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She hung in gilt framing, unlike all the others, between two 60 inch plasma televisions beaming brutal, bloody images of Rwanda into my saddened eyes. I was overcome with emotion, gasping from the surprise! I love her! I love her so much I was going to love myself enough to excise false idols. I touched her eyes, shaking away tears.

I want to love and adore Christ with that much passion, and that much loyalty and love.

I turned my back on her poster forever, and the memories of obsessing over her I burn forever.

I turned to the startling images of Rwanda, blocking Marilyn from my eyes, and said a prayer for all the lives lost.


I sighed, and continued floating, approaching another entrance.

Where it leads, let’s find out…

Speaking of corporations and merchants, one merchant in particular, a man about business, was a cut throat, the one I now watch through black porcelain walls hinged with a twenty foot oak wooden door, left ajar.

I smiled at the beautiful creature.

I know exactly who he was, but why was I led to a man from my past?

Why was his realm within the gates of the Wolf Tribe, but the Wolf tribe was nowhere to be seen.

He was a tall, gorgeous chocolate and Puerto Rican man with assets that tempted me, but I turned it all off, keeping my wetness confined and contained.

His name was Oiliester Drilonay, and wow, what a beauty! He was as gorgeous as he was when I first saw him, so many years ago…

If he was a pin up millions of women would have him pinned to their walls both in their homes and offices. And he wasn’t even naked; he was fully clothed in a $98,000 suit, a suit that infused Asia, Africa and a hint of Italy in carefully chosen, exotic threads.

The suit itself was twelve shades of black, flowing superbly into each other.

Off white gator skinned shoes set off a cream colored tie with a huge Windsor knot.

He was worth about a billion dollars on paper.

And worth a staggering $89 billion dollars under the table, because the heir to the Alhaji Dynasty hasn’t come public, hasn’t come forth, and the world knows nothing about it. There weren’t even any rumors floating around about it.

He was purposely hidden in an orphanage and adopted by two people with bad parenting skills, and a sick neddeth for money.

Their only role in his life was to befriend him, destroy him and get paid for it.

He was childless, heartless and soulless. Ye would never imagine his kind breathing any type of air of life.

His purpose was to burn those for money and M.O.B. (Money Over Bitches) was his blood type, and his DNA.

He was tough talking and as aggressive as they came.

He was a former boxer with one title under his belt. Back in 1977 he won the bout, when boxing was restricted to the upper echelons of millionaires as attendees, and only shown on TV to the middle class and the poor for a fee; the elite power circle that made him a star broke him as well.

The $200 million and over club nearly cost him his life, if he didn’t sacrifice something close to him, something very dear to him. He will never say what he did for his success. He was having a hard time dealing with it, and coming to terms with it.

But he had to live with his decision for the rest of his life.

It’s unfortunate. He’s done what hundreds maybe thousands of stars have done for overnight fame, out-of-the-blue fame, and fame itself. It becomes an addiction for some, the crack of the next level intoxicating them outside of consciousness, and those that turn their backs on it from the gate become one hit wonders, and the world soon forgets about them.

Old Money pumps through Oiliester’s blood stream.

And old secrets were kept silent within his generation of people. The Alhaji Dynasty goes back twelve generations.

A fledgling seed of Palestine implanted inside a royal woman of power was the avenue created for his future existence.

Oiliester’s forefather was a slave the beautiful and seductive Queen fell in love with, and ultimately turned against at her convenience. He enchanted, entertained and enlightened her with stories of Christ Jesus and what he came to earth to do.

With his heart on his sleeve, he passionately told her of the crucifixion and the resurrection and the Queen, with wide eyes of wonder, believed it with a heavy, conflicting heart.

She was her own god, or so she would have liked to believe, and many a people considered her just that, a god, but she truly was just a mortal with a lot of wealth, and nothing more. If she became broke over night she would be robbed and battered amongst the regular folk she considered peasants.

In fact her bloodline was of earthly gods powerful only because they had immeasurable wealth, and their wells ran deep into the earth. They truly believed a people were made to be governed. Why else were they procreated and born into a system of laws and government?

One look in the slave’s arrestingly gorgeous eyes caught the Queen’s attention, his nature hardened, catching her in the act of masturbation.

She was deep into pleasing every inch of her perspiring body. Two hundred of them, scented candles, cast an individual glow, respectively, that transformed into an inferno of heat generated by the power of self. The glow was so powerful ye swore the sun rose in her private chambers.

The melting candles were of assorted sizes and shapes, some on stands and pedestals, and others big enough to stand on their own all over the marble floor, leading to a small marble staircase leading up to the triple king sized bed, ten feet off the floor.

It was truly a sight to see, and one to remember.

The way she touched herself and moaned her husband’s name told him that her King-of-a-husband hadn’t loved her enough, hadn’t made love to her enough to keep her confident and secure. And that spelled disaster.

For a brief moment he thought, “I could change all that if given the chance,” and quickly took it away, deeming himself unworthy of that kind of attention from a high caliber woman, the highest of calibers.

When she opened her eyes she gasped, initially and immediately taken aback by the presence of a peasant, and she didn’t stop the pleasure of self-gratification that crawled her spine like a black ant up the Sphinx pyramid in the breath of dawn, glowering over its systematic pattern of travel, even her arms tingled.

The slave was pleasant to the eyes and appeasing to her tarnished soul.

He shyly looked away with his face, but on her sweaty, naked body, the body of a diva, the body of a goddess, his eyes lustfully and reluctantly remained.

Her first thought was to whistle and have the guards eradicate him right before her eyes, in fact behead the peasant for being in an unauthorized area…but as her eyes scoured his body and landed of his enormous erection, he was well endowed, she smiled brighter than the sun and suddenly her triple King sized bed became a showboat of pleasure.

She introduced a peasant’s body to sexual royalty and his enormous snake turned her out in the process, hitting depths within her glory hole that triggered a response in her spine and her toes, digging her nails into his back as his amazing buttocks rose and split midair and closed itself back as he thrust inside her, suckling on her left nipple, grabbing her right breast in a tight, pleasurable grip.

His heart quickened, as well as her scorned heart.

He broke two laws, and he danced deep inside one that was immune to the law, no matter if she broke the rules or not. A peasant would be crucified before any member of the Elite.

A slave was to never, under any circumstance, enter the Queen’s Quarters.

He was doing his daily duty of dusting ancient artifacts along the Ante Chamber of the Queen’s Quarters, and when he approached the last humongous artifact on a lacquered table of enormous size, a series of womanly moans, moans of sensuality, filled his ears like red wine in golden goblets and her coos and sexual cries turned him on, rose his body temperature.

He had to admit he hardly made love to anyone while being a slave. It’s been years since he experienced orgasm.

When every slave went to bed chastity belts were locked on their hips so they couldn’t masturbate or have sex with each other throughout the night. Metal face coverings were also placed over their heads and locked, with metal across their mouths, leaving the nose and the eyes free until the sun rise and the work of slaves begin.

He was the last of his kind, his life one of the last memories of true Palestine blood of that era so long ago, mixed with the blood of Jews.

Before he entered her room he ignored his common sense, putting his life in jeopardy to see the Queen naked.

Why would he allow himself to be tempted to break the rules, break the law for a shot of pleasurable warmth? Was his life worth five minutes of sex? Was he willing to die with the memories of her gushy folds being his last memory?

The bright smile of lust on his face answered those questions. Yes, he would die making love to the Queen.

He had nothing to lose, so he entered her room, filled with evil spirits, and a few of them entered his body, unknowing to him consciously, but his soul stirred negatively, and was all together destroyed and devoured in an instant.

From their ultimate sin and forbidden affair a son came about, a son the fading Palestinian never had the chance to see because the instant he came inside the Queen, deep inside her, deeper than her King husband’s ever gone―after telling her about Christ and his ideals on love, and her confessing that she wanted to abandon her throne and turn her life over to Christ―an arrow pierced the slave’s heart.

His eyes widened with pain and fear. The last of his seeds funneled deep inside her from his flaming head of passion, and started their journey as they stormed towards her cervix and birth canal.

Soldiers snatched his worthless body from the body of royalty and the guards began to weep because the Queen has apparently been defiled by a peasant.

All of the soldiers were shocked, eclipsed by stone silence.

For a minute no one said anything.

Once the reality of it all befell them, one of the soldiers reached out to the Queen and cupped her hand, kissing it like the piece of gold that it wasn’t, and would never be.

He said, respectfully, “My Queen! Has he defiled thee?”

The Queen sadly pouted, tears filling up in her alluring eyes, enticing the soldiers, and seducing them.

She covered her mouth in shame and the soldiers didn’t know whether to hug her or leave her to herself.

The Queen fell in love with the Palestinian slave, but knew it could never be. To have the thought and the desire to give up the throne was one thing, but to walk away from immeasurable wealth was lunacy.

She found her voice, shaded in lies. “Yes! He did defile me! I was resting and he…”

She faked an act of rage, convincing she might add. “Get the peasant out of here!” she demanded, pointing at the exit of her chambers. “Toss him with the trash!”

The soldiers removed the perpetrator from the Queen’s Quarters just as an enraged King, of epic proportions, in the fanciest of jewelry and garments, a crown of many horns on his head entered the room.

His skin crawled at the sight of the pierced slave, and his wife.

Something in deed troubled her, but what? he wondered with confusion.

When he saw the shape his wife (one of seven wives, his number one, his Queen, the woman he worshipped) was in…he slid out of the oversized coat of the King, and the jewels. He let it all hit the floor like yesterday’s news. Swiftly, he rushed to her side.

Clad in pants of silk, he showered her face with kisses and slowly massaged her scalp.

It has been nearly four years since he last made love to her.

And he knew that deep down it was his fault.

He should have loved her better, and truly appreciated her better.

But how does one man please 8 wives, whom art all just as alluring, and just as gorgeous as the Queen.

Running his country and building his fortune was first and second place. She didn’t even receive the bronze medal.

But now he wished to give her the gold medal. She was first in his life, despite the gushy desires of the 8 other wives.

The thought of losing her took him by the throat, and his breathing came in short gasps, his eyes pleading and accusing.

He stroked her face, and she loved the sudden attention. She couldn’t remember the last time she was touched with this much love, honor and respect. Hardly ever, she figured.

Take away a man’s ability to make a decision, solve problems or strip him of his right to protect all that he loves, and ye crush a man’s soul, and relieve his manhood forever.

That’s how the King felt. Hopeless and powerless. What kind of man, in fact what kind of King doesn’t protect his wife under any circumstance and every circumstance, no matter who it was?

From that day forward he would make sure ten guards secured her room while he and his wife slept at night, or if she slept alone.

He said, “My Queen! I promise ye that peasant slave will die a second death for what he has done to ye!”

He kissed her lips, she barely kissed him back. It was all an act, she knew it and she was sure of it, but was she so sure?

His eyes clouded over. “I truly apologize for my absence in the face of danger. Listen to me, my Queen, my love,” he went on soothingly, rubbing her arms.

“I want to make love to ye and erase his memory.”

She smiled faintly, but too much damage has been done.

No amount of love making will take away nearly four years of infidelity with the whores of his government, and the sluts of his country, and his eight other wives he failed to tell her about, having just come into the knowledge two weeks before she cheated on him with someone beneath him, a slave.

The hired help.

He hugged her tightly, then brought her away from him so he could take a good look at her.

She averted her face, brushing hair behind both ears.

He said, “I’m so sorry that I wasn’t here to defend ye or to protect ye, once again…I should say…!”

He burst with emotion, truly magnificent!

He couldn’t imagine life without her. “My God!” he cried and she cringed.

How did she tell him the truth? How did she even go into the topic with her husband? The topic of religion and beliefs, a passionately touchy subject, one he doesn’t particularly care for.

He had a country to slave, and a country to run into the ground as he drains the land of its resources and riches. And then he attacks another country when the land he once slaved, abused and used is destitute, insufficient and indigent.

He overthrows the ruler with his fierce army. He sets up shop and does it all again.

When does it stop?

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