Sable Hunter's Blog, page 12
December 12, 2013
Now Available for Pre-Order - I'll Remember You
Part of the Book Match Program by AmazonWhen you purchase the Paperback version of I'll Remember You, Now Available for Pre-Order you get the chance to purchase the Kindle version for $1.99.
November 25, 2013
Noah is Now on Amazon
Now Available on Amazon in Kindle and PaperbackContinuing the Hell Yeah! Series with Book 10, Skye Blue - Noah's Redemption
Noah McCoy loves his family more than anything, but he has always had trouble seeing anything from anyone else’s point of view. Some might say that Noah is narrow-minded or judgmental, some might call Noah a pain in the......ha!
The truth is - Noah only sees black and white, he can’t see shades of grey until Skye makes a home for herself in his heart. Skye Blue colors Noah’s world with a rainbow of love, laughter and a sensuality which takes his breath away. Noah wants Skye in his life and his arms. But Skye has a secret. She doesn’t think Noah will ever understand the decisions she’d been forced to make.
But no one should ever underestimate a McCoy.
When they fall in love, they fall in love forever.
*Warning: Contains explicit content, 18+ Audience
November 18, 2013
November 9, 2013
Radio Interview
Did you miss Sable this morning on the Radio? Well, now you can catch it here: https://soundcloud.com/authorsontheair/saucy-romance-with-author-sable-hunter
November 1, 2013
Halloween Sex as Seen on 69 Shades of Smut Blog
Yes, there’s Halloween sex. Who knew? The guy I’m seeing right now subscribes to this men’s magazine. I tell him it’s the male version of Cosmo. He didn’t like that very much – but it is. They have all of these articles geared to guys to help them with their relationships, their clothing selections, trendy places to travel and eat… Hell, it may even be put out by the same company. Every time he comes home with a new brand name piece of clothing, I know I can check the advertisements in this publication and find out just where he learned of yet another thing he can’t seem to live without. Ha! In some ways men and women are a lot alike.This month, there were several seasonal articles, but the one that caught his eye was the one which suggested new (not to me, after all I write smut) and inspirational positions to have sex. Well, last week – he brought me a cup of apple cider and asked me to choose which ones I’d like to try for the holiday. Now, the man knows I love Halloween. I go all out. I decorate. I dress up. I make homemade popcorn balls. I watch scary movies. When the kids come to the door, I try to scare them before I give them treats.Not this year. This year I’m having Halloween sex. In fact, we’ve been trying out some positions to see which one might be the best one to celebrate All Hallows Eve. Of course, this is Sable we’re talking about here. So, nothing – and I mean nothing – happens without incident. Nothing goes smoothly. Nothing cums off like it should – I am cursed! And a klutz! But I do have a good time…You should have seen me. I snatched the magazine from his hand and while he popped candy corn and swigged a yoo-hoo, I made a list. And these are the ones I chose and how it all played out! Let me share.SEX POSITION NUMBER 1 - GHOST RIDER - What was funny was that Chris didn’t read the article, or at least not very closely. He looked at pictures, got all horny and pounced on me to make his dreams a reality. I do have a fun side, it’s not very wide, but it’s there. So, I prepared – with a grin on my face. I read the directions and set out to seduce him wearing a black shorty gown that plunged low in the front sans underwear. Oh, I went all out! I put music on the stereo, had remote in hand, set him on the couch, straddled him and went to work. He was loving it! I kissed and nibbled, stroked and petted. I pushed the gown down to my waist and let him have a Mounds treat. I played with his joy stick until he was ready to explode, then I did just as the magazine article suggested. With a flip of the switch, I put on the theme from Ghostbusters, draped my unsuspecting sweetheart in a sheet with eyeholes and proceeded to ride him till he almost fainted. All in all, it was a goodtime… except – I had forgot to shut the front door and just as soon as I desheeted him, I heard a rumble of amusement behind me. It was Chris’s friend Derek – he had caught the grand finale. Perv.Our peeping Derek did not deter us from further experimentation.
SEX POSITION NUMBER 2 – BOBBIN FOR BOOBIES! Okay, I’m mean. I chose this one for two reasons. Number one. I have a breast fetish. Yea, I’m a girl, but I’m pretty well obsessed with breasts. I love to have my played with and sucked, so if there’s a choice and boobs are involved – you will have me enthusiastically on board. Second, I don’t have a bathtub. I have a monster shower with fourteen shower heads, but I’ve been missing a tub and he has a doozy at his place. One of those corner garden tubs with places for candles and little jets which tickle you in all the right places. Now with this one, I let my imagination run wild – all in the hopes I didn’t accidentally drown him. I filled the tub to the top, added some bubbly bath salts and spread out candles and candies all along the rim of the tub. Now, the idea was for him to bob for my bosoms sorta like for apples. So, I took one of his silk ties and bound his hands behind him and blindfolded him to boot. After helping him carefully into the tub, I settled down in front of him - - and my God! - - I must say this suggestion was sinfully enjoyable. He might have had no hands, but his mouth had unerring accuracy. Dang! He got into it – sucking and nibbling and rasping me with that day’s growth of beard. I came twice and begged for more – then he went diving and I lost my mind. All would have been well – but he has this cat… Now, you can’t blame me, I was incoherent with pleasure and didn’t see that furry feline petering around on the back of the tub. When the moment of ecstatic release came – I screamed – scared the cat – who knocked over the candles – which fell in the tub – which burned his butt - - hahahaha – well, you get the idea. SEX POSITION 3 – SLEEPING BAT – Hahahahaha – just thinking about this makes me laugh. I’m going to have to write this one up in a book. The idea was supposed to be the girl hanging upside down in the shower over the bar and then mutual genital play should ensue. Now, here’s the problem – firstly, neither one of us has a shower bar. Our showers have these marble walls and glass doors and nobody is gonna hang from my glass doors on my shower cause I paid an ungodly amount of seven thousand dollars for them and I’m not going to warp them for an orgasm! However, Chris loves to work out and he has this inversion table where you stand and your feet are behind this bar, so when you are turned upside down, the bar keeps you in place and you are literally hanging there like a bat. Well, I’m shorter, so I volunteered to be ‘inverted’ for the sake of the sacred rite of 69. Now, his workout stuff is not in the house, its in a man-cave out by his workshop, all the male chest-beating accessories are in one convenient locale. Here we go, traipsing out for the sake of yet another exotic, erotic experience. Now, remember, I’m a klutz. I don’t even try to deny it. I’m like Traveling Man, one of my cats. He can merely be walking on the bannister of my wrap-around porch and step off the side, ungracefully falling in a lump on the floor. That’s me. Well, we got nekkid. He helped me get into position and all the while he was chuckling and getting more and more aroused – danged near poked my eye out. Well, there I hung. I will have to admit, I’ve never been upside down before – well, not on purpose anyway. And for a while, I got all excited. I mean – who wouldn’t? One of my downfalls – hahaha – in a situation like this is that I tend to lose concentration. When I’m being pleasured, I can’t keep my damn mind on my business! And the man is good! So good! Too good… I got all excited – wiggled around – moved my feet and fell off the crappin inversion table and right square on my pumpkin head! I yelped, and groaned and carried on till he helped me up, laid me across the hood of his pickup truck and gloriously finished the job! And later I returned the favor….
SEX POSITION 4 - - well, this is my choice for tomorrow night!! What do you think? Here’s the plan. THE SCARECROW - - Chris doesn’t know it yet. But here’s what I have. The idea is to tie the guy to the bed – hands outstretched like a scarecrow and then he isn’t supposed to react when I do wild and wicked stuff to his helpless, gorgeous body. I doubt he can remain still after I get all over him like white on rice, but we’ll see. The kicker is, I’ve decided to take it a step further. I’ve got a black light, orange paint and I’m gonna doctor all of our good parts so I can tell where all the important stuff is supposed to go. But before that – while he’s all tied up with nowhere to go. I have this genie costume – yea, Dream of Jeanne – and I’m going to give him 3 wishes. I’ll let you know later what he picks!!
All, in all. I’d say this Halloween has already been fun. I wish you much happiness. And lots of TRICK OR TREATS!!!!
September 14, 2013
Brown Eyed Handsome Man Now on Amazon
Continuing the Hell Yeah! Series with Book 4Kane Saucier has chosen to walk away from a family fortune to wear a badge. As Sheriff of Kerrville County, he lives near his brother Zane and his friends, the McCoys of Tebow Ranch. His life is good, but something is missing. The Sheriff is lonely until love walks through the door of his office one day in the form of Lilibet Ladner. She’s not had an easy life, but from the moment they meet, the sparks fly. While everything is perfect in the bedroom, there is trouble in paradise – intrigue, danger and mystery turn their world upside down. Kane’s faith never wavers; his Little-bit is worth fighting for. And even when her darkest hour comes, Lilibet refuses to give up on her dreams or her Brown Eyed Handsome Man.
Now on Amazon
August 28, 2013
SUPERSTITIOUS SABLE
Posted on August 27, 2013 by sablehunter on Wild and Wicked Cowboy's
Superstitious SableThis is one topic I could talk about all night. My family has always been superstitious. We believe in everything! My grandfather carried a little dried potato in his pocket for luck. My grandmother carried a dried buckeye. I wear a pink quartz. Some people have a lucky dime or a four leaf clover or a rabbit’s foot, which was lucky for everyone but the rabbit. But many of our beliefs and superstitions arose from the fact that we were a mix of Cajun and Creole. Both cultures have some deep-seated beliefs and I, as an amalgam, got it all.
Nana wouldn’t ever let me sleep in the moonlight. She said I would go as nutty as a fruitcake. So, if we slept outside, it was either in a tent or under a cloudy sky. And I’ve seen her come in my bedroom and just fume and fuss pulling the curtains. Of course, when I grew up and she didn’t agree with one of my decisions, she’d say, “I told you to stay outta that moonlight.” Of course, she might be right. I didn’t do much sleeping in the moonlight, but I did a lot of courtin and neckin under the stars.
Never eat both ends of a loaf of bread before you eat the middle or you’ll have trouble ‘making ends meet’. On New Year’s Day make sure you eat plenty of cabbage and black eyed peas for luck. AND this seems obvious, but if an alligator crawls under your house, this is a sign of impending death. Ha! Yea, if you stumble around outside at night, he’s gonna eat you! Of course, I have been known just to whack them on the nose hard with a stick and they back off, but I wouldn’t recommend that.
I had a Cajun boyfriend who rode the rodeo. He had some definite superstitions. He never, ever put his cowboy hat on the bed, nor would he be caught dead in a yellow shirt at the arena. If he had change in his pockets during a ride, he didn’t believe he would win. Whatever he had in his pockets was all he would take home.
While we’re at it, let me give you a little love spell – just for fun. Now this is the way we do it. Soak some rose petals in water for a couple of days and then mix in honey. You’ll want to make about a quart, cause you’re serious about this, so use a couple of handfuls of rose petals, a quart of water and a half cup of honey. Take 9 sugar cubes and scratch your initials on one side and his on the other and add these to the water mixture. Go to the home of your ‘victim’ HA! And pour the water all around his house. While you’re sneaking around, repeat things like Sable Loves Stephen, Sable Loves Stephen or Mr. and Mrs. Stephen Waters. You also must believe in what you’re saying. And when you get home, burn a pink candle with both of your names scratched in the sides. Cook a cake, too. Cause he’s coming to dinner, soon.
Cajun and Creole superstitions are just as strong today as they were hundreds of years ago. When we’re small, we’re taught about the lou-lou, the boogerman and the loup-garou, the werewolf. We’re taught these bad things will get us if we don’t behave. And if we live to grow up – we have to worry whether we’re gonna get married or not. Nana used to tell me if I ever raised my feet for her to sweep under, I’d never get married. Lord, she was right!
But our strangest superstition is the traiteur. A traiteur is a Cajun healer who heals with prayer and herbs. I have known traiteurs. They can remove warts or stop colic in a baby or take away the pain of a burn. If a woman wants to know what sex her baby is, she can go to a traiteur. A string with a jewel, like a pendant or a pendulum, is dangled above the woman’s stomach. If the charm swings back and forth, the baby is a boy. If the charm swings in a circle, it’s a girl. I have seen this work.
A traiteur can also ease the pain of a baby teething. Women take their little ones to a traiteur for a special necklace made with string. The necklace has knots tied in it which the traiteur has prayed over. You have to take the baby, let the traiteur tie the string around the baby’s neck and then leave without saying a single word. If a sound is made by the mother or the traiteur, the gris-gris will not work.
We even have superstitions about cucumbers. When you cut one, you must cut the stem end first, and then rub it against the spot it was just cut from. This is said to take the bitterness or the fever from a cucumber. I never had cucumber fever, maybe that’s why. Ha!
If your palm itches, you’re coming into money. If the right palm itches, you’re about to be reunited with an old friend. If your nose itches, some boy wants to kiss you. And if you have a ringing in your ears, somebody is talking about you.
Our men hunt a lot and hunters also have superstitions they need to know. One of the most important ones is to know about the fifolet. This is also known as swamp gas. If a hunter is out all alone and thinks they feel something following them, and they look around and find something glowing behind them. RUN!! Ha, this is the sign of an evil spirit. There’s a famous light south of me that I have seen, it’s called the Saratoga light and I’m going soon and try to film it for our Halloween event.
But right now, I’d like to introduce you to a traiteur – Cady Renaud in HER MAGIC TOUCH is a healer. She heals Joseph McCoy and becomes his guardian angel, the love of his life. This is from my new sweeter version:Here’s the link:
Her Magic Touch – Sweeter Version (Hell Yeah! Sweeter Version Book 3)Let’s see.
Joseph, apparently, wasn’t in a giving up mood. As Cady gathered her oils and herbs and more towels, he resumed his campaign. “Okay, so we won’t involve Libby and Jessie for now. Will you just do something for me, just to see how it works out?”
What was he up to now? And why did he seem to care so much? Was this some kind of a game he was playing? Perhaps he thought if he worried about her problems enough, he wouldn’t be spending so much time worrying about his own. So be it. He could do what he wanted, but that didn’t mean she had to play along. So, she ignored him for the moment. Cady warmed the oil in her hands. “I’m going to give all of your muscles a work out. Your back muscles, arm muscles…everything has been under a strain trying to deal with the extra burden they’ve been called upon to bear. I will warn you that it is normal for you to begin to experience pain. And don’t be dismayed, that’s a really good sign. It means your nerve endings are beginning to awaken. There are things we can do for the pain when it begins, so let’s hope it does.” Steeling herself against the pleasure, she began to massage his back and shoulders. ‘Oh, God,’ she groaned inwardly as she let herself enjoy his body beneath her fingertips. Touching him was a heady delight, indeed. Fighting the urge to add her lips to the mix, she decided talking about her own problems was far less dangerous. “What would you have me do? To help my appearance, I mean…” she stuttered at the prospect.
“Just a minute,” Joseph moaned. “This feels so goddamn good! You are incredible, Baby.” The endearment he had used so often just slipped out. Hell, he didn’t care. She had magic hands. He had no idea his muscles were so tight and sore. Damn! If he could get an erection, he wouldn’t last five minutes without climaxing from just a simple caress from this extraordinary woman. “God Almighty!” He just lay there and reveled in her touch. After a few moments, he was able to talk—barely. “There are several things we could do. But, let’s start with something simple. Would you let your hair down for me? Would you let me see it unbound?”
His request surprised her. “You’ll only be disappointed. My hair is long and healthy, but totally ordinary.”
Working just below his waist, very near the injury, she began to focus on a healing touch. It pleased Cady when her touch brought groans of delight to his lips.
“Yeah, that’s it. I hadn’t realized how much I needed this.”
She worked her way back up his back.
“So, will you do it?”
She was so absorbed in her pleasurable task that his question took her by surprise. Shoot. Why not? “Sure, if that’s what you want. When we get through and I get the oil off my hands, I’ll take it down for you. I don’t know why you’d want to see me like that. It’s not going to help my looks.”
“Let me be the judge of that.” God, he felt good. For the first time since the accident, he was truly relaxed. He felt her move lower on his back. She finally reached a point where he could not feel as much, then nothing. This deadness drove an arrow into his soul.
Cady knew when the change came in his mood. She could feel it. He could no longer feel her hands and it bothered him. Trying to alleviate some of his anxiety, she explained. “It is just as important for me to work these muscles—more important even. I think you’ll find that you begin to have a minute amount of sensation after a few sessions. And if you do, we’ll know there’s hope. Okay?” He nodded and allowed her to work on his body. When she asked for him to roll over, she moved the lift closer and aided him in the task.
‘Great,’ she thought. Now, he would be able to see her drooling over him. Cady began at his neck and tried not to look at his face. Moving on to his deltoids, she tried to view him as an anatomical doll, not a flesh and blood man she would love to eat with a spoon. Rubbing his chest was an unrivaled erotic treat and when his nipples hardened beneath her fingertips, she gasped with awe. Never had the giving of a massage affected her like this. God, the authorities ought to strip her of her license. Her breasts began to swell, nipples hardening with excitement. She could almost cry from the need to be touched. Cady could feel her womanhood throb and a trickle of moisture run down her thigh. Could he smell it? God, she hoped not. She’d just as soon not expire from humiliation today.
But, he knew. He was too experienced of a man not to recognize when a woman was sexually stimulated. “I’m not the only one turned on, I see.” Embarrassed, she followed his gaze and saw that her nipples were so big they showed clearly through the rough material of her jumper. Obviously, she was totally aroused. Humiliated, she jerked away from him, needing to put distance between them, for her sake. This had never happened to her, before. But, she had never had the privilege of touching Joseph McCoy before, either. “I can’t help it.” She didn’t even bother denying it. “I’ll get used to touching you,” she assured him. “It’s a simple involuntary response.” She would have covered her breasts with her hands, but they were covered with oil, so she just stood there in front of him, head hung and nipples poking out like she was standing in freezing water. “Let’s try to finish, shall we?” She bit the inside of her cheek hard, then she bit her tongue and soon there were tears of frustration and pain sliding down her cheeks.
“Hey, hey, what are you crying for?” Joseph was totally amazed and dismayed. Had he made her cry? Ashamed, he realized that all he had done since she arrived was give her a hard time and heap humiliation upon her head. Of course, he had made her cry. She should turn her back on him and walk out. No one deserved to be treated the way he had treated her.
“I bit my tongue,” she whispered.
Joseph had an overwhelming urge to kiss her tears away. In fact, it was all he could do to keep from taking his arms and drawing her down and cuddling her close. “I’m sorry, Cady.” How many times had he apologized already? Her hands were never still. They soothed his abdomen, then skipped his man-parts and traveled down to the sensationless area of his thighs and legs.
“Don’t be,” she spoke softly. “Let’s make a deal.” If she didn’t feel this overwhelming responsibility for him, she might try to preserve her sanity and back out of the job before she lost her heart and soul. But the wheels of destiny had begun their long, slow grind, and she knew she had to either roll with them or get thrown under the cart and crushed. She did feel responsible for Joseph. Never before had she doubted her aunt and grandmother’s predictions, but this time they totally misread the future. The strange dreams were just that, dreams. Her dream, not his.
“What kind of deal?” He looked at her curiously.
“Let’s try to be friends. I’ll do my very best to help you, and in exchange, you can make suggestions and see if you can change me from an ugly duckling into a swan. I don’t think you’ll be successful, but I’m willing to give it a try.” Why was she doing this to herself? It would only end in heartache, but for some unexplainable reason, she was compelled to see it through.
“Sounds good to me.” He looked entirely too self-satisfied for Cady’s peace of mind. “I can always use a friend. And as far as your make-over, this is going to be fun, I promise.”
Cady wished she felt as confident. After the massage, she lit a couple of candles and helped him turn over once more. “I’m about to lay hands on you now, and apply some healing herbs. This is part of my traiture training. You should feel heat coming from my hands. And if we’re successful, in a few days there should be pain.” Arranging him, Cady let her mind slip into a place where she could access the healing powers of the universe. Adding pressure to her touch, she envisioned a warm blue light enveloped them both. She prayed for sensation to flow back into his body, for his nerves to heal and knit, for his spinal cord to begin to do what it should, and for God to give this man back the future he deserved. She concentrated. She envisioned. She worked with absolute faith and focused intent. Cady demanded results and would not accept anything less. That’s how the universe works. We can make and shape our reality, if we have faith enough to create it.
As she worked on Joseph, it hit her. A great revelation. That was what was missing from her life. She had never approached her own shortcomings with any degree of faith that she could change them. Stunned, Cady realized she had never used her own magick on herself. Huh!?! It was time for a change. Excited, she couldn’t wait to get time to herself to think this thing through. But, Joseph came first—always. “Okay, I’ll let you rest now. How do you feel?”
Joseph seemed to be almost asleep. He opened his eyes and narrowed them as if analyzing his body’s sensations. “I feel really good, like a big pile of goo.”
“Great! How about below the waist?” She held her breath, hoping he would have a glimmer of feeling. She had poured her heart and soul into the treatment.
Joseph pushed up on his arms, the muscles of his back rippling in the process. Cady had to refrain from licking her lips. God, this ordeal was going to kill her. “That’s strange,” Joseph began with a disbelieving tone in his voice. “I feel heat. I don’t think it’s my imagination. I haven’t felt anything there in so long; it’s hard to be sure.”
Cady was relieved. “Good. That’s exactly what you’re supposed to feel. I’d say our first foray into bringing back the super stud of Texas is right on track.” Her voice was happy and she couldn’t hide it. “Don’t you want to get up now? Lying on that table isn’t good for you.” He let her help him. “You’re really getting the hang of the Hoyer lift. Soon, you’ll be pouncing out off this thing.”
“God, I hope so. You make it sound plausible. I have to admit you’ve got my hopes up.” Once he was in the chair, he turned and looked at Cady intently. “You’re flushed from the exertion and your eyes are shining bright. Go take your hair down for me, Cady.”
Joseph’s words curled around Cady’s heart like a wisp of smoke on a cool autumn evening, welcome and mysterious. “All right. You’ll be disappointed, though.” She shook her head. That was not the attitude she should have. She needed to learn how to be positive. After all, disbelief was always a killer of dreams. Okay, let’s see what she could do. Going to the bathroom, she took off her glasses and reached in the back for her braid. Slowly, she freed her hair from its binding, letting the long thick curls bounce free and untethered. She had a lot of hair. Too much hair. It hung in abundant, lush waves to the top of her butt. Before going to face the music, Cady tried a little of her own medicine. She placed a hand on each of her cheeks and lifted her plea to the universe. “Make me beautiful, just for a few minutes, in his sight, make me beautiful.” Opening her own eyes, she gazed in the mirror. Well, at least she wouldn’t make small children go running to their mothers screaming, but she was nothing to write home about. Oh, well. Some spells took more time than others.
“Cady…” he called. “I’m getting grey out here.”
Giggling, she came out of the bathroom. Joseph could be likeable when he wanted to be. He was much closer than she anticipated and she almost fell in his lap. Her hair swung over her shoulder and she laughed at her clumsiness. “See, I told you.”
Joseph held his breath. Wow. Was this for real? Had he ever really looked at her before? “Cady, Baby, aren’t you sweet.” And she was. She had absolutely beautiful hair and without her glasses, her face could never be called plain. “Come here.” He held out his hand to her, and she walked to him slowly, placing her hand in his. Joseph was stunned by the electric attraction he felt for her. God, if only he was still a man, he would give her an experience she would never forget. Tugging on her arm, he began to pull her closer. He had an overwhelming urge to kiss her. Absolutely overwhelmingThank you for reading
Sable
Superstitious SableThis is one topic I could talk about all night. My family has always been superstitious. We believe in everything! My grandfather carried a little dried potato in his pocket for luck. My grandmother carried a dried buckeye. I wear a pink quartz. Some people have a lucky dime or a four leaf clover or a rabbit’s foot, which was lucky for everyone but the rabbit. But many of our beliefs and superstitions arose from the fact that we were a mix of Cajun and Creole. Both cultures have some deep-seated beliefs and I, as an amalgam, got it all.Nana wouldn’t ever let me sleep in the moonlight. She said I would go as nutty as a fruitcake. So, if we slept outside, it was either in a tent or under a cloudy sky. And I’ve seen her come in my bedroom and just fume and fuss pulling the curtains. Of course, when I grew up and she didn’t agree with one of my decisions, she’d say, “I told you to stay outta that moonlight.” Of course, she might be right. I didn’t do much sleeping in the moonlight, but I did a lot of courtin and neckin under the stars.
Never eat both ends of a loaf of bread before you eat the middle or you’ll have trouble ‘making ends meet’. On New Year’s Day make sure you eat plenty of cabbage and black eyed peas for luck. AND this seems obvious, but if an alligator crawls under your house, this is a sign of impending death. Ha! Yea, if you stumble around outside at night, he’s gonna eat you! Of course, I have been known just to whack them on the nose hard with a stick and they back off, but I wouldn’t recommend that.
I had a Cajun boyfriend who rode the rodeo. He had some definite superstitions. He never, ever put his cowboy hat on the bed, nor would he be caught dead in a yellow shirt at the arena. If he had change in his pockets during a ride, he didn’t believe he would win. Whatever he had in his pockets was all he would take home.
While we’re at it, let me give you a little love spell – just for fun. Now this is the way we do it. Soak some rose petals in water for a couple of days and then mix in honey. You’ll want to make about a quart, cause you’re serious about this, so use a couple of handfuls of rose petals, a quart of water and a half cup of honey. Take 9 sugar cubes and scratch your initials on one side and his on the other and add these to the water mixture. Go to the home of your ‘victim’ HA! And pour the water all around his house. While you’re sneaking around, repeat things like Sable Loves Stephen, Sable Loves Stephen or Mr. and Mrs. Stephen Waters. You also must believe in what you’re saying. And when you get home, burn a pink candle with both of your names scratched in the sides. Cook a cake, too. Cause he’s coming to dinner, soon.
Cajun and Creole superstitions are just as strong today as they were hundreds of years ago. When we’re small, we’re taught about the lou-lou, the boogerman and the loup-garou, the werewolf. We’re taught these bad things will get us if we don’t behave. And if we live to grow up – we have to worry whether we’re gonna get married or not. Nana used to tell me if I ever raised my feet for her to sweep under, I’d never get married. Lord, she was right!
But our strangest superstition is the traiteur. A traiteur is a Cajun healer who heals with prayer and herbs. I have known traiteurs. They can remove warts or stop colic in a baby or take away the pain of a burn. If a woman wants to know what sex her baby is, she can go to a traiteur. A string with a jewel, like a pendant or a pendulum, is dangled above the woman’s stomach. If the charm swings back and forth, the baby is a boy. If the charm swings in a circle, it’s a girl. I have seen this work.
A traiteur can also ease the pain of a baby teething. Women take their little ones to a traiteur for a special necklace made with string. The necklace has knots tied in it which the traiteur has prayed over. You have to take the baby, let the traiteur tie the string around the baby’s neck and then leave without saying a single word. If a sound is made by the mother or the traiteur, the gris-gris will not work.
We even have superstitions about cucumbers. When you cut one, you must cut the stem end first, and then rub it against the spot it was just cut from. This is said to take the bitterness or the fever from a cucumber. I never had cucumber fever, maybe that’s why. Ha!
If your palm itches, you’re coming into money. If the right palm itches, you’re about to be reunited with an old friend. If your nose itches, some boy wants to kiss you. And if you have a ringing in your ears, somebody is talking about you.
Our men hunt a lot and hunters also have superstitions they need to know. One of the most important ones is to know about the fifolet. This is also known as swamp gas. If a hunter is out all alone and thinks they feel something following them, and they look around and find something glowing behind them. RUN!! Ha, this is the sign of an evil spirit. There’s a famous light south of me that I have seen, it’s called the Saratoga light and I’m going soon and try to film it for our Halloween event.
But right now, I’d like to introduce you to a traiteur – Cady Renaud in HER MAGIC TOUCH is a healer. She heals Joseph McCoy and becomes his guardian angel, the love of his life. This is from my new sweeter version:Here’s the link:
Her Magic Touch – Sweeter Version (Hell Yeah! Sweeter Version Book 3)Let’s see.Joseph, apparently, wasn’t in a giving up mood. As Cady gathered her oils and herbs and more towels, he resumed his campaign. “Okay, so we won’t involve Libby and Jessie for now. Will you just do something for me, just to see how it works out?”
What was he up to now? And why did he seem to care so much? Was this some kind of a game he was playing? Perhaps he thought if he worried about her problems enough, he wouldn’t be spending so much time worrying about his own. So be it. He could do what he wanted, but that didn’t mean she had to play along. So, she ignored him for the moment. Cady warmed the oil in her hands. “I’m going to give all of your muscles a work out. Your back muscles, arm muscles…everything has been under a strain trying to deal with the extra burden they’ve been called upon to bear. I will warn you that it is normal for you to begin to experience pain. And don’t be dismayed, that’s a really good sign. It means your nerve endings are beginning to awaken. There are things we can do for the pain when it begins, so let’s hope it does.” Steeling herself against the pleasure, she began to massage his back and shoulders. ‘Oh, God,’ she groaned inwardly as she let herself enjoy his body beneath her fingertips. Touching him was a heady delight, indeed. Fighting the urge to add her lips to the mix, she decided talking about her own problems was far less dangerous. “What would you have me do? To help my appearance, I mean…” she stuttered at the prospect.
“Just a minute,” Joseph moaned. “This feels so goddamn good! You are incredible, Baby.” The endearment he had used so often just slipped out. Hell, he didn’t care. She had magic hands. He had no idea his muscles were so tight and sore. Damn! If he could get an erection, he wouldn’t last five minutes without climaxing from just a simple caress from this extraordinary woman. “God Almighty!” He just lay there and reveled in her touch. After a few moments, he was able to talk—barely. “There are several things we could do. But, let’s start with something simple. Would you let your hair down for me? Would you let me see it unbound?”
His request surprised her. “You’ll only be disappointed. My hair is long and healthy, but totally ordinary.”
Working just below his waist, very near the injury, she began to focus on a healing touch. It pleased Cady when her touch brought groans of delight to his lips.
“Yeah, that’s it. I hadn’t realized how much I needed this.”
She worked her way back up his back.
“So, will you do it?”
She was so absorbed in her pleasurable task that his question took her by surprise. Shoot. Why not? “Sure, if that’s what you want. When we get through and I get the oil off my hands, I’ll take it down for you. I don’t know why you’d want to see me like that. It’s not going to help my looks.”
“Let me be the judge of that.” God, he felt good. For the first time since the accident, he was truly relaxed. He felt her move lower on his back. She finally reached a point where he could not feel as much, then nothing. This deadness drove an arrow into his soul.
Cady knew when the change came in his mood. She could feel it. He could no longer feel her hands and it bothered him. Trying to alleviate some of his anxiety, she explained. “It is just as important for me to work these muscles—more important even. I think you’ll find that you begin to have a minute amount of sensation after a few sessions. And if you do, we’ll know there’s hope. Okay?” He nodded and allowed her to work on his body. When she asked for him to roll over, she moved the lift closer and aided him in the task.
‘Great,’ she thought. Now, he would be able to see her drooling over him. Cady began at his neck and tried not to look at his face. Moving on to his deltoids, she tried to view him as an anatomical doll, not a flesh and blood man she would love to eat with a spoon. Rubbing his chest was an unrivaled erotic treat and when his nipples hardened beneath her fingertips, she gasped with awe. Never had the giving of a massage affected her like this. God, the authorities ought to strip her of her license. Her breasts began to swell, nipples hardening with excitement. She could almost cry from the need to be touched. Cady could feel her womanhood throb and a trickle of moisture run down her thigh. Could he smell it? God, she hoped not. She’d just as soon not expire from humiliation today.
But, he knew. He was too experienced of a man not to recognize when a woman was sexually stimulated. “I’m not the only one turned on, I see.” Embarrassed, she followed his gaze and saw that her nipples were so big they showed clearly through the rough material of her jumper. Obviously, she was totally aroused. Humiliated, she jerked away from him, needing to put distance between them, for her sake. This had never happened to her, before. But, she had never had the privilege of touching Joseph McCoy before, either. “I can’t help it.” She didn’t even bother denying it. “I’ll get used to touching you,” she assured him. “It’s a simple involuntary response.” She would have covered her breasts with her hands, but they were covered with oil, so she just stood there in front of him, head hung and nipples poking out like she was standing in freezing water. “Let’s try to finish, shall we?” She bit the inside of her cheek hard, then she bit her tongue and soon there were tears of frustration and pain sliding down her cheeks.
“Hey, hey, what are you crying for?” Joseph was totally amazed and dismayed. Had he made her cry? Ashamed, he realized that all he had done since she arrived was give her a hard time and heap humiliation upon her head. Of course, he had made her cry. She should turn her back on him and walk out. No one deserved to be treated the way he had treated her.
“I bit my tongue,” she whispered.
Joseph had an overwhelming urge to kiss her tears away. In fact, it was all he could do to keep from taking his arms and drawing her down and cuddling her close. “I’m sorry, Cady.” How many times had he apologized already? Her hands were never still. They soothed his abdomen, then skipped his man-parts and traveled down to the sensationless area of his thighs and legs.
“Don’t be,” she spoke softly. “Let’s make a deal.” If she didn’t feel this overwhelming responsibility for him, she might try to preserve her sanity and back out of the job before she lost her heart and soul. But the wheels of destiny had begun their long, slow grind, and she knew she had to either roll with them or get thrown under the cart and crushed. She did feel responsible for Joseph. Never before had she doubted her aunt and grandmother’s predictions, but this time they totally misread the future. The strange dreams were just that, dreams. Her dream, not his.
“What kind of deal?” He looked at her curiously.
“Let’s try to be friends. I’ll do my very best to help you, and in exchange, you can make suggestions and see if you can change me from an ugly duckling into a swan. I don’t think you’ll be successful, but I’m willing to give it a try.” Why was she doing this to herself? It would only end in heartache, but for some unexplainable reason, she was compelled to see it through.
“Sounds good to me.” He looked entirely too self-satisfied for Cady’s peace of mind. “I can always use a friend. And as far as your make-over, this is going to be fun, I promise.”
Cady wished she felt as confident. After the massage, she lit a couple of candles and helped him turn over once more. “I’m about to lay hands on you now, and apply some healing herbs. This is part of my traiture training. You should feel heat coming from my hands. And if we’re successful, in a few days there should be pain.” Arranging him, Cady let her mind slip into a place where she could access the healing powers of the universe. Adding pressure to her touch, she envisioned a warm blue light enveloped them both. She prayed for sensation to flow back into his body, for his nerves to heal and knit, for his spinal cord to begin to do what it should, and for God to give this man back the future he deserved. She concentrated. She envisioned. She worked with absolute faith and focused intent. Cady demanded results and would not accept anything less. That’s how the universe works. We can make and shape our reality, if we have faith enough to create it.
As she worked on Joseph, it hit her. A great revelation. That was what was missing from her life. She had never approached her own shortcomings with any degree of faith that she could change them. Stunned, Cady realized she had never used her own magick on herself. Huh!?! It was time for a change. Excited, she couldn’t wait to get time to herself to think this thing through. But, Joseph came first—always. “Okay, I’ll let you rest now. How do you feel?”
Joseph seemed to be almost asleep. He opened his eyes and narrowed them as if analyzing his body’s sensations. “I feel really good, like a big pile of goo.”
“Great! How about below the waist?” She held her breath, hoping he would have a glimmer of feeling. She had poured her heart and soul into the treatment.
Joseph pushed up on his arms, the muscles of his back rippling in the process. Cady had to refrain from licking her lips. God, this ordeal was going to kill her. “That’s strange,” Joseph began with a disbelieving tone in his voice. “I feel heat. I don’t think it’s my imagination. I haven’t felt anything there in so long; it’s hard to be sure.”
Cady was relieved. “Good. That’s exactly what you’re supposed to feel. I’d say our first foray into bringing back the super stud of Texas is right on track.” Her voice was happy and she couldn’t hide it. “Don’t you want to get up now? Lying on that table isn’t good for you.” He let her help him. “You’re really getting the hang of the Hoyer lift. Soon, you’ll be pouncing out off this thing.”
“God, I hope so. You make it sound plausible. I have to admit you’ve got my hopes up.” Once he was in the chair, he turned and looked at Cady intently. “You’re flushed from the exertion and your eyes are shining bright. Go take your hair down for me, Cady.”
Joseph’s words curled around Cady’s heart like a wisp of smoke on a cool autumn evening, welcome and mysterious. “All right. You’ll be disappointed, though.” She shook her head. That was not the attitude she should have. She needed to learn how to be positive. After all, disbelief was always a killer of dreams. Okay, let’s see what she could do. Going to the bathroom, she took off her glasses and reached in the back for her braid. Slowly, she freed her hair from its binding, letting the long thick curls bounce free and untethered. She had a lot of hair. Too much hair. It hung in abundant, lush waves to the top of her butt. Before going to face the music, Cady tried a little of her own medicine. She placed a hand on each of her cheeks and lifted her plea to the universe. “Make me beautiful, just for a few minutes, in his sight, make me beautiful.” Opening her own eyes, she gazed in the mirror. Well, at least she wouldn’t make small children go running to their mothers screaming, but she was nothing to write home about. Oh, well. Some spells took more time than others.
“Cady…” he called. “I’m getting grey out here.”
Giggling, she came out of the bathroom. Joseph could be likeable when he wanted to be. He was much closer than she anticipated and she almost fell in his lap. Her hair swung over her shoulder and she laughed at her clumsiness. “See, I told you.”
Joseph held his breath. Wow. Was this for real? Had he ever really looked at her before? “Cady, Baby, aren’t you sweet.” And she was. She had absolutely beautiful hair and without her glasses, her face could never be called plain. “Come here.” He held out his hand to her, and she walked to him slowly, placing her hand in his. Joseph was stunned by the electric attraction he felt for her. God, if only he was still a man, he would give her an experience she would never forget. Tugging on her arm, he began to pull her closer. He had an overwhelming urge to kiss her. Absolutely overwhelmingThank you for reading
Sable
August 17, 2013
Valuable Lessons
Sometimes it’s hard and expensive to learn a valuable lesson. I just learned one today on who to trust and who not to - - - but that’s a story I can’t go into.
However, I have learned some lessons in my time. Several in particular stand out in my memory. One of the first was when we were staying on the ranch and I was pretty small. My Papa always had a garden and I would help him plant. The rows weren’t always straight, but that didn’t seem to hurt production very much. I loved to go out in the garden and eat tomatoes and cucumbers and turnips – right out of the garden, just shaking the dirt off. I could make a meal going by the fig tree and the grape orchard and the pomegranate bush. My mother knew my habit of eating off every bush and vine – she would laugh at me when I ate off the persimmon tree before the fruit was ripe and it would draw my mouth up into a tight little bow. But my worst mistake came when I didn’t listen about the peppers. I love peppers, but they can be deceiving. Green bell peppers, green banana pepper – even green mild jalapeno peppers – but Lord, help. One day I got ahold of the wrong green pepper.
See, she had a problem with me. Mama would fix me these little meals, properly balanced meals. But after I had went over all the property, grazing as I went, when I came back in, I refused to eat what she had so generously prepared. So, she told me. “Sable, you better watch what you put in your mouth (haha I think about that ever once in a while now) one of these days you are gonna bite off more than you can chew.
Well, I did.
I had gone on out to play and one thing led to another and I got a little hungry and instead of going back in and eating my well-balanced meal, I decided to raid the herb garden. Cherry tomatoes were one of my favorites and next to them was this long skinny green pepper, sorta pitiful looking, so I said what the heck! I grabbed me a couple and munched down on them and THEY SET MY MOUTH ON FIRE!!!! It wasn’t just a burn, it was a paralyzing burn. I couldn’t holler, I could scream – all I could do was run. So, I ran back in the house and threw open the refrigerator. I was hunting water or a coke, but I saw neither. There was, however, a big bowl of cold sliced peaches swimming in their own nectar and I landed into it with both hands. I started grabbing and eating peaches and sipping juice out of my hand, all in a vain attempt to alleviate the agony that was incinerating my mouth and lips.
Mother came in and caught me red-handed as I put on this terrible display. She just crossed her arms and looked at me, “Get a hold of something that didn’t sit well, did you?” I nodded, never stopping. Finally she got some ice cubes out of the icemaker and stopped my massacre of the Georgia fruit. I swear to goodness, that fiery little piece of sh*t took the skin off of my tongue to this day.
Lesson learned – eat my meals off a plate instead of straight off the bush. (Oh god, my pervert is gonna show if I don’t tamp it down. Tamp!)
Second lesson. This harkens back to my teenage years. I have always loved to read. Before I started dating, my love life took place between the pages of a book (sorta like it does now, haha). I read thousands and thousands of Harlequins and Desires – I mean barrels of them. And the funny part was that I got most of them from very old ladies who were friends of my Nana’s. Now, one of them is long dead, her name was Mrs. Watson, and the other was a great aunt who is now in her mid-nineties. Anyway, I was visting Mrs. Watson, actually I was babysitting her. She had been ill and I had been asked to sit near her just in case she needed something. And to pass the time, I read.
Now, there was this boy. Isn’t there always a boy? We had a bit of a mutual crush on one another, but we never acted on it. He had been hired to mow the lawn. There was a swing on her porch that I loved to sit in and swing and read and fantasize – and swing and read and fantasize. Unfortunately, the day that Mike came to mow Mrs. Watson’s lawn, I was stuck inside holding Mrs. Watson’s ball of yarn while she knitted. But he did come to the door for water, frequently.
Now, little did I know - - but he and one of his buddies had indulged in a bit of horse play on the porch and had wrestled and tumbled and fell over in my beloved swing – and broke it. They literally pulled the chain out of the ceiling. BUT, instead of coming and telling me or Mrs. Watson, they stuck the end of the bolt back up into the ceiling, but there was nothing holding it up there but however it was hanging on a splinter of wood.
Alas. After they had left and I was free, I flounced my chubby little self out the door and tossed myself into the swing.
Now, you’ve all heard about faith. When I used to teach Sunday school, I would illustrate how faith works. When I would try to tell my ladies how to place their faith in God, how to throw their selves upon his mercy and put themselves in the hands of the Almighty, many times I would show them how we place our utter faith and trust in something as simple as a chair. We go to that chair and we literally just let ourselves go - - we plop our butts down with full trust that the chair will hold up our weight. KERSPLAT!
That’s exactly what I did to that swing. I had faith in that swing. I had sat in that swing many, many times. I had thrown myself in that swing and landed with my feet up and crossed and reading lines of damsels being kissed and heroes holding their loves with tenderness.
Only this time, when I launched myself into that swing - - it didn’t react like it always did. Unfortunately, I had my legs under me, and under the swing. And when I put my faith down, the swing didn’t even pretend to hold. It collapsed. It collapsed hard and that heavy old wood swing, combined with my body weight just crushed my legs underneath me. Now they didn’t break – but I thought I was dead. First off, it scared the Bejesus out of me and second it HURT LIKE HELL!!! I cried and hollered and screamed and carried on like a crazy person. Poor Mrs. Watson came toddling out, she thought we had been attacked by the last band of Union Soldiers to come pillaging through the south.
To this day, I have a sore spot on my leg where that swing crushed my wee muscles.
Now, lesson learned here - - be careful who or what you place your trust in. It may look sturdy, but it may be lying.
There – I got that off my chest.
HER MAGIC TOUCH – SWEETER VERSION is out today. Here’s the buy link – http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00EK84DC4/r...
Here’s a lesson learned - - - Don’t tell ‘dick’ jokes when the Baptist preacher is in the house. “I can do it, myself,” Joseph spoke each word in a clipped, terse voice. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate his family’s concern, but enough was enough.
“I’ll be right out here if you change your mind,” Noah spoke through the closed door, obviously intending to go nowhere until Joseph finished in the bathroom. Aron had spared no expense. The facility was large and everything was easily accessible, but he had no intention of using all of the grip bars, handrails, or fold out seats. There was even a transfer ledge on the big tub, and swear to God, he could roll his entire chair into the huge shower. But in Joseph’s mind, accepting all of this would be the same as admitting defeat. So he sat in front of the sink and wet a wash rag, and began the arduous task of washing his big body with a piece of terry cloth about the size of a postage stamp.
Turning on the tap, he let the temperature get almost to the boiling point before he put the stopper in and squirted some liquid soap in the hot water. Gingerly, because it was too hot, he dipped the rag in and squeezed it out. Don’t look, he told himself. If you don’t look in the mirror and see the chair, it won’t be real. Rubbing his face and neck, he realized he needed a shave. How was he supposed to shave himself without looking at his reflection? Hell! With a challenging, arrogant stare he finally looked himself in the eye. Why didn’t he look different? How could he be the same? His hair looked the same—a little long and tousled, but the shaggy brown locks were familiar. The eyes, nose, and chin, all of his features were unchanged. So why didn’t he recognize himself? He knew why. Because Joseph Anthony McCoy had died in that accident and what remained behind was just an empty shell. “Hey are you all right in there? I don’t hear anything. Do you want me to get Libby to help you?” What Noah meant as a joke, Joseph heard as ridicule.
“Shit, no!” He shouted before he could stop himself. Immediately, he felt ashamed. Noah didn’t deserve his ill temper and Libby certainly had been nothing but supportive. Thinking of Libby, he smiled. “I can handle it,” he snarled in a much less combative tone. He should be more excited that Aron and Libby were going to bring a new life into the world. Instead, all he could think about was that he would never father a child. God, how selfish could he get?
Noah actually chuckled on the other side of the door. “Just because you’re off your feet for a while doesn’t mean you have to be so damn cranky. You make me think of that bull we used to have. You remember Hannibal?”
Washing behind his ears and the back of his neck, Joseph actually laughed out loud. “Yea, I remember him. He was a big, grey Brahmin bull. “Yea, he was packin’ so much he almost tripped on it when he walked.” As soon as he said the words, he sobered. Would he ever know what it was like to slide into a woman again?
“I have that same problem.” Noah was so matter-of-fact he had Joseph laughing again. “When I piss, I have to stand back so I don’t flush it down the toilet.”
“Yea, right.” Joseph guffawed. “I’ve seen your wee willie. I used to change your diapers, you idiot.”
“I’ve grown since then.” Noah assured him. “Most men need to walk up to a woman to have sex. Hell, I stick it in and then walk closer.” He was talking so loud Joseph was sure he could be heard in the kitchen. This could be fun.
They needed some laughs around this place. Nathan had almost been killed a few days before. If it hadn’t been for Jessie Montgomery, their little brother would have drowned. Now Jacob was involved with Jessie, and what was going on between them was a mystery to him. Jessie was several months pregnant with Jacob’s baby, yet they had never laid eyes on one another until just a few days ago. There was something odd going on, mistakes at sperm banks and surrogate parents gone crazy. But Joseph had enough problems of his own without trying to figure out Jacob’s. “That big, huh? How big is it? And talk loud, I can barely hear you.” He snickered at what was about to happen.
Noah fell for the bait—hook, line and sinker. “My dick is so big, I can run three legged races by myself.”
He was plenty loud, but in order to attract an audience, he needed to be louder. Joseph re-wet his washcloth and began working on his chest. If any of the family was within earshot, they would be hearing from them soon. “Louder, I’m having trouble hearing you through the thick door.” Noah was way too serious most of the time and this opportunity to coerce him into making a fool out of himself was just too good to pass up.
“Well, I’m having trouble hearing you through my own thick dick!” Joseph could hear Noah nearly choke on his own bad joke. “Can you hear me now?” Noah was practically yelling.
“Yeah, that’s good.” Idiot.
“My dick is sooooo big that it beeps when I pull out.” Just as soon as Noah said the word ‘out’ Joseph heard his bedroom door slam.
“What in God’s name is your problem, Boy?” Aron was mad! Joseph couldn’t see him, but there was no mistaking that meat-grinder monotone. “Did you know the Baptist preacher is in the kitchen? He’s come to ask after Joseph. And what do we hear in here? Hell! How freakin’ big your limp little dick is?”
“Sorry, Aron.” Noah didn’t sound contrite. He sounded like he was about to bust a gut.
By this time, Jacob followed closely by Isaac, had joined Aron. Joseph had the bathroom door open because this was just too good to miss. “Aron,” chided Jacob. “The Baptist preacher just heard you say hell and dick—really loud. And Jessie, my little mermaid, is out there. I’ve just found her, and I don’t want you to run her off with your vulgarity before I get a chance to make a good impression.”
“The preacher just left and told Jessie and Libby it was a good thing Nathan was still in school and had missed all of the vulgarity.” Isaac was enjoying this. “And Noah….” Isaac grasped his crotch and strutted closer. “My dick is so big, it looks blurry unless you stand WAAYY back.”
“Will you dumbasses get outta here so I can wash my limp dick?” It felt sorta good to joke about his problem. Maybe, he might make it without going crazy, after all. Thanks for reading Now, I’m off to learn another lesson or two - - yes, you can teach this old dog a new trick or two.
Sable
However, I have learned some lessons in my time. Several in particular stand out in my memory. One of the first was when we were staying on the ranch and I was pretty small. My Papa always had a garden and I would help him plant. The rows weren’t always straight, but that didn’t seem to hurt production very much. I loved to go out in the garden and eat tomatoes and cucumbers and turnips – right out of the garden, just shaking the dirt off. I could make a meal going by the fig tree and the grape orchard and the pomegranate bush. My mother knew my habit of eating off every bush and vine – she would laugh at me when I ate off the persimmon tree before the fruit was ripe and it would draw my mouth up into a tight little bow. But my worst mistake came when I didn’t listen about the peppers. I love peppers, but they can be deceiving. Green bell peppers, green banana pepper – even green mild jalapeno peppers – but Lord, help. One day I got ahold of the wrong green pepper.
See, she had a problem with me. Mama would fix me these little meals, properly balanced meals. But after I had went over all the property, grazing as I went, when I came back in, I refused to eat what she had so generously prepared. So, she told me. “Sable, you better watch what you put in your mouth (haha I think about that ever once in a while now) one of these days you are gonna bite off more than you can chew.
Well, I did.
I had gone on out to play and one thing led to another and I got a little hungry and instead of going back in and eating my well-balanced meal, I decided to raid the herb garden. Cherry tomatoes were one of my favorites and next to them was this long skinny green pepper, sorta pitiful looking, so I said what the heck! I grabbed me a couple and munched down on them and THEY SET MY MOUTH ON FIRE!!!! It wasn’t just a burn, it was a paralyzing burn. I couldn’t holler, I could scream – all I could do was run. So, I ran back in the house and threw open the refrigerator. I was hunting water or a coke, but I saw neither. There was, however, a big bowl of cold sliced peaches swimming in their own nectar and I landed into it with both hands. I started grabbing and eating peaches and sipping juice out of my hand, all in a vain attempt to alleviate the agony that was incinerating my mouth and lips.
Mother came in and caught me red-handed as I put on this terrible display. She just crossed her arms and looked at me, “Get a hold of something that didn’t sit well, did you?” I nodded, never stopping. Finally she got some ice cubes out of the icemaker and stopped my massacre of the Georgia fruit. I swear to goodness, that fiery little piece of sh*t took the skin off of my tongue to this day.
Lesson learned – eat my meals off a plate instead of straight off the bush. (Oh god, my pervert is gonna show if I don’t tamp it down. Tamp!)
Second lesson. This harkens back to my teenage years. I have always loved to read. Before I started dating, my love life took place between the pages of a book (sorta like it does now, haha). I read thousands and thousands of Harlequins and Desires – I mean barrels of them. And the funny part was that I got most of them from very old ladies who were friends of my Nana’s. Now, one of them is long dead, her name was Mrs. Watson, and the other was a great aunt who is now in her mid-nineties. Anyway, I was visting Mrs. Watson, actually I was babysitting her. She had been ill and I had been asked to sit near her just in case she needed something. And to pass the time, I read.
Now, there was this boy. Isn’t there always a boy? We had a bit of a mutual crush on one another, but we never acted on it. He had been hired to mow the lawn. There was a swing on her porch that I loved to sit in and swing and read and fantasize – and swing and read and fantasize. Unfortunately, the day that Mike came to mow Mrs. Watson’s lawn, I was stuck inside holding Mrs. Watson’s ball of yarn while she knitted. But he did come to the door for water, frequently.
Now, little did I know - - but he and one of his buddies had indulged in a bit of horse play on the porch and had wrestled and tumbled and fell over in my beloved swing – and broke it. They literally pulled the chain out of the ceiling. BUT, instead of coming and telling me or Mrs. Watson, they stuck the end of the bolt back up into the ceiling, but there was nothing holding it up there but however it was hanging on a splinter of wood.
Alas. After they had left and I was free, I flounced my chubby little self out the door and tossed myself into the swing.
Now, you’ve all heard about faith. When I used to teach Sunday school, I would illustrate how faith works. When I would try to tell my ladies how to place their faith in God, how to throw their selves upon his mercy and put themselves in the hands of the Almighty, many times I would show them how we place our utter faith and trust in something as simple as a chair. We go to that chair and we literally just let ourselves go - - we plop our butts down with full trust that the chair will hold up our weight. KERSPLAT!
That’s exactly what I did to that swing. I had faith in that swing. I had sat in that swing many, many times. I had thrown myself in that swing and landed with my feet up and crossed and reading lines of damsels being kissed and heroes holding their loves with tenderness.
Only this time, when I launched myself into that swing - - it didn’t react like it always did. Unfortunately, I had my legs under me, and under the swing. And when I put my faith down, the swing didn’t even pretend to hold. It collapsed. It collapsed hard and that heavy old wood swing, combined with my body weight just crushed my legs underneath me. Now they didn’t break – but I thought I was dead. First off, it scared the Bejesus out of me and second it HURT LIKE HELL!!! I cried and hollered and screamed and carried on like a crazy person. Poor Mrs. Watson came toddling out, she thought we had been attacked by the last band of Union Soldiers to come pillaging through the south.
To this day, I have a sore spot on my leg where that swing crushed my wee muscles.
Now, lesson learned here - - be careful who or what you place your trust in. It may look sturdy, but it may be lying.
There – I got that off my chest.
HER MAGIC TOUCH – SWEETER VERSION is out today. Here’s the buy link – http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00EK84DC4/r...
Here’s a lesson learned - - - Don’t tell ‘dick’ jokes when the Baptist preacher is in the house. “I can do it, myself,” Joseph spoke each word in a clipped, terse voice. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate his family’s concern, but enough was enough.
“I’ll be right out here if you change your mind,” Noah spoke through the closed door, obviously intending to go nowhere until Joseph finished in the bathroom. Aron had spared no expense. The facility was large and everything was easily accessible, but he had no intention of using all of the grip bars, handrails, or fold out seats. There was even a transfer ledge on the big tub, and swear to God, he could roll his entire chair into the huge shower. But in Joseph’s mind, accepting all of this would be the same as admitting defeat. So he sat in front of the sink and wet a wash rag, and began the arduous task of washing his big body with a piece of terry cloth about the size of a postage stamp.
Turning on the tap, he let the temperature get almost to the boiling point before he put the stopper in and squirted some liquid soap in the hot water. Gingerly, because it was too hot, he dipped the rag in and squeezed it out. Don’t look, he told himself. If you don’t look in the mirror and see the chair, it won’t be real. Rubbing his face and neck, he realized he needed a shave. How was he supposed to shave himself without looking at his reflection? Hell! With a challenging, arrogant stare he finally looked himself in the eye. Why didn’t he look different? How could he be the same? His hair looked the same—a little long and tousled, but the shaggy brown locks were familiar. The eyes, nose, and chin, all of his features were unchanged. So why didn’t he recognize himself? He knew why. Because Joseph Anthony McCoy had died in that accident and what remained behind was just an empty shell. “Hey are you all right in there? I don’t hear anything. Do you want me to get Libby to help you?” What Noah meant as a joke, Joseph heard as ridicule.
“Shit, no!” He shouted before he could stop himself. Immediately, he felt ashamed. Noah didn’t deserve his ill temper and Libby certainly had been nothing but supportive. Thinking of Libby, he smiled. “I can handle it,” he snarled in a much less combative tone. He should be more excited that Aron and Libby were going to bring a new life into the world. Instead, all he could think about was that he would never father a child. God, how selfish could he get?
Noah actually chuckled on the other side of the door. “Just because you’re off your feet for a while doesn’t mean you have to be so damn cranky. You make me think of that bull we used to have. You remember Hannibal?”
Washing behind his ears and the back of his neck, Joseph actually laughed out loud. “Yea, I remember him. He was a big, grey Brahmin bull. “Yea, he was packin’ so much he almost tripped on it when he walked.” As soon as he said the words, he sobered. Would he ever know what it was like to slide into a woman again?
“I have that same problem.” Noah was so matter-of-fact he had Joseph laughing again. “When I piss, I have to stand back so I don’t flush it down the toilet.”
“Yea, right.” Joseph guffawed. “I’ve seen your wee willie. I used to change your diapers, you idiot.”
“I’ve grown since then.” Noah assured him. “Most men need to walk up to a woman to have sex. Hell, I stick it in and then walk closer.” He was talking so loud Joseph was sure he could be heard in the kitchen. This could be fun.
They needed some laughs around this place. Nathan had almost been killed a few days before. If it hadn’t been for Jessie Montgomery, their little brother would have drowned. Now Jacob was involved with Jessie, and what was going on between them was a mystery to him. Jessie was several months pregnant with Jacob’s baby, yet they had never laid eyes on one another until just a few days ago. There was something odd going on, mistakes at sperm banks and surrogate parents gone crazy. But Joseph had enough problems of his own without trying to figure out Jacob’s. “That big, huh? How big is it? And talk loud, I can barely hear you.” He snickered at what was about to happen.
Noah fell for the bait—hook, line and sinker. “My dick is so big, I can run three legged races by myself.”
He was plenty loud, but in order to attract an audience, he needed to be louder. Joseph re-wet his washcloth and began working on his chest. If any of the family was within earshot, they would be hearing from them soon. “Louder, I’m having trouble hearing you through the thick door.” Noah was way too serious most of the time and this opportunity to coerce him into making a fool out of himself was just too good to pass up.
“Well, I’m having trouble hearing you through my own thick dick!” Joseph could hear Noah nearly choke on his own bad joke. “Can you hear me now?” Noah was practically yelling.
“Yeah, that’s good.” Idiot.
“My dick is sooooo big that it beeps when I pull out.” Just as soon as Noah said the word ‘out’ Joseph heard his bedroom door slam.
“What in God’s name is your problem, Boy?” Aron was mad! Joseph couldn’t see him, but there was no mistaking that meat-grinder monotone. “Did you know the Baptist preacher is in the kitchen? He’s come to ask after Joseph. And what do we hear in here? Hell! How freakin’ big your limp little dick is?”
“Sorry, Aron.” Noah didn’t sound contrite. He sounded like he was about to bust a gut.
By this time, Jacob followed closely by Isaac, had joined Aron. Joseph had the bathroom door open because this was just too good to miss. “Aron,” chided Jacob. “The Baptist preacher just heard you say hell and dick—really loud. And Jessie, my little mermaid, is out there. I’ve just found her, and I don’t want you to run her off with your vulgarity before I get a chance to make a good impression.”
“The preacher just left and told Jessie and Libby it was a good thing Nathan was still in school and had missed all of the vulgarity.” Isaac was enjoying this. “And Noah….” Isaac grasped his crotch and strutted closer. “My dick is so big, it looks blurry unless you stand WAAYY back.”
“Will you dumbasses get outta here so I can wash my limp dick?” It felt sorta good to joke about his problem. Maybe, he might make it without going crazy, after all. Thanks for reading Now, I’m off to learn another lesson or two - - yes, you can teach this old dog a new trick or two.
Sable
August 15, 2013
Sable on Inner Goddess - August 11, 2013
LIVING VICARIOUSLY or LIVING VICTORIOUSLY
We are delighted to have Sable Hunter once again grace our blog. I love her guest blogs, as well as her books. So sit back and enjoy as she discusses the vicarious lives of readers and writers.
by Sable Hunter
Not too long ago an acquaintance of mine asked me how I was doing. I answered her like this:
A – Well, Jess is dating a new girl. She’s a chemical engineer and a Vegan. B – Uncle Michael bought a motorcycle and is taking lessons. C – I’ve just about finished the book to solve Aron’s mystery. My readers will be so relieved.
Then, she asked the dreaded question. “No, I want to know what you’ve been doing.” Well, heck. You know what I’ve been doing. I’ve been taking care of the others, writing from dawn to dusk and growing older and more boring by the minute!
Ha! It’s not as bad as I make it out to be. I bought a motorcycle and took lessons. (I didn’t enjoy them, but the rest of the family was happy). And my writing and all my endeavors are doing well. But what is my source of joy? Is it in getting out and doing dangerous things and falling in love and meeting new people and seeing the world? Or is in puttering around my house, having daydreams that won’t ever come true, and creating heroes I’ll never kiss?
My acquaintance (please notice that I’m not referring to her as friend) judged me harshly. She says I am living vicariously through my books. Instead of doing something with my own life, she says I am just writing about other people’s lives.
Well, I disagree.
Ha! Are you surprised?
I may not be walking into bars and approaching strange men and offering myself to them in exchange for a margarita, but I am placing myself in situations to be examined, judged, and accepted or found wanting. What I do takes guts.
I have offered to a critical public the very essence of my dreams. No one has to guess what I’m like. I’ve poured all of my insecurities and foibles and quirks into every female character. No one has to wonder how I like sex or what festishes or kinks I am drawn to, I’ve put all of those on broad open display. Do I have a crush on someone? Yeah, and if you read my work closely enough, you know exactly who it is. Do I have questions about the meaning of life or the validity of religion? Obviously, I don’t even try to hide the fact that I listen to a different drummer.
Before I began writing, I was a public speaker. Talk about courage? Now, there’s a career path not many would choose. Getting up in front of a crowd, every eye upon you, watching you speak, watching you move your hands, your body language – just the thought of making themselves vulnerable in that manner gives most people sweaty palms and a weak bladder. But, I loved it. I can get up in front of a crowd and talk for an hour without notes.
So, I do have strengths. I can pour out my heart in the written word and accept judgments given in a series of stars whereby some don’t judge my writing, they judge whether or not they like the characters I’ve created, even when I’ve done an excellent job creating a character I intend for them to dislike – ha!
I can stand before an auditorium full of people who have come expressly to hear my views on any number of esoteric topics and I can look them in the eye and persuade them that black is white and white is black and there are at least 50 shades of grey – ha!
But what I can’t do is the one on one, the intimate. I can speak to 100 with ease, but two or three rends me weak with trepidation. That is why I don’t do book signings or conventions.
That’s really beside the point though. I enjoy living vicariously. It allows me to go places I’ve never been and walk beside people I shall never meet. Living vicariously through books allows me to feel emotions I won’t allow myself to experience in real life.
Whether I am creating a world of my own in one of my books or immersing myself in the writings of another, I can gift myself with an illusion.
The other day Jess was reading a book. He said it was good, but it had no purpose. I questioned him about his thought process on purpose. And what he said made me think.
He said my books served to allow women to experience the whole spectrum of a relationship. The thrill of the first meeting, the magic of a first kiss, the ups and downs of courtship, even the sexual fulfillment of the coming together of two people who desire one another more than anything. I was flattered – I didn’t realize I was doing that. What a purpose!
I don’t know about you, but I haven’t gotten to experience all of those things – not as many times as I would like. So I allow myself to do so, in a controlled and safe environment.
Is it just like the real thing? Heck, no. But it is damn sure better than nothing.
Living vicariously through books has allowed me to be different people. I have stood in a Dom’s dungeon dressed in black leather. I have flown a spaceship to a planet inhabited by sexy aliens who wanted nothing more than to fulfill my every whim. Not long ago, I rode in a wagon train and fell for a rogue outlaw who tied me to a tree, ravished me and made me like it. Ha!
When I live vicariously, I can go back in time or soar into the future; my recliner becomes a cozy time machine. When I live vicariously I can kiss princes, I can seduce astronauts, and I can even fall in love with a man who can shift into a lion! Come on! I may live in New Orleans, but I can’t even find those guys on Bourbon Street!
Bottom line, I am a proponent of living vicariously. I want my life to be exciting, but I know my limitations. If I have the ability to weave a world where right prevails, love conquers all and holding out for a hero is not an impossible dream – I am of all people most blessed.
I may spend the rest of my days on my sunny porch, in my white rocking chair, dressed in my little cotton sundress with a few cats draped on the bannister – but while I’m there, I’ll be writing and reading about places and people who thrill my heart and sweep my mind beyond the stars.
Living vicariously is living victoriously.
And you always hear the analogy – he who can’t – teaches. That’s bologna.
And it’s the same with writing.
Writing is not a substitute of doing – nor is reading. But it adds a level of achievability and a realm of possibility that mankind has explored and appreciated since Gilgamesh wrote his adventures and Homer wrote his Odyssey. The Apostle Paul wrote most of the New Testament while sitting behind the bars of a Roman prison. Jane Austen wrote of love, but she never married. Anne Frank dreamed of being – normal. God, can you imagine that? And she wrote these words:
When I write I can shake off all my cares. My sorrow disappears, my spirits are revived!
So, to my acquaintance who took me to task for living more in my books than in my skin – I challenge her to walk in my shoes, travel in my mind, and experience what my heart feels. I don’t feel cheated.
I feel pretty damn alive.
Sable
Join me in my world and live vicariously with me in my books. I’m not a bad neighbor – really.
Sable Hunter's Blog Sable Hunter's Facebook page Amazon linksNook links
Get COWBOY HEAT, HELL YEAH! bk 1 in the Cowboy 6-Pack for .99 cents (w/ 5 other smokin' sexy cowboy novels)
Sable Hunter Fans: Dying to know about her next Hell Yeah! book Skye Blue??? Check out this awesome post on Sable Hunter's blogpage about Noah's book.
We are delighted to have Sable Hunter once again grace our blog. I love her guest blogs, as well as her books. So sit back and enjoy as she discusses the vicarious lives of readers and writers.by Sable Hunter
Not too long ago an acquaintance of mine asked me how I was doing. I answered her like this:
A – Well, Jess is dating a new girl. She’s a chemical engineer and a Vegan. B – Uncle Michael bought a motorcycle and is taking lessons. C – I’ve just about finished the book to solve Aron’s mystery. My readers will be so relieved.
Then, she asked the dreaded question. “No, I want to know what you’ve been doing.” Well, heck. You know what I’ve been doing. I’ve been taking care of the others, writing from dawn to dusk and growing older and more boring by the minute!
Ha! It’s not as bad as I make it out to be. I bought a motorcycle and took lessons. (I didn’t enjoy them, but the rest of the family was happy). And my writing and all my endeavors are doing well. But what is my source of joy? Is it in getting out and doing dangerous things and falling in love and meeting new people and seeing the world? Or is in puttering around my house, having daydreams that won’t ever come true, and creating heroes I’ll never kiss?My acquaintance (please notice that I’m not referring to her as friend) judged me harshly. She says I am living vicariously through my books. Instead of doing something with my own life, she says I am just writing about other people’s lives.
Well, I disagree.
Ha! Are you surprised?
I may not be walking into bars and approaching strange men and offering myself to them in exchange for a margarita, but I am placing myself in situations to be examined, judged, and accepted or found wanting. What I do takes guts.
I have offered to a critical public the very essence of my dreams. No one has to guess what I’m like. I’ve poured all of my insecurities and foibles and quirks into every female character. No one has to wonder how I like sex or what festishes or kinks I am drawn to, I’ve put all of those on broad open display. Do I have a crush on someone? Yeah, and if you read my work closely enough, you know exactly who it is. Do I have questions about the meaning of life or the validity of religion? Obviously, I don’t even try to hide the fact that I listen to a different drummer.Before I began writing, I was a public speaker. Talk about courage? Now, there’s a career path not many would choose. Getting up in front of a crowd, every eye upon you, watching you speak, watching you move your hands, your body language – just the thought of making themselves vulnerable in that manner gives most people sweaty palms and a weak bladder. But, I loved it. I can get up in front of a crowd and talk for an hour without notes.
So, I do have strengths. I can pour out my heart in the written word and accept judgments given in a series of stars whereby some don’t judge my writing, they judge whether or not they like the characters I’ve created, even when I’ve done an excellent job creating a character I intend for them to dislike – ha!
I can stand before an auditorium full of people who have come expressly to hear my views on any number of esoteric topics and I can look them in the eye and persuade them that black is white and white is black and there are at least 50 shades of grey – ha!
But what I can’t do is the one on one, the intimate. I can speak to 100 with ease, but two or three rends me weak with trepidation. That is why I don’t do book signings or conventions.
That’s really beside the point though. I enjoy living vicariously. It allows me to go places I’ve never been and walk beside people I shall never meet. Living vicariously through books allows me to feel emotions I won’t allow myself to experience in real life.
Whether I am creating a world of my own in one of my books or immersing myself in the writings of another, I can gift myself with an illusion.
The other day Jess was reading a book. He said it was good, but it had no purpose. I questioned him about his thought process on purpose. And what he said made me think.
He said my books served to allow women to experience the whole spectrum of a relationship. The thrill of the first meeting, the magic of a first kiss, the ups and downs of courtship, even the sexual fulfillment of the coming together of two people who desire one another more than anything. I was flattered – I didn’t realize I was doing that. What a purpose!
I don’t know about you, but I haven’t gotten to experience all of those things – not as many times as I would like. So I allow myself to do so, in a controlled and safe environment.
Is it just like the real thing? Heck, no. But it is damn sure better than nothing.
Living vicariously through books has allowed me to be different people. I have stood in a Dom’s dungeon dressed in black leather. I have flown a spaceship to a planet inhabited by sexy aliens who wanted nothing more than to fulfill my every whim. Not long ago, I rode in a wagon train and fell for a rogue outlaw who tied me to a tree, ravished me and made me like it. Ha!When I live vicariously, I can go back in time or soar into the future; my recliner becomes a cozy time machine. When I live vicariously I can kiss princes, I can seduce astronauts, and I can even fall in love with a man who can shift into a lion! Come on! I may live in New Orleans, but I can’t even find those guys on Bourbon Street!
Bottom line, I am a proponent of living vicariously. I want my life to be exciting, but I know my limitations. If I have the ability to weave a world where right prevails, love conquers all and holding out for a hero is not an impossible dream – I am of all people most blessed.
I may spend the rest of my days on my sunny porch, in my white rocking chair, dressed in my little cotton sundress with a few cats draped on the bannister – but while I’m there, I’ll be writing and reading about places and people who thrill my heart and sweep my mind beyond the stars.
Living vicariously is living victoriously.
And you always hear the analogy – he who can’t – teaches. That’s bologna.
And it’s the same with writing.
Writing is not a substitute of doing – nor is reading. But it adds a level of achievability and a realm of possibility that mankind has explored and appreciated since Gilgamesh wrote his adventures and Homer wrote his Odyssey. The Apostle Paul wrote most of the New Testament while sitting behind the bars of a Roman prison. Jane Austen wrote of love, but she never married. Anne Frank dreamed of being – normal. God, can you imagine that? And she wrote these words:
When I write I can shake off all my cares. My sorrow disappears, my spirits are revived!
So, to my acquaintance who took me to task for living more in my books than in my skin – I challenge her to walk in my shoes, travel in my mind, and experience what my heart feels. I don’t feel cheated.I feel pretty damn alive.
Sable
Join me in my world and live vicariously with me in my books. I’m not a bad neighbor – really.
Sable Hunter's Blog Sable Hunter's Facebook page Amazon linksNook links
Get COWBOY HEAT, HELL YEAH! bk 1 in the Cowboy 6-Pack for .99 cents (w/ 5 other smokin' sexy cowboy novels)
Sable Hunter Fans: Dying to know about her next Hell Yeah! book Skye Blue??? Check out this awesome post on Sable Hunter's blogpage about Noah's book.
August 3, 2013
Wild and Wicked - Rewriting History
Rewriting HistoryPosted on July 27, 2013 by sablehunterWHAT IS TRUE?
I have been researching for a historical novel set in East Texas back in the 1920’s. A branch of our family lived here at that time, and I had heard the story of how a great-great -great uncle was shot by an outlaw after he beat the man in a poker game. My folks have always loved to gamble and I had regretted his young death, but enjoyed the tale about what he had in his hand and how they had been drunk and the duel they had fought. I can still remember my Nana showing me the tree where they had engaged in the heated battle. But after I read some diaries and old letters which I found in a shoe box tied with a brown ribbon – I discovered that none of it was true. Great Uncle Jim had been killed by a shirt-tail deputy. (It is important to note here that the words shirt-tail were always used by the old-timers in my area to indicate someone who claimed a status but had very little right to it). Apparently this deputy was a sometimes helper of the local sheriff who was a bit too enamored of the status he had been given and thought the gun in his hand and the badge on his chest gave him indisputable power.
I was surprised to find out that he had been killed, not over a poker game, but over a woman. My great uncle was a looker. Pictures of him make me think of Jess. He had dark hair, blue eyes and a face very much like a young Elvis Presley. The more I found out about him, the sadder the tale became. He was a ladies man, undoubtedly, but he did not carry a gun. Uncle Jim met and started courting a young woman named Lucinda who had charmed many local boys with her long blonde hair and winsome smile. Apparently, she also played one guy against another – to my Uncle’s misfortune.
He had been to see Lucinda and had presented her with a big bouquet of black-eyed Susans. They had enjoyed lemonade and cookies while sitting and rocking on the front porch of her family’s home. Nothing risqué had taken place, but they were being watched. When Uncle Jim had finished his courting, he set out to ride the few miles back to his family home – but he never made it. That tree that Nana had pointed out to me was the site of his death, but not by a duel. He had been killed in cold blood by a jealous man. Uncle Jim had been unarmed.
I was stunned. Why the lie? I searched and searched trying to determine what the reason for the cover-up was. I was seventy-five years removed from the event. What could be the possible purpose of perpetuating a falsehood like that for so many years?
And then I found out.
Family feuds are long drawn out affairs in my part of the world. The Hatfields and McCoys have nothing on us. If we get cross-ways at someone, we can stay angry at them for generations. Everybody associated with you will take up the banner and perpetuate the conflict. And in the same manner, you are also distrustful of anyone they are related to or friends with. It was like a girlfriend of mine once said – “tell me who you’re mad at so I can be mad at them, too.”
But sometimes there are reasons to change history. Money. Love. Pride. Whatever. But our family story was changed because my grandfather decided to go in business with a man, decided to merge their families in marriage and present a united front in order to make a fortune in East Texas resources. The man was the nephew of the killer who murdered my great uncle. And my grandfather didn’t think they could convince people of their integrity if they knew this taint existed between the families.
I was disturbed. How can you rewrite history? But apparently it’s been done over and over. I had a very wise friend who told me that history is written by the victor with whatever spin he thinks will benefit him most.
Let me give you some other examples of things you might think are true – but aren’t.
Columbus didn’t discover America, Leif Ericson – among others – beat him here.
The Thanksgiving at Plymouth Colony was not the first celebration of thanksgiving in the New World. There was one in Saint Augustine Florida in 1565 and in Jamestown Virginia in 1607.
George Washington did not have wooden teeth. Rather they were made with gold, hippopotamus ivory and lead.
Napoleon was not as short as we thought. He was 5 foot 2 French feet which is our 5 foot 7 – eh – still sorta short.
The Great Chicago Fire was not caused by Mrs. O’Leary’s cow kicking over a lantern. A newspaper man made it up to make his story more interesting.
Albert Einstein did not fail mathematics. In fact, he said he mastered calculus by age 15.
But most disturbing of all to this Texan was the possibility that Davy Crocket did not die at the Alamo at all but was captured and taken prisoner by Santa Ana and later executed.
What the heck?
It’s intriguing to find out that just because something is told and retold doesn’t mean its true. And just because you learn something at your mama’s knee – she might be mistaken. My family history certainly has proved that point.
So – I learned their technique but rebelled at their methods. I write stories, too. But I don’t claim they are fact.
I have been researching for a historical novel set in East Texas back in the 1920’s. A branch of our family lived here at that time, and I had heard the story of how a great-great -great uncle was shot by an outlaw after he beat the man in a poker game. My folks have always loved to gamble and I had regretted his young death, but enjoyed the tale about what he had in his hand and how they had been drunk and the duel they had fought. I can still remember my Nana showing me the tree where they had engaged in the heated battle. But after I read some diaries and old letters which I found in a shoe box tied with a brown ribbon – I discovered that none of it was true. Great Uncle Jim had been killed by a shirt-tail deputy. (It is important to note here that the words shirt-tail were always used by the old-timers in my area to indicate someone who claimed a status but had very little right to it). Apparently this deputy was a sometimes helper of the local sheriff who was a bit too enamored of the status he had been given and thought the gun in his hand and the badge on his chest gave him indisputable power.
I was surprised to find out that he had been killed, not over a poker game, but over a woman. My great uncle was a looker. Pictures of him make me think of Jess. He had dark hair, blue eyes and a face very much like a young Elvis Presley. The more I found out about him, the sadder the tale became. He was a ladies man, undoubtedly, but he did not carry a gun. Uncle Jim met and started courting a young woman named Lucinda who had charmed many local boys with her long blonde hair and winsome smile. Apparently, she also played one guy against another – to my Uncle’s misfortune.
He had been to see Lucinda and had presented her with a big bouquet of black-eyed Susans. They had enjoyed lemonade and cookies while sitting and rocking on the front porch of her family’s home. Nothing risqué had taken place, but they were being watched. When Uncle Jim had finished his courting, he set out to ride the few miles back to his family home – but he never made it. That tree that Nana had pointed out to me was the site of his death, but not by a duel. He had been killed in cold blood by a jealous man. Uncle Jim had been unarmed.
I was stunned. Why the lie? I searched and searched trying to determine what the reason for the cover-up was. I was seventy-five years removed from the event. What could be the possible purpose of perpetuating a falsehood like that for so many years?
And then I found out.
Family feuds are long drawn out affairs in my part of the world. The Hatfields and McCoys have nothing on us. If we get cross-ways at someone, we can stay angry at them for generations. Everybody associated with you will take up the banner and perpetuate the conflict. And in the same manner, you are also distrustful of anyone they are related to or friends with. It was like a girlfriend of mine once said – “tell me who you’re mad at so I can be mad at them, too.”
But sometimes there are reasons to change history. Money. Love. Pride. Whatever. But our family story was changed because my grandfather decided to go in business with a man, decided to merge their families in marriage and present a united front in order to make a fortune in East Texas resources. The man was the nephew of the killer who murdered my great uncle. And my grandfather didn’t think they could convince people of their integrity if they knew this taint existed between the families.
I was disturbed. How can you rewrite history? But apparently it’s been done over and over. I had a very wise friend who told me that history is written by the victor with whatever spin he thinks will benefit him most.
Let me give you some other examples of things you might think are true – but aren’t.
Columbus didn’t discover America, Leif Ericson – among others – beat him here.
The Thanksgiving at Plymouth Colony was not the first celebration of thanksgiving in the New World. There was one in Saint Augustine Florida in 1565 and in Jamestown Virginia in 1607.
George Washington did not have wooden teeth. Rather they were made with gold, hippopotamus ivory and lead.
Napoleon was not as short as we thought. He was 5 foot 2 French feet which is our 5 foot 7 – eh – still sorta short.
The Great Chicago Fire was not caused by Mrs. O’Leary’s cow kicking over a lantern. A newspaper man made it up to make his story more interesting.
Albert Einstein did not fail mathematics. In fact, he said he mastered calculus by age 15.
But most disturbing of all to this Texan was the possibility that Davy Crocket did not die at the Alamo at all but was captured and taken prisoner by Santa Ana and later executed.
What the heck?
It’s intriguing to find out that just because something is told and retold doesn’t mean its true. And just because you learn something at your mama’s knee – she might be mistaken. My family history certainly has proved that point.
So – I learned their technique but rebelled at their methods. I write stories, too. But I don’t claim they are fact.
