The following story was written during the creation process for a pair of brass goggles sized to fit a cat. You can see the actual goggles here. Those goggles have sold but it is likely I will be doing another pair, feel free to send me a letter.
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I’m sorry, what? Oh. You saw me here and wondered what might have driven me to this low state.
You want to know why I’m at this bar clutching these adorable handmade all metal tiny steampunk brass goggles and pouring glasses of gin into this empty place that used to be my soul? I will tell you, but it won’t be easy; not easy for either of us.
It was 23 days ago and the rain that just started was as cold as the tears dappling this bar in front of me now. The Bellwether Corrienne was due for refueling and service and I was installing a new bank of anodes in the hydrogen generators at the Bolger Field mooring station. That’s when I heard her voice.
“It’s something I need!” she was insisting to someone, “We’ve been taking anti-aircraft fire when we cross the continent.” Her voice held none of that phony flowery song the women have taken to using but her tone was at once dominating and feminine; like the silk lining of a bomber jacket.
“My pussy needs this, and what my pussy needs my pussy gets!”
My wrench slipped the bolt, skinning my knuckles against the machine. What in Christ’s gizzard were they talking about? Her voice carried in a way the station master’s did not leaving me unsure just how much trouble I was going to be in.
“You bring me leather? These are made out of leather! Do you not understand how wet my pussy gets out there? These things would rot. Leather might be okay for the straps but where it counts my pussy needs something stronger.”
I was just beginning to run down the bolts that secure the access panel onto the pressure cylinder. It’s a tedious and repetitious task that gave my mind free rein to wander. And wonder, just who is this woman and what is she doing at an airship field. The Corrienne manifest said she was on a mail run, no passengers.
“Plastic? Bloody hell. Did you paint this to look like metal? I don’t know if it’s the plastic or the paint but this is revolting. Do you want my pussy to stink?”
Looking for an excuse, I noticed that my cigarette had burned out. My tobacco was on my tool box. Nothing to do but crawl out of this service hatch and roll up another smoke. When I’m working on hydrogen generators, nothing calms my nerves better than a cigarette. Nine out of Ten doctors agree.
“Fine, give me the plastic ones, they’ll have to do. No, I know it’s hard to find a good selection this size; it’s not your fault. These will be fine till I can get the real thing when we dock in Manhattan.”
As I approached my tool chest, she came into view. Or rather, like an eclipse, she cast an umbral shadow upon me that blocked out the rest of the world completely. This was no passenger. This was the Corrienne’s pilot.
She really had taken a beating crossing the Atlantic. Her tight jacket was in tatters and the soot of incendiary fire peppered her leather pants. I had never seen leather pants that thin. It was to allow for greater mobility I reasoned to myself.
She turned at the sound of my match lighting and smiled. It was a smile weighed down by a history she hadn’t asked for yet even still, the shadow passed and I felt the warmth of a sailor’s morning.
“With something this important, you would think I would treat my pussy better than this.” She tells me casually indicating the tiny plastic safety goggles she had in her hand, Hi, I’m Emaliene.”
You can’t blame me for not knowing how to respond. Who would? For the first time in my life, by her beauty, her intensity, the liquid sensuality pouring out of her hot enough to burn me, by the crazy shit coming out of her mouth, I was struck dumb.
Thankfully, before my scarred psyche broke completely, a sound caught her attention and we both turned to watch a smoke-grey housecat pad quickly across the station house. The cat’s fur was singed in places, his vest had lost a few buttons, and his wool knit cap had a hole right through the middle of it. He hopped up on the counter next to the battered pilot and said something I didn’t understand.
My angel in tight leather counseled him, “Well we are going to be here a few hours at least. This engineer just got the hydrogen generators running. Charlinger and Carmine are loading the diesel fuel right now but …”
Another soft string of … words… from her feline companion and then, “I know a storm is coming in. Oh yeah, here, take these to keep your eyes working.” And she handed the goggles to her friend who looked at them and … I didn’t realize cats could laugh. It was then I realized that I had a sterling opportunity before me.
“If you’ll be here a few hours I can make some decent eye protection out of brass and hammered copper for your …”
“Pussy”
“I was going to guess navigator.”
“Oh he’s my first mate. Sorry, his name’s Schrödinger but no one ever pronounces it right so I just call him…”
“Pussy.”
“That’s it. Oh, can you do that? Can you really?” I was at least 10 yards from her but she advanced upon me like a fencer. She licked her lips lightly which had the same effect as if she had leveled a saber at my throat. Then she crossed her arms around my shoulders and drew herself tight against my startled form.
It was a hug and also something more. There was coldness in her and she was allowing the warmth of my offer to be drawn into it. She pulled herself even tighter against me, as tight as her leather pants, afraid, I think, that her instincts were wrong. I held Emaliene for a moment more letting the chill of her social distance bleed into me. I held her like the windows held those October raindrops. As she pulled away she kissed me lightly like a friend, then fiercely like the refractory of my forge; giving the excess heat back to the source.
“You really do care, about my pussy, I mean.”
I tried to come up with something about Schrödinger needing two eyes to hunt properly. To get the proper depth perception or some such. But I didn’t trust myself to speak so I muttered something very much like, “I’ll get right on it.”
When I came back from the metal shop they were gone. Dorbrice, the station master, he saw my concern.
“She wanted to get out ahead of the storm. Already had plenty of H2 in reserve just needed the diesel and a helmet or something for that cat.”
“What will Schrödinger do without his goggles?”, holding up my creation but not really caring if Dorb even looked.
“They took those factory glasses after all, as much complaining as she did about them, you know the plastic ones with the brass colored paint.”
I felt sick inside, like something important was happening that I had no control over.
“She left something for you.” Dorb said, handing me a folded scrap of paper.
It read:
We’ll be stopping at Bolger field on our way back, I think I need to see you again. And… Pussy still needs what you got. Those plastic goggles are trash but Pussy still has his long fur and wool cap to protect him.
I can’t wait until then,
Emaliene
I should have been happy at that but something was deeply wrong. Something was wrong. She was doing something wrong. Her Pussy was doing something horribly wrong. What?
Plastic goggles…
Long fur coat…
WOOL! She didn’t know.
SHE DIDN’T KNOW!
The Bellwether Corrienne exploded two miles ahead of me above the road to Manhattan. When I reached the smoldering wreck, Schrödinger’s burnt and broken form coughed smoke and called me to him.
“She’s gone back into the fire. She pulled me out but said she heard Carmine screaming.”
At that my angel appeared, a silhouette against the iridescent horror behind her. The H2 reserves blew a moment later. When I came to I was cradling Emaliene’s destroyed body, listening to her ragged breath come at greater and greater labor.
“My Pussy?”
“Fine. Just fine. You saved him.” I choked through my silent sobbing.
“Good.” She moaned weakly, “It was static electricity. Off those plastic goggles. I should have waited for you.”
And then she was gone. Her Pussy was far too burnt to need the handcrafted all metal goggles. Even though the roughly one inch inner diameter eyecups were fully adjustable to fit him or any other cat sized creature, Schrödinger was blinded that day and even the telescopic optical enhancement was of no use to him.
So I'll keep them for now. They’re all I have left.
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