The Bread Maker... Words of Advise, A Fable... a True Story

...it was say, some... eighteen thousand, five hundred a twenty two years ago. I was under the service of a beautiful family; I was the bread maker. My master, a respected professor, a teacher of words and the art of inscriptions was a decent man, he treated us well. Through his kindness, we ate large portions and often had the pleasure of serving the finest of Romans; Senators, Generals, Governors all.. ALL who had in their employ, my Master, teacher of Rome's brightest young.

It was while in this employ, this servitude that I first met my love. She was my Masters mistress, first mistress. She held a distinguished position. Being that my masters wife was often sickly, my love held, on all public occasions the position of wife, and hostess.

During the many feasts, during the many festivals, I would watch through the hole as she performed her duties. I watched as she fed Rome's finest the bread that I had made for my master. I watched as she pleased the Senators, Generals and Governors. I fell in love.

While I made the bread, while I made this bread from the finest of our lands wheat, yeast and water. I would often find pleasure with the woman of equal standing in our house. The women whose role it was to nurse the children, whose role it was to please my master. As I kneaded the dough, and placed the rounds on the warm brick... I would often find a fresh flowing skirt up which to run my hands. Pleasant times in a fine and happy household.

Pleasant times, as I also knew, my masters mistress would be using the hole in reverse, watching me, enjoying the looseness of another servants skirt.

And, so... there came a time, when my bread, still fresh and warm became in demand at one of the many gatherings. I, the bread maker was allowed to personally deliver and serve this warm fresh bread to my masters guests... there came a time when my masters mistress, the first mistress, and I shared a glance. A glance that spoke to us through time and the ages; the glance that put me on the purpose of the mission that brings me to, to this day.

With this glance, I knew immediately that I must see the alchemist, I must see the sage. There came a day when I knelt begging the alchemist, offering but a poor remainder of the coin left to me by the keeper of wheat and yeast. My Master's coin, a coin so hidden that if found, I most certainly would have been cast out from my position of bread maker.

With this remainder, I was able to purchase a precious amount of the special black powder... the powder I would kneed and roll into my master's mistresses bread, the bread I would share with her... the bread, we would share together and through the magic of the black powder... agree to meet centuries ahead, re-incarnated in a time when bread makers and first mistresses could be one.

But, fuck man... That stupid frikin' chemist sold me a bag of goods. I mean that black powder was the rawest of shit; you know, OK the stuff you sell to your poor uncles stupid kids. I mean, fuck dude... eighteen thousand, five hundred a twenty two years later... I gotta wait until, I'm what forty something... dozens of relationships wasted and done and paid for, ok, ok, some good some bad, but dude. IT took eighteen thousand, five hundred a twenty two years to get back to bein' wit that babe I'd digged through the hole away back then...

OK, deep breath... Yes, that cheap assed alchemist and his ratty ol' black powder worked; I did finally meet her again after all these years... AND, I'll tell you my friends, it was absolutely worth the wait.

So what if we've been through this or that... so what about the ages and the age. Hey, If I'd bought just one grade finer of that black powder, hell maybe it would have been a few years earlier, maybe 50, 60 years earlier; maybe I would have been G.I. schmuck face, meeting the love of my life in Rome, next day, shot down and laying under the treads of a Panzer.

Word of advise... Mystic practices, fables, potions for love and promises to meet millennia hence is by rights, a tenuous game... When someone, even with just a simple glance says, I love you... stop, grab her and run away with her as quick as you can. Black powders, baked in bread may eventually work, you may eventually find her again... as I did... but then, hmmm... that's a muggily mugs game... grab her and let all the precepts and cliches be damned.

I was going to try to work the Pope dieing into this... facts written as fiction, the mother of all bitches...

My black powder worked. But eighteen thousand, five hundred a twenty two years later[?], damn...

I will dedicate myself to making up for this lost time.

:-)