Chapter 30: 19TH BIRTHDAY 1966
How did the Queen tell a man that built a shrine for her, and worshiped her, that she turned her life over, because of the testimony of the slave, to Christ? How does she explain she let the slave love her and make love to her?
I believe now! she thought hastily.
But will the confession cost her life―in an instant, top priority?
The Queen was Oiliester Drilonay’s great, great, great, great, great, great, great grandmother. He is the result of a long line of killers and slave owners in Egypt.
His entire generational history has been documented by the Family, his Family ranging from the Queen and the King, has been documented and passed down (with critical and necessary updates and credentials and connections behind them) as an heirloom he finally received on his 19th birthday.
I remember seducing him when he was a naïve nineteen year old. I inevitably inherited his bloodline of wealth after I married him in a beautiful human guise, a big breasted blonde (no silicone). Our wedding was small, intimate and private. The only attendees were me, him and the pastor.
A few years later, still living life like it was our honeymoon (we did it 5 times a day), I left the body of the big breasted blonde to take on the form of a disgruntled cop from a downtown precinct. Unfortunately the big breasted blonde was her regular self and couldn’t for the life in her remember how she wound up marrying a billionaire and she has no memory of it, but was thankful she came to into the belly of wealth.
Extremely overwhelmed with joy, she nakedly ran throughout the massive mansion, trying on all the jewelry she could muster.
In ten minutes she was draped in $100 million worth of jewelry (naked, still), and it was all hers, or so she thought…
Disguised as a no-nonsense cop, I killed Oiliester’s mortal self.
It was done very clean and as quick as possible. As his eyes slowly closed, three inhalations remaining in his body, he was near death.
But then I saw something special in him and offered the world of the elite to him, unfolded it before his deadly eyes. Willingly he obliged, just so he could live, no matter the form.
To spare his life—he was an incredible lover in bed as well, and I must admit that was the deciding factor in sparing him!—I bit into his neck, fell in love with the taste of his blood and spared the mortal.
Before his big breasted wife could make phone calls and pay for her family to come over from Columbia, I returned to her body and her thoughts and intentions were null and void. If I do say so myself, I only seduced him to inherit his fortune.
He was royalty, discreet, and unknown.
And he was gay underneath it all. Behind my back (or so he thought, I actually watched in the shadows, bringing myself to orgasm), he had his share of male lovers. They pounded him to his heart’s content.
His ties to his Egyptian pool of abysmal wealth was, at the time, still unknown to him, outside of what he read in his family heirloom book, much of which he still doubted and was too afraid to find out about because of all that came with it, and all he would be required to do.
Growing up dirt poor and struggling, he managed to learn how to work hard for what he wanted, a man always insufficient no matter how hard he worked. And then a lawyer finds ye on thy 19th birthday and thy whole life suddenly changes, and changes forever.
Thy entire family genealogy in a publication becomes thy shining prized possession.
To find out that thy biological mother, father, grandmother and grandfather on both thy biological mother and biological father’s side, uncles on both sides, aunts on both sides, first and second cousins (all of them), and siblings ye never met (ye thought ye were an only child) were deceased before ye were born; to be adopted into a greedy family, a middle class family that ended up poor in the heart of the ghetto had to be the insult of the century.
A 1,500 page book changed his entire perspective of life. His eyes widened over the years reading each and every page thoroughly. He spoke, “I am a descendant of the Alhaji Dynasty!”
“Ye art worth 87 billion dollars,” the secretive lawyer, that always watched his back and looked over his shoulders, told him; a lawyer he decided to keep on the Alhaji Dynasty payroll. In fact they instantly trusted each other. “Thy life is about to change.”
But Oiliester’s anger set in, and got the best of him. His once humble heart wasn’t to be seen amidst the black of his heart.
He grew up an orphan and was eventually adopted and was still treated like an orphan. His adoptive family hated him and cleverly masked it as tough love.
The day the adoption became final was the day his cold-hearted adoptive parents lost it all. They were reduced to poverty. They barely fed him and even though they were hard on him about education, they kept him a bit ignorant despite his perfect grades.
To go through mental abuse and to grow through mental abuse actually molded him into a decent young man, a head strong one.
He was raised thinking he would always be inferior too himself, and won’t succeed without destructive people in his life making him feel like he would fail without them, and then to come into billions of dollars out of the blue, and to read about thy family being killed, murdered or mysteriously dying before his birth filled him with disquieting dread, and vengeance.
His entire generation of people died two months leading up to his birth in a mysterious chain of earth-shattering events, with his mother and father tragically perishing shortly after he was born.
When I married this famous tycoon, Oiliester, descendant of 12 A.D. blood and wealth, I tasted his blood once more for validation of who he truly was, and who he was destined to be, no matter if he wanted it or not. But I didn’t bite into his neck that time. While he slept, soundly, I licked his blood from a few razors he used when he shaved. Smacking my lips I smiled victoriously. He was the 89 billion dollar man.
When I married him I never dreamed he’d amass another one billion dollars through his inventions and contributions to cancer research.
I wanted that billion dollars as well.
So here we art.
A man I thought was dead facing me, clapping his eyes on my image, wondering who I was. I was the owner of thy 89 billion dollar dynasty. One I inherited when ye died as a mortal, and I was a big breasted blonde. From the looks of it he was as rich as he was when I robbed him blind when he was alive and used my body and spells to do it!
Enchanted by my beauty and wanting to possess it, and poke his flaming passion around in it, he extended his hand, sipping a glass of wine, room temperature.
I looked into the eyes of my ex-husband. He was as sexy as he could be, even sexier than he was in 1966.
He licked his luscious lips. “I’m Oiliester, and ye art…?”
I smiled, allowing him to kiss my hand and stare deep into my ocean green eyes. “I’m Kleopha Achieng.”
He said my name again to himself, letting it roll off his tongue, and the fluid way it occurred mesmerized me. I loved the way my name rolled off his tongue.
Now was my chance to make love to him as Kleopha Achieng, and not a big breasted white woman.
But then again this was Armona’s body. Pity the fool!
His smoky baritone set me on fire and he was on fire as well. He wanted me in the best way, and the worst way if I reject his advances that was sure to come.
He brushed a few strands of my hair from my face, so he could see it clearly. He studied every feature, taking it all into his memory.
He loved beautiful things. The Bible says don’t get attached to them. I wanted to tell him that, but he’d probably look at me like he’s stuck on stupid.
He said, “Ye art a sight for sore eyes! Welcome to my domain.”
“Am I a sight for sore eyes? My eyes art exhausted; I have no way of knowing if thy words carry merit. Am I supposed to be moved by thy hospitality?” I asked rhetorically.
Wealthy men have been telling me that for ages and ages and ages and I’m sure ages to come.
Despite inner conflict I managed to say, “Thank ye” for his assessment of me.
I’m a sight for sore eyes.
I glanced down at the sharks swimming beneath the Plexiglas flooring, breathtaking. I’ve never seen anything quite like it and I doubt if I ever will again.
I continued with the pleasantries. “I see ye love sharks. Ye like getting off on them embedded in thy floors? That’s a form of prison if ye ask me. Sharks were created to be free, the T4 cells of the sea.”
His eyes clouded over. Impulsively, he dropped the glass of wine on the floor. From the weird sound vibrating through the Plexiglas, four sharks, startled by the sound and vibration, redirected themselves. The beautiful creatures swam off towards the other sharks of his wall. Ah! I hadn’t noticed that!
Beautiful chandeliers loomed from one hundred foot ceilings.
“Don’t insult me Kleopha. Ye art an uninvited guest in my home.”
“Why shouldn’t I insult ye creature of the night? One that lives under the radar? One that worships Christ in pubic through thy investments with famous churches and cathedrals throughout the world yet in the darkness ye worship the darkened god and drink blood. Its fate that led me here, ye know. Two colleagues ye know very well whispered thy name into my ear as their lives slipped away at the hands of their barbaric son, Joseph, the gorgeous specimen that he is.”
“I doubt that ye know the people that I do. I only deal with people for business purposes. I don’t have relationships with them outside of business. My life is about attaining wealth and sustaining it.”
“I also heard that every mortal that ate at thy estate wound up as vampires with herpes or syphilis, so art ye spreading diseases to them as a way of getting back at thy adoptive parents for brainwashing ye when ye grew up, trying to destroy ye before ye reached thy 19th birthday?” I glanced down at the sharks and let him figure out how I knew all about him.
“I didn’t know Africans or vampires eat sushi, Oiliester.”
That pushed him over the edge.
He was enraged. “Get out, Kleopha!”
I was embattled. “No. I came here to kill ye once and for all. Obviously when I tried to kill ye the first time it didn’t work.”
He glanced at me closely, trying to put my face against the memories of his past and no match.
“Let me refresh thy memory.”
He blinked once and I became the tall, blonde, big breasted woman he married.
He couldn’t believe his eyes. “Oh, my God!”
Abruptly, throwing me off guard, he exploded into a ten foot demon, and ran at me, his claws outstretched.
I just helped kill a 16 foot demon in the Grand Forest; Oiliester’s antics didn’t cause a reaction out of me.
I knew just what to do.
I pulled the sterling silver sword from behind my mane of unkempt hair and chopped off his legs just as he tried to scoop me up off my feet.
I kept my arm and the sword extended, my hair covering half my face.
He landed on his chin, sliding towards his bedroom quarters, decked out with over $89 million dollars of marble floors, walls, ancient busts from around the world, oil paintings from every generation there was on earth, original works and not replicas, mind ye.
And a breathtaking bed made from an enormous coffin.
Looming over the coffin was a gargantuan chandelier of baccarat crystals.
He was human again, both of his legs gone. He slid up against the wall, his gorgeous face twisted into a mask of fury.
It took him a while to find his voice. And boy, what a struggle. Ask me did I care?
I didn’t, truly I didn’t.
He panted a few times, finding it hard to breathe.
He finally broke the silence. “I was warned about thy coming, Alicia Chay!”
“How do ye know my alias…?”
He was sweating profusely. His breathing came in short gasps, quick pumps of air that kept his heart strong enough to sustain a life hanging in the balance of death.
He was Chapter 1 of an open book. “Many years ago, on my 19th birthday, in 1966, I ran for my life. I did some things to a church that was blasphemy, but in my eyes I was bringing down wards of evil. Before I’d gone to church to destroy it, I was bitten by a vampire after she seduced me, and escaping her lead another monster after me.
“I lost my lover when an incredibly sized statue of Christ fell on the truck he was in, or wherever he was,” he continued, huge tears welling in his eyes. “I died with him, died before the lion faced demon pounded on my door, moments before he whispered thy coming, and what to do in my right ear and shoved a wolf’s head down my throat.
“As I transformed into a stronger version of a vampire, one with discipline, skill, the art of war, and killing the ability of any other vampire knowing that I was one, and of them, he whispered more instructions.
“The last thing he said was that one day a gorgeous woman was going to appear in my life out of the blue in search of something, looking for something.
“When she comes ye art to self-destruct, no matter what ye art doing in thy life, or where ye art going, or how successful ye art. When she comes ye art to die after the demon in ye is revealed to her, thy life must come to pass in order for her to live, in order for the door of change to open up before her eyes and she continues what she seeks, and what she must be successful at doing.
“Stopping the war.”
“I never had the privilege to know what he was referring to, or talking about.
He gulped. I never took my eyes off him. “Once my transformation was complete he said, ’If ye go back on the deal and what the darkness has given ye, and promised ye, and promise ye, ye will die a broke man. Thy life will pan out on the news and the world will hate ye, and thy 89 billion dollar dynasty will be in control of many governments, petty cash ye will be reduced to.’”
Oiliester agreed whole-heartedly and lived the next few decades building his wealth with me in full disguise as his wife, gaining the trust of millions of fans through his daily talk show, amongst the highest rated and most watched in the past four years, and invested his money in crooked organizations that fund his fantasy at his discretion.
He had many plans, like buying a few private islands inhabited with naked women; to have his way with them for a month; cutting off all ties with anything while he’s away, placing a few men he trusted in the CEO seat until he returns. The other island would be inhabited with men. He wanted to have his way with them, for a few days, just long enough to have a few orgasms gazing at irresistible eye candy, and then return to his business and fire the snakes that came out to play within his organization while he was away.
He watched them from his laptop every night he was away before he went to bed.
His eyes never leave his money or account records.
His accountant hates him.
And now Kleopha has arrived, and his purpose and promise must be carried out.
He knows of me as Alicia Chay, maybe the lion-faced man told him that. In fact that had to be it, but serves no purpose to ponder any further…
The investors will be heartbroken.
His stocks will rise.