The Sword.

The bitch couldn’t take a joke. She ran me through with a damn sword. Not a nice shiny stainless steel sword, but an old-fashioned rust pitted sod, no doubt harbouring bloody germs from the sixteenth century to boot. You can imagine the sort of shit I had to put up with at the local asylum they call a hospital.

“Fallen on your sword, have yer pal? Did you get the dragon, or what? Did you rescue the damsel?”

Bastards!

The irony of the situation was that I was trying to help a damsel in distress, except it obviously wasn’t a damsel at all. It was a lesbo, and not in distress for what I was offering.  I merely made a reference to my own accoutrement with reference to the sword hanging on the wall. Admittedly it was with a leer, but I didn’t want her to miss my point, you could say.

They should fasten those things more firmly on the wall in those joints, for she with one sweep, grabbed it from the wall and with one thrust shoved it through me. No foreplay, right through, as the French would say, en brochette, on a skewer.

If I could have seen past the bloody pain, I would have rued my approach to what I thought was the ‘fairer sex,’ but I couldn’t at that time.

But I’m not really mad at her. Apparently, it missed vital organs, and caused much merriment and exhibitionism around the local ‘quacks.’ I also discovered that not only is my feat not unique, but one guy I saw on YouTube, did this thing on a regular basis, not only fo’ard to aft, but port to starboard. “Bloody show-off!”

But then before I could get really disgusted at his exhibitionism, I saw this piece about a French guy who could eat practically anything. Well, I guess being French you would have learned how to eat anything. After all – frogs – snails – livers from geese tortured to death. Have I made my point? Anyway, this gastronome devoured a whole car; but it took him two years to do it. What a waste of time. What the hell, it made me laugh.

It was a few days later as I emerged from the ‘house of healers’ that I spotted the self-same knightess waiting. She was obviously waiting for me and not even brandishing a handbag. She must have known I needed an answer. Yes, my leer had been a trifle uncouth, but not that bad that it invited an almost complete demolition job of ‘lil ol me.’

However, there was what I took to be a look of contrition on her face as she advanced toward me, but I found out later was the supreme effort of trying to contain mirth. She maybe batted for her own side, but she was just so beautiful. She was tall, about thirty, and I realized that if there was a dragon to be slain, she would do it her own bloody self.

I didn’t know what smile to put on; my slightly disarming crooked smile wouldn’t cut any ice with her so I just waited to be beaten up.

Her first words set the pattern for our future relationship.

“You’re a real stupid bastard, come on I’ll buy you a cup of coffee.”

She may have had to strap on that which I had been naturally and generously endowed, but after I didn’t flinch anymore, we had fun together. It was a helluva way to meet a chick, but no regrets on my part, not one. She was fantastic. She had brains, was very athletic, but, as she said, she needed to guard against an impulsive nature. You think!

“You, you imbecile, you gave me a hell of a scare back there. I saw that bloody sword sticking out of you and thought, 'Whoops!'”

“You thought, 'Whoops.' If that’s not a sodding understatement, then I don’t know what is. Bugger me, you must get chatted up all the time from pricks like me, you should be used to it,”

“You caught me off guard. I forgot to put on my special face for when I see randy rutting sods like you around. I had broken up with my partner just that morning, I was pissed off and didn’t have my usual antenna functioning. How come, by the way, that you are not remonstrating and threatening me with all manner of dire consequences. You’re sitting there like a sane human being, instead of the permanently horny sodding animal that I thought you would be?”

“I’m still so absolutely totally scared stiff of you, that’s why. I’m waiting for you to pull out some sort of ball and chain from a handbag, and whack me again.”

“Don’t have a handbag,” she laughed, “but I might have to get one if I see more of your tribe around. I was scared though, I thought that I’d killed you, and bang went my party on the weekend.”

“Jesus Christ, girl, woman M/S, whatever you call yourself, miss a party. Me, being pawed and mauled by butchers and having to endure smart-ass remarks levelled at me about my duelling abilities, and you thinking about missing a party.

She laughed unrestrainedly, tears running down her cheeks with the humour of it, but I suspect it was tinged with the recognition of the lucky outcome to her stupid action. She wouldn’t look good in prison orange.

“I suppose I’d better give you a complimentary screw,” I said, “to show there’re no hard feelings.”

Once again she laughed delightedly, "You love chancing your arm, don’t you, there are plenty more knives in the chef’s den over there. Perhaps I’d better have those balls of yours for earrings, then we could be really good friends.”

We did become good friends and more. I’m sure that we will love each other for the rest of our lives. We have a lively relationship, and help each other through the many pitfalls that just living life can bring. I’m there if her heart gets broken, and she’ll kick my arse if it needs just that.

I bought the sword from the owner for a very reasonable price. I think he was exceedingly grateful that I didn’t sue his arse for leaving this handy weapon available for irate damsels looking for a fight.

Even now, some years later, the platonic love of my life, will still swing the sword around like a mad bloody pirate with a definite predatory glint in her eye. I warn all my misogynistic mates to guard their tongues when she is around, as they may not be as lucky as I was.