/Love Provocateur – Sample… by Misti

The street light did little to alleviate Missy’s sixth sense.  That someone was following her was without doubt; who it was and their intention were her primal concerns.
She expelled a long sigh yet was careful not to let him hear it.  The road was arrow-straight, sidelined with towering Victorian buildings, the homes of elite professionals; judges, surgeons and millionaire tycoons.  In her favour, was a vast knowledge of the area and also the sig 9mm handgun always ready for action in its ankle holster.  But she was getting ahead of herself, it wasnt the first time she’d been followed.  The warnings from her superiors were regular occurrences with her determined quest to uncover the truth of the London bombings.  Frustration irked her, jolting her to action.  Quickening her movements she disappeared from view, side-stepping into a narrow and blackened path bordering properties.  A split second and she was ready; gun in hand, cocked for action,  adrenalin empowering her quest.

‘Put that away before one of us gets hurt…’ The silhouette of his form splayed its shadow across to her,  ‘Come here.’  It was a command.

“Gellar.”  Her pulse raced.   He was baiting her, and she knew it.  Knowing full well that in instructing her to comply he would simply goad her into conflict with him.  Yet this time, she welcomed his bait.  He’d haunted her mind these last 5 years, until driven to distraction she’d taken to gruelling work-outs late at night prompting an eventual welcoming deep slumber.  The merest reminder of him fuelled her mind and body into reliving the events of that first encounter.  Time hadn’t lessened the attraction but she was in control, she admonished herself.  Replacing her weapon, she drew a sharp steadying breath, she was not a child, what’s more she was an expert in entrapment, using her body with skilled precision to leave men gullible weakened representations of their former selves.  Missy was a talented actress, the minute she slipped into ‘Honeytrap’ role, she became a seductress in the truest form, what’s more though she’d never openly admit to it, she thrived on the power it fed.

‘You took your time.’

An amused smirk momentarily tugged at his mouth.  She hadn’t changed, still arrogantly independent at least until he reminded her of what she’d been missing, this time there would be no distractions.  ‘Come closer.’

Trancelike she complied, standing so close she inhaled his warm breath, the tell-tale effect of their proximity in the rise and fall of her breasts against the silk camisole top she wore.  His face was cold, expressionless, almost cruel she acknowledged.  His impenetrable eyes invading her own.  Sanity whispered words of warning, instructing her to break his hold, to run yet she remained, aware that in doing so she was playing games with the devil.  Gellar was her rival in every sense of the word; she MI5, he MI6, their mission all those years ago had been a set-up by their superiors to discover who was the ultimate Agent, the winner of that title the one to survive.  The timing of the bombings had saved the lives of both Agents, yet taken those of so many others including her beloved nephew, Daniel.

‘So you need my help Missy.  Funny how events unfold, don’t you think?  I’ve been watching you these last few days.  Strange that a beautiful woman should live alone with just a few select friends at hand.  Job enough for you is it?’ His head dipped nearer, his mouth so close it was all but upon her.  His tone was clipped reverberating an edge of distaste in what he said.

She swung her right hand desperate to strike him, the truth hard to bear.  Yet with ease he snapped hold of her wrist forcing her body to his.  Again she glimpsed his contempt, the pain of that resentment cutting her to the quick. ‘Its my job, damn you!  Dont dare tell me yours is any different.  I’ve made enquiries, you’re quite the ‘Lothario’ Gellar.  No woman with a pulse is safe with you, only it seems you’re a wham bam and thankyou mam kind of guy!’  Her eyes raged, a mixture of fury and deep-rooted jealousy.  What the hell was wrong with her; she had lost control, reacting like a lovesick fool.

Still his gaze held hers, so close she trembled with desire.  Releasing her wrist, he slowly moved his hand barely making contact yet lightly dusting her breasts as he did so.  An electrified sensation cursed throughout her igniting a warm pleasure in discreet places.  Finally his mouth captured hers, angrily bruising her lips, yet she welcomed his onslaught, desperate for his touch.  Her hands ran skilfully through his hair satisfied by the animalistic groan resonating from within him.  Seeking her bare flesh, he lifted her top, his eyes first absorbing the tiny waist before rising to the crimson brassiere holding the shapely tantalising forms that were his true desire.  It was not enough, he sought more.  He was a red-blooded male and though his willing conquests had been plentiful and both time and distance had been between them Missy had haunted his every moment of passion.  Her eyes invading his mind as he rose to the occasion and as he slept at night.  His hand reached down sliding beneath her jeans and he encountered no resistance, her gentle moans of pleasure barely audible but an evident invitation…

A shrill emanated from Gellar’s pocket, cursing he retrieved his mobile.  His haste activating the answer button by mistake.  ‘Jackson Gellar shame on you leaving me waiting for an hour!  It’s not my idea of a romantic reunion…’

The impassioned female voice was like a knife to the heart.  Missy shrank from him, yanking her top into place, ‘To hell with you!’  She span on her heel, running off into the night, fully aware that he would barely give her a backwards glance before heading off to his next willing conquest…

Gellar silently cursed the inopportune intrusion..  He’d wanted to grab Missy, to shake some sense into the infuriating wench.  Instead he’d stuck rigidly to his guns, allowing no sign of emotion to filter through.  He’d leave her to deal with it and once she’d calmed down he knew there would be another chance.  Anyway first thing tomorrow he had a job to do, rising at the crack of dawn to take out a prime target!

Trepidation suddenly fired through Gellar’s veins, his bodily instinct on optimal performance.  As an Agent he relied on little else and was rarely mistaken.  Analysing the scene before him, the sleek BMW M6 and its occupant just rising from the car his skilled precision evident, Gellar could no longer reject his assumption that their rendezvous had been witnessed and crucially by an insider.  His movements and repositioning of weapon just enough to give the game away.  Using the nights shadows to conceal his own whereabouts he considered his options.  He could not afford to blow his cover and as no-one knew he was back in the country then Missy was their likely target, either way he could take no risks.  The darkened pathway had offered the illusion that he’d simply taken his leave.

Just as Missy’s footsteps disappeared into the night the softer sound of her trackers became evident to Gellar.  Dependent on the pale light of the moon and barely adequate street lighting he moved with silent ease.  Drawing his knife from his pocket, he held the blade against the tyre before slicing off the valve, the hissing of previously compressed air audible to his ears only.  He continued with the remaining three, there was always the chance that there had been more than one agent sent to track Missy, and if they were going to these lengths then the chances were that they weren’t just out to watch her  but to take her out completely.  She had sent for him, and that alone meant that MI5’s finest was in trouble.  Quite what she had gotten herself into was as yet undisclosed but it seemed had aroused the eagle eyes of her superiors.  Their initial meeting set-up by both MI5 and MI6 had stood to forewarn them both just how dispensable they were.  The best case scenario now would be that he simply slowed down their movements, worst case scenario they would no longer need their vehicle and in order to ensure his own security that was the likely outcome.

With swift predatory movements he caught up with the driver of the BMW. In a fluid motion almost too quick to perceive Gellar strung a garrote wire around the guys throat, its shiny steel slicing into soft flesh.  Desperately his victim fought the thin metal.  Yet freshly inspired by the struggle Gellar’s grip intensified, with crossed wire’s he leant backwards his fists re-creating that of a boxer all but lifting his victim off the floor .  Mentally he acknowledged this agent had been sent to do a job that he himself had performed countless times. Under the haze of the pale moonlight the mans eyes bulged as his air supply was suddenly ceased.  His body attempted one last struggle, his legs faltering from the strain. His muscles protruding in that final vain attempt.at saving his life.  Then nothing, Gellar retained his hold, he would not make a mistake.  It was both kinder to his victim and necessary for his own safety that the job was performed without error.  Finally he let go, watching as the lifeless form sank to the ground, his pale blue shirt stained with blood that poured from the wound.  His eyes still wide open but motionless, his almost purple tongue hung from his mouth.  Wasting no time, he dragged the body undercover of the bushes.  He had to get to Missy and fast…

At the door of her apartment, Missy hesitated unsure if she’d heard a nose inside.  Silently she turned the key in its lock preparing herself for action.  Soundlessly making her way along the hallway she inhaled a sharp breath before stepping into the sitting room.  The room was askew with her possessions strewn across the floor.   Instantly she was dwarfed by an imposing male stature holding a Glock,  its barrel almost touching her.  She watched his trigger finger slowly moving.  Launching one high kick the gun spun to the floor. Preparing another she was thrown off guard as he leapt forward gripping her body and propelled her across the room.  Her body met the antique chest with a sickening thud.  His hand was again immediately upon her gripping her throat, pinning her against its confines.  The table lamp rocked on its base, crashing to the ground. Desperately she reached for its chord or shattered pieces, but a blackness began to envelop her and with one final attempt she formed a fist, hitting out wildly and meeting him firmly in the groin.  He groaned and released her.  She kicked again and again, her survival instinct driving her on to target his solar plexus.   His legs wavered then buckled.  Switching legs she launched again powering everything she had into it and caught him with her left foot, sending him reeling, face down against the fire’s hearth.  Missy instantly straddled him, her inner thighs gripping into his broken ribs.  Reaching to her boot she withdrew a long thin blade and penetrated it into his neck, driving it into the spinal column. Barely hesitating and with eyes void of emotion, she forced it upwards until it met with the softness of his brain.  She fell back finally able to draw breath just as Gellar appeared behind her.

‘Never’ she panted, ‘rely on a man for his timing’ then passed out…

360 Degrees by Misti

There are times in everyone’s life when they need to take cover and hide.  When your person needs to heal its wounds in order to move forward.  Sadly there are also people out there who would do anything to hinder this and instead drive that knife further into your soul, thrusting and turning the blade…

Yet, heaven is in my hand when I stand atop my mountain, no-one and nothing can penetrate the serenity that invades my body.  All those who have died leaving a parting scar on my heart are suddenly reincarnated and standing beside me, rejoicing in the vast green beauty that stretches as far as the eye can see, or at least until it embraces the sea.  I wish with all my heart that those moments could last forever!

Nature has a way of molding you as a child, rightly or wrongly you are your dictators creation.  My childhood was so full of the outdoors; my great escape, my wonderous adventures.  Every day rewarding me with vast velvet fields, silent yet echoing trees begging this vagabond child to climb their great heights to sit lost in place and time at the top, with an entire kingdom stretched out beneath.  The torturous craving for wide open spaces and the safety it offered was thus created…

Adoration for my father flourished with every moment shared, with his eagerness to disperse his knowledge and understanding of people, namely the unique bond man can develop with his comrades, especially when your life depends upon it!  Yet my hero had witnessed such cruel events that they would haunt his dreams and manipulate his mood until on occasions he became someone I didn’t like at all, more than that I hated him!  I stopped seeing him as one person because that would have been unbearable and instead split him into two, Daddy the great and Daddy the raging monster.  That way when the latter vanished I was happy and safe again and there was no need for forgiveness.

Anyway I had the wondrous inventions of pen and paper at my fingertips and every pain and joy were fed to it!  Looking back this is the point where my emotions began to disappear inwards, my trust was forever gone (if you can no longer trust the person you love most in the world, then it becomes a mere word with no emotive link) and my desire for escapism became more transient.

Damage to a childs emotive structure rarely heals itself or remains stable, at least not when it is so carefully squirreled away.  Mine festered and manifested itself in a dare-devil attack on the world.  Suddenly I was invincible or at least careless of risk to my life.  My desire for danger scaled extreme heights, I adored speed, blasting down a straight road at 180mph was a definite adrenalin rush.  Yet,looking back it didn’t offer real enjoyment as such, it was simply a means of refuelling my anger because in truth I prefered the windy roads of the Black mountains.  taking each bend with skilled precision, and cruising at a speed that allowed me to lift my helmet visor and appreciate that mountain breeze upon my face.   That I loved!

My life continued its destructive path, my career had me mixing with some of the greats yet I was barely impressed and in hindsight I was probably the one that drew the attention and for all the wrong reasons;  the tiny blonde with major attitude who rebuked all advances, no matter the title, talent or wealth!  My belief in God had been wiped out as a small child, but I know for sure that either some great powerful force was keeping a watchful eye over me, or I possessed the luck of the devil!  Celebrity bashes were pretty impressive affairs; opulent surroundings, free-flowing champagne, beautiful faces and a little of something to satisfy everyone’s need, if you know what I mean.  The champagne I enjoyed, what’s more its intrinsic motivation in drawing out one’s closely guarded secrets amused me and should I have chosen to be a vile opportunistic individual I would have become extremely rich revealing the indiscretions of our glamorous jet-set!  But to me integrity is paramount.

The nail in the coffin for my links to high society was allowing myself to be in a situation that could so easily have taken away my dignity and left me little more than damaged goods!  It was a pivotal turning point, and never again was I to risk my life for pure thrill.

Instead I embarked on a career that did offer real excitement, mostly drawn of fear but then who isn’t tempted by that one step further.  Truth be known we all possess the desire for an adrenalin rush, and what better than to be paid for it!

The sad fact is that sooner or later life catches up on you, and you are left staring at your mirror’s image disliking what you see.  Avoiding emotional involvement finally bites with the realisation that you are indeed lonely; suddenly you crave the touch of someone whom you love, admire and trust.  Someone who will hold you in their arms and stop you from running, someone who wont let you down, or perhaps that’s just in the fairy tales…

Blonde & Dangerous by Richard Holmes…

My friend Misti Debonno (she’s blonde and she’s dangerous) is currently engaged in a one-woman campaign against the government in an effort to get them to scrap plans to replace coast guard stations with call centres.  They must have kept that one really quiet, for obvious reasons, because until I came across Misti’s campaign on the social networking site, twitter, I knew nothing about it.  This spoof post is my own personal tribute to Misti’s guts, determination and honesty, oh, and also to her huge heart.

You have to use your imagination now…. The scene:

The sea is raging.  A fishing boat, along with its crew, is in trouble and in danger of being swallowed up.  A call comes through to an imaginary call centre in an imaginary town, somewhere in the UK, in the not too distant future.

Did I say imaginary?  Don’t bank on it, this might be you.

Annoying recorded message:

You are through to, Coast Guards – Who Needs ‘em? In order to comply with the petty internal politics of our organisation and to meet government targets (so we can make it look as though we are doing our jobs), we need to make sure that we inconvenience you and treat you with complete and utter contempt in the correct manner.  So please listen to the following options carefully and select the one that most applies to you.

If you are drowning press 1

If you are only drowning a little bit press 2

If you are calling to pay your bill you’ve got the wrong number; but press 3 anyway

To be fobbed off by a spotty faced student on a gap year press 4

To listen to really annoying music press 5

To listen to Sandra telling Tracey about the bloke she knobbed in the bogs of the King’s Arms on Saturday night press 6

If you have been waiting so long to talk to a human being that you are now dead, please go to http://www.wedontgiveafuck.com and you can register to have your loved ones personally patronized by David Cameron, whilst having his shoes shined by personal arse-wipe, Nick “Nicky” Clegg.

There are no more options, but….  Your call is very important to us, now fuck off, we’ve got figures to manipulate!

It only takes a few minutes to add your name to Misti’s petition so please take the time to do so.  Say NO to call centres! (*Sadly our petition is now closed having not reached the required amount of signatures, however please do contact @CoastalJoe1 to learn about their continued fight to Stop Station Closures…*)

MESSAGE FROM MISTI: It was actually a team campaign but oddly a picture of a blonde campaigning for the coastguards overrides that of a more appropriate life-saving image…Lol

Thankyou to everyone who helped with re-tweeting and dont be down because its far from over.  As @CoastalJoe1 so gallantly put it, this was just the pre-run…

I will keep in touch with my twitter bud’s, though maybe in a different format.  I love you all, even CJ who had such a delightful way of putting me in my place…*-P

I Once Knew A D.J… by Misti

I once knew a DJ named Hadley

Who combined wisdom and wit quite madly

He encountered this Welsh blonde

From far across the ocean’s pond

And together they bantered quite gladly…

Their moments were filled

With jokes that were skilled

To save their great Coastguards from closure

They smiled as they fought

The continuation that they sought

Of Coastguards to man Britain’s enclosure…

Such tears did fall

When their petition did stall

And Misti broken-hearted ran for the hills

But she left such great treasure

Namely Hadley, her guilty pleasure

Knowing he’d fight till the end with his skills!!!

xxx