MY CARS

Over the years I’ve owned all types of cars in all sorts of colours.

From my old Fiat 127 to my racy Ford Escort

I’ve had so many laughs and quite a few bumps

in my world of driving. In between was a Lada,

a Chevette and a Datsun that lasted not a year.

Now with my Fiat Panda, all shining and new,

all in red, it will last me forever until I die.

Wow! Tattoo My Butt Part 2 - Where Do You Think We All Will Be Tomorrow?

 

Wow! Tattoo My Butt Part 2 - Where Do You Think We All Will Be Tomorrow?

 

By Nick Armbrister.

 

Bizarre Man

I’m the bizarre man.                                                                                                                      

I like to sleep in a river.                                                                                                                    

I love the feeling of water flowing round my sleeping face.                                                      

Don’t worry, I won’t drown.                                                                                                                 

I can breathe underwater like a fish.                                                                                          

On my back is an upside down push bike.                                                                                   

It belonged to the landlord of the Dog and Duck pub.                                                                    

I stole it along with his orange chequered brolly.                                                                     

The bike is a 1928 model worth sixteen grand.                                                                           

It’s not for sale.                                                                                                                                

The wheels move in the wind, freewheeling.                                                                                

I keep my other clothes dry in an orange case that belonged to a copper.                                       

I liberated it from his car.                                                                                                            

No need for spare cuffs, CS gas, stun gun, bondage gear.                                                         

I don’t wash my clothes.                                                                                                                 

The running water cleans them.                                                                                                    

My yellow Fred Perry shirt has never looked fresher.                                                           

And my PVC jeans are jet black gothic.                                                                                 

Do you think I’m bizarre?                                                                                                            

I do hope so.                                                                                                                       

When I want to go somewhere, I use the bike.                                                                           

I’m in the same position –                                                                                                

upside down with my back on the saddle and my legs steering the handle bars.                             

I see where I’m going by the eyes in the back of my head.                                                                 

I’ll pop to the shop when I wake up from my dreamy sleep, dreaming of fish.

new ian and abby erotic story link and info

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Join Ian and Abby on their first ever trip to Thailand. Here they do what they do best: make love! From erotic times alone, with a Ladyboy, with a room service guy, the barmen and others, they certainly have fun. Ian and Abby live the life most of us only dream about. How much erotic fun can they have in a week away in exotic Asia? Join them and find out on this cool Thai jaunt. Over 18s only.

JIMMY BOOM SEMTEX is here with his explosive books

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Italia

Dream of a nation, they built a big airship for Arctic exploration. Things went so well, taking a plethora of readings and photographs till a head wind sprung up. They used most of the fuel battling the wind. Serious technical trouble followed. This would go downhill, fast.

A crash!

Ripping fabric, torn envelope. Smashed control cabin forlorn on the ice. Many dead and injured. Stuck on the ice sheet, forsaken? Airship drifts off to oblivion and death. Lost to this day, many decades later. What were their last moments like? A mystery.

Poor stricken men from the control cabin were rescued after time in an icy Hell. They risked their lives for Italy and exploration. Were the risks worth it? Italia was lost...

ABLE ARCHER

ABLE ARCHER 

   Once upon a time in a wicked land run by two equally vicious power blocks there lived two nice black pussycats called Able and Archer. Both lived on nuclear missile bases being fed by active duty service personnel who served their respective countries in this wicked vicious world of half hidden nightmares and Cold War surrealism. Would both pussies get fried if it turned into a hot war? Able was a black gothic medium long hair pussycat aged five years. She lived at Greenham Common, a cruise missile base equipped with GLCMs - Gliccams - Ground Launched Cruise Missiles. These were amongst the West's new mushroom producing weapons that included the Pershing 2 IRBM (Intermediate Range Ballistic Missile) and the stunning MX Peacekeeper ICBM (Inter Continental Ballistic Missile). Backing these weapons up were the ALCM (Air Launched Cruise Missile) similar to the Gliccam but launched from aircraft like the B-52 bomber. Sub based Trident D5 SLBM (Submarine Launched Ballistic Missile) in nuclear missile boats like the Ohio submarines.

   Soviet/Warsaw Pact forces faced off American/NATO nuclear and conventional forces. They had new nuclear weapons like the IRBM class SS20 missile and AS15 Kelt ALCM. Their pussycat was called Archer, he was also a black pussycat fed well living on a missile base at Vostock in East Germany. Many other Soviet/Warsaw Pact weapons were being built and deployed but they were secret and not much was known about them other than they would kill millions of people and western pussycats like Able. Missiles fired from the West would kill millions more in the East along with their feline furry friends. For now peace reigned but it would soon be over, something terribly bad was in the making so the future for pussycats and their people owners didn’t look to rosy.

   It all started when Able the pussycat at the Greenham base was chasing a mouse for some fun; this mouse was brown in colour and Able believed that this small brown mouse was a spy and a communist sympathiser after the secrets of the base. So Able had to stop the mouse at all costs and by any means possible. A chase developed under the barbed razor wire, over the closely cut grass past armed American guards with loaded machine guns with safety catches off, onto the tarmac roadway which led to part of the missiles storage area. This was one quick smart mouse dodging this way and that, avoiding a NATO pussycat that pounced six times after this rogue mouse and missed. Was it the first of many? Over by the nuclear warhead storage igloo – a structure made of steel reinforced concrete topped off by earth and grass. The mouse had chosen this one carefully; the heavy steel door was open due to the maintenance crew doing weekly checks on the warhead for any problems. Had the mouse been told of this so it could gain access and steal the secrets for the enemy, the War Pac forces? With a loud meow Able ran a metre behind the speedy mouse that shot into the small gap in the door in the storage bunker, gaining entry to the most secret part of the British Isles. Stopping on the middle of the floor to observe and take in its bearings the mouse darted to the nearest warhead that was stored in a large yellow lead flask with danger and radiation signs and labels plastered all over it. The cat was on its tail like a guided missile to stop this intrusion, pouncing one last time in his only chance to stop spying and subterfuge Able jumped on the mouse. He did it! The mouse gave one last squeak and died as a paw was planted on its back and teeth snapped biting the mouse to end its short life of spying. Looking up in alarm the distracted maintenance crew laughed when they saw it was only their friendly cat Able chasing and having caught a mouse. He had to earn his supper the hard way, live mice and tit bits from the maintenance and base personnel. They wouldn’t give him a tit bit this time coz he had the mouse to nibble on, did the maintenance men know that Able had stopped a Soviet mouse spying on their secret nuclear weapons? After all this was a war, not just some highly dangerous game.

   When the mouse didn’t report back to Mouse Headquarters alarm bells rang, something was very wrong for a NATO cat must have compromised him. So more mice were sent out to gain the important information, how many pussycats guarded how many warheads at Greenham Common? In the cats head the conversation he should have with the communist spun out, theory after the practical. “Mouse what are you doing? Tell me! I know you’re an enemy agent up to no good,” hissed the cat. “What makes you sure I’ll ever tell you? Come, come and join us in the East. We need pussycats like you to defeat the evil capitalists,”  squeaked the brown mouse whose shifty eyes took in everything. Silence. Enough! I've killed the mouse for now we are safe no threat hinders us, for now. After sorting the intruding mouse out Able went back prowling the grounds always alert ready for anything. He saw the maintenance men close the door to the missile bunker. One of them spotted him and shouted, “Hey Able good work with the mouse! We can’t have it stealing our warheads. Here's a tit bit,” he threw a half eaten sandwich over to the black cat that was the saviour of democracy. With a meow Able pounced and ate the ham and cheese in one go. Perks of the job.  

   Able had an opposite number, a fellow black cat who was an exact opposite in each and every way. He was the guardian of similar weapons that belonged to his masters who had a different belief, communism. A direct challenge from the East to the capitalist West, he was called Archer. Archer was a very pernicious cat full of moods ranging from petulant to down right angry. He always expected to get his own way but one time soon he wouldn’t with bad consequences for all involved. What would the end result be? He didn’t know this man though as he guarded an SS20 missile site. Already he'd caught three NATO mice over a two-day period. Not a single secret had been stolen. It looked like NATO was planning something against the East but what - recon or full-scale war? Archer had to find out, not a single cornered captured mouse had spilled the beans, all died in silence then he had eaten their still warm corpses. A scant meal considering what was hanging overhead. “Comrade cat Archer good work with the vermin mice. Here's a dish of our finest vodka,” congratulated a soldier of the Nuclear Missile Troops. Archer wasn’t as posh a pussycat as her Western counterpart Able. Her coat was at best functional, none of the high glossy sheen or brushed daily nor was she fed tuna fish twice per week or allowed to sleep in the Enlisted Airman's mess when the weather was bad. No Archer slept under a TEL (Transporter Erector Launcher) that transported the deadly state of the art SS20 missiles. That was her home in early/mid November 1983 in a time when our world came close to World War3. Not since the Cuban Missile Crisis had the world been pushed to the edge, it was all a matter of pussycats catching mice.

   Archer black communist pussycat was wondering when would war come? What form would it take? NATO could only send over so many recon mice to filch our secrets. When would the mice stop and missiles and bombs fall? Of course we wouldn’t start the Third World War coz we are the good guys who want to co exist and be left alone. We'd have to catch an enemy mouse and make him talk but how do we do that? Every mouse that crossed the wire was spotted and caught but not one talked. That had to change. Almost silent rumours circulated of one of our Soviet spy mice being caught and talking, was it true? If so the communist ideal was under threat by the capitalist mice spies and guard pussycats. What were our leaders going to do about it?

   Meanwhile back in the land of the free Able enjoyed a nice peanut butter sandwich off a soldier for catching another enemy mouse. Crunchie nut, mmm my favourite! Soon the countdown to war would begin, pussycats, mice and nuclear bombs, oh and people! 

ian and abby adult erotic stories link...

http://www.lulu.com/shop/nick-armbrister/ian-and-abby-adult-erotic-short-stories/ebook/product-21647712.html

HARD

Every generation has its own hard men

who rule the block, kick the new kids ass’s.

Who rule every bar, don’t take no for an answer,

are not to be messed with and demand respect.

They use the weapons of their trade, knives,

brass knuckles, guns, bats and more.

Take them away and their fists are a back up,

sure fire way of defence, offence.

A hundred years later all the hard men are dead.

Each generation has the new stock of muscle-bound

crazies until the clock humbles them and their kids take over,

live or die in the oldest trade in history.

Hard man on the block, watch your back,

don’t cross them and do respect them.

Talk to them, not behind them

and you’ll see the next dawn, alive.

Event

Now I know how wrong war in the world is and murder on our streets. It won’t ever change or stop.                                                                                                                    
You see, it’s the way we are.                                                                                                                      Maybe it’ll stop on the next genetic step/human level in our development. Like with the so called grey aliens who are meant to have a collective mind.                                           
I bet they can make war, imagine an F-16 shooting at them with an AMRAAM missile lol. Bye bye F-16. War of the worlds motherfucker.                                                                                                                              
Give me more beer...

Shoki: The Story of Sensei Pete Ratcliff By Nick Armbrister

Shoki: The Story of Sensei Pete Ratcliff
By Nick Armbrister

Sensei Pete: So that’s how Pete would have the immediate edge. Because you’d be ‘Oh look look, I don’t want any trouble.’ They wouldn’t know his skill. ‘Oh look please, no! Don’t.’ They’ll even let you touch them. ‘Don’t shoot me!’ Bang! F***ing gone to sleep. Believe me. ‘Look look I don’t want any trouble!’
Sensei Pete: As he’s barmy you’d get nervous!
Sensei Derek: I’d f***ing put your jaw bone through the top of your head.
Sensei Derek: You’d get more nervous you see as he mithers.
Sensei Derek: But you think look he’s… Bang!
Nick: You think he’s mad but then he’s gonna…
Sensei Derek: Then your f***ing jaw dislocates and your face is gone. You’ve got wires in for the rest of your life.
Nick: You’d be dead man.
Sensei Derek: Yes, close contact with him, if he’s, ‘Oh look look…’
Everyone: Laughs.
Sensei Derek: No but you would, wouldn’t you? I’m just showing you the technique.
Interview 28/02/2013. Sensei Derek also contributed.
Nick: How many Karate clubs have you attended or learnt from?
Sensei Pete: About ten.
Nick: How many clubs have you instructed at, including this one?
Sensei Pete: I’ve owned three clubs that are my own.
Nick: And that obviously you would have instructed at. Is that including this one?
Sensei Pete: Yes, that’s including this one. I’ve had three clubs of my own and have instructed, must be, over hundred in the past. I’m currently going to different clubs now showing them different techniques, how to do it the best way and stuff.
Nick: How many would that be roughly?
Sensei Pete: Could be five or six.
Nick: What was the first club you attended?
Sensei Pete: It was a guy I knew. No. It was a guy that knew my sister who was married. It was a guy that my sister’s husband was friends with. I can’t remember the name of the club. I’d just got interested. The first proper club was the Shotokan Club in Greenacres.
Nick: Is that where you attended?
Sensei Pete: I attended there.
Nick: What age were you then at that club?
Sensei Pete: Five or six.

im on wattpad...

http://wattpad.com/nicksnickarmbrister

AEROPLANE POEMS BY NICK ARMBRISTER

AEROPLANE POEMS                BY NICK ARMBRISTER
MESSERSCHMITT DEATH MACHINE Yankee terror bombers fly overhead to bomb our cities and our military targets.                    
Stop them! Quick, into our Messerschmitt 109G’s.                                                                          
Take off; rise up to do battle with the infidels armed with their fifty calibre super heavy machine guns.                                                                          ...                                      
We have a few toys too! We drop 500-pound bombs on B-17s timed to go off and send them to hell! One-way ticket, don’t forget to pay the ferry man.                                          
Backed up by big fat 30mm cannon in the engine, punch big fat holes into the terror bombers - kill them!                                                                                                                                           
Twin 13mm guns in the engine cowling to rat-atat-tat the big bad yanks.                                              
And two 20mm cannons, one under each wing to do more killing and bomber destruction or two 210mm rockets to kill from stand off range, break up their formations to execute them one at a time.                                                                          
Messerschmitt 109G death machine, weapons platform.                                                                  
What about Focke Wulf 190? Four 20mm guns, two 13mm guns, bombs, rockets or 30mm guns. Use these up, ram the bastards! Official suicide squad, Nazi style.

out now on amazon

Where Do Spiders Go? 

My Great Mother Earth Goddess never told me where spiders go.                               After I have been a sinner and killed one or two,                                                               for I don’t want them indoors.                                                                                                I’m sorry for my act.                                                                                                                I knew that Jesus said no spiders or insects in heaven.                                                They’re not like us humans, not worthy.                                                                     They kill flies to do a good job in nature.                                                                  So why am I scarred of them?                                                                                                   Big black ones crawled over me in 1998,                                                                                  woke me up and screwed my head up.                                                                                                                                         But still I ask, “Where do dead spiders go?” 

Fashion Sharks by Jimmy Boom Semtex

http://www.lulu.com/shop/jimmy-boom-semtex/fashion-sharks/ebook/product-21637066.html

Jelma is a unique Asian young lady. Her first love is fashion. She works for a top Japanese fashion company designing cutting edge dresses. When she uses her initiative on a design, not following house rules, her boss disciplines her. Jelma and her two friends sets up a rival design company and goes head to head with her boss. Who will win, who will succeed? Find out in this modern story of creativity and conflict.

WORLD DOMINATION

WORLD DOMINATION

Go back thirty years and look at a map of the world.

Half of the countries are under American or Russian influence.

From the Arctic Circle to the Mediterranean Sea

each country tries to outdo the other.

Where there is no friendly country they build

massive aircraft carriers and tanks to send the message home.

You have two choices – become a Commie or a Capitalist.

You are not allowed your own choice.

Korea, Germany, Afghanistan are all the infamous names

of the Cold War.                                                                                                              

Casualties of a silly conflict

between Soviet Russia and America.

A choice of either Mig 21 or F-4.                                                                                                          Choose your side and pick your warplane.

You’re part of this war as much as me.

JUNIPER’S DAUGHTER 3: WAR IS OBSOLETE - FUTILITY AND HOPE BY NICK ARMBRISTER A COLLECTION OF DARK/LIGHT POETRY/NARRATIVES AND STORIES. A FOLLOW UP TO MY JUNIPER’S DAUGHTER SERIES. out on amazon.

JUNIPER’S DAUGHTER 3: WAR IS OBSOLETE - FUTILITY AND HOPE 
BY NICK ARMBRISTER
A  COLLECTION OF DARK/LIGHT POETRY/NARRATIVES AND STORIES.
A FOLLOW UP TO MY JUNIPER’S DAUGHTER SERIES.
out on amazon.


ABLE ARCHER 
   Once upon a time in a wicked land run by two equally vicious power blocks there lived two nice black pussycats called Able and Archer. Both lived on nuclear missile bases being fed by active duty service personnel who served their respective countries in this wicked vicious world of half hidden nightmares and Cold War surrealism. Would both pussies get fried if it turned into a hot war? Able was a black gothic medium long hair pussycat aged five years. She lived at Greenham Common, a cruise missile base equipped with GLCMs - Gliccams - Ground Launched Cruise Missiles. These were amongst the West's new mushroom producing weapons that included the Pershing 2 IRBM (Intermediate Range Ballistic Missile) and the stunning MX Peacekeeper ICBM (Inter Continental Ballistic Missile). Backing these weapons up were the ALCM (Air Launched Cruise Missile) similar to the Gliccam but launched from aircraft like the B-52 bomber. Sub based Trident D5 SLBM (Submarine Launched Ballistic Missile) in nuclear missile boats like the Ohio submarines.
   Soviet/Warsaw Pact forces faced off American/NATO nuclear and conventional forces. They had new nuclear weapons like the IRBM class SS20 missile and AS15 Kelt ALCM. Their pussycat was called Archer, he was also a black pussycat fed well living on a missile base at Vostock in East Germany. Many other Soviet/Warsaw Pact weapons were being built and deployed but they were secret and not much was known about them other than they would kill millions of people and western pussycats like Able. Missiles fired from the West would kill millions more in the East along with their feline furry friends. For now peace reigned but it would soon be over, something terribly bad was in the making so the future for pussycats and their people owners didn’t look to rosy.
   It all started when Able the pussycat at the Greenham base was chasing a mouse for some fun; this mouse was brown in colour and Able believed that this small brown mouse was a spy and a communist sympathiser after the secrets of the base. So Able had to stop the mouse at all costs and by any means possible. A chase developed under the barbed razor wire, over the closely cut grass past armed American guards with loaded machine guns with safety catches off, onto the tarmac roadway which led to part of the missiles storage area. This was one quick smart mouse dodging this way and that, avoiding a NATO pussycat that pounced six times after this rogue mouse and missed. Was it the first of many? Over by the nuclear warhead storage igloo – a structure made of steel reinforced concrete topped off by earth and grass. The mouse had chosen this one carefully; the heavy steel door was open due to the maintenance crew doing weekly checks on the warhead for any problems. Had the mouse been told of this so it could gain access and steal the secrets for the enemy, the War Pac forces? With a loud meow Able ran a metre behind the speedy mouse that shot into the small gap in the door in the storage bunker, gaining entry to the most secret part of the British Isles. Stopping on the middle of the floor to observe and take in its bearings the mouse darted to the nearest warhead that was stored in a large yellow lead flask with danger and radiation signs and labels plastered all over it. The cat was on its tail like a guided missile to stop this intrusion, pouncing one last time in his only chance to stop spying and subterfuge Able jumped on the mouse. He did it! The mouse gave one last squeak and died as a paw was planted on its back and teeth snapped biting the mouse to end its short life of spying. Looking up in alarm the distracted maintenance crew laughed when they saw it was only their friendly cat Able chasing and having caught a mouse. He had to earn his supper the hard way, live mice and tit bits from the maintenance and base personnel. They wouldn’t give him a tit bit this time coz he had the mouse to nibble on, did the maintenance men know that Able had stopped a Soviet mouse spying on their secret nuclear weapons? After all this was a war, not just some highly dangerous game.
   When the mouse didn’t report back to Mouse Headquarters alarm bells rang, something was very wrong for a NATO cat must have compromised him. So more mice were sent out to gain the important information, how many pussycats guarded how many warheads at Greenham Common? In the cats head the conversation he should have with the communist spun out, theory after the practical. “Mouse what are you doing? Tell me! I know you’re an enemy agent up to no good,” hissed the cat. “What makes you sure I’ll ever tell you? Come, come and join us in the East. We need pussycats like you to defeat the evil capitalists,”  squeaked the brown mouse whose shifty eyes took in everything. Silence. Enough! I've killed the mouse for now we are safe no threat hinders us, for now. After sorting the intruding mouse out Able went back prowling the grounds always alert ready for anything. He saw the maintenance men close the door to the missile bunker. One of them spotted him and shouted, “Hey Able good work with the mouse! We can’t have it stealing our warheads. Here's a tit bit,” he threw a half eaten sandwich over to the black cat that was the saviour of democracy. With a meow Able pounced and ate the ham and cheese in one go. Perks of the job.

Wow! Tattoo My Butt Part 2 - Where Do You Think We All Will Be Tomorrow? By Nick Armbrister. out on amazon.

Wow! Tattoo My Butt Part 2 - Where Do You Think We All Will Be Tomorrow?

By Nick Armbrister.

Bizarre Man
I’m the bizarre man.                                                                                                                    
I like to sleep in a river.                                                                                                                  
I love the feeling of water flowing round my sleeping face.                                                    
Don’t worry, I won’t drown.                                                                                                                
I can breathe underwater like a fish.                                                                                        
On my back is an upside down push bike.                                                                                  
It belonged to the landlord of the Dog and Duck pub.                                                                  
I stole it along with his orange chequered brolly.                                                                    
The bike is a 1928 model worth sixteen grand.                                                                          
It’s not for sale.                                                                                                                              
The wheels move in the wind, freewheeling.                                                                              
I keep my other clothes dry in an orange case that belonged to a copper.                                      
I liberated it from his car.                                                                                                          
No need for spare cuffs, CS gas, stun gun, bondage gear.                                                        
I don’t wash my clothes.                                                                                                                
The running water cleans them.                                                                                                  
My yellow Fred Perry shirt has never looked fresher.                                                          
And my PVC jeans are jet black gothic.                                                                                
Do you think I’m bizarre?                                                                                                          
I do hope so.                                                                                                                      
When I want to go somewhere, I use the bike.                                                                          
I’m in the same position –                                                                                                
upside down with my back on the saddle and my legs steering the handle bars.                            
I see where I’m going by the eyes in the back of my head.                                                                
I’ll pop to the shop when I wake up from my dreamy sleep, dreaming of fish.

new JIMMY BOOM SEMTEX story intro

copyright JIMMY BOOM SEMTEX 2014 all rights reserved

In the park
It was a nice sunny day in Hiroshima. People were enjoying the warm June sun on this Saturday afternoon in Wisteria Park. Amongst them was one young lady who was frowning; her thoughts weren't on the sun. More important things beckoned like the latest in ladies fashion. One particular dress was causing her some consternation. The thin shoulder straps just didn't look right. It was where they attached to the top of the dress. But on paper they looked good. The lady, age 23 and called Jelma, frowned again.
"This isn't looking good. Well, it does on paper but it won't for real, no. No not at all. That was confirmed on the test dress," Jelma muttered to herself.
Everything about the dress looks great, it's just those damned shoulder straps. I like them, the way they look. Yet they didn't work on the test piece I made. So annoying. I'll have to redesign them, if not the whole damn dress. Damn it. I don't want to do that. The dress looks good. Just the straps. Jelma's mind was fraught with tension. She was stressed. Not good. Pausing from her pad, she put down her art pencil down and took a gulp of her drink. That's nice. I sure do love this sweet grapefruit drink. Pocari Sweat.Silly name though. Silly like the problem with these damned shoulder straps!
Pausing for a few minutes, Jelma took time out. Minutes slowly passed and her thoughts reformed themselves and she watched people in the park. Some read magazines, others played football, many flew kites of intricate design. More simply strolled in the ornate gardens. Many were couples spending time together. Jelma drank the last of her grapefruit drink, crumpled the can and put it in her bag to dispose of later.
She went back to work. Minutes passed. Her right hand drew and traced lightly over the design. In her pad were a dozen print outs, each allowed her to draw, redraw, change, edit and come up with the right design. It had to be right. Many had big black crosses through. Wrong! I'd take all the time in the world but I can't. The deadline is there, hanging over me like a katana held by a Samurai. Two days more...

Natalie. War Woman

The Royal Navy ship filled Natalie's gun sight. She fired her 20mm cannons and pulled up, dropping her bombs. With a sickening jolt they fell free and Nat lowered her nose, weaving her jet, flying away from the large ship. Tracer fire and a single missile raced past her. A faint boom indicated her bombs had gone off. Did she sink the enemy ship?

It was fly for her life. Sea Harriers were inbound. Natalie cursed her government for starting this evil war, for putting her in harms way and for killing her friends. It’s partly my fault, her mind screamed. You wanted to fly, not to fight and kill or be killed. Silly girl! Suddenly a warning was shouted over the radio. More voices and then silence. A Sea Harrier had shot down an A-4. Who was hit?

Nat just about made it to the Hercules tanker. She shook with fear. When she landed, her flight suit was drenched in sweat. Two jets were missing. Natalie had damaged a destroyer and killed British personnel. She was physically sick. Her Skyhawk had eight small bullet holes in it and this was only her first mission. The Medical Officer gave her the okay and she attended debriefing.

The next few days were critical. British ships had to be sunk and people killed to defeat the English. It was obvious to all; this would be a bitter fight. Air power had to defeat sea power. Nat flew another mission with mixed results, learning to temper her fear and use her skills and new experience. She saw her cannon fire rake a destroyer but her bombs missed, exploding either side of the ship.

Her third mission was her last over the Malvinas. On the hills above the bay, enemy guns and missiles were getting more lethal every day. Never mind the ships’ weapons and marauding Sea Harriers. Losses were several planes each day. Nat’s time was finally up. She hit a Royal Navy destroyer, blowing a big hole in it with her thousand pound bomb. There were many killed. Natalie never saw the wounded English gunner firing a 20mm cannon when she sped ten metres overhead.

Exploding shells slammed into her A-4 and Natalie almost lost control. Desperately she pulled up, avoiding slamming into the black cold water. A 20mm shell blew her lower left leg off. By a miracle she never passed out, the pain was something else. Blood filled the cockpit. Right there, she wanted to die. No more pain. Not physical or mental over her Disappeared friends. One simple shove of the controls and the sea would claim her...

JUNIPER’S DAUGHTER – FRONTIER TOWN A novel by Nick Armbrister

JUNIPER’S DAUGHTER – FRONTIER TOWN

A novel by Nick Armbrister
   Other groups of boys formed groups in Renford for many reasons: safety in numbers, for support in the many crises that dogged the town from one day to the next, to working with rival gangs, fighting them or running a hundred and one illegal rackets. Protection was one of the biggest earners with individuals, businesses and other organisations paying to be “looked after,” what this resulted in was peace of mind. Those who didn’t pay were warned by smart well groomed men in suits, if that didn’t work a brick through the window led to the premises being fire bombed, machine gunned or blown up. Individual’s received a similar visit, if this failed then they were knee capped or had their legs broken by masked men who couldn’t be traced, like they never existed and the injured party had just slipped on the soap.
   Gant ran the largest racket; he didn’t collect the payment, this was delegated to lesser characters than himself working their way up the gangster chain of command. The attacks on premises was carried out by keen young angry thugs as was the assaults on individuals, when it went wrong Gant or one of his boys had to discreetly sort it out. This often involved the actual attacker being taught a lesson to give him one more chance or simply him/her disappearing (it was an equal opportunities job).
   Most of the people who lived in Renford were local or displaced citizens like Gerald who after getting out of jail stayed with Gant and co, if he went back to independent Wales he would be put to death brutally for aiding the English gangs as an example to anyone else who wanted to live the gangster life style hand in hand with the enemy. A feudal society spread all over the mainland of England, Scotland and Wales, a land like the middle ages with death, disease and lots of deadly radiation poisoning blanketing the land. Guns and ammunition were in plentiful supply as were vicious wicked people with a death wish and the will to use weapons. Several generations had fighting experience, whole families that survived thrived on decades of fighting, killing, violence and gangster style behaviour.
   Of this, Gant’s family was an example; his mother was a weapons dealer with contacts ranging into the Irish Republic to Libya to the Continent (excluding France which was destroyed). She armed her son with the latest and deadliest weapons, explosives, knives and other evil tools, in turn Gant passed some to his group, sold others and kept some as a healthy reserve just in case big trouble kicked off. She was born into a working class family, in the decades following the civil war, nuclear war with France and the fall back to a medieval society, it toughened up Gant’s mother. Her husband was an idle drunkard who didn’t want to know about Gant, his mother Sheila told her son when he was five that daddy was dead, it was better than explaining the awful truth that surrounded the man she once thought she had loved. He had gone to fight a group of people in the Cornwall area of the country, which was the last his ex-wife had heard of him for twelve years until one day he returned. He tried to make it up to his forsaken family but it was all in vain, Gant had a nervous breakdown after seeing his father who was alive but hideously wounded from his Cornish battles. A psychotic episode followed in which Gant shot dead his own father in cold blood after years of lies that finally came out and at how upset and inconsolable his once strong willed mother once was. He grabbed a gun and emptied the entire magazine of sixteen rounds into his absent father’s face and then dragged the body into the front garden, poured cooking oil on it and set it alight. For nine hours he stayed there watching the body burn, as his mother wept indoors on the edge of an even bigger mental breakdown. Burying the blackened shrunken skeleton under a dead rose bush Gant returned inside with a face like thunder, he was a man now who vowed never to end up like his father – he would look after his mother no matter what. He didn’t even know the name of the man he had just murdered, he never wanted to know and he blocked this evil act out of his mind.
   Illegal actions would be the forte of his life. He set up a network of boys early on in his teens to do dug dealing, street robberies and selling knives (Gant had sold knives to forty year old men when he was eight years old); also professional attacks for money, sabotaging the English army’s communications and many other shady jobs were done, in the strictest confidence.
   Gant had a sister called Clair who was a prostitute for her main income, he found out about this when he walked in on her with a client in her small box room in the house, of all the places Gant angrily thought as he loaded his pistol and aimed it at the man who cowered in terror trying to hide behind Clair. Gant let the man run into the street with his jeans around his ankles before shooting him in each buttock cheek. Falling to the floor the man crawled into the gutter expecting execution that never came, without medical treatment the man would die from infection and gangrene before the week was out. Gant returned to his sister’s room to have a talk with her, either stop this wicked profession because you’re family or get out and never come back. Mum and I don’t want you doing this, you can leave home or work for me, what is it to be? He gave her five minutes to clean herself up and give him an answer; she would work for her brother doing illegal work especially when the skills of a woman were needed. Yes she would be part of her brother’s illegal business in ways that were yet to be determined. Clair could make new contacts especially with any woman led groups. These were few in number but key leaders in their field, one such group being The Sisters of Renford who controlled prostitution in the east of the city, backed up by all female pimps – Gant warned his sister not to join them as a pro or even a gun armed pimp, contact with them had to be established in case any trading deals came up, things like that and nothing more, an administration role.
   He was working on putting a whole new set of schemes together including: ringers, stolen English army four wheel drive vehicles with a new identity so they would pass off as original to everybody even on the English army computers; a new range of chemical made holistic drugs that mirrored the effects of the Devil Snail plant, ten times stronger and easily addictable; in a lock up unit the illegal making of English army coins to use in the stores on various English army bases (these coins were only ever issues to English army soldiers for sole use in the base stores). Other lesser cash earners were Gant becoming a personal trainer for people who didn’t have fitness/hand to hand fighting skills, showing his customers how to do basic intelligence gathering work on specific things like information concerning their rivals and simple one off trades, for example a weapon that could be traded like a single pistol with ammo that could be used once.
   A dozen other illegal ideas formulated in the depths of Gant’s brain, how many would see the light of day? He mused over the taking over of a complete English army base. A fortified one would be fun, if it had a prison that would provide him with willing manpower to give support against the army. Crims would love to get payback, when Gant took the base using English army vehicles that were ringers after infiltrating it and becoming a presence there for a couple of days, even buying crappy porno mags in the base shop with the fake coins, finally springing the prisoners and defeating the base from within. That plan was pure genius; one of Gant’s bigger ideas he could chose to do, he wasn’t definitely going to do it, it was back up in case his other schemes failed but it depended on the current status quo being maintained. What if the army chose to attack then? What would Gant do then?

SOUTHERN CROSS by Nick Armbrister

SOUTHERN CROSS by Nick Armbrister

Javid was a member of the Catholic Christian church in the sprawling city of Leeds. He was neighbour and friend to Kenna in more ways than one; he lusted after his female friend and soon crossed a line by telling her his thoughts. He knew she was a gothic witch and quite open-minded, how far would she go? He shouldn’t be having these very un-Christian thoughts but he was human. What would his God say if he knew?

Moving to England from America back in the mid 90s, he was a missionary for the Church, his church, and widely regarded in his community. With a loving, child bearing wife and mother of their three children, Javid wasn’t alone sharing his home and life with Diane, his wife of thirteen years. Everything was fine until Javid gave in to his randy thoughts on his neighbour and friend Kenna. At first he tried to ignore them and forget about them but there was something lodged in his brain that wouldn’t go away; his lust for the single parent gothic girl who lived next door. When he made love to his faithful God fearing wife he always thought of Kenna and almost cried out her name when he was coming inside his wife. What would she say if he did so? Would she remonstrate with her husband for sinning, thinking illegal thoughts and then leave him? Or worse still, report her husband to his church who would kick him out in shame? He had to be careful. In his mind he plotted how to get Kenna in bed, even if it was one of the unholy sins and against everything he believed in. Javid’s own pleasure mattered here it had been neglected for too long. His brown quiet eyes hid a cunning mind that would have surprised his wife, if he had admitted to being a potentially bad husband.

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Kenna was pissed off; her London penpal of twenty years called Paul had upset her again. His text messages were getting more abusive and inflammatory. He accused Kenna of having an affair and of fancying her other penpal of five years, Nigel. This stemmed from an argument Kenna and Paul had over if they should meet, she questioned why he was always so pushy and rude, he replied it was because he was a dominant man. And that he loved her. It was a strange way to show it.

She was having none of his nonsense and mentioned that her other penpal from Manchester, Nigel, wasn’t bossy or rude and he would no doubt treat her like a lady and queen. And on top of that, both shared the same interests of gothic music and reading. Paul reacted like he was meant to and spat his dummy out, giving Kenna a small victory and some respect showing she wasn’t a lady to be messed with. It was at this time Kenna texted her neighbour and friend Javid to come round so she could talk about her man trouble, he agreed and gently knocked on her front door.

The two friends talked for twenty minutes, Kenna explaining in a vexed voice just what Paul was like and Javid nodding in agreement in the one sided talk.

When Javid said what was on his mind, it took the blond haired girl by surprise, not helping her out with the trouble with Paul. He announced rather quickly: “I think of you when I masturbate Kenna. I have for a while now, I know I mustn’t due to the church and my religion but I can’t help myself. I just can’t.”                                                                                                                                                                   

Kenna was shocked, of all the things she expected to hear, this wasn’t one of them. She replied, “I’m not sure you should do that Javid. Why think like that of me? I’m just a single parent of a teenage delinquent son. And you’re married!”                                                                                                                                       

“I know I’m married and I feel so bad about it. At least you know now though.”                                            

“I’m not sure it’s a good thing you told me. I don’t know what to say.”                                                                    

“May I wank in front of you Kenna please?” he slowly asked catching her gaze.                                                       

She thought it over and replied, “No. Not just yet.”                                                                                                                

“May I kiss you?” he tried. He knew Kenna had been single fifteen years and probably hadn’t kissed a man in all that time either. It was a huge risk he was running here.                                                                    

“Okay, yes you may kiss me. Only once on the lips,” Kenna agreed blushing slightly. Javid bent forwards and kissed his friend once on the lips then pulled back.

Kenna hadn’t expected his kiss to feel so good, even though it was only one time. It was he who initiated the next kiss, one that lasted longer and brought old hidden passions she had totally forgotten about to the surface. Her body melted into Javid’s and she closed her eyes and moaned quietly. For over fifteen years she had missed this!

Javid let Kenna kiss him, he was a little shocked that she started this kiss but he didn’t refuse it, he went along with her. In his pants his cock hardened, he wanted to place her hand on it. What would she do? It was then his mobile phone rang and he pulled back startled, what was he doing? His phone rang again and he looked at the display; it was his wife! He had better hurry home.

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Three weeks later Kenna was walking up the street where she lived, past the house that Javid shared with his family. She remembered back to the night when Javid almost did something so bad to bring his faith, marriage and reputation into disrepute. How lucky his wife had called ending the strange scene. Hurrying past the house Kenna made her way home, a few short yards down the road. Opening her gate she got her keys out of her pocket and fumbled for her front door key, she was half up her path when she looked up and saw a sight she didn’t want to see! Oh no there’s Javid waiting on my doorstep! What the hell does he want? gasped Kenna.

“Hi Kenna, I thought I’d pop round for a coffee while my wife is at work. You don’t mind do you?” Javid innocently said smiling.

“Now isn’t a good time Javid. I’ve got my son’s washing to do and tea to prepare and other things besides that. So no, now isn’t a good time,” sternly replied Kenna who wasn’t amused.

“Oh come on! Just ten minutes, then I’ll go. I promise and you can do your household chores then,” begged the religious man, almost desperate. He gave the single mum a hound dog lost look, which was also a sign of manipulation and it worked.

“Oh hell fire! Okay then, just ten minutes and then I’m kicking you out!” Kenna almost blasphemed, being won over.

He moved aside to allow Kenna access to her door and open it, letting them both inside. She let Javid shut the door and walked into the kitchen, turning the light on and filling the kettle up for their drinks. Setting two clean cups on the worktop she put coffee and sugar into each, not bothering to ask what sugar her friend took. She was a little annoyed at his intrusion and knew he didn’t like sugar, well I just forgot, plain and simple!                                                                                                                 

Sitting down Javid watched his neighbour do the brews, when she wasn’t looking he looked her up and down noticing her nice slim figure. In his pants his cock twitched and grew, he was getting a hard on! He crossed his legs quickly and hoped she wouldn’t notice; she did!

“Why have you crossed your legs? Have you got a hard on Javid?” teased Kenna not missing anything. As if he would stop for coffee, he wanted more than a drink!

“No, no I haven’t. What makes you think that?” blurted out Javid blushing and looking at the floor.

“The way you suddenly crossed your legs so I won’t see your cock going hard coz you’ve been eyeing me up. That’s why!” she replied.

“Okay, okay. Yes I have an erection! If you must know I was looking at you when you were at the sink. I can’t help it, I find you so attractive and sexy and you just gave me a hard on. Still have!” he whispered looking up.

“There’s your coffee. Don’t spill any! We don’t want you spilling any and burning your cock do we.”

“No, I don’t want to be burnt on my private parts, you’re right Kenna.”

“I’m always right. I’m a woman; we’re always right each and every time. Is your dick still hard?” she enquired walking over to Javid and sitting down next to him. If she wanted to she could check herself, so close were they now.

“Yes it is still hard Kenna. My cock is still hard!” stammered the religious minister, his gold cross visible at his neck.

“You better show me then haven’t you? You naughty boy!” smiled Kenna moving so close to her friend that their bodies now touched, looking down she saw him uncross his legs revealing a huge bulge in his chino trousers. A definite hard on!

“Oh...” gasped Javid when Kenna gently grasped his erect member and felt it. She sized it up estimating how big he was in his pants. Rubbing his dick brought more moans from him, his breathing became ragged and uneven and it wouldn’t take much for him to have an accident in his trousers! Stopping this, she undid his top button and the three smaller buttons where his zip would normally be and out popped his cock! It was quite a nice cock considering it was a Christian one; he had fathered three kids with his wife so it must work!

Oh my God I don’t believe this is happening! Please make Kenna stop my Lord, I’m your servant and a married family man! But I do fancy Kenna so much and she’s so sexy! And she has got hold of my cock! screamed Javid’s mind going into sexual overdrive. A pleasurable feeling filled his loins when his lady friend wanked him off, grabbing his six inch shaft tightly and really letting go on him.

“Oh Kenna I’ve wanted you to do that for so long! It feels so good...” he groaned closing his eyes.

“I knew you wanted me for this, not for a coffee,” laughed his sexy gothic pal, reaching over to kiss him once.

She continued to give him pleasure and tossed his cock off; she liked his blond pubes and smallish bell end. A smile like a cat with the cream appeared on her face, she giggled naughtily and commented, “It’s a good job you’ve got light coloured chinos on Javid.”

“Why is that Kenna? Oh, this feels so good,” asked the minister through half shut eyes.

“Coz when you spunk up on your pants, your wife won’t see the stains!” explained the witch, smiling and increasing the speed of her hand. She knew he was almost there. Bending over she kissed him and closed her eyes, her tongue brushing his lips, probing inside to taste his warm spit and meet his tongue. Kenna felt his tongue withdraw so she put hers all the way in and kissed him French style, long and passionate. In her mind she knew Javid had never been kissed like this before or tossed off so pleasurably.

“Oh, my wife! I forgot about her. You must stop!” uttered Javid panicking, thinking of his dear wife for the first time since this incident started.

“I’ll stop in a minute my friend; I know you’re nearly coming. You won’t be long now. Don’t think of your wife, think of me. Like you said, you do when you wank yourself off so think of me now. Come on big boy!” teased Kenna parting her lips from Javid briefly at his concern. Quickly she kissed him again and made sure he couldn’t escape.

“Oh, oh, oh my God! No, please stop. Oh Lord I’m coming. Oh Kenna what have you done? Oh, oh...” spluttered the man of God doing a very ungodly but natural thing. His cock exploded with white spunk, all over his bell end, on his expensive chino trousers and onto Kenna’s hand.

“See that was nice wasn’t it my love? Now you don’t have to do it yourself, I’ll do it for you anytime you want me to. Just text or call and I’ll be right here waiting for you. Don’t tell your dear wife now,” said the adulterous lady, smiling savagely. She kissed her neighbour one last time and then got up to get some tissue to clear up his little mess.

“I swear on the cross I won’t tell a soul, especially my loving wife. God knows what she’d say and do. She is your friend too. Would you really do it again Kenna? Do you mean that?” replied Javid not as worried now and planning more sexy meetings.

“As I said, call or text me and I’ll be here. Who knows what we’ll do next time?” smiled the gothic lady, her eyes flashing in joy and mischeviousness. Yes what would she do next to the innocent preacher man, thought Kenna cheekily.

“Bye for now,” said Javid leaving his friend and half drank cold coffee. He hoped his dear wife wouldn’t find out!