THE JAILBIRD (Episode 47)

THE JAILBIRD ®18 SNVL (Episode 47) ©Aaron A.A 


It is fight night, two months exactly after Mike Crankson knocked out Wailer Vroom to retain his GojuFist Grandmaster title.
He is ma-king his eleventh defence against an opponent from Kenya, JACK SHARK.
It is the fifth round.
Crankson has systematically torn Shark ap@rt from the first round, exhib!tt!g an awesome array of skill that his bigger opponent has no answer to.
By the beginning of the fifth round, Jack Shark is a shambling, swollen and bleeding man.
The punishment has been cruel, and many of the spectators are even showing signs of pity for the man.
Shark throws a powerful haymaker that, had it landed, would have torn Crankson’s head off his n£¢k, but the lithe champion dances easily back, spins with a reverse punch that sinks into Shark’s jaw, ma-king the man totter.
Crankson leaps in mid-air, and brings a crushing elbow down into the t©p of Shark’s head.
Blood spews out of Shark’s mouth, and he falls like an uprooted tree.
The crowd erupts!

Crankboss! Yes, Crankboss! Crankboss!!
It is deafening.
Crankson is prancing around the ring with his famous signature jig with his w@!st.
There is an arrogant sm-irk on his face, and he makes lewd gestures at the c@m£ras.
It is another incredible knockout for the Ghanaian champion.
Jack Shark is standing wobbly after the announcement.
His face is badly swollen. There is a trace of blood around his shatteredl-ips and nose. His eyes are almost closed.
The punishment he has received is severe.
The c@m£ras zoom in on him, and the Ring Interviewer thrû-sts a speaker at him.

That was quite a terrible time with the champion, wasn’t it, Mr. Shark?

I have only one thing to say. Crankson won, and he thinks because he has eleven championsh!pdefences, that makes him the best. But he will never be in the same clas-s as Bawa. Chris Bawa will always be the best, because he has a heart, and he’s got the best skills I’ve ever seen.
There is a scream of fury from Crankson.
He jumps from the ring and rushes at Jack Shark, screaming all the time, but his hvge b©dyguards hold him back.
Shark and his team begin to move away, and still Crankson screams and tries to reach him.
The interviewer walks up to Crankson tentatively.
Crankson snatches the speaker angrily.

Well, Mr. Crankson, you are the toast of your fans today, once again, reaching a historic eleventh defence of your title, one better than the previous Grandmaster Bawa. It seems, however, that your opponent today doesn’t think much of you, and instead has a lot of respect for Mr. Chris Bawa. What do you say to that?

I wh!pped him like I wh!pped all the other pretenders! I’m the best! Everyb©dy knows I’m the best! Eleventh defence of my title, still undefeated. I’ve asked Chris Bawa to step up if he’s man enough, but what does he do? He stays in a kitchen frying chicken, because he’s chicken, a damn coward who know he’s no match for me. He hasn’t got the ba-lls to face me!

You’ve done it all, champion, and proved beyond doubt that you’re the best. Why do you think people still hold on to the notion that Mr. Bawa can beat you?

Which people? Chris is a coward! A man afraid of his own shadow!
He turns to the c@m£ra and looks directly into it, his face vicious.

Chris Coward Chicken Bawa, I know you’re watching this! I say you’re a coward and you have no ba-lls! I say you’re not a man! Maybe life in prison turned you into a woman! The world wants to see who’s the best! Are you going to step into the ring with me, or are you going to li-ck the floor like a damn worm? Listen, you coward, you’re not fit to be called a man! You’re a coward, a piece of chicken meat like-
Baaba presses the power bu-tton on the remote, and the television goes off.
She gets up from the seat and walks to where Chris is standing by the window, drinking a bottle of malt.
She faces him, and sees the terrible anger in the depths of his eyes.

He’s an as-s-hole, Chris. Don’t mind him.
Chris drains the bottle and regards it for a long time.

That guy is a disgrace to the fine art of GojuFist. He’s using it to torment people and punish them. It is sad, but someone nee-ds to take him down, and fast, before he kills the sport with his cruelty and stupidity.

Is that person you, Chris? I don’t want you fighting him, ever. He’s a beast.
Chris moves from her and sits on the arm of seat.

No, no. I’m not fighting him, no matter the taunts he throws at me. I promised Junior, and I’m not going to break it.
She comes and stands in front of him. She regards him with her head c0cked to one side.

I’m glad to hear that, Chris. Well, it is late. I better push off. Church tomorrow, work on Monday. See me off?
Chris gets to his feet and smiles down at her.
Since the day in the eatery when Junior had begged for her, she is almost a different woman.
It has been more than a month now, but she has not made any pl@yat him.
Their relationsh!phas been easy and mutually respectful, and he has not seen that violent side of her again.
She appears to be happy, and she spends a lot of time with him and Junior.
Chris puts the malt bottle down and checks on Junior who is slee-ping in the be-droom.
Junior now spends Saturdays with him.
Chris picks him up on Friday afternoons, s£nds him to the eatery and then comes home with him.
He s£nds him to Effe early Sunday mornings.
Junior is still slee-ping.
Chris follows Baaba outside.
She takes his hand and walks in front of him, and once they begin to walk towards her car she suddenly places his hand on her bu-ttocks and holds it there.
Just like that, out of the blue, without warning!
It is the first inti-mate gesture she has made in many weeks, and it disappoints him a bit.
He had been of the view that she has moved on.
He does not fight it. It is the one night he does not want her to become violent, not when Junior is around.
She unlocks the car with the remote, and he opens the door for her.
She begins to get in, and then she st©ps.

So, how’s it with Effe now?
Chris looks warily into her eyes, seeking if she is going into one of her mood swings, but she still seems calm and sweet, which is not an as-surance in itself because she had always been at her sweetest just before she sli-pped into that murderous mood.

We’re slowly finding our way back to each other, Baaba. I’m certain that she will make that big decision soon.

I hope so, Chris. You deserve all the happiness. It is just that sometimes I get so lonely and so jealous, missing you so much. Sometimes I hate it so much when I remember how you made love to me, and now you’ve ditched me like a squashed pest.
That scares Chris.
It is a bad sign, a dangerous sign that can lead to her violent behaviour.
Junior is slee-ping in there.
He cannot afford to let Baaba sl!pinto that mood.
Chris f0rç£s a sweet loving smile.

I’m sorry, Baaba. Very sorry.

You know, I’ve tried to d@t£ other guys, since my promise to you to stay from any S-xual advances towards you. But it’s not the same thing. I can’t imagine myself ma-king love to anyb©dy but you, Chris. That’s the truth.
He says nothing to that.
She suddenly draws near to him, stands on ti-ptoe, and k!sses him gently.
Herl-ips are sweet and we-t, but he derives no satisfaction from it, no de-sire.
He holds her, just to make her calm and happy, but his heart bleeds inside, because it is like old times, when no other woman could take the place of Effe.
Effe is in him, in his blood, in his very soul, and his love for her is still so strong. He knows that he cannot live without her… ever!
Baaba steps back, and without a word enters her car.
She starts up, reverses, spins the car round and heads for the entrance.
Suddenly the br@ke lights come on, and then she reverses fast, too fast, and brings the car to a screeching halt just inches from his kneecaps.
She gets down, and as she begins to walk toward him, Chris’ legs suddenly feels weak.

(m0@n ing)
Dear Lord, no. Her thing has returned!
Baaba is looking fiercely at him.
The soft eyes are gone. These are the eyes of the woman who has smashed his head with a piece of rock.
And then Chris notices with a crippling horror that she is holding a gun in her right hand, and suddenly he looks towards the Boys Quarters.
Dear Lord…. Junior!
Chris is gr!pp£dwith a fear and panic he has never felt before.

(in a frosted voice)
You bastard, Chris! You fv¢king bastard! I k!ssyou and all I taste is your teeth? What do you take me for, a who-re? You better k!ssme right, Romeo, before I get nas-ty, and believe me, you don’t want me to get nas-ty, motherfv¢ker!
Chris’ heart beats with absolute horror.
He looks at the gun in her hand and for a wild moment contemplates attacking her, but he knows that if he tries it and fails she can harm Junior!
Chris feels a numbness spre-ading throu-gh him.
His horror is that complete.
He holds out his hands.

Come on, Baaba, ple-

k!ssme right now, Chris! Right now, you piece of smelly an-al$h!t!
She is losing it fast, quic-kly becoming the mad Baaba.
And she is waving the gun dangerously in all directions.
Trembling with fear, Chris moves forward and gathers her into his arms.
He k!sses her pas-sionately, all the while thinking about Junior, terrified for the welfare of his beloved son.
She responds feverishly, pas-sionately, pushing her ton-gue into his mouth, exploring, frenzied!
She steps back p@n-ting.
Wild, mad-eyed and breathing ha-rd , she un-bu-ttons her shi-t with her left hand deftly.
She is not wearing a br@, and her brea-sts stand up petulantly and proudly in the glow of the outside lights .

Baaba, plea-se. plea-se don’t do this.

(almost in a growl)
I’m not ra-ping you, Chris. li-ck my n!ppl!s, now! Do it, Chris! Now!
She points the gun at his head, and her f!nger curls around the trigger.
Chris sighs and looks at the porch, wondering if he locked the door when they c@m£ out.
Unsteadily, he bends and puts one of her n!ppl!s in his mouth, l!çk!ng it ha-rd .
She gr-abs his hand, spre-ads her legs, and pushes his hand between her th!ghs.
She is wearing no p@n-ties, and Chris’ f!ngersnestle in her we-t core.
His mind has almost ceased working as he li-cks her n!ppleand care-sses her jade gate, and when she puts the gun against his temple he knows then that he will never ever allow Baaba anywhere near him again, even if he has to take a restraining order against her.

(m0@n ing)
Yes, yes, yes! t©uçh me Chris, do it, do it, do it, do it! My other n!ppl!s, yes, now! k!ssit! li-ck it!
Chris takes her other n!pplein his mouth, and she m0@n s louder, ru-bbing ha-rd against his hand.
She tra-ps his hand between her legs with her th!ghs, pu-lls up his head, and k!sses him ha-rd , m0@n ing at the same time, gro-an ing, moving on his hand…and she keeps the ti-p of the pistol firmly against his temple all the time.
Suddenly she screams and vibr@tes, holding him ti-ghtly as her Orgasm tears throu-gh her.
She bucks and gyrates fiercely, scissoring her legs so that his hand is tra-pped between her th!ghs.
And Chris’ heart st©ps beating, because the gun is waving quite dangerously in the space around his face as she loses control and suc¢v-mbs to the violent Orgasm thrashing her b©dy.
Suddenly she pushes his face away and steps back.
Without warning she transfers the gun to her left hand swings her right fist straight into his nose, so ha-rd that he bites the inside of his cheek and traces of blood drips down his nose as a flaring pain rips throu-gh his face.

Craaaaaaaaazzzzyyyy! You crazy dog, Chris. Next time if you k!ssme with your teeth locked again I’ll murder your fv¢king stupid stinking mouth!
She giggles then, quite insanely.
Chris is silent and still, and he is not even breathing.
She turns suddenly and walks, still with her shi-t open, to the car.
She throws the pistol into the car, gets in, and this time she speeds away fast.
Chris still feels the pain of her fist.
He stares long after she is gone, quite perplexed, expecting her to zoom right back and shoot him.

To be continued…

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