The Secret of Excalibur

by Sahara Foley

  Moynin leans closer, whispering to us, “Pay him no mind. Since his old woman died, he fancies hisself expert on everythin', and a sensitive too. Goes to séances, and talks to spirits.”

  Shit, just what we need tonight, a three-hundred pound, muscle-bound, smelly and drunk psychic. What's next?

  “Be beggin' yer pardon again lady and gent, fer troublin' ye,” Moynin apologizes loud enough for all the patrons to hear, then adds, “Happy honeymoon.” There's a smattering of applause, but most patrons are staring at Godzilla, who's staring at me.

  Godzilla Barney stands for the first time since we've entered the dining area. He slowly looks around, then seeing no one will interfere with him, he heads for our table. Because of his size, it would take more than three men to stop him. I prepare myself to mentally put him down, hard, if, that is, he has a brain to work with. I really don't care whether his mind gets slightly fried, so long as he doesn't ruin the rest of our evening. I can be pretty ornery when I'm amorous.

  He leans with his knuckles on our wooden table, making it creak. “If'n ye was any good Mister Magician, ye won't need no props. I say ye ain't no damn good.” He leers at Ruth. “If'n I had me a bird like ye is woman, I'd be up in the bed a showin' ye what a man is.”

  “Are you looking for trouble, mister?” I thought I said that calmly, but several folks scoot away real fast, leaving the echo of screeching wooden legs on the wooden floor hanging in the air.

  Within seconds, Moynin and two other men with what looks like axe handles hurry over. “Go set down now, Barney, ye had yer say. Now sit or get out, man. And I mean it, Barney.”

  Godzilla glares with malice, blinks, then gives a small, mocking grin. Turning, he lumbers back to his table, sitting with his back to us.

  Moynin gives a little bow, pats his palm with the axe handle, then stalks off. He isn't quite to the counter when Ruth blurts, “Mr. Moynin, do you have a long-necked bottle?”

  My mouth drops open in astonishment.

  She gives a goofy grin at me, as Moynin makes his way into the back room. “Sorry, Arthur, but Barney pissed me off. Show him the bottle trick, then let's go upstairs.” She pats my hand.

  I guess that makes it okay. So, I sit and wait for the bottle. What else can I do?

  Moynin strides back with two bottles, both Schnapps, one full, one empty. “These do, ma'am? Ye never said empty nor full, so I brought both. Hope they are accommodatin'.”

  Ruth sets the full bottle off to the side. “These are fine, sir. We'll need a coin that won't fit into this bottle.”

  Godzilla jumps up, lumbering over, his hand in his pocket. With a clunk, he drops a pretty good-sized coin on the table in front of Ruth.

  “Uh, thank you.” She doesn't look at him. I think she's afraid, or she's trying not to breathe. Up close he smells worse. “Mr. Moynin, would you make some marks on this coin, so later it can be identified?”

  “Ain't no need,” Godzilla thunders, “that there's me lucky piece, and has plenty of marks on it already.”

  By this time, all the villagers in the place, even the workers in the kitchen, are watching. I hear several people mumbling, wondering what I'm going to do with Barney's coin.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen,” I stand, “this lady has in her hand a coin borrowed from Barney that will not fit into this empty bottle. Watch her closely as she tents her hands over the bottle.”

  Ruth looks at me wide-eyed with panic.

  I place her hands in mine, and tent them over the bottleneck. “As she tents her hands over the bottle,” and I teleport the coin, “it will seem as though the coin has fallen into the bottle. My, my, look at this; she has made the coin go into the bottle.” Plink. Tink. Tink. The coin settles on the bottom.

  Ruth is gawking at the coin as intently as everyone else in the room. She glances at me with a big gleeful grin, blows me a small kiss, pats my arm, then holds my hand and pats that too. Hell of a lot of patting going on around here.

  Barney snatches the bottle off our table and stomps to his bench. He smashes the bottle, then sits, taking bites from his coin, glaring with hatred at me the whole time. He's already tried to bend the coin on the edge of the table, then break it in two, what's left but try to bite it? He's royally pissed now.

  Moynin exclaims, “That magic trick was surely somethin' Mr. Merlin, and we thank ye.”

  I point to Ruth. “She did it, sir, tell her.” More sporadic clapping. Barney's still glaring at me, so with a jeering smile, I ask him, “Well, Barney, is that your coin?”

  He doesn't acknowledge me, but angrily mutters, “Don't know how ya done that, mister, but it ain't no magic, some kinda trick, but no magic,”

  Now, I'm getting pissed. “You want magic, Barney?” I yell.

  Ruth grabs my arm as I quickly stand, pulling her with me. “Arthur, calm down, please?” she pleads, face pale and eyes wide with fright.

  Getting ready to set his hair on fire, I notice the full bottle still on our table. “Mr. Moynin, I'll need a towel please.”

  He'd been backing away from us after I yelled at Barney. Either he was leaving to get his axe handle, or maybe just to get the hell out of here. Friends have told me that whenever I get angry, I radiate vibes that make people want to vacate the area. He whips off his apron, asking, “This do, sir?”

  “Yes, that's fine. Barney, I need your coin again. If you've finally managed to figure out that it's your coin.” I know I'm talking loudly, but I don't care. He doesn't say anything, just flips his coin to me. I catch the coin midair and sit. “Mr. Moynin, I'll need you to cover my hands, but first I need two of your darts.”

  A man saunters over and, with a soft thunk, sticks two steel-tipped darts, into the table. When I reach to grab them, I notice Ruth hasn't sat back down. In fact, she's on the other side of the table next to Moynin. A spectator, I guess.

  “Mr. Moynin, please cover just my hands with your apron.” He flaps his apron, letting it flutter over my hands. Under the apron my hands never move, but I mentally focus hard for a few seconds. I even close my eyes. I've never tried this maneuver before and it's kind of tricky to complete. But I get it done. With a smirk, I remove my hands and rise. “Okay Mr. Moynin, lift the apron please.”

  Hesitantly, he slowly removes the apron, acting like he's unwrapping a bomb, not a bottle. Lots of Ahh's, Oh's and My God's.

  Ruth kneels in front of the table, staring openmouthed. In the unopened bottle of Schnapps are embedded the two darts, one on each side. In the center of the bottle is Godzilla's coin, held fast by the tips of the darts.

  “My God, Arthur, how?” she asks in disbelief as she stands.

  I wink at her, saying, “Well, Barney wanted magic. Here it is Barney, you asshole. What do you say now?”

  The patrons crowd around as I hold the bottle up, turning it upside down. The coin and darts never move, only the liquid Schnapps sloshes around. The seal is still intact, so I tell Moynin, “Sir, It seems I owe you for a bottle of Schnapps.” I hand the bottle to him. “Please add the price to our bill.”

  I grab our bottle of wine and the glasses, taking Ruth by the hand. “Good night, folks, and we thank you for the good wishes.” Up the stairs we trundle, as the flabbergasted spectators jostle with each other, trying to see the bottle.

  Up in our room, Ruth confesses, “You really frightened me, Arthur. I thought you were going to do something terrible to that horrible man. And the last trick, how did you think of that? It's amazing, really. I'll bet they'll be talking about this night for years.” Without waiting for a response, she takes her small bag and disappears into the bathroom.

  Women.

  Chapter Eleven

  Pouring each of us a glass of wine, I faintly hear an argument from downstairs, then a scuffle, followed by heavy footsteps pounding up the stairs, then a booming on the door. I open the door to see Godzilla, face red and panting. Racing up the stairs behind are some other patrons.

  “What ye done with me coin?” Barney yells so forcef
ully spit flies.

  “Your coin is in the bottle, Barney,” I taunt. “You saw it.” I'm about ready to mentally put him down.

  Moynin elbows his way to the front of the group, blood smeared on his lower lip. “Sorry sir, Barney went crazy on us when he couldn't break the bottle and get his coin out. He surely tried, but the bottle won't break.”

  Snickering inside, I know the bottle will never be broken, not surrounded by a force-field. “Well, Barney, you wanted magic, now you got it. Go away and leave us alone before I get angry.”

  I start to shut the door, but he pushes against it, reaching for my throat simultaneously with both hands. Before he can grab me, I throw up my arms, deflecting his arms out. I place both palms against his chest and shove, hard. Since I'm as strong as ten men and unconsciously pushing from my mind as well, he flies backwards, feet off the floor, into the group milling around in the hallway and down the stairs, taking about fifteen people with him. Strike! With muffled grunts, the group of tumbling bodies hit the bottom, spreading out over the floor. Godzilla slides even farther across to the closed, solid, wooden door and slams into it. Kawack. Several swords and a shield bounce from the wall, clattering to the floor.

  “Is everyone alright? Moynin, you okay?” I yell to him because he's one of the persons sprawled on the floor. Godzilla ran into him first as he sailed down the stairs, and Moynin traveled most of the way with him. Moans and groans, but they're stirring around at least.

  “Tabby, I think Barney is dead,” a fat woman screams.

  From behind me, I hear, “Oh God no.” Ruth latches onto my arm with that vise grip she gets when frightened. No patting this time.

  Placing my arm around her shoulder, I reassure her, “Relax, kid. He's just out cold.”

  Moynin stumbles to Barney and verifies he's unconscious. Several men grab his arms and legs and half carry, half drag him out the door for home. Moynin doesn't come up the stairs, just yells back to me, “I'll be apologizin' agin lady and gent. Won't be no more trouble here tonight. Sorry about Barney, sir.”

  As I shut the door, I mutter, “Yeah, so am I.” Smelling a nose wrinkling odor, I sniff my hands. Damn that guy stinks. Strolling to the bathroom to wash my hands, I think, Yeah, I should've fried him.

  When I return to the bedroom, my eyes pop out at Ruth. Very nice. She's wearing a blue robe, short and thin. I can faintly see the darker outline of her pubic hair through the robe, and even her aureoles and erect nipples. Most of her long legs are bare, and she's barefoot. I've always thought there's something subtly sexy about a barefoot woman. Hell, I know guys who become horny just looking at shoes, so I guess I'm not that bad.

  I'm wearing one of those thick towels from the bathroom, which covers me from my waist to past my knees. Ruth holds out a glass of wine, so we sit on the bed, sipping wine.

  Twirling the wedding band on her finger, Ruth glances over at me with her smoldering eyes, saying softly, “God, Arthur, I'm sorry about starting the fight. If I'd kept quiet, none of this would've happened.”

  Letting my eyes roam over her body, I notice her robe is closed with only a thin tie around her waist. She's sitting cross-legged, which leaves a big gap in her robe. I see the inside of her right thigh, almost all the way up. Nothing really shows, just teases, because I know what's there. My fingers are itching to walk up her thigh and find out.

  “Kid, you don't know that for sure,” I tell her. “The guy was looking for trouble all night. For some reason he zeroed in on me.” I cup her chin and turn her face, kissing her gently. She doesn't stiffen but doesn't reciprocate either. Fidgeting with her necklace, she stands and pours more wine. The last thing I want is more wine.

  With a nervous smile, she explains, “I'm sorry but I'm all wound-up inside. I'll relax in a few minutes, promise.” She hands me the wine, but before she sits back down, she tightens her robe.

  “And I'm sorry you never got to finish your story,” I whisper softly into her ear before I kiss it.

  Her body shivers, and she giggles with a little shake of her head. “That tickles.” Staring intently into my eyes, tracing my jaw with her long finger, she says, “And what I said before about never telling my story to anyone wasn't right. The truth is I never wanted to tell anyone. But you, I don't know, it's as if I have to tell you. On the way home, I'll tell you the rest of my story, if you want me to.”

  I lightly trail my finger across her full lips, turn her head, and start kissing and nibbling at her ear, then her neck, where I can feel her pulse revving up. I leave a trail of hot kisses behind as I travel up to her eyelids, then down to her parted lips, where I linger with a long, deep kiss. If she's tense, I sure don't see any signs of it. She utters a low moan, with her hand running through my hair.

  Pulling away, she sets our glasses on the table, lights a candle, and turns off the lights. With a saucy look, slowly swinging her hips, she sashays to me, pushing me back on the bed, lying down next to me. With light, feathery kisses, she starts at my neck, making her way to my ear, sending shivers of pleasure through my body. She must be toying with me, because every time I try to touch her, she stops me. With hot, lingering kisses, she works her way down to my nipples then to my stomach, stopping at the towel. She kneels over me, opening my towel, sliding down, a leg on each side of mine. She looks at me with her luminous, green eyes, saying in a soft, husky whisper, “I've never gone down on a man before. I'll probably be terrible at it.”

  Grasping my half-hard member, she flicks her tongue over the tip, then slowly sucks me into her soft, warm mouth. In an instant, I'm rock hard. With a low growl, I arch my back, wanting to thrust deeply into her throat. Clenching the blanket with both hands, I restrain myself, knowing this is the first time she's had a man in her mouth. But God, does it feel good.

  Wanting to give her some pleasure back, I think about mentally stroking the pleasure center of her brain. Ah, no, not a good idea. I might get bit, maybe severely. So I decide to hold off on that part until later. UMM. She's moving her head faster now, getting use to the feel of me in her mouth. Her robe works itself open and I glimpse her pubic hair. In the yellow, flickering light from the candle, her pubic hair looks red.

  “Swing around here, Ruth,” I invite. “Let me do you too.”

  Stopping her head action, she looks at me with a devilish grin, “No, this is just for you. Now, let me do it.”

  And I let her. It feels so good, it's almost painful. Funny how just that one-thirty-second inch of skin, when in contact with lips and a tongue, can seem as though that's all of you there is. With muted slurping sounds, she moves her head faster and faster, me matching her with my thrusting hips. I'm panting and sweating, squirming around on the bed. Gripping her head, with a loud groan, I explode into her waiting mouth. As my body spasms in orgasmic pleasure, Ruth chokes, but keeps her head moving for another thirty seconds, or an hour, or a year, one of those.

  Giving me a last flick with her tongue, she smiles at me. “Tastes good,” she says, wiping her face on the sheet, then crawls up beside me. I give her a passionate kiss, while I untie her robe and start tenderly stroking her breasts and nipples. She trembles as I lightly trail my fingers over her taut belly and lets out a soft moan when I reach her eager, warm, wet center.

  Moving on top of her, I start kissing her fluttering eyelids, then inch-by-lovely-inch, to her toes. By the time I return to her throbbing cleft, she's moaning and squirming in anticipation. Licking and savoring her molten core, I can tell she's ready to erupt with her warm juices onto my tongue. I focus on her mental pleasure center, and ever so gently, stroke it over and over. She lets out a trembling scream, her head flying back and forth on the pillow. As she convulses with her orgasm, she has most of her body up in the air, and me with her. Then she collapses, mumbling.

  I'm ramrod hard again, which for me is unusual. Scooting my way back on top of her, she grabs my hardened shaft and, with a loud moan, guides me into her wet passage. I begin to thrust with a deep, slow motion and shortly
, she matches me stroke for stroke. As our pumping actions become harder and quicker, I can faintly hear the loud creaking of the bed. But the creaking noise seems far away.

  It's taking me longer to climax this time, but not Ruth. She's moaning, screaming, her head flinging side-to-side. My mental pushes have really stimulated her. Feeling my balls tightening, my cum getting ready to explode, I gently touch her pleasure center again and she jumps up in the air screaming. With one final deep thrust and a loud grunt, I climax, hard. We crash back down on the bed in a pile of bedclothes, her robe and my towel.

  I lie there panting in her ear, she in mine, with little moaning sounds mixed in. Leaning back to gaze at her, I realize she's passed out. I quickly focus, afraid she's hurt. All I see is a bright-red light, and feelings I'm unable to recognize. She's okay. I roll over next to her, and the last thing I remember is her leg coming up to go over my stomach and thinking, yep, patter and screamer.

  Chapter Twelve

  I slowly become aware of soft snores. Opening my eyes I see Ruth curled up next to me, her arm slung across my chest, face buried in my neck. But the snores aren't what woke me, or the spittle trickling out of her mouth, dripping on my shoulder and arm. No, there's something else, another sound. There … a muffled cough, feet scraping on the wooden floor. Someone … no … two people are outside our door.

  Without moving and disturbing Ruth, I mentally open up and scan the hallway. Damn, Dobie's men. How the hell did they find us way out here? I probe their minds. Of course, there's a homing device wired to Ruth's little car. Dobie wasn't taking any chances; the two men are guarding our door. As if we need guarding, I think, feeling my ire rise. Damn Dobie.

  Trying to quietly untangle from Ruth, I notice the dark circles under her eyes. Damn, I'll have to be more careful with my mental pushes. I could do permanent damage.

  While I'm in the shower, I think about Dobie again. Actually, I shouldn't be upset about the homing device on Ruth's car. I should've expected it. But I seem to be getting angry over everything now. When I saunter out of the bathroom, drying my hair with a towel, Ruth's eyes are open.