Queens are Wild

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Science Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

King Ballentine thinks he may have seen the pretty young face of his soon-to-be-queen for the first time.

Chapter 13 (v.1) - Sheworthy

Submitted: June 05, 2012

Reads: 109

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Submitted: June 05, 2012

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Date: March 15, 2036
Place: Pacific Ocean, 625 miles south-southeast of Hawaii
King Robert Ballentine bared his upper body to a hot afternoon sun and relaxed poolside on the sky deck of his 202-foot yacht “Sheworthy,” which was knifing westward through choppy seas. He sipped Captain Morgan rum and coke on the rocks with a wedge of lime while improving his tan for his future queen in a white lounge chair beside an oval-shaped pool. He let his long, wet, dark hair breathe without a ponytail for a change. Dark sunglasses shaded his eyes and teal swim trunks covered his large balls, which were now the stuff of legend.
Balls had proclaimed himself king of America and seized power without even setting foot on her soil. The former president was his hostage and the former U.S. government was in shambles thanks to the highly coordinated, bloody coup on New Year’s Day, 2036. Chinese-paid North Korean assassin squads dubbed the “Black Death” murdered hundreds of congress people, Pentagon staffers, State Department and Justice Department workers, state police, national guard soldiers and anyone else who tried to resist or restart the old government. Ballentine’s 49 royal lords, also backed by the Black Death, seized control of each state capitol in similar fashion.
Federal and state governments were paralyzed and crippled in a matter of two weeks. Popular protests were put down quickly and violently. Fighter jets, tanks and aircraft carriers were not used against the coup because of Ballentine’s repeated on-air threats to kill the president -- whom he had shown and interviewed on his UKA network -- if any major attacks were launched against him and his upstart regime.
Hunted by rabid international journalists and American military spies, Ballentine chose to remain aboard various cruise ships, military vessels, oil barges and yachts until the transition of power was more secure. He hopped from ship to ship via helicopters and harrier jets every couple of nights. A small group of bodyguards, media flaks, camera people and a personal chef traveled with him.
Ballentine preferred to control his subjects from afar during this transition phase with charisma and propaganda via his UKA network -- the only major medium allowed in the country. The Black Death did its level best to take out the rest in violent fashion. Only smaller-market websites and local TV networks were allowed to exist without being targeted by assassin squads; even those were randomly monitored by Ballentine’s flaks.
Despite relishing his achievement -- having the balls and means to pull off the greatest coup in world history -- Ballentine longed for the day when he felt safe enough to set foot on his conquered land and wave to his subjects with his American-born queen by his side.
She is the key, he mused. If I pick the right queen, they will love her, and then they just might learn to love me. In time, they will get used to the idea of a monarchy. Their democracy was broken anyway. They always loved the British royals -- what could be better than having your own royal family to love and follow?
Ballentine’s top media flak, Howard Nelson, approached him poolside with a whimsical look on his face. He was in his 30s, thin, with short brown hair, glasses and an Ivy League smugness about him. Ballentine’s field marshal of mind control and subject relations, Nelson wore a tropical shirt with khaki shorts and light brown sandals; several high-tech gadgets were holstered around his sand-colored belt.
“We’ve got a beauty dangling on the line, King Robert,” Nelson told Balls as he made a gesture with both hands to indicate the size of the fish. He held a smart phone in his left hand as he did this.
“Oh yeah, mate, let me see,” Balls said, taking off his sunglasses and reaching for Nelson’s phone.
Nelson hunched down and looked over Ballentine’s shoulder as he scrolled the touch screen to the latest contest entry emails.
“This one,” Nelson said, pointing at the screen. “Victoria Kensington. Look at the two photos. She looks like former President Quigley’s long lost sister -- only she’s 17. It’s amazing!”
Balls studied the two images attached to the entry email. Both were color photos, but the one on the left was grainy and old. It was a Kingsbury High School yearbook photo of President Margeaux Quigley shot in 1983, during the summer before her senior year. She had an awkward smile, braces on her teeth, shy blue eyes and her black hair partially pinned up with white barrettes. The photo on the right was practically life-like, clearly taken with a high-resolution digital camera from 2036 or thereabouts. Victoria Kensington’s face was nearly a mirror image of President Quigley at 17, but Victoria had a confident, almost saucy smile with no braces, enticing blue eyes and straight black hair down past her athletic-looking shoulders. Her hot pink shirt revealed just enough cleavage to stir Balls’ swim trunks.
“That’s a contender,” Ballentine said with a chuckle as he wiped some sweat off his glistening brow. “I might have to take a dip in the pool to cool off.”
“Wait, it gets better,” Nelson tittered as he moved the screen down and showed Balls the email’s text. “Read what Victoria wrote.”
Ballentine grinned at his flak and eagerly read the small print.
“I want to be your queen so bad I’ll lose my virginity to you on your TV show,” the text said. “And because I just happen to look like a young President Quigley, it’ll be like you’re fucking America for real -- literally and figuratively!! LOL!!!”
Balls howled in lusty delight and slapped Nelson on the back so hard he almost lurched head-first into the pool. “She’s a finalist and probably the winner just for that, mate!” he shouted. “You better make damn sure she’s on the Rendezvous Two on Tuesday. How many have I picked so far?”
“Three others, king,” Nelson said.
“Howie, you pick the fifth finalist from the remaining pool of candidates. I don’t care if she’s a toothless hag,” Balls bellowed as he stood up and prepared to belly flop into the pool. “Let’s get this show on the road, mate! It’s high time we crowned a queen and showed up in our new United Kingdom of America.”
“I will do so, king,” Nelson said.
“Good, now go, so I can jump into the pool and handle my balls,” Ballentine said with a raspy laugh before plunging into the deep end and sending a tsunami of ripples onto the sky deck.


© Copyright 2018 Jack Chaucer. All rights reserved.

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