust my hips up to it,
embrace it between my labia, thrust into it with my clitoris. You
know that I'm in a distant land of long ago bringing justice and
mercy with the might of my sword, slicing through injustice, bringing
the dominators down from their high horses with the thrust of my
sword, clearing the way for our love. You know the images I've told
you of and you begin to get wet as you see me thrust myself on my
own sword and start to cum. You know that that's when it's time
for you to take over, to send me to that other place with your tongue,
that place where I always win for you, where I know no defeat, where
you and I stride hand in hand, swords by our sides, in our hands,
ready for anything, tall and beautiful, our breasts thrust out,
our butts round and strong, our thighs full and our heads held high
in watchful pride. Take me there now, my love, oh yes, you know
how, you know me so well, you know every texture of my labia and
my clitoris. Oh yes, pull my labia between your lips like that,
oh yes, your tongue on my clitoris. That's right. That's right.
Oh, my love. . . that is right. . . .yes. . . . oh yes. . . .
Copyright © 2001 by Fletchina Archer. All rights
reserved.
