Romance i guess

"You should really treat us nicer".


Mind you, I have all kinds of hearing issues. I hear a constant 60 cycle hiss, etc.. TInitus sucks.
So I looked at the '44 vintage Colt 1911A1 I have carried daily for ~30 years and said " what?".

Oh, that lit her up.

Now, I've never seen 'geists". I see machines, and without reservation, love them. Not like a woman, but like a good horse, or loyal pet.
But this shit? Fuck no. BUT.. I can sure as fuck HEAR them.
I had four more old WW2 era Colt frames I could stick this pistol's parts on if I wanted a truck gun.

If I really wanted to chafe her ass, I could always drag out the CZ 75, and go "Meow".

All that fucktardery aside-
I suddenly had a bitchy 1911A1 that nede dealing with.

"Look you ragged old thing, I bought you for a bit under two small, since you are so FUCKING ugly no mere cholo would touch you without a trip to the chrome shop, so if you have
any fucking issues, let's get them out now befor I need your bitchy ass to zap some methed out fucktard with a Buck-knife, kay?".

So she lays in" All you did was clean me, and then stuff in a bunch of new mil-spec parts. What about these new things!/?Like this "beavertail safety" or "Mercury compensated guiderod".".

I stare a bit in the gun/geist's general direction, since I cannot see said spirit... Then let loose "Are you fucking kidding me? You WANT me to stuff you full of nonsensical bullshit because you saw it in a fucking magazine or some shit? Are you fucking dumb or what? You actually WANT me to stuff that shit on you?

You are fine the way you are,that's why I've fucking carried you for over THIRTY FUCKING YEARS.".

-Yeah, that shut her the fuck up..-

"Thirty plus years. The most I've changed is a chrome lined barrel, and a set of '27 commercial slabs. And you fucking complain? I'm even using pre WW2 Colt commercial magazines. You have any fucking idea how rare those are? And I have close to a hundred of them. But you want some fucking staineless steel high cap shit? Well fuck you I'll load up the CZ75 and you can go back to the safe,."

And then, the sobbing.

"You don't love me," etc, etc. "Yeah I have loads of other pistols. Only ONE do I carry daily. FFS you fragile twunt, figure it out!"


"Wait, so... you really do love me?" she asked..

"OH FOR FUCKS SAKE HOW FUCKING DENSE ARE YOU!? I've caried TWO handguns commonly, and by far, YOU are the one I wore. When shit went bump in the night, I grabbed YOU. "

So now I her snuffling. She's calming down. I'm still pissed and wanting Bourbon. And then it comes..

"So, do you love me?"..

I sigh.. "When I bought you, I was making minimum wage. I worked for over a year to pay you off. You were my first "real" handgun. You will be my last. My home could be burning (improbable since it it made of poured concrete) and you would be the first thing I'd grab. You're the one, I make sure I have, every day. "

Still thinking I was losing my gourd, since I was just HEARING this, I saw her materialize.

Scarred, battered, Brown hair fading toward grey, chopped short. A splash of freckles, green eyes. Stocky and well muscled, wearing a cheap dirty white blouse and simple black skirt.


I smiled. She looked a bit teary..And utterly lovely.


"Hello, Old Friend" I said, and pulled out a chair from the diningroom table..