Juicy Secrets Forbidden Tales of Lesbian Love

A brief summary of what has transpired thus far: Holly, an experienced lesbian at age thirteen, is vacationing with her mum on an ocean liner, the Jade Princess. The trip is boring at first, but quickly livens up when Holly gets acquainted with two gay crew members – Anna, a barmaid, and Julie, a cashier in one of the ship’s gift shops — as well as a girl her own age: shy, geeky Jessica. Holly flirts with or fucks all three at various points, with the promise of more to come. Suddenly, what promised to be a dull vacation has become a most enjoyable experience.

The next day, Holly leaves the ship with Jessica to visit a quiet beach with a few other tourists. There, the two girls slip away to couple for the first time, but soon afterward, the area is invaded by Somalian pirates. Jessica makes her way back to the jeep, but cannot persuade the driver to wait for Holly, who is left behind. 

Holly manages to get hold of a gun and defends herself as best she can, but to no avail — she is taken, transported to the pirates’ camp, and thrown into a cage. One other prisoner is already there, a beautiful young black woman named Makeda who, as it transpires,  is the direct descendant of the Queen of Sheba and successor to the throne. They are immediately attracted to one another, and make love on the spot before falling asleep.

The next day, Makeda’s people raid the pirate camp to free their queen. Naturally, Makeda insists on Holly being brought along. After a trek of several days, they reach Makeda’s village. There is some resistance to the queen taking a white, female lover, especially from a tribe elder, but Makeda is adamant that her wishes be honored.

Holly and Makeda love each other very much, but Holly knows she must return to her family, who have no idea where she is. Makeda is devastated, but agrees to let her lover go. Shortly thereafter, a helicopter takes a heartbroken Holly away.

The story resumes here. Do enjoy.

by kinkys_sis

Chapter Four: Band-Maid

The journey to the coast was long and hard. The truck lurched and jolted continuously, mile after mile, but I hardly felt it. My heart was desolate.

We arrived at an airport, where I was told a plane was standing by to take me to South Africa. I felt somewhat conspicuous – a white girl in native clothing – but nobody seemed to pay me any mind. The cruise ship was now berthed at Cape Town, awaiting my return.

But first, I had questions to answer. I spent hours with the police while they pieced my story together. At first, they doubted my account of how the pirates had died at the beach. They didn’t believe a young white girl was capable of defending herself against armed thugs. The barman, though, had seen our security guard die, so I was the only one left to fight. There were no other witnesses, so in the end they shrugged and accepted my story.

The native clothing I wore was harder to explain. I think the police suspected that I was holding back details about my rescuers, but in the end, they stopped pressing me for information. I’d committed no crime, and they had no legal justification to detain me any further.

 ***

It was early evening when we landed. My mother, along with some of the ship’s officers, was waiting for me at the airport. Her happiness at my return wasn’t enough to compensate for the strain she’d endured. We both cried as we hugged. When we pulled apart, she was taken aback by my strange attire, but her only comment was that I looked different. Beautiful, yet … more grown up, somehow.

We had to fight our way through the gaggle of reporters clamouring for a story. The non-stop flashing of their cameras nearly blinded me. A wedge of policemen cleared the way until we were safely pressed into a stretch limo that seemed to be half a mile long.

When we drew up alongside the gangway, I couldn’t believe what I saw. Hundreds of cheering and waving passengers pressed against the ship’s railings.

The captain stood waiting to greet me. “We applaud your safe return, Miss, but I’m afraid the story of your adventures and your heroism preceded you,” he said. “If you’re tired and would prefer to be alone with your mother, I’m sure everyone will understand. Otherwise, should you choose to honour us with your presence, there will be a reception in the main lounge in about half an hour.”

I hadn’t expected anything like this. Nor could I understand why the captain was bending over backwards to be so nice to a young girl.

“I’m fine with that, sir,” I said, “but if the reception could be in an hour instead, that would be even better. I need a shower and a few words with my mum.”

“Yes, quite. An hour it is, then.”

While I’d been away, it turned out that Mum had met my friends Jessica, Anna and Julie. They’d been worried about me. It was Julie who explained that the cruise line was afraid of being sued for having failed to take better care of its passengers and almost getting a young girl killed. That’s why they were trying so hard to be nice to me.

“Mum, it wasn’t the fault of anyone on the ship. The driver panicked, and he worked for some tour company, not the cruise line. The security guard was very brave. He died trying to help me. I can’t blame the captain for anything.”

The reception was a rather boring affair. I decided to wear my native dress, which I’d become quite attached to… though by the time I returned to the ship, it very much needed to be washed.

Everyone wanted to hear about my ordeal, and I quickly grew tired of answering the same questions over and over. The captain suggested I might give a brief speech describing my adventure. I was happy to do that, though I obviously made no mention of Makeda or my relationship with her.

Anna handed me a glass of what looked like lemonade, but a sip told me it was some sort of bubbly white wine. I had no idea what it was, only that it was delicious.

Jessica told me there was a surprise coming up. She blushed furiously when I replied, “What – you, Anna, Julie and me are gonna get naked together?”  No doubt about it, I was back in my own world again!

She rolled her eyes. “Is that all you ever think of? No, you told me before about the kind of music you like. I passed that along to Julie, she told the entertainments officer, and he found a band appearing in Capetown. They’re here just for you. I think you’re gonna like them.”

The entertainments officer looked a little apprehensive from where he stood in front of the stage curtains. “I realise the band we have for our special guest might not be everyone’s cup of tea,” he said, “but it is Miss Holly’s evening, so I trust you will permit the break from our regular entertainment.” He raised an arm. “We have a band that I understand our guest of honor is familiar with. Please welcome, all the way from Japan–” he glanced at an index card held in his left hand – ”um, Band-Maid.”

Band-Maid!? I was quivering with excitement as an usher hustled me towards the stage. The curtains opened, and I squealed in astonishment. Oh, fuck! I’d downloaded every note of their music, so seeing them live on this side of the world was the thrill of a lifetime.

Saiki, the lead singer, pointed down at me. “For Holly!” she screamed out. “What favourite song?”

“‘Freedom’,” I yelled, “or ‘From Now On’. Shit! Anything you feel like playing, I’m down with it.”

“‘From Now On’ very noisy, but for you we play little bit. You like Kitana?” she asked, pointing at the lead guitarist.

Did I like Kitana? God, she was only one of the most awesome rock guitarists in the world, and one of the sexiest. Many’s the time I’d fingered myself to hot, sweaty fantasies where the two of us fucked each other silly. It was rumoured that she was into girls, which only made me lust after her even more.

My heart pounded as Kitana strutted across the stage towards me. Bending to look closer, she covered her mic and exclaimed, “Fuck, you hot, girl!”

She pointed her guitar at me and yelled out, “Yeah! For Holly!” Then she began to play.

She was incredible, even better than I remembered. Her fingers were a blur, and her eyes never left me. She loomed just above, moving her body to the music, giving me the occasional peek at her knickers. Kitana’s sudden grin told me she knew I was looking up her flying skirt.

They only played about a third of the song’s instrumental passage before ending it with a mighty crescendo. I wondered how many in the audience noticed the way Kitana sucked her finger and pointed it at me. By then, I knew those lesbian rumours had to be true.

I wasn’t sure whether Kitana was really attracted to me, or if she was just being a tease. I mean, was that actually something she did – hit on girls in the audience? Then, Saiki broke into “Freedom,” and Kitana backed away.

A couple of numbers later, Miku ran over, leaned down and spoke to me. “I see you singing the words. You know ‘Choose Me’?” I gave a quick nod, and she reached down, grabbed my hand, and pulled me up onto the stage. “You sing with Kitana. She like you!”

The girls often sang in a tight huddle – I’d seen it in their videos. Now they did just that, with me wedged in the middle. What no one could see, at least I hoped not, was what Kitana was doing – pressing her body into mine as I sang. I pushed my bum back in response. There was amusement in her voice when she spoke in my ear, “When I see you before, you look more at my knickers than at my guitar. You like look at my knickers, I think.” Then she grabbed my arse cheek and gave it a playful squeeze.

The whole band moved in one fluid motion as we rocked to the rhythm, and I did my best to move with them. I was facing Kitana as I sang. Her eyes bored into mine, watching me closely as she pressed her hand against my pussy. She grinned when I thrust my hips forwards, grinding into her fingers.

What a fucking turn-on! I was getting my pussy rubbed in front of more than a few hundred people, and they weren’t aware of it.

The song was nearing its climax, though I hadn’t quite got there myself. But Kitana suddenly pulled me low, giving me a brief but very hot tongue kiss. “You want we play after show?” she asked.

I didn’t get the chance to answer. Saiki grabbed my hand and pushed me to the front of the band. “You sing now!” she shouted at me.

Maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was Kitana feeling me up. I didn’t care. I gave the song everything I had, singing for all I was worth. So, okay, the guitars probably disguised my unskilled voice, but I thought I pulled it off well enough.

Back on the lounge floor, Mum and the girls hugged me. “We’ve got a rock star here, guys,” Julie said. “Our sexy little friend’s been holding out on us.”

It must have been her tone of voice when she said sexy, but Mum glanced at Julie with a puzzled look on her face. Then she seemed to dismiss whatever thought she’d had with a shrug.

To my surprise, Band-Maid actually went down quite well, considering how many older people were in the audience. They certainly received a hearty round of applause when they finished.

As the curtain began to close, I saw Kitana point at the side entrance of the stage. I got the signal.

Turning to the others, I said, “I’ve been invited backstage, Mum, guys. I’ll see you all in a while.”

I paused when I got to the doorway. It suddenly felt wrong. It would be like cheating on Makeda. But no, she’d told me to lead a normal life. Well, for me there was no better way of getting back to that than accepting what Kitana was offering.

All the Band-Maid members cheered when I entered their small dressing room. Each one of them hugged me in turn. Kitana made sure she was last. They had to know she liked girls. And they’d most likely seen the way I’d responded to her on stage.

Sure enough, everyone was smiling when I stepped into Kitana’s waiting arms. She wasn’t shy in front of the rest of the band, either, pulling me into a hard kiss.

The rest of the girls whistled, and Kitana gave them the finger. She broke the kiss. “We rock on stage. You like if we rock some more?” she asked as she reached up to squeeze my tits.

She laughed as I began to unfasten my buttons. The rest of the girls went off to the shower room, giggling.

“You ever fuck any of them?” I asked her, watching them go.

“Some. But I never before get to with pretty young girl like you. I was told you very brave girl, fight hard. I like hard. Now we fuck.”

The African covering that I had chosen to keep on for the evening dropped to the floor, leaving me nude. Her eyes took in my bare body, then darted up to my face. “Nothing under pretty dress, just sexy body. You bad girl… I like.”

She shrugged out of her dress to reveal a sheer black bra and matching panties. It was barely a moment before they were gone, too. I didn’t know it then, but I would learn with time that almost all Japanese girls have masses of black hair adorning their pussies. Kitana was no exception. She waited patiently while I ran my fingers through her soft curls.

She laughed. “You do this to other girls before, I think.” Then she pushed me backwards onto the sofa. She didn’t get on top as I expected she would, but went down on her knees, burying her face between my legs. “Lovely pussy for Kitana to lick,” she murmured, using her fingers to open my cunt before thrusting her tongue deep inside. It searched and caressed, savouring me. Finally she pulled away, but just a little. Her fingers opened me even wider, and I could feel her warm breath on my clit. “Is beautiful,” she said. Then she was sucking me there.

Kitana went crazy. She played my cunt like she played her guitar – fast and furious. It was a wild, exhilarating ride that quickly had me reaching orgasm. She read me well, lapping at my clit even faster as I came. My body rose and tightened, then went rigid as waves of pleasure crashed down, one after the other. She raised her face, but kept pumping her fingers. I was only vaguely aware that she was looking up at me, but I did hear her say, “Yes girl, you come for Kitana. You come good!”

She crawled up my body until our mouths met. Her kisses were hot and sticky on my lips, and she kept whispering, telling me how sexy I was, how good my pussy tasted. I hugged her tightly for a few minutes until my heartbeat slowed to a steady pace.

Kitana gave a delighted squeal when I suddenly rolled her over. I looked down into her smiling face just as I pushed myself between her legs. She spread them wide, so our pussies were grinding together. “Now it’s your turn,” I told her.

Suddenly I thought of Makeda and hesitated, unable to stop the tears that came to my eyes. Thankfully, Kitana didn’t notice.

I hugged her tighter, squeezing her tits between us, then cupped one. “Harder,” she said when I twisted a nipple between my fingers.

Our hips were pressed together, her slit touching mine, but Kitana wanted more. “I can’t feel your pussy hard enough,” she said, shaking her head. “We need cross legs.”

I knew just what she meant, despite her shaky English. It was one of the sex positions my sister and I liked best. I swung myself around, our legs criss-crossed, and our pussies met. Kitana sort of glared at me. “Fuck hard, baby girl,” she said. “Show me you tough like they say. I like hard fuck.”

So I started rubbing against her with everything I had. My pussy would be sore the next day, but at that moment, I didn’t care. I had a broken heart to fuck away. Life went on.

We ground our pussies hard and fast. Kitana shouted at me in Japanese. God only knows what she said. Who even cared? Her hips pumped like crazy, legs lifting her higher, taking me along for the ride. She shrieked louder than she ever did onstage, and we shuddered as we came.

Lying there in a sweaty daze, we were treated to a round of applause. I opened my eyes to find the other four band members gathered round, all smiling. Yukio, the bass player, bent and kissed me, then spoke in my ear, “You fuck Kitana good. Not many do that with her. She like you, Holly.” Nuzzling my cheek, she added, “Maybe we meet again, and you hang with me. Sometime I like girls, too.”

After a couple of minutes, Kitana and I got up. I would’ve liked to spend more time with her and the band, but they had to leave soon. There was a gig waiting for them in Johannesburg the next day, and a couple of helicopters were standing by, ready to take Band-Maid and their crew north. So Kitana and I exchanged one last kiss, She hastened off to the shower, and I returned to my cabin. I was tired, and it had been a long day, capped by my encounter with Kitana.

 ***

I stood in the shower a long time, the tingling blast of the water slowly reviving my aching body. Then I wrapped myself in a towel and padded back into the cabin. The travel bag Makeda’s people had given me still sat where I’d left it on the bed.

I couldn’t be bothered to unpack sensibly. I simply upended the bag and dumped it out. Not that there was very much in it. Just my bikini, the old shirt I’d made my escape in and – wait, what was this? A small pouch-like bag I’d never seen before.

I teased the tight knot apart and opened the neck of the bag. The overhead light instantly sparkled on the contents. Slowly, I tipped them into my hand. There were too many to hold, spilling onto the bed. At least a hundred diamonds, bright red rubies, deep blue sapphires and other assorted jewels gleamed at me. I sat there, just staring down at what I knew had to be a fortune in precious stones. How much, I had no idea. Then I saw the little note.

Quickly unfolding it, I read the contents, tears welling in my eyes. It said:

Wealth cannot alone bring happiness, but it can help if used wisely… and I know you are wise.

You captured the heart of a queen. A queen who will never forget you. I hope you will never forget her.

But, my white angel, you live in a different world than mine. Do not let the love you feel for me ruin your life. Cherish the memory of our union, but tuck it away in a closed space in your heart. Something to think of from time to time, but not to dwell on too deeply.

I am told you will come again. I believe that and cherish the thought of the joy we may share again. It will, perhaps once again be brief. It matters not. I wait until that day.

Makeda, your Queen.

My fingers trailed through the pile of jewels. Among them was a small paper package tied with a tiny white ribbon. I gasped at the sapphire it contained. The stone was as big as the ball of my thumb, expertly faceted, and – appropriately, I thought – shaped like a teardrop. The little note it was wrapped in said, This one is for you to keep. Let it be a reminder of the one who will always love you.

I hung the DO NOT DISTURB sign on my door. I needed to be alone. Just me with the memory of my queen, thinking about everything we had shared.  

***

The years rolled by. Now I was twenty-one. I’d completed my studies, passing out of Oxford with an honours degree in economics. At my instruction and while I continued my studies, my mother and sister, supported by the gradual sale of my jewels, had established a charitable organisation dedicated to economic development in the poor countries of the world. I abhorred anything to do with political manoeuvring, and did my level best to avoid it. My sole aim was to help those countries that made a genuine attempt to improve the lives of their people. I’d considered joining one of the larger international charities, but the wages they paid themselves were obscene. I soon decided it wasn’t for me.

My mother, my sister and my sister’s partner Steff worked tirelessly in many different areas that needed our assistance. We became one of the largest wholly private aid organisations in the world.

But I was tired. Tired of the turmoil in a world that seemed to shun any offers of genuine help and sick to death of the many factions that made life a misery for ordinary people. ISIS, jihadists, Hamas, Hezbollah, the many warring factions in Africa and so many more. How could they not see the suffering they brought to so many?

“Holly, you need to take a break,” my sister often told me. “You can’t take the problems of the world on your shoulders. Give yourself a vacation, for . We’ll look after things.”

I knew she was right. But how could I take a break? It wasn’t my way. There were always new situations that needed to be dealt with.

“Sis, seriously. You can’t solve everything on your own. Our organisation is running nicely, and we don’t need you here twenty-four-seven. If you burn yourself out, you’ll be no use to anyone.”

She was right, of course. I really had been letting things get to me, and now there was the problem in Israel and Lebanon to deal with. I was also concerned about the situation in Sudan, and how it had spilled over into Somalia and the surrounding areas.

It was now almost nine years since I’d left Makeda, my Ethiopian queen, but she’d never been far from my thoughts. As had become my habit, I unconsciously rubbed her sapphire, which I wore on a white-gold chain around my neck.

My sister’s words had struck a chord. I would go to Makeda. It was time. I wanted to be away. Would my queen still want me, or would I be an embarrassment to her now? I had to know.

Even my mother had somehow known this day would come.

 ***

I sent a message, not really expecting a reply. Yet there it was: Madinga will be there to meet you. Your queen awaits. 

Madinga looked many years older than I remembered. He greeted me as he would any royal subject. Yet, I swear I saw a tear in the corner of his eye. “My queen waits for you after so many years,” he said. “You have grown from a beautiful girl into a majestic woman. My queen will be…” He stumbled over whatever he wanted to say.

“Madinga, I am here. It’s enough, is it not?”

“Yes,” he replied with a nod. “For our Makeda, it is more than enough.”

We set off. Many heavily armed soldiers escorted our convoy of trucks. “These are dangerous times,” Madinga told me. “Only safe place is in our mountains.”

The countryside became more familiar as we ascended. My heart beat faster with each mile. Would she still love me? She could have a husband and children by now. I might have asked Madinga, but thought it better to wait and see for myself.

We entered a clearing where hundreds of warriors lined the way. They began to chant as we passed. It became quite deafening. Finally we drove into the centre of the crowd. The lorry stopped and I waited for the dust to settle.

And there she was, standing high above me, her loyal lion Nasi at her side. He sat rather than stood as he always used to. Nasi was getting quite old for a lion.

Makeda raised her hands to the heavens, and all went quiet. She shouted down at them. The many hundreds of voices roared in response. A long line of ostrich feathers had been laid out, forming a pathway to the queen. “You have returned home,” she said. “Come to me.”

I walked the line of feathers. Makeda held her hands out to me as I approached the steps before her. I carried the spear I’d been given to take home. It was now housed in a beautiful walnut case.

Just as I reached the stairs, the old priest stepped forward, miraculously still alive and no longer hidden away in his mountain church. He grasped my hand, holding me back. “You see,” he cackled, “I said you would come, just as long as you left first.” He let go of my hand, laughing to himself as he disappeared into the crowd, which parted to make way for him.

Makeda didn’t seem to have aged a day. She was as beautiful as ever. Reaching out to me, she smiled at the pendant on my breast. “My Holly. How I have waited.” She pulled me tightly into an embrace. We cried together, a release of emotions long suppressed.

It was the chanting that eventually caused us to turn to face the crowd of warriors. Holl-ee, they shouted, over and over. They had not forgotten me.

A small boy, holding Makeda’s skirt, stared up at me. “My son, the future king,” Makeda said. “The father is dead, there is no one else … only my dream.” Her words trailed away.

I had always been good at making quick decisions, but the one I made now surprised even me. “Makeda, I have come to ask this question: do you still want me to stay?”

She threw herself at me. “Do you really mean it? Are you to stay here with me… you and I, together at last?” I felt Nasi’s rough tongue lick my hand. He remembered me, too.

I smiled at Makeda through my tears. “Yes, my queen.”

We retired to her rather grand hut. She held me at arm’s length, and again she asked, “Do you still want me … just as I want you?”

“Makeda, there hasn’t been another, not for several years now. I am starved for love. I need to be fucked … fucked by the only one I ever truly loved.”

The Queen of Sheba gave me a long, searching look. “It is true. I see it in your eyes, you have truly come back to me. Are you to stay this time, or is this but a short visit?”

“I will stay! Now, will we make love again, yes? Just as we used to.”

And so we did. Frantically at first, caught up in the joy of being together once more. Then tenderly, an expression of the love we shared but had been denied for so long.

We gloried in each other’s bare bodies, fucking until we could fuck no more, then clinging together. Finally we slept.

 ***

Madinga led the small party of warriors, with Makeda and I travelling in the centre of the group. The steps carved into the sandstone were well trodden but clearly defined, leading us from one level to another. They curved many times as we descended into the heart of the mountain.

As we progressed, it grew darker. Madinga offered me an arm, quietly urging caution. We proceeded more slowly. After more torches were lit, I saw why. We had emerged into an enormous cavern, large as the nave of any cathedral.

Along the way, the geology had changed. No longer were we surrounded by walls of sandstone. This was solid rock, ancient as time itself. Pools of water appeared.  They looked shallow but in reality were many feet deep, a fact disguised by the clarity of the water.

Giant stalagmites and stalactites were on all sides, gleaming with dampness on their surfaces. I was puzzled. “If it’s only dry sandstone above us, where does the water all come from?”

“Many underground rivers and lakes in this area. They drain from the mountains to the north. It is possible to travel many miles down here, but we go only a short way,” Makeda answered.

“Go careful, this rock very easy to slip on. Many deep water holes and tunnels,” Madinga warned. He pointed to the far side of the cavern. “We go there.”

Soon we stood facing a mighty cliff, where an enormous crack had rent the stone face, wide enough for us to climb into, making our way deeper into the mountain. Again, the type of rock was changing.

“We now are in diamond, sapphire and ruby place. Gold is in different mine, but not far away,” Madinga said, pointing to an area of compacted but softer soil. “Look there, you find.”

I picked up several stones. “These look just like any other rocks to me,” I said. “I can see some crystal, but surely not diamond.”

One of the natives took several stones from me. After a quick check, he threw most of them aside, but two he held out to me. “Diamond,” he said.

I had no idea how he could see the difference. Madinga examined them. “Not so good, these. Is most likely yellow, but is diamond.”

I guess I’d been expecting to see easily discovered piles of glittering stones, but it didn’t take long for me to realise it was hard work, with only the occasional gemstone found.

Then a native shouted out excitedly. A line had appeared where he had used a bar to split away a harder section of stone. I could clearly see the red and blue tinges to the chips he collected from the resulting rubble.

Makeda grinned at me. “Sapphire. Good sapphire, maybe a few thousand dollars American after it is cleaned and cut.”

So it went. After a few more hours, we returned to the settlement, carrying a few hundred kilos of the mountain’s hidden treasures. For me, it was enough that I’d seen the famous mines, though I’d been impressed more by the sheer enormity of the caverns than in the actual search for precious stones.

***

Makeda and I quietly ran our business empire from the mountains of Ethiopia. We strove to do good, to work on behalf of peace. It was a futile exercise. Man did not want peace. I was beginning to understand that he never would.

But one hidden mountain retreat did know love. A retreat where one who knew where to look could find a black queen, a foreign white woman, strange and ancient Christian churches – and King Solomon’s mines.

 THE END  

 Afterword: If my readers find some elements of this story (particularly Chapter Two) a bit far-fetched, here’s a couple of short but quite true anecdotes.

Our grandpa grew up in East Africa, where his father worked. The family lived in Uganda, but Grandpa went to boarding school in Kenya. This was at the time of the Mau Mau uprising. Two incidents occurred when he was only ten or eleven years old.

Some of his fellow students lived locally, and he used to spend some weekends at the farm of his best friend’s family. One weekend he was on punishment and could not go, and on Monday came the news that the whole family had been massacred. Grandpa would have been there but for a twist of fate, the result of his own naughtiness.

The second incident occurred when the train taking him back to Uganda for the summer holiday was attacked by the Mau Mau as it was slowly making its way up a steep gradient. There were African Askaris (police) in each carriage, and the Askari next to my young grandpa was shot. Grandpa took up his gun and fired wildly at the attackers. He never knew for certain whether he actually hit or killed anyone, but the likelihood is he did. His father had taught him to shoot when they went hunting – for food, not for sport.

He told his parents it seemed like the natural reaction after they’d killed his best friend. He still says he felt better for it.

So, given the circumstances, youngsters can take up arms. They do, in many countries of the world.

I hope our descriptions of life aboard a cruise ship are reasonably accurate. Neither of us has ever been on one.

As for Band-Maid. Kitana (not her real name, which I changed to suit the JS rules) is a brilliant guitarist, even if she does look silly in her outfits. Is she gay? We have no idea, but what we do know is, there are a number of pics where she is clearly interfering with another band member’s clothes, and several in which she has her head underneath another’s skirt. She obviously likes lifting skirts … we can only come to one conclusion!