Chris' Corner Videos
"The Grace X Files"     
Page 9
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                                                                               Grace X Contents Page

Do you see the silhouette with the pistol, that's me, my heart hardened with duty, my action backed
with a sheriff's badge.
Look closer, what else do you see?

Look!  Come on, use your mind.

Do you see the pistol?

OK, what kind is it?  See, with your mind.

Right, now your getting it, a Colt .45, commander, 9 bullets, with one in the chamber, flat black, ACP
ammo, combat grips, with the safety in the off position, the hammer cocked and ready. See it?  Are
you looking with your mind and your eyes?

What else? With your mind, think!

Do you see the look of remorse in the mans eyes, the firm grip of his fingers around the pistol grip,
every muscle in that right arm, tense and strained, with regret.  Sweat breaking out on his forehead,
his teeth gritted. His thoughts torn between a cherished love and duty.  Do you see it now?

Look at the woman, what do you see there?
A girl in jeans?  What color is her shirt?  
Her long loosely curled hair?  Her eyes?
You're looking at the wrong place,
her clothes, hair and shapely body,
tell you nothing, except she is a beautiful
temptress.  


Focus on her thoughts, an image of a
Valentine, two hearts with cupid’s arrow,
through both, the words I love you Grace,
do you love me? Check one, then a YES box,
with a dark check in it, the smiling face of a
young boy, grinning ear to ear.  Her first love,
the awkward question, still stirring her feelings.  
She still had the worn faded Valentine, the last
word, printed with a red crayon, Moon. Look at
those eyes, what do they tell you about Grace X?  
Do you see the wide dark pupils?  They are
crowding out the soft brown of a sensual woman,
replacing that with dark killer eyes, or could it be
soft romantic bedroom eyes?  

Look!  Your life depends on making the right decision, Look! Do you see the finely toned body,
muscular toned legs?  What are they for? To wrap around you, holding you against her body, or are
they to tighten around your neck, to break it?

Look, your fantasy of a seductive night of sharing kisses, or your worst nightmare will depend on
what you see.

Look, with your eyes, smell with your nose, think with your mind. Are they killer eyes, or bedroom
eyes?

Can you see those soft supple breasts, the muscles in her arms tightening them making them stand
up, high and proud, are those nipples erect with passion or are the mounds, pulled flat, her
anticipation of defending herself against you.

Which is it, fight or pleasure? You know she is dangerous, clever and seductive.  You have seen
both sides, you've seen her switch from a loving smile to a snarling adversary in a matter of seconds.

Look at those flared muscular hips, firm, shapely and strong, is she showing you a promise of
romantic delights, beckoning you to take those cheeks in your hands and caress them, or are they
telling you, I'm ready to turn and attack?  Be careful, be right, a wrong decision now, will be costly.

If she's offering you the pleasures of the flesh and you choose fight, your most intimate fantasy will
be lost.  If you pick pleasure and she is in fight mode, you're dead. Look!  Be sure, WHAT DO YOU SEE?

Bedroom eyes or killer eyes?

I see hesitation and doubt in your mind.  That's dangerous, no action is the worst choice of all. You
know her, what's her favorite weapon? Yes, a shotgun, double zero magnum load, 20 gauge
Browning automatic, with the plug removed.  It gives her 6 shots.
Now do you see what you're missing? It’s her killer side, her shotgun, hidden behind the still, just a
hands reach from her, look! With your mind, your brain, think!

Do you see anything else?  Are you sure?  Grace can be loving, sensual, erotic and every man's
dream of ecstasy.  She can be your grim reaper, dealing death with no remorse, cruel to the bone and
very deadly. I've given you the place to find the answer, remember.

Yes, those delightful soft brown eyes, or are they  those dark deadly killer eyes?
Its your move, which will it be?

Let me give you one more piece of advice, anyone from the mountains will tell you the same, there's
two things that don't mix, moonshine and perfume.  It’s a volatile mixture, like nitroglycerin, a simple
jar can set it off, if the blast is directed correctly, it can be very useful, it can also kill you in a
heartbeat, turn you into a moist spray of bloody mist.

OK, chump, I can see you're not going to make a choice, read on and I'll tell you the rest of the story.

Moonshine, Moonshine,
Quench the devil's thirst.
The sheriff swore he would get her,
but the devil got her first.

“Hello Grace,” Sheriff Moon say calmly, in a quiet voice, barely loud enough to be heard over the
boiling mash cooker.

Grace looks up, those liquid pools of mystery, flashing me a signal of surprise, then a mischievous
smile.

“Hello Moon.”, she responds, her eyes already sending information to her brain.  What was it?  
Sexual thrill, of seeing an old lover, or was it something that gave her an advantage, a way to turn the
tables?

“Stand up, and raise your hands, move like molasses on a cold January morning” Moon says, with
commanding calmness. Moon watched her eyes—he saw them jerk to her right, then as quickly back
to his own.

“Keep your hands where I can see them, don't move unless I tell you to.” Sheriff Moon says, his voice
slow and clear. Grace complies, slowly raising her hands to face height, her delicate features
masking the true danger of this capable woman.

“Good to see you, Moon.” she says, she too, knowing the secret of the eyes, she had the ability to
read the sole, through them, like a Mississippi River Boat Gambler, seeing confidence or bluff.  As
she straightens, the image of a worn Valentine flashing through her mind, the erotic caress of a
handsome young man.

“You're always a treat for the eyes, Grace,” the sheriff compliments the beautiful woman— the heat of
the still, causing her skin to perspire, the thin material of the shirt, clinging to the curves and
mounds of her delightful body. Grace smiles, a smile that meant different things, depending on your
own path.

“Well thank you, Moon, I was just thinking of our last meeting, a bit more on the friendly side, as I
remember,” Grace the master manipulator, turns the sheriff's thoughts back to another time.

“Yes, Grace, I remember, a cool summer night on your front porch, sitting on a swing, talking softly
and enjoying the pleasures of the simple time.”

“Mmmmm, yes, the simple times!” she repeats, her own mind, wishing for the good old days again.

“Times have changed, we're not teenagers any more, we're both adults, and must live by the laws of
the land,” Moon replies, jolting them both back to the present.

“Yes, the present, our current dilemma,” Grace says, her own eyes narrowing to slits, a look of
evaluation on her beautiful face, Moon knowing she is weighing her options.

“Be careful, Grace, Miss Xanadu, you know I'm a dead shot at this distance,” Moon warns, his brow
pulling down on his crystal blue eyes.

“Yeah, I know, but you still can't beat me, with a shotgun, can you?” she laughs, her breasts in the
damp shirt, swaying with her laughter.

“Shotgun?  I do see those pearls of delight on you, but no shotgun,” Moon answers, a little curl of
amusement displayed on his face.

“Good point, did you hear that noise behind you?” Grace asks, a confident smile on her face, he sees
her eyes switch quickly to his left, a sound of crackling leaves behind him.

Moon's expression changes, hearing the noise, his own eyes, turn to his left, then his head moves
quickly in that direction. He sees a movement in the edge of the light, but still in the darkness, he
turns to point the pistol but suddenly realizes it’s a dog. He quickly turns back to Grace X, seeing her
reaching for an emergency release valve on the still.  Before he can get his weapon back to her, she
releases the valve, filling the cave with hot steam, the pop off valve pointed right at him.  Moon
dives to his left, getting out of the hot stream of steam, rolling to the side of the cave, seeing Grace
stooping down to grab her shotgun from its hiding place, hearing the deadly sound of a shell being
chambered in her signature Browning Automatic.

Moon snuggles behind the storage barrel for the moonshine, Grace ducks behind the still, aiming
her Browning at the sheriff over the still. The steam in the cave quickly dissipates, the air becoming
clear again, the noise of the escaping steam, just a sputtering sound now.

“Drop the gun, Grace, don't make it harder on yourself!” Moon shouts, his pistol back on Grace's
torso.

“Go ahead, shoot, you know I'll get you with at least two shots, maybe three, either way, you will not
survive, I might unless your shot is through the heart,” Grace explains, shouting back, her voice, her
dark eyes steady and brimming with confidence, the dark side of this beautiful woman controlling her
now.

The two ex-lovers stare, both calling on previous intimate knowledge of the other.  Each looking for a
sign or an advantage, waiting for a blink, hesitation or mistake.

Moon speaks first. “What happened to us, Grace?”

“Your father killed my father on a chase,” she snarls, holding her weapon steady, a frown on her face,
as she spits out the words.

“Your father was killed in an accident, his brakes too hot to slow on the hill,” Sheriff Moon answers.

“Your father was taking a slice of the profits, he decided to end it with his run for the senate,” Grace
counters, the heat from the still and the pressure of the situation causing more sweat to form on her
body.

“Your father would not stop making, my dad offered him the sheriff's job,” the sheriff explains to her.

“Yeah, then run him off the road, on his last run,” Grace responds, a little catch in her throat.

“That was the Feds, not my father,” Moon says, quietly, realizing Grace did not know the facts. “He
sent you to college, paid for it all, supported your mother until she passed,” he tells her of things she
didn't know.

Grace hesitates, shocked by his last comment.

The sheriff stands, revealing himself to her.  Moon, sees that Grace is considering the new
information he has given her, she is weighing the facts—he wants her to see, that he is reasonable
and fair.  A look of mistrust forms on her face and in her mysterious eyes.

“What will happen if I submit?” she asks.

“You'll go to court, probably get a couple of years and out in 12 months, with my help,” the sheriff
promises.

“Nope, no time and no conviction.” Grace bargains for better terms.

“Sorry Miss Xanadu, I can't do that, you'll have to serve, I might get it down to 6 months?” he makes
her another offer.

Moon studies her body language, concentrating on her eyes, he sees a change, he knows she has
considered all possibilities. He sees her face soften into a look of seduction, which melts his heart.

“Is there anything I could do to change your mind?” she looks at him, with her famous disarming
smile.

“Yes, there is, convince me to walk away,” he says, his mind reading her eyes, bedroom eyes or killer
eyes.  It depends on what's in the hands, right now it was killer eyes, leaning toward bedroom eyes.

“I can't do that.” Grace finally makes her decision, her resolve decided.

“Then you’re going to have to shoot me” he says, a slight smile on his lips, a look of confidence there
as well.

“I'd hate to but you know I will,” she warns, the muscles in her right hand tightening on the gold
trigger of the Browning. “I'm not going to prison.”

“That leaves us with just one choice,” he responds, a look of disappointment in his stare.

Grace stares back, each of them stone-still, considering the situation, still hoping for an out. Moon
sees her eyes narrow, he knows she has decided, its not the decision he wanted, she sees a look of
sadness in his eyes, turning to solemn disappointment.
Grace pulls the trigger, bracing for the recoil and possible bullets from the sheriff’s .45.
The firing pin of the Browning falls on an empty chamber, simply clicking like a stopper gun.

Grace surprised by the sound, works the slide on the shotgun again, pulling the trigger again, with
exactly the same results. She looks back at Sheriff Moon, her eyes wide and her mouth opened in
astonishment.

“I came by yesterday and unloaded the shotgun,” Moon says with regret, motioning with his pistol for
Grace to put down the shotgun.

She complies, then he motions again for her to come to him.

“I should have known, that look of confidence should have warned me,” the lovely Miss Xanadu
admits her mistake.

“Yes, trying to shoot the head law enforcement officer is not a good way to make friends in this
county,”  Moon says, again motioning her to her knees, with his pistol.

“Sorry Moon, I would die in that place, in a month, it’s a death sentence for me.” Grace explains her
desperate move.

“I'm sorry too, Grace, I really would have liked to made a deal,” the sheriff admits, shaking his head,
but still keeping his pistol on her.

“There's still time, no one knows you have been here, what do you want?” she asks, those eyes
again, reading his soul through his own.

“We're adults now, we've put aside children's things, I want the same deal as Dad but with a few more
benefits,” Moon says, knowing Grace would catch the phrase of benefits.

“Benefits?  You mean 10% of my profit and what else?” Grace knows what he is referring to, but
wants to make him say it, giving her an advantage.

“You know, the games we played, right here, how do you think I found this place?” he answers,
averting his stare from her to hide his eyes.

“Oh yes, the games! The role play games, right?” she says in her most seductive voice.

“Yes, those games,” he says, embarrassed by his attraction to them, again looking away.

“Come closer, I'll give you a favorite,” she motions this time, with a crooked finger.

Moon smiles, stepping right up to Grace, easing his pistol to her lips, gently running the barrel along
them.

“Mmmmm, I'm pleased you remember”, she coos, her tongue caressing the half inch hole in the
business end of the pistol. “Oooo, yes, you know what I like,” she moans, a hand  stroking the pistol,
her warm sensual  lips surrounding the metal shaft.

With her hand, she moves the barrel down her chin, raising her head, to expose her neck, easing the
barrel down her neck, to the hollow spot there.  She presses the pistol into the soft flesh, moaning
with heightening arousal. Her free hand unbuttons the two on her halter top, letting it open to reveal
two pert breasts, nipples erect and dark with excitement.

Moon pulls her hand away, and starts to control the pistol with his own hand.  Grace opens her eyes,
to look into Moon's, seeing that he is completely engrossed in the erotic play.  He has that stupid grin
on his face, when women lure them with their wiles.
Grace's dark side flashed through her eyes again, as she smiles at his mislaid trust.
Moon fondles a breast with the barrel, lifting it then watching it press into the soft flesh.  He moves it
to a nipple, letting the distended nipple slide into the barrel. Grace has to moan—she turns her
thoughts back to the seduction, this little trick always stimulating her. She whimpers with a sudden
flash of ecstasy, the cold steel pistol traveling over her torso under her breast. She knew the
destination, and waited for it with excited quick breaths.

Moon smiles his most evil smile, the excitement of the moment stirring his manhood into erection.

Moon continues his exploration of her body, the front site of the pistol lightly touching her skin.

Grace shudders when the barrel slides into her navel, the pistol pushed into the depression, the
edge of the inner rim, tracing the edge of her deep navel. She swoons with pleasure, another quick
orgasm wetting her sex.

Moon grins again, his eyes focused on the barrel inserted into her sensual button. He moves it
lower—she knew he was headed for her delightful curly black vulva. She quickly grasps the firearm,
not wanting him to explore there, pulling it up to her lips again, closing those soft brown eyes, and
inserting it between her lips, her tongue again , caressing the now warm metal like a cock. She takes
it into her mouth, her lips surrounding the barrel, all the way to the trigger guard. Her hands
preceding her lips, touching his fingers wrapped around the grip and through the trigger guard.  
Moon's focus changes to her lips—she opens her eyes to stare into his, holding her position on the
pistol.

“I have him now,” she thinks, a laugh of her own in her mind. She slowly pulls back and then starts
kissing the barrel, treating the dangerous cocked pistol like a lover's cock.
She kisses the trigger finger, urging him to pull it from the guard.  He does, she takes it into her
mouth, her warm seductive lips and tongue suggestively caressing his finger, just like the pistol, but
with the feeling being transferred to his brain.

“Will you take the deal, 10% and my body anytime you desire?” she questions his intent.

“I'm close, just a little more of and we will seal the deal with a pair of lips around my cock,” Moon
suggests, urging Grace to continue.

She smiles, her lips going back to the finger still extended toward her.  She again sucks his trigger
finger into her mouth, letting him feel the erotic massage of her sensual tongue. She looks up to see
Moon mesmerized by her kinky action. She eases her free hand to the jeans, unsnapping the button,
the tight jeans spreading open to reveal her sheer red panties.

Moon doesn't seem to notice, still staring at her caress of his digit.

Grace's fingers slip into the panties, grasping the hidden deadly derringer there.  She eases it from
the little pocket sewed into the panties, the little silver pistol glinting in the light of the cave. At the
same time, Grace pulls his finger from her lips, smiling up at him, her soft brown eyes narrowed to
thin slits.  She holds the finger tightly and coos in a seductive tone, “Good Bye Moon!”

Sheriff Moon looks confused, not realizing she has neutralized his weapon.

Miss Xanadu knows she has won the battle of wills, luring her prey with her feminism, and apparent
submission.  Moon sees the glint of the shiny derringer, only then realizing his mistake.

“No Grace!  Don't!” he shouts, trying to pull his trigger finger from her steel grip.  

Grace quickly raises the small pistol from its hiding place.

Moon hears a loud explosion of a pistol, quickly followed by four more.  He grits his teeth, expecting
the pain of bullets slamming into his body.  Instead he feels Grace's hand tighten and jerk on his
extended trigger finger, in sync with the loud blasts.  He hears Grace grunt four times, then gasp, the
exhale of air, gurgling  with blood.

Moon opens his eyes, looking with open mouthed terror, his eyes focusing on Grace's astonished
face.  Her soft brown eyes, wide with surprise, those kissable full lips, forming an oval of pain.  She
still grips his trigger finger, the smoking derringer clasped in her left hand.  A spasm of pain had
pulled the trigger, the round striking the flat end of the storage barrel Moon had hidden behind. A
stream of shine spurted from the bullet hole in the barrel, the crystal clear liquid splattering on the
stone cave floor.

Grace's eyes stare at the barrel, the astonished look still on her beautiful face. Her eyes slowly move
to Moon's eyes, the two exchanging mournful looks—her lips move, but without sound, only the
bubbling of blood in a punctured lung.

Moon, knows what she is trying to say, he has read it on her lips many times in the past.
“I love you too,” he spoke in a tearful tone, his eyes clouding with regret.

Moon stared at her, the blood from 4 bullet wounds in her left breast, streaming winding trails around
its curves. The four holes, making the points of a compass around the nipple, Moon recognizing the
pattern, the well known mark of Deputy Hawk. Moon steadies Grace with his left hand on her
shoulder, seeing her mouth moving again, her eyes still holding his, he hears the rasping words of
Grace.

“Make love to me, Moon,” she whispers, then collapses to the cave floor, her body rolling under the
splashing stream of Moonshine.  Grace's eyes lose their sparkle, death dimming it, her leg quivering
uncontrollably, as the flame of life, sputters to darkness.
Moon falls to his knees beside Grace, a tearful groan of loss, ripping through him.

“What's wrong with you? Boy!” the booming voice of Deputy Hawk echoed in the cave.
Moon turned to look at his friend Vern, standing behind him, his Ruger revolver held in his hand, a
stern look on his face, his cold steel eyes, looking with disappointment at his sheriff.

“I loved her,” Moon sniffled, another shudder of grief shaking his shoulders
.
“If your Dad, was here, he would kick your butt,” Hawk, growled at Moon, walking to stand beside him.
“You let her  get you into a position to put a bullet in your head.” Hawk continued his rant of Moon's
mistakes. “If I'd let that happen, your Dad would have kicked my ass too.That's how life works, in the
mountains. You forgot why we were here, you fell for the oldest trick in the book, and for what?”
Hawk uses the intimidation of a wiser lawman. “Get up off that ground, and act like the sheriff.”
Deputy Hawk demands, a scowl on his face and in his voice.

Hawk holsters his pistol, putting a hand on Moon's shoulder, urging him to stand.

“Life's fair, son.  It treats everybody like crap.” Hawk tries to soothe Moon's hurt.

Moon stands, and turns to Hawk, “You're right, Vern, I'm the sheriff, I'm in charge,” he says in a clear
voice of authority.

“That's the spirit, when you get lemons, make lemonade,” Hawk deals out another gem of Kentucky
psychology. “I can't believe you fell for the whore's ...”

Hawk’s comment is cut off by Sheriff Moon’s loud voice.“That's enough of that, Hawk, I was engaged
to this woman, I would have married her, you keep that trash to yourself, or you and I will have a crow
to pick.  Understand!”

“Yes sir, Sheriff,” Hawk acknowledges Moon's request.

“I made a promise to her, I will keep it, help me lift her up on that barrel,” Moon commands, bending
down to clasp Grace's hands.

“Yes sir,” Hawk complies, reaching for Grace's ankles.

The two men lift her from beneath the spurting shine and on top of the barrel. Hawk looks at Moon,
his gray eyes waiting for instructions.

“Set the explosives, I'll be right out.” Moon dismisses Deputy Hawk.

“Yes sir, I'll wait outside.” Hawk answers, turning to leave.

“Vern, I uh…” Moon starts to speak to Vern.

“You're the boss, I understand, you just got confused for a minute, you have your confidence back
now, we're still friends.” Vern interrupts Moon, saying everything Moon was going to say.

“Thanks Vern, I knew you were doing the best for me”, Moon nods to his friend.

He turns back to Grace, a sad look on his face, his heart heavy with grief and guilt.
His thoughts, replaying the happy times, the sharing of a passionate kiss, the pleasures that only two
lovers can experience.  Days of blissful joy, quiet hours, sitting under tree, holding hands, listening
to the sounds of the mountains. Planning, laughing and sharing secrets, playing and talking.

“I promised you, my darling and so it shall be,” Moon says, walking to Grace, caressing her cheek
with his fingers, bending down to kiss her cooling lips. Moon smiling and talking to Grace, just as
they did, many years ago, caressing her gently, gently touching her, remembering the things that
aroused her spirit.

He makes love to her, the last time he will ever enjoy their passion. Moon imagines her in all her
glory, smiling and responding to his touch—the pain of his actions tearing at his soul.

Moon finally stands, looking down at Grace, her black flowing hair, her deep soft brown eyes, those
full sensual lips. “What?” he says, his look going back to her eyes, the windows to our souls—they
were smiling at him, yes they were, a smile that only a lover can see.  Only there for an instant, but he
knew he saw it. Moon smiles back, his guilt lifted by this subtle expression.  As he stares, Grace's
right arm slides from the barrel, the hand clasped with a finger extended.  Moon looks at the hand on
the stone rocky floor, the finger seems to be pointing. His eyes follow the line of the finger, to the
Browning shotgun on the floor.  Moon steps to the weapon, picking it up, he notices a piece of paper
sticking out of the stock.

He pulls it out and unrolls it. He smiles again, it was an old Valentine card, two hearts pierced by an
arrow, faded, wrinkled and frayed, but still readable.

“I love you Grace, Do you love me?” Check one, in the box beside Yes, a big check mark, and in the
hand of a moon faced boy, in red crayon, a printed word, Moon.

Another tear dribbled from Moon's eye, he stuck the thin cardboard into a shirt pocket, he put the
shotgun over his shoulder and headed out of the cave. Deputy Hawk was waiting for him, his arms
crossed over his chest, standing by a tree.
“You ready, Sheriff?” he asks, looking curiously at the shotgun.
“Yep, set her off,” the sheriff says standing beside Hawk, looking back at the cave entrance.

Deputy Hawk draws his pistol again, aiming at the deft cord lying on the ground, firing a shot to set it
off. Immediately a large explosion jars the ground, collapsing the cave and sealing it forever. The pair
hear the rumbles of the cave walls giving way, deep under the ground. The two men stand silent for a
couple of minutes, the thick dust of the explosion like a fog in the woods.

“You alright?” Deputy Hawk asks Moon, looking at him with concerned eyes.

“Yeah, Vern, I'm fine,” the sheriff answers, shuffling off toward the river.
“Lets go home”
Hawk follows, holding the old flat bottom boat they had used to come up the river.
Moon steps to the outboard as Hawk pushes them into the gentle current.
Moon pulls the cord and starts the engine. He hears the clinking of glass, from the vibration of the
outboard. Moon looks under his seat, seeing about a dozen quart fruit jars, full of clear liquid.

“What's this?” Moon asks, looking at Hawk, sitting on the front seat of the small boat.

“It’s Moonshine, the best in this state, its Xanadu,” he says, looking at Moon, with stern eyes. “You
got a shotgun, I got some fruit jars,”Hawk continues, smiling at his partner.
Both men laugh, as the sheriff guides the boat up river, into the setting full moon.

Sheriff Moon changed after this unknown incident, his law enforcement style changed from
corrupted to fair.  The citizens of Bell County elected him to 9 terms as Sheriff, for his help in
cleaning up the local government. Years later, he would return to the site—he would often sit for
hours listening to the sounds of the mountains, his hair now gray with age, his walk not as sure as it
once was, he would just sit and remember.

He was retired now, his trusted Deputy and close friend, Vern had passed, the two old friends,
spending their golden years, fishing  and hunting. Vern's grandson had replaced Vern as Moon's
deputy, and after Hawk left, the grandson treated Moon as his grandfather, calling him by that name.

The grandson of Vern would bring Moon back to the cave, so the old man, now alone, could sit in
front of the collapsed pile of limestone on the mountain. Moon would sit and talk,

“I know what you did Grace,” he said. “You knew Hawk was there, you knew he would protect me, you
fired the derringer into the barrel,”  Moon choked a bit. “You did not want me to have your blood on
my hands, but you had that great fear of prison.” He had thought of this often. “To save me the guilt,
you sacrificed yourself, freeing you from the sentence and me from a life of regret.”

On one of these trips he discovered a strange rose growing at the base of the crumbled limestone
cave.  Nestled in a niche in the white limestone, a deep red rose, the tips of the flower colored shiny
black, the black part of the petals curled. In a crack just beside where the rose was rooted in the
ground, some sort of liquid dripped from the crack.
Moon bent down on his creaking knees, to take a closer look.  The sweet smell, of his beloved Grace,
mixed with the smell of the finest bourbon.

Moon pulled back from the flower, and looked at it again, the black tips of the rose petals were only
on the top, the petals below the vertical one grew in a different direction, two dark brown buds, why
had he not seen it before?

It was Grace, in all her beauty, her smell her smile and yes, those soft sparkling brown eyes.
Moon very excited, put a finger into the liquid, seeping from the crack.  He tasted it, and looked down
again at the flower. It was bourbon, the best he had ever tasted, he knew where it was coming from, it
was the essence of Grace.

Moon started to pluck the rose, but when he did, a thorn stuck his finger.“Ouch! Oh, You still have
that fire, OK, I understand, what Grace wants Grace gets,” Moon chuckles, pulling a medicine bottle
from his pocket and dumping out the pills, setting the open container under the dripping Essence of
Grace.

He let the bottle fill, then examined it in the light, he tasted it again, smiling and caressing the petals
of the rose, just as he had done, on that fateful night.  Seeing it blush in his eyes.

Moon returned as often as he could, always in the spring, to see the rose and collect a jar of the
dripping bourbon.

In his later years, his grandson would bring him to the spot, but his grandfather would never let him
go up the bank with him, he had to wait in the boat. He would hear his grandfather laughing and
talking, as if he were visiting an old friend, which of course he was. The young grandson just shook
his head and commented “Well the old coot has a good time any way”.

Then one spring after the snow had melted, the beautiful flower bloomed again, waiting for her lover
to return. The days passed, the rose had to last until he came.  The petals started to wither, the strain
of summer dryness, taking its toll. The flower heard the sound of the motorboat, , the deep red and
black color returning to its petals. Footsteps approached, not the steps of an old man, but the quick
strong strides of a younger man.

“There you are…Grandpa Moon told me your story, he is dying, he sent me for you,” his adopted
grandson and deputy said to the rose. He quickly lay out his tools, and with a shovel, dug it from the
ground.  Setting it carefully into a clay pot.  Carrying it back to the river, and heading down stream.
The young man watered the flower, expertly trimmed the plant, enriching the soil with humus and
fertilizer.

He followed the last instruction of his grandfather, weaving the cherished valentine through the
stem of the plant.  He carried the rose into the old man’s room, he could see the dull eyes brighten
when his grandfather saw the red rose with the black curly tips, and dark brown buds.

The old man passed that night, his hand on the clay pot, the rose withered and turned brown, in spite
of the attentions of the grandson.

“Why did you put that dead flower in your grandfather's casket?” his wife had asked him, upset with
her husband's strange actions.

“Grandpa Moon wanted it that way, and whatever Grandpa Moon wants, Grandpa Moon gets,” he
answered, smiling broadly.

























_________________________________________________________________________________________
The Essence
of Grace Xanadu

by Moon Shiner


Look to your left, at the avatar there.  Study it very
carefully.  There's a heart breaking story embedded in
that glimpse in time.  A story of young love, heart
breaking misunderstanding and a tragic ending.  Its all
there, you just need to look past that first frozen frame of
the story.  Do you see the beautiful woman, working
silently to create the devils brew, Mountain Dew, White
Lightning, Satan's Spite, yes Moonshine.  It was called
that because, the people that made it, had to hide, in
remote secluded area's and usually distilled the corn
mash, by the light of a full moon.

The delightful young lady is called by Grace, Grace X.  
The X comes from her surname Xanadu, that name
suggesting a beautiful paradise, filled with love,
pleasure and perfection.  A fitting description of Grace.
Please Send Grace and
Moon Shiner Your Feedback:
Your online
nickname:
Questions, comments, or feedback for
Grace and Moon Shiner:
_________________________________________________________________

Comment from: Grace X
Date: March 31, 2012

Moon Shiner hon, there is no doubt I am turning into a big softie. This tale
will always seem like a true Valentine to me...a purely lovely erotica noir one.
It brings a tear to my eye.

(PS, hope you like the pictures I picked out to go with it!)

Thank you, my KGK, from your GXK.

XOX
_________________________________________________________________

Comment from: Nighthawk
Date: April 1, 2012

Grace

Moon is my very good friend, he has given to me his time and unmitigated
friendship, sometimes I think, he thinks, that he is overshadowed by other
writers, I know that he can hold his own, among the best writers, that submit
their stories to Dead Skirts.

Moon, you wrote a beautiful story, a heartfelt story, this one I believe
surpasses any other you have ever done.

I reread this just minutes ago, and am just as awed now, as the first time that
you let me read it, thank you my friend for always being there for me, much
more then I ever am for you.

Your friend

Vern
_________________________________________________________________

Comment from: Nighthawk
Date: April 1, 2012

Grace

I must tell you how much I love the black and white photo of you holding the
flowers.

While  I know that you have heard this on more occasions then you can
recall, I can’t help myself, and must tell you again, you are simply a very
beautiful woman, and I really think that that is not a strong enough word, to
describe you, but it is all that I can come up with.

Vern
_________________________________________________________________

Comment from: Othello
Date: April 1, 2012

Moon Shiner, I have to say my friend, that you brought something special to
this story. Erotica Noir lends itself to many hard-edged, fiercely sexual stories
(and I love those), but it is rare to see it done with so much heart. I felt very
connected to Sheriff Moon's emotions in this last encounter with the love of
his life, and the aftermath too was very touching.

When Grace sent me the pictures she wanted me to include with the
formatting of the story, I smiled at the one that echoes the tough Moonshine
Babe in your avatar...but when I saw the one with those killer eyes gone
gentle, with her holding the flowers, it gave me a lump in my throat.

This story has it all. Sensual, moving, and truly memorable.

_________________________________________________________________



Comment from: Kelli
Date: April 8, 2012

Loved this story.......so romantic and tragic.  Great job!



_________________________________________________________________

Comment from: Moon Shiner
Date: April 14, 2012

A most  heart felt thanks to all that took time to read and comment.

Grace, your kind words of describing your deep feelings, shedding a tear,
don't go soft on me now, my GXK. I'm pleased it touched your heart.

NightHawk, I've said it many times, in our discussions, you always seem to
know the words to say.

Othello, I'm very flattered by your praise, and your encouragement.  I can't tell
you how much they mean to me.

Kelli, thank you for stopping by to take a read, I'm very glad you enjoyed the
story.

Thanks to Grace X, for her stimulating inspiration, through the role play.
To NightHawk , for his advise and suggestions.
Othello, your words of encouragement, have much meaning to me.

And last but not least, to Kelli,
for her  from the heart comment.

Thanks!
_________________________________________________________________

Comment from: Robert
Date: June 4, 2012

This is an exceptionally beautiful story, brought tears to my eyes too. Thank
you, Moon!

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