#kimbermonroe

Prompt Requested By Uri Kane (SoulCry)

“It is said, when one person saves the life of another, that person becomes responsible for the life that has been saved.  It is also said that a deep and strong bond is often formed between those involved in such near-death experiences and more often than not said bond is both life-changing and lasting.”  --Excerpt From A Reply Written By Kimber To Uri

Location: Honolulu, Hawaii

There is much to be said for the light in which a child shines, pure and radiant, and as natural as the sun tacked to a clear blue sky.  It’s both invigorating and refreshing to be around a child, especially one full with an ardor for life. It’s a shame how the world can be so callous and cruel thus forcing the harsh realities of life upon those chaste and innocent.  The corruption, whether slow or swift, a vile and wretched offense. No doubt, it’s an atrocity when one thinks on it. For Kimber, due to the circumstances of her birth and subsequent abandonment by her mother, having been thrown into the foster care system right from the start surely made for a rough and tough beginning in which she was forced to grow up fast.  Even after being adopted by her parents, a couple no less than loving and righteous, the damage had been done and there was no turning back for her.

The maturity acquired at such an early age didn’t hinder her as much as the fears and insecurities she garnered so early on, and even with this having an impact on her overall childhood, she honestly couldn’t complain about her life in the slightest.  Kimber had it better than most. Despite the impediments and lack of relatability to others her age whilst growing up, she managed to adjust and fit in well enough, but always felt like an outcast simply skirting the edge. It wasn’t until she got older and started babysitting for her neighbors that she realized she had a special affinity for children in general and the older she got, the stronger the affinity.  The energy and purity in which they radiate fed into the little bit of virtue she has managed to hold onto all her life--no matter hardship or tragedy. It also tapped into a side of her she was surprised to discover existed, the side gifted by God or whatever other higher power simply for being born a woman--her maternal instinct.

Truth? Kimber was just 21 when she realized one day she would love to be a mother, but with that self-awareness came a great deal of fear and trepidation.  How could she be a mother when her own biological mother was so quick to abandon her at birth? In her mind, for a woman to do that, she surely had to be damaged right down to her core.  What if she passed that onto Kimber? With all the other factors working against, one’s revolving around her origin and WHAT she is exactly, Kimber resolved herself to the opinion and thought that it would be for the best she not ever have children of her own.  Needless to say, this decision settled heavy upon her heart providing a constant pang and fear of a life unfulfilled. By the time she received her doctorate and started working at Horizon’s clinic and freelancing as a Psychologist, she had done well to bury these feelings deep and move on with her life with her career as her primary focus.

It’s odd just how things can change for a person.  How one thing can lead to another then another and another.  It’s like a domino effect. Unfortunate circumstance would lead her to this very point in time in her life--on a private beach in Honolulu in the presence of a little girl named Aniya Kane.  It’s in the presence of this child in particular that her heartstrings are plucked and the remnants of her buried maternal feelings and inclinations resurface. Who knew? Upon arrival Kimber was quick to settle in and take in the island city, basking in all it had to offer.  Life, it was improving for her during this much-needed vacation. However, after nearly a week spent Honolulu, things would certainly take a dramatic turn when a fun and relaxing day at the beach would give way to a near tragedy. As Kimber waded in the warm, frothy ocean, she caught sight of a little girl having been swept up by the current flailing to keep her head above the surface.  Quick to act, Kimber swam to help the child, but by the time she reached her, the ocean had swallowed her whole.

Kimber managed to get her out of the water and with instinct taking over, once on the beach gave the little girl CPR thus saving her life.  After her father Uri arrived, though the girl was then safe, sound and most importantly breathing, Kimber couldn’t bear to leave her side--at least not until a pediatrician checked her out, specifically for any remaining water left in her lungs.  All Kimber could think of was her welfare and the possibility of Secondary Drowning. Who knew it would lead to something so much more? Who knew it would be the one thing she needed in her life at this point in time? WHO KNEW? As Kimber walks along the sandy beach, the sun setting off in the horizon with glowing rays breaking across the cyan surface of the ocean and white-capped waves, she fondly watches as Aniya skips ahead, searching eagerly for seashells for Kimber to take back on her return to New York.  An inevitable outcome and end to this unexpected and eventful trip, and certainly one she isn’t quite ready to accept.

“KIMBER! KIMBER!” The five-year-old Aniya calls out whilst bouncing on the balls of her bare feet.  “LOOK AT WHAT I FOUND!!!” From a small distance, Kimber can see that in her tiny, frail hand she is holding up a large starfish and the smile curling along her pout widens as she picks up her pace, heading straight for her little friend.  

“I think we should call him… PATRICK!” Kimber states with confidence.

“PATRICK!” Aniya exclaims, face beaming as her attention turns back to the starfish and she promptly addresses it. “YOU are PATRICK.”

Chuckling softly, Kimber slips her arm around Aniya’s shoulders affectionately pulling her close as they make their way further down the beach, toward her home and back to her father Uri.  Along the way, Aniya makes up stories and grand tales of Patrick’s adventures at the bottom of the ocean and just how he found his way to the beach. Amusing and adorable, Kimber could listen to the child speak for hours on end, no matter how over the top her stories and fantastical her loosely woven tales.  It’s certainly better than a day spent with patients hearing their woes or sitting in a lecture on the new advancements in Psychological research. It’s odd though, especially when around Uri and Aniya both. From what little Uri has told Kimber about his daughter, more often than not, she is quiet and timid, embodied by her shy nature--a far cry from how she can be at times when with Kimber.  It’s NOT difficult to believe though in the contra, Kimber is well versed in such and it comes as NO surprise that Aniya has connected with her as much as Kimber has herself to the little the girl. Their recent experience demands it.

“Kiiiiiimber! Kiiiimber!” Aniya calls out whilst tugging at Kimber’s linen sundress.  Kimber, honestly caught up in the melody of Aniya’s voice and exuberance of her mood, didn’t quite catch the last thing she said oddly enough.

“Yes Aniya?”  She asks in a soft tone of voice.  

“Tell me a story about Patrick!” The child demands.  

Laughing she shakes her head.  “Right now, I want to HEAR your stories, luv.  They’re far better than mine.”

“WHYYYYY?” Aniya asks in an exaggerated manner.

“I just like listening to you talk.”  Kimber freely admits and with sincerity.  “YOU, lil’ one, tell the BEST stories.”  

“OOOOKAAAAY!” Aniya says, manner and tone once more exaggerated.  “But you gotta tell me a bedtime story tonight!”

Eyeing her with affectionate delight, Kimber nods. “Fair enough. You get one bedtime story.  Well, maybe two, but we will have to see.”  Reaching over, she playfully pinches Aniya’s button nose. The child squeaks and hands Kimber the starfish before hopping from her side in a mad dash toward her island home as it comes into view.  

Upon approach both Aniya and Kimber catch sight of a seemingly annoyed, possibly frustrated Uri standing at the grill on the deck, cooking whatever meat he has planned for their dinner.  It’s somewhat comical to Kimber that this brute, brooding and moody the majority of the time, is standing over a grill whilst wearing an apron and holding large tongs. His intense gaze peering down at the meat, just willing it to cook faster so he could be done with it.  Whatever the case, he is a sight for sore eyes and not simply because she is famished either. The bond she has formed with Aniya, in some ways bonded Kimber and Uri. She did save his daughter’s life and there is much to be said for that fact. Once near the deck and Uri sees them from his peripheral, Aniya picks up her pace and runs to greet her father, flinging herself against his bulky legs.  

“DADDY DADDY! We found a starfish and named it Patrick and I told Kimber stories and she is gonna tell me a bedtime story…and..” An excited Aniya can’t help ramble about their afternoon and all their adventures big and small.  “I just like listening to you talk.”  Kimber thinks silently to herself the words only spoken moments prior.  Once more, she finds herself laughing and as she climbs the stairs of the deck, she catches a glance from Uri.  The tortured soul within just melts away to one much more elated and hopeful in nature when in the presence of his daughter.  She is undoubtedly the light of his life and it’s one of the most precious things Kimber has witnessed. She can relate in some ways, being with Aniya has given her reason to re-evaluate certain things in her life, and truth be told, Kimber can’t recall a time she felt so content.  For a child to inspire such sentiment, a child not her own that she has only known for a short time, it’s miraculous. As Kimber and Uri exchange a glance, Kimber walks on over to father and daughter with starfish in hand. She holds it out to the man and smirks.

3. How Do U Want It

(Requested By Alec)

About A Girl: “She comes to me, with all the caresses and in the softness I imagined, offering sweet promises and spice-kissed lips.  Like a stone, the ache settles in my chest and I crave just a taste--sweat and ink, sex and musk.  The epitome of beauty and unsound mind--she is the wilderness and I the bold adventurer.  The more I explore, the more  I learn the valleys that she harbors are deeply embedded with her secrets in the tapestry of her soul.  The dips of her body, hot breasts above a shuddering rib cage and shapely, caramel thighs quick to part, are a miraculous sight to behold, but her mind no less a descent straight into chaos--a lost paradise . Where The Wild Things Are.  All these territories of her blueprint remind me of charred ash and madness and the inability to say NO.  She renders me powerless.  And even though I know it’s only short-lived--the bliss between her thighs is worth a lifetime of lies.”  

9. Personal Jesus

(Requested By Sorrow)

“Years spent living in black & white and under bible belt circumscription, mapped out a world all too confining.  Child-like ardor and natural curiosity often denounced for the sake of a religious mob with puritanical mindsets was no less despairing and the spirit of innocence, playful possession trumped by ingrained doubt and fear, was entirely inspired by an omnipotent God eager to cast his judgment and execute punishment.  So, I read the good book like a fable, anything to keep my tenacious curiosities and free spirit from being snuffed out by another’s truth.  And so it was written, little girls should be seen and not heard.  With a voice silenced and will dictated by an organized religion, freedom was just a concept understood, but not truly lived. Survival became imminent.  

Little girls trapped by circumstance will breed tiny little monsters in the depths of their afflicted hearts.

Growing up in the Bible Belt and with a family of Evangelicals, everyday life gave way to nothing short of an illiberal upbringing.  The majority of the time, I had nothing but my own thoughts, curiosities, and the boundless depths of my imagination to get me through the monotony of ‘church’ days and events.  Maybe I was just born bad, like Eve in the Garden, succumbing to the want of all those earthly desires and sins my dear ole preacher would adamantly speak against.  Or maybe it was some sort of rebellion or even reverse mind control against the doctrine. Whatever the case, I certainly wasn’t the good little Christian my adoptive parents prayed for nightly.  I do remember the first time I realized just how wicked and far from grace I had fallen, and just how much I enjoyed my budding debauchery.

Church--being in The House of the Lord, it always did do funny things to me. Even when I was just a tiny, little thing, I found myself swept up in the spirit of it all.  It was as if I was excited and incited by the Holy Spirit himself!  He moved right through me.  As I got older though, that feeling began to change into something less pure and the more fire and brimstone damnation the preacher preached, the more my thoughts would become corrupt.  It might have been all of that poetry and scripture from the old testament about sinful women and the hazards of desire or the rants about some television broadcast depicting sado-masochistic perversions, and the burning of incense and the profanation of pagan altars, or maybe it was the atmosphere of the divine and Holy Spirit sweeping over the congregation, but less than Holy urges stirred within the apex of my sex and from the depths of loins I sang a praise chorus unlike any other.

I prayed, but not for forgiveness for my wickedness.  I prayed for release.  No scripture ever prepared me for such an experience--for this temptation.  Oh Holy Holy!  When it came time for communion, I walked the church floors, burdened by sinners before me and walls threaded by the grotesque images depicting a tortured and tormented Christ, his journey to the cross, the crucifixion, and lastly his resurrection and ascendancy.  I gritted my teeth and clenched my thighs along the way--gospel riding my filthy tongue.  HALLELUJAH! PRAISE BE HIS NAME!   By the time I reached the altar, I was the one that had ascended.  Down on my knees in reverence and quivering in bliss--my innocence lost between hymn and scripture.  My virtue just a puddle in the fabric of my white cotton panties.”

11. Crazy In Love

(Requested By War King)

“When you walk into the room, I’m tongue tied and twisted in knots. Breathless with a racing heart, I can’t even convey the simplest of thoughts. Cast a glance in my direction, looking me over with those wanton eyes and that signature smirk, and I forget myself. Just a touch of your hand and a kiss of your lips, I’m left quivering at the knees and with dripping hips. THERE IS NOTHING I WOULDN’T DO FOR YOUR LOVE.”

Love, when pertaining to the heart and romance is a mysterious, unpredictable beast with a wicked design and when not solidified by a profound bond is more often than not fickle.  For most people, they come up in life experiencing various degrees of heartfelt and romantic love.  Beliefs and notions formed on their ideals of it just as much as said experiences in its regard.  Some say that the need and want for companionship is intrinsic to the human condition therefore LOVE simply exists by default--a reason to explain away said needs and wants for companionship so people aren’t forced to confront the simple fact that loneliness breeds fear and most all are held hostage by carnal impulse.  

LOVE wraps the truth in a pretty package so people can feel better about themselves and the fact that the fear inspires neediness and the carnal impulse spurs a hunger relentless in its efforts to be sated.  LOVE paints the truth a pretty picture so people can feel better about the harsh reality just beneath the gossamer surface. Whatever the case, this isn’t meant to minimize love and the ideals and notions behind it nor is it meant to trivialize the belief in love, it is simply an honest opinion from the abstract mind of a young woman with the ability to see people and world logically, breaking it all down and compartmentalizing the bits and pieces of the construct whilst empathizing greatly to the plight of others.  It’s simply a belief from a young woman yet to experience the intensity and impact of romantic love.  

All her life, Kimber has been acutely aware of those around her, being both ridiculously perceptive and ‘unnaturally’ in tune with the energies catapulted into the proverbial ether.  If anything, it gives one damn good reason that she is so skilled at her job thus successful for one so early on in a career as a Psychologist.  However, surprisingly enough, it has not done her any favors when it comes to romance and love.  If anything, it works against her and she has yet to find herself in its warm embrace, drowning in the euphoria of a fairytale and happy ever after.  But it’s NOT a fairytale and a happy ending or even a Harlequin Romance that she desires much less needs.  No--not in the slightest.  

13. A Little Less Conversation

(Requested By Wayne)

Prompt Requested By James Delaney (Devil Delaney)

Disclaimer: I've taken certain liberties in this prompt regarding aspects of Native American culture and the character/storyline of James Delaney from the show Taboo. All liberties are minor and done so respectfully, or so I intended. With that said, I hope you enjoy the read.

Location: Knoxville, TN

East Tennessee, the land of good ole’ Rocky Top and southern hospitality, where the Appalachian mountains reign supreme along the terrain and whether the bustling city or a small, quaint town, there is a deep connection to both community and land, and a friendly air of welcome to any and all despite the need for privacy and a regard for the locals way of life.  Kimber, born and bred in Knoxville, loved growing up in the area and even with New York being her home now, she would always have a special place in her heart for her hometown. Granted, it’s not often she is able to make trips back home. This particular trip had actually been one spur of the moment and put into motion by a series of peculiar if not fantastical events to transpire as of late.  All of which revolving around herself and the arrival of a man named James Delaney, a man she should have NEVER crossed paths with, at least in the scheme of the natural order.

Time, however absolute and consistent despite constant change, surely had other plans that would throw both individuals for a loop--forever changing the course of their lives.  One night whilst late at the office and after a particularly hard day’s work, something miraculous happened as she was indulging in a drink before getting back to work, and truth be told, if she hadn’t witnessed it with her own two keen and circumspect eyes, her logical and sane mind  would have surely had her questioning her sanity at the moment. In a whirlwind of shadow and flash of light, time split and from out of the ether emerged a brusque man, a man overwhelmed by his bewilderment and suspicious of his current situation. The same could be said for Kimber at that time.  

With a rough, sudden start no less than incredible AND magical, the two managed to figure things out as best they were able and work together for a common goal--well a seemingly common goal.  Granted, with revelation came astounding new mysteries in regard to the universe. In all honesty, Kimber felt compelled to help James. It couldn’t have been easy on the mind or the spirit to be yanked from his era and thrust into a one far more modern.  The adjustment was haphazard at best, but with possessing determination and strength of will, they started down a rocky, perilous path with one another, one rich with intrigue, the dark arts and just as much adventure as misadventure. In doing so, they managed to get to know one another on a personal level.  When Kimber learned that James’ mother was actually Native American she found herself surprised. Like her, James is a ‘half-breed’.

It was in his struggles, ones pertaining to his past and possible future, Kimber thought it best she bring him to Tennessee to meet someone that has been influential in her life, her mentor in youth--a Cherokee Shaman named Cheveyo ‘Thunderheart’ Brolin.  Cheveyo, a Shaman for a Cherokee tribe located on the outskirts of Knoxville, had been blessed with certain gifts in life, one being foresight and the other natural magic. He was one of the first people from the tribe, the tribe of her biological father, to get close to her and through their relationship, Kimber learned about who and what she was, who and what she is today.  Cheveyo was also the one to teach her how to control and use her abilities properly with great skill. With James’ Native blood and his own ties to magic, there was no doubt in her mind that her former mentor and Shaman would be able to help James find the answers to the questions he couldn’t seem to stop asking himself.

It’s been 2 nights and 3 days since Kimber has returned to her hometown with her peculiar and time-displaced friend, James Delaney, and already, it has been interesting, to say the least.  Cheveyo had been expecting them and in Cherokee tradition, welcomed them with open arms and a calm, willing desire to help. For the most part, the first few days had been quite uneventful, the introduction of James to her adoptive parents aside.  As expected, they found him generally off-putting yet oddly charming and were shockingly impressed by his ‘old-fashioned’ customs and manner. Whatever the case, the introduction, and visit to follow would surely be remembered. With that out of the way, they returned to the tribe and Kimber gave him the proverbial tour as preparations were made for a ceremony in honor of the ancestors and spirits, one to take place before another, the one of James’ spirit walk--a metaphysical journey into the astral planes of the mind and soul.  

Kimber was 16 when she went on her first spirit walk, the journey taking her to a barren place void of the corporeal, a place existing between the physical world and reality as it is known and an otherworldly realm considered the ‘afterlife’.  The spirit of an ancestor greeted her, a woman much like herself, an empath from the tribe. She spoke in riddles and rhyme, a chorus of metaphors, and even though Kimber couldn’t discern it all that time, she would come to a place of enlightenment, a place of self-awareness that would aid her in efforts to control and utilize her empathic abilities and true nature.  Over the years she has been on two other spirit walks, this one steadily approaching, her third and thru it, she will be James’ guide as the Shaman watches over them so they can transition with ease and without threat of the evils lurking in the cracks and crevices of this great, untamed and mystical yonder.

And So Shall It Begin…

Dusk, it blankets the sky and welcomes the night, a night providing a full moon and clear, sparkling stars across the jagged and ragged contours of good ole Rocky Top.  A chill settles in the stillness of the air and the atmosphere becomes transcendent. After preparing their bodies per custom, lathered in oil whilst donning paint and the blood of a sacrifice, and woven linen, Kimber and James make their way to a clearing thru the woods--the vibrant gleam of a bonfire luring them in like a beacon.  As they make their approach, they come to a large canvas and leather Tipi that from experience, Kimber knows is positioned over a pit of hot, steaming coals and burning sage. It is a welcomed sight, but one no less inspiring great admiration, respect, and trepidation. From inside the Tipi the Shaman, Cheveyo, chants prayers and praise to the ancestors and to the spirits in efforts to welcome the pair and provide them with a safe, informative journey.  The chanting, hypnotic and primally rhythmic, calls to her--luring her into the unknown.

“James,” Kimber speaks, tone direct yet gentle.  “Are you ready for this?” She asks him, genuinely curious out of concern for him.  Spirit-walks aren’t for everyone and for those fractured in mind and spirit, the journey could be just as perilous and destructive as it can be profound and enlightening. “I am,” James says to her, his shrouded gaze locked on the Tipi and the steam pushing through the crack in the entrance flap.  Kimber nods. “C’mon. He’s waiting.” With Kimber ushering James forward, she allows him to take the lead and to enter the Tipi first and to take a position around the pit directly across Cheveyo. Greeted by the warm and muggy atmosphere, she finds her place next to James, both sitting with their legs crossed and eyes locked on the Shaman as he prepares a ceremonial drink in two wooden bowls, a drink made of herbs and more importantly MESCALINE. All the while continuing his chants and praise.  Once the drink is made, he turns to James and leans over across the pit to hand him the bowls. “Drink,” states Cheveyo before he turns his attention to Kimber and hands her the other. He nods, a silent understanding exchanged between the two.

They Partake…

Not long after ingesting the concoction of herbs and drug, a bitter drink hard to swallow and even harder to keep down if not for the herbs, they wait for it to take possession.  Between chanting, Cheveyo eases them into this altered state of mind by courting them with calm, positive suggestion. It begins with an odd physical sensation, an electric tingle flush across the surface of the skin as the body, though heavy and sluggish, becomes light and loose in essence--offering a conflicting feeling of being anchored in place whilst taking flight.  As this happens, a wave of nausea is sure to come, one provoked by the body rejecting the toxin in the drink. If compelled to vomit, one shouldn’t fight it, but if able to keep the liquid down, the individual must have the constitution to withstand a dreadful feeling of extreme sickness. Kimber, both held captive by the physical sensations and nausea, falls into a rhythmic pattern of deep breathing that undoubtedly eases the initial unpleasant effects.  

Turning to James, she notes the paleness in his parlor and the sweat that has broken across his brow.  There is no doubt, he is experiencing the initial wave. Reaching out to him, she places a delicate hand upon his shoulder and says, “Breathe… just breathe. Slow and deep.” Once certain he has heard her voice and taking her instruction, she pulls back to give him the space he will need to embrace the transition and ascend. As the sensations intensify, the drug courses through the system directly to the brain, enveloping it.  The directive? To spark the synapses and jolt the mind’s eye. Kimber can feel it taking hold, opening her mind and offering her a new perspective--one needed for the success of the journey. When her pupils dilate and her view becomes a kaleidoscope of light and imagery, she knows she is on the cusp and steadily approaching the doorway into the astral.  Once more, she languidly turns to look at James and with his eyes mirroring her own, wide and dilated, she knows he is beginning the climb toward the peak.

GLITCH.

The vision of James next to her fractures, seemingly splitting in the moment and all that surrounds them from the Tipi walls and the pit to the Shaman fall away.  Even the darkness of the night fades away and they are greeted by daylight and a glowing, overcast sky. A storm is coming. They find themselves on a beach, one both rocky and sandy next to a large body of water and she realizes suddenly that she can smell the salt in the air with a distinct aroma of iron and coal wafting in on the breeze.  This place is unfamiliar and downright foreign to Kimber, but as she glances at James, she notes an expression of recognition as his eyes take it all in. There is a moment, a brief yet revealing moment, she swears she sees a deeply conflicted look in his eyes and she knows without uncertainty they are in London and in his time period. “We’re here, aren’t we James?” Her voice echoes a soft, eerie tune that catches in the wind. “Yes,” James nods as he slowly gets to his feet. Kimber follows in suit, eyes never leaving him as he scours the beach in search of something. What that is, Kimber knows not.

GLITCH.

Kimber’s vision fractures once more and their surroundings jutt and shake violently in a flash of light and swirls of smoky darkness, but only for a few brief moments. As the world around them calms and the scene becomes clear, they are standing further down that very same rock and sand beach as before.  Only this time they are not alone. It’s the sound of nearby splashing accompanied by a woman’s wails and the blood-curdling cries of a baby in distress that draws their attention. What is happening before them is a vivid vision of the past and one so shocking that it takes Kimber a moment to process. Waist deep in the water is a young Native American woman with a baby, a baby she has submerged beneath the cold surface of the water in an effort to drown. "Sometimes dead is better! Sometimes dead is better!" The woman screams repeatedly.  

The horror of it prompts Kimber to act, her own naturally maternal instinct kicking in, but logic and experience stand to reason.  THIS IS NOT REAL. Any attempt made on her part would be vain. They are just specters, phantoms from the past reflecting the memory of time.  James does NOT realize this fact nor would he really at this point and as he moves forward swiftly--motivated to reach the woman and child, Kimber is just as quick to grab him by the arm to stop him.  “THEY CAN’T HEAR YOU JAMES! THEY CAN’T SEE YOU,” she calls out loudly enough to grab his attention. Bewilderment and a plethora of other emotions etch his rough, weathered features and even though she isn’t sure who the woman and child are to James, she knows she is now looking into the deepest part of his subconscious to a moment time of great significance for him.   “They're phantoms,” Kimber continues. “The past replaying events.” As soon as the words pass thru the softness of her pout, James turns to her, expression chilling to the marrow of Kimber’s bones. "She said… sometimes dead is better,” James speaks, repeating the woman’s screams as she drowns the child.  The words and his delivery, just chilling as the look upon his face. It’s in that very moment, Kimber knows… she knows from the depths of her patchwork heart, James was that very baby and that woman his mother.  It’s a revelation that leaves Kimber standing before him tongue-tied and speechless whilst gutted and heartbroken.

“All in the worship of the art of the sleaze and big tease, baby girl in her g-string and 6-inch heels, works hard for the worn dollar bills.  Living for the moment and champagne room dreams, she rides the pole like a pornstar, high on stripper dust and cocaine. Basking in the glory of kaleidoscope lights and greedy, wanton eyes.”

https://youtu.be/c2Fnet0y9Ts

Standing out in the parking lot of The Pussycat Club and next to her luxury car whilst sucking on the bit end of a clove cigarette, Kimber Monroe basks beneath the flash of neon lights as gray storm clouds trail along a dark navy canopy--subsequently hiding the multitude of twinkling stars hanging in the backdrop. There’s a storm approaching and this late at night it offers only a sense of foreboding, but it’s NOT enough to divert Kimber from her plans for the evening. The need to expend some energy and indulge in her debaucherous side is just what the doctor ordered--pun intended.  The loud vibrations from the music playing inside of the club, though somewhat muffled, echo thru the walls and catch along the light breeze, taunting Kimber in an effort to lure inside the seedy palace of sin and vice. She’s not even engaged for blast off yet and she finds herself exhilarated from the mere anticipation of a libertine excursion.

Leisurely and with the strength of will, she takes her sweet time to prepare herself for the inevitable adventure and more importantly, the misadventure.  Times like these she is able to shed a part of herself, one dictated by obligation/responsibility and professionalism, and indulge in her more carnal impulses and dark proclivities.  Despite knowing the dangers and risks as well as the subsequent consequences, it provides not only a much-needed release of pent-up energy but a brief respite from what is expected and required of her on a daily basis.  Needless to say, as much of a contradiction as it is, these are the nights that more often than not are her saving grace. As soon as she finishes sucking on the bit end of her clove cigarette, Kimber tosses the butt and makes her way to the club entrance, the bouncer giving her a sly nod as she saunters inside.  

Slowly strutting, offering a subtle sway of her hips as she walks through the door, Kimber’s senses come alive.  The ambiance, one no less than obscene is to be expected in this sort of a joint and with a dim glow accompanied by kaleidoscope lights that barely cut thru a thick veil of stale smoke and stripper dust, Kimber finds herself reveling in the sleaze.  It’s enough to make most women, ones seemingly like her anyway, feel cheap and uncomfortable, and undoubtedly out of place and exploited by the indecency of it all. However, Kimber is NOT like most women. For a moment, she stands just shy of the entrance, taking in the sights and sounds eager to compel and overwhelm.  It’s crowded tonight with all the strippers on the club roster in the house and a full staff, all here to cater to the various patrons, mainly men, from all walks in life.

In many ways, Kimber finds the cliche of it all amusing, but there’s no denying that sometimes the cliche, though often predictable, can provide for some unpredictable encounters and experiences.  Whatever the case, Kimber is locked, loaded and steady to aim as she makes her way further into the strip club. Many eyes drift in her direction and suddenly much of the chatter in the club simmers.   Granted, the music is loud and one would have to possess heightened senses to actually notice. Bold and confident, the aura she radiates alluring, she can’t help smirk as she finds her way to the bar for a drink.  Mapping the night out in her mind, she rolls over her agenda--a drink first followed by a few pole performances and maybe, just maybe, if she sees a woman she likes, a private lap dance. All of this broken up into intervals of rounds of shots and chasing white lines in the dingy bathroom.  

Her body clad in an onyx leather corset with matching leather pants and heeled boots, her lithe form moves in a serpentine manner.  Cocksure grin and all, she glides on over to the bar. Taking a stool for herself, she turns her attention to the bartender. “Tequila. Whatever ya got as long as it’s Patron,” she states matter of fact.  Moments later, the bartender slides on over a shot glass of Tequila. Typically, Kimber prefers Johnnie Walker Blue Label, for reasons her own, but when in places like this, she prefers to drink Tequila. Most likely due to the fact that it lights a fire in her that inspires her to let go of her inhibitions.  Nodding at the bartender in gratitude, she catches him giving her the customary once over with a wanton glint in his eyes. She pretends NOT to notice and slowly spins on the barstool to scope out the club. Bright baby blues, discreet and circumspect, scan the crowd and take in the sights whilst she opens herself to the general ambiance and mood.  

With the general mood in the strip club being one of indulgence and depravity, her own cravings and dark impulses are elicited.  Many glances, both subtle and obvious, come her way and despite being privy to each and all, she pretends to be impervious. Kimber is undoubtedly partial to these types and the environment, but that doesn’t mean she is always willing to freely interact.  Matter of fact, she is quite discretionary when it comes to personal interaction. If anything, it offers her a form of anonymity which in turn protects her real identity. Kimber, living contrasting dual lives, isn’t keen on this side of her ever coming to light.  It is what it is. Finishing her drink, she decides to make her way to the main stage for a ‘show”. Two females, a light milk chocolate beauty with a voluptuously statuesque body and a petite, porcelain white vixen with exaggerated curves don the stage. As the vixen slides up and down a gleaming silver pole, the milk chocolate beauty courts a small group of men at the side of the stage--each drunk and clumsily trying to stick bills in her G-String.  

Just as she is about to turn her attention back to the pole worshipping vixen, someone undoubtedly catches her eye.  Squinting, eyes straining to slice thru the stripper dust, smoke fog thick in the club, it’s just as she suspected, it’s the one and the only--Nico Hartman.  Instantly, Kimber snorts a laugh and rolls her eyes in amusement. “Of course,” she mutters under her breath, suddenly even more excited over what the night might have in store for her.  The smirk gracing her pout widens as she makes her way on over to Nico, who is being entertained by two strippers--one blonde and the other brunette. Both topless and in matching G-Strings.  It’s then that Kimber notes they are identical twins with their hair being the only difference between them. Shaking her head, she makes her approach.“LADIES,” she states as she announces her presence, eyes fixated on Nico.