Letty's Story - Could you Present Your Life in Fiction? Follow Leticia From Age of 5 Through Married Life...

It was nighttime and a little girl about five years old was sleeping peacefully in her bed, with gentle breezes from an open window caressing her smiling, angelic face. The night was warm, and all was quiet, giving way only to the chirping sounds of a tropical night, with myriads of birds and insects cavorting in their usual manner of mating.
The little girl lay in a deep, untroubled slumber, hugging a cherished old rag doll with a repaired tear in its head where the family dog had once tried to wrestle it from her arms. All seemed well on this quiet night on December 7, 1941, for an innocent little girl so unaware of the unstoppable events into which she would soon be plunged, sleeping away the last peace seconds of her young life...
Closer and closer the sounds came, growing ever louder and determined, causing the little girl in peaceful repose to begin tossing and turning in bed.
Suddenly, the constant droning sound gave way, mingling with many high-pitched whistles that began to scream as they got even louder.
The startled little girl abruptly awoke and almost immediately was forcefully thrown from her bed as if by a huge unseen malevolent hand that entered her life with a loud- thunderous crash, followed by another and another, each violently shaking her house as the cool blackness and soft melodies of a serene night suddenly gave way to a deafening cacophony of sounds, accompanied by bright flashes that lit up her small room as brightly as daytime.
She froze in terror being unable to move--casting a wide-eyed state out the open window fixated on the flashes now engulfing the homes of her neighbors and friends.
"My dolly, where's my dolly" she cried, frantically looking for the little cloth ragamuffin she loved. Finding the doll amid some debris now coming in through her window, she clutched the doll to her chest and began to cry.
The noises got still louder, the shaking of her house more violent making it impossible for her to stand, and amid her uncontrollable tears and sobbing, she pitifully cried, "Mama, make it stop! Please, Mama, make it stop! Stop it! Stop it! Please!"
But it didn't stop...

~~~

Letty's Story:

Hell to Heaven

By Leticia

Leticia has written her story in a fictional third-person format that makes it so much easier for readers to enter her world. For instance, Leticia is a beautiful woman, but with the story written as it is, Letty is just the main character and is described as any character would be. She is able to share her pain, inner turmoil and feelings in an open, more realistic fashion. Readers will learn that this is a true story, written under a pseudonym for protection of the real people involved...

I found the novel very believable, so much so that I had/have a question for the author. Why did she subjugate her own story under her husband's in the second half of the book? Perhaps as a single woman, this was much more apparent to me, but since we are about the same age, it immediately struck me that her life was lived much more traditionally than my own. While I was troubled that Letty did not continue her wonderful work as a nurse after marriage, or if she did, it was not covered, I realized that in the role she was then in, it was, perhaps, entirely appropriate... Still, readers should be aware that the second half, in my opinion, which, of course, is not an appropriate way to evaluate the book, is really the story of Letty's husband, Ron. While her husband led a extremely challenging life, I personally would have like to have seen the entire story from Letty's perspective. Perhaps since my life has never been merged into one, it does make a difference...LOL??? Still, for many professionally involved women who are leaders and innovators, this is pointed out for their benefit as well... And, it makes the third-person choice a brilliant alternative to a true biography.

Another thought that crosses my mind in thinking about the book is that the title is probably not the best choice. Leticia was never a Letty-type of person and you will quickly ascertain that. She's intelligent, ambitious, street-smart--a survivor, and a very determined woman of God...

She was just 5 when her home was bombed by the Japanese and her world changed completely. At first she was all alone as the building was struck and it was only later, after the bombing stopped, the planes left, that help came to rescue her from her room...

She had endured everything alone, hurt, until the loud sounds left, so that what she now heard was bells, sirens, and...never-ending screams! Innocently as she went looking for her lost doll, she found herself right in the midst of those that we walking the streets, looking for love ones, and more...

...as if awakened from a dreamlike state,
she said, "Where's my dolly?"
...She slipped out of auntie's house and started to walk home but was able to only walk slowly, partly because her legs hurt and partly because there was scattered debris and crumbled houses everywhere and that smell that now was mixed with smells of ask and charred wood.
There were many of her neighbors milling around, some of whom had their faced locked in blank expressionless stares and who just gently pushed her aside when she asked if they had seen her dolly, and still others who
were crying and either didn't answer her or became angry with her when she asked...
Then, she saw something shining through the haphazardly strewn boards and debris, the bright sun glittering in all directions off it...She moved the wood away and saw a beautiful golden bracelet on a woman's wrist that did not move. Somebody was in this large pile of wood! If she could get the woman out, maybe she would help her find her doll. Excited, she began to dig and move the debris, and then she grabbed the woman's hand--it was stiff and did not respond to her touch. She pulled harder, and suddenly the hand and bracelet were free, coming straight to the little girl and landing in her lap as she fell backward...The little girl screamed incessantly, panic-
stricken. There was no one attached to the hand! Her sobs were uncontrollable...
~~~

It was after it was announced that MacArthur was leaving Manila, that Leticia's story changed again...

First, the Japanese came and school became a place to learn the culture, and demands, of that country. Bartering was the only way to keep alive and Leticia quickly became adept at both making bargains and then, as she called it, "taxing" the Japanese for what food they were taking from the family... Soon, though, her father decided they needed to leave and go to their parents' farm. But then, Leticia was left alone and both parents had left to go back to the city.

The only thing that saved that time for Leticia was that she had discovered the desire and power in reading... As well as a grandmother who loved her...

There were family issues that kept coming up and Leticia found herself being shipped around to the homes of various relatives. She was able to pick up some knowledge of nursing, which was to lead to her future career...but, even that, had a tragic incident to overcome. She was only 11 when her aunt started sending her out to homes needing health assistance--the need was too great for just one person. But she was told to first visit a family with a very ill child. It had died while she tried to save it...and the parents knowing how hard she had tried, asked her to baptize the baby! Even then she was wise enough to know that it was more important that it be done than who was saying the words, so she repeated what she'd remembered from the one baptism she'd attended...

Leticia looked upward and raising her eyes to heaven said, "Please, God, forgive me for everything that I have ever done to displease you, and please allow me to help this little baby come to you without sin." Leticia then put her thumb in the water and with it, made the sign of the cross on the baby's forehead, saying at the same time, "I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. May God have mercy on your and receive you into His loving arms free of sin, amen."

Almost at the moment Leticia finished, a last breath was heard from the baby, its body went limp in her arms, and the tiny hands and arms that had so desperately clung to Leticia's white coat slowly fell away to dangle lifelessly toward the floor. The little baby was dead...

After she left the little cottage, Leticia began to walk faster and faster, and then she started to run, dropping her medical bag to run still faster. Eventually, she could run no more and just flopped down to sit on the roadside. With tears still streaming down her young face, she just sat there looking down in the dirt.

Then, she looked up into the sky, her eyes searching the clouds for the face of her God. Her own face slowly became contorted in anguish, her mouth hung wide open for many seconds without uttering a sound, and then letting out a long, pitiful cry of pain that came down from the very depths of her soul, she screamed, "Why-y-y" that seemed to hand onto the wind, echoing in the countryside forever.

~~~

Leticia pushed herself hard and finally made it through nursing school and quickly moved up until she was charge nurse...That's when Ron, her future husband entered her life... Her

reaction at that time was to call him an idiot... But he persevered and soon they were spending all of their time together, ultimately marrying. Ron's story becomes predominant at this point, with him going through years and years of schooling, each time completing everything successfully and gaining a professional reputation that was hard to match... But then his parents and his brother died from illnesses that he could not cure... What should have been many years of a successful practice and marriage changed into another world... When the stock exchange collapsed, the couple was faced with bankruptcy as others in the nation. It was clear that Ron was a brilliant man--Leticia was his greatest fan and supporter... The ideas came rapidly and continued...and some readers may benefit from some of this part of the story regarding "Money..."

Truly, this is an amazingly inspirational book that will touch individual readers in different ways, I am sure.  One thing that is undeniable was that this couple was totally committed to God, each other, and to having a loving successful life.

If you enjoy reading real life stories, biographies or memoirs, you should check this out right away... An unbelievable revelation of a woman who  tackled every obstacle that was thrown at her, and kept playing defense on behalf of her husband whenever he needed--and vice versa, as well! A truly romantic and heartwarming love story!

GABixlerReviews

Leticia is a registered nurse who was trained at Hahnemann, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, and Martland Medical Center, Newark, New Jersey. Her current residence is Missouri. She has been married for 44 years.

The Lovely Story, Angel's Harp, by Philip Newey, Fascinates and Delights! Then Explodes!

www.irishpage.com

Angel's Harp

By Philip Newey

"I know you didn’t like maths, but the music is there too. Pi is like a note that goes on forever, like a ripple on the water that never quite dies away. And the bonds in molecules vibrate too, making endless symphonies. Each molecule is a little angel’s harp. That’s about the sum total of what I get out of maths, physics and chemistry. Actually, it’s a lot to take away from it, but it won’t help me pass my exams!"
                                                                       ~
"Did you ever see the movie, Portrait of Jennie? It’s about a painter who meets this young girl in Central Park. She’s wearing old-fashioned clothes. He meets her at intervals, and each time she has aged more than she should have. She talks about things that happened years ago as if they were happening now. He falls in love with her. At the end he tries to save her from drowning; but he can’t, of course, because she died years earlier."
                                                 ~~~


Some stories seem to be inspired, don't you think, from something outside of the author, the writer who sits down with a pen or in front of a computer... And something mystical comes from that hand... That's how I feel about this novel--it's a fantasy, paranormal that takes you outside of reality and allows you to dream, "what if..."

It was an indulgence, perhaps. A scattering to the wind of money he might well have dispensed more wisely. But it had evolved into far more than a holiday. It had become a kind of pilgrimage, a journey into healing. Or so he hoped. He might almost be able to believe in something again. In what wasn't yet clear. In humanity? In God? In himself? He had seen all that he had hoped to see, and more. Stonehenge at dawn on the summer solstice, listening to Sonnenaufgang...

~~~

This book "almost" seems like a biography, the story of the life of Alan Carter...beginning in his young years and moving forward. But he's just a character...or was he? "What if?..." His life has been broken down into Movements--you know, like in music? In fact, you may start to hear that angel's harp playing during some parts of the novel... 

We meet Alan at home when he was just six, somewhat introverted, he "believed" in just about everything...so it wasn't surprising that it happened to him...

Melanie was just six-months younger when she moved into the house next door. She saw Alan one day through the back fence between their homes and became immediate friends. At first, they didn't even mention the other to their parents, although they had seen what was happening. They were on Melanie's side of the fence when they found it...a box! What could it be? Together they opened it excitingly. There was a necklace, a beautiful crystal and letter and pictures. Of course, Melanie

With a profound sense of drama,
Alan lifted the lid. Inside was a large

 plastic bag. He tipped the contents 

onto the bed. There was a silver chain

 with a crystal pendant – 

‘See, treasure!’ she exclaimed –,

 a small photograph album, containing

 black and white photographs, 

and two notebooks. Melanie 

immediately claimed the silver chain

 and crystal. The photographs

 appeared to represent a family,

 sometimes grouped together, 

sometimes photographed separately.

 The pages of the two notebooks

 were covered with writing, which

 Alan could make out only with 

difficulty. ‘We should take these to

 your mum,’ said Alan, half-heartedly.

 ‘No!’ protested Melanie. ‘I want this,’

 she indicated the crystal.
 ‘It’s prob’ly magic.’

placed the necklace around her neck and they decided that Alan should take the letters and pictures to see what was there...

While they remained friends as they grew older, Alan's feelings for Melanie grew. Melanie, on the other hand, gained friends easily and by high school they rarely talked... until Alan asked her to go to a dance. Instead of moving closer, however, Melanie began to share secrets to her trusted friend and told him that she would probably not go back to school, but would start working... Alan realized that she had never really knew that he loved her...

Inside my breast there beats a crystal

 Not flesh and blood but like a song

 Played by a minstrel

 On strings that stretch along The sky,

 from horizon to horizon, 

Passing through my breast 

Vibrating ’til I rest.  

Inside my womb there beats a drum

 Of flesh and blood, not like a song,

 But pulsing like the hum

 Of strings that yet belong 

Beneath the earth; 

Passing through my womb, 

Vibrating ’til the tomb.

--Beth

~~~

It was about that time that he remembered the letters they had found so long ago--and that he had never read them... Thus Movement 2 begins...

During the mid-1940s, Beth had lived in the same house as Melanie, next door to Alan. Now, it was Alan who was reading the journal that Beth had once written. She had started writing when she was 12. Her mother had died and, although her grandmother had moved in with Beth and her father, she needed to discuss personal things. I imagine it was extremely difficult for Alan to be reading of her personal thoughts, as she struggled to understand relationships, her sexuality, and desires. 

There were also nightmares, visions, of blood for her that were very scary... And then she stopped writing, with an ending note of now knowing what she had to do...

It was then that Alan started writing to her! No, he couldn't send them, but he wrote nevertheless...

For a young man who had lost the one friend and love he'd had, it must have been a mystical experience to perhaps get to know Beth more than he had ever known Melanie, the girl next door...

Alan moved into Movement 3 when he became a Anglican Priest... After obtaining his credentials, he began working at a psychiatric hospital. He had married early but was still surprised when his wife sought a divorce. At the same time, he realized that he wouldn't really be missing her much.

Reading of his patients is not an easy thing, but he found that he was able to make some progress. Much of his work was dealing with suicides and family issues. An older woman, Lisa, had taken a fancy to him and would constantly ask if he were married. When he wasn't, he truthfully said that he wasn't, but that it would be awhile before he considered looking for somebody new. Lisa immediately explained that her daughter was coming to visit and that she was very beautiful--not as beautiful as her, but she wanted him to meet her.

When he did, he learned a shocking truth... And Movement 4 began...

As I was preparing to write my review, the first word that came to mind was "lovely." I still ponder why... I loved the synchronicity of what was happening... But then I remembered the surprising ending! Why had I forgotten what happened? It had shocked me and I sat numbly when I finished the book, I remembered... Why did it end that way? What had the author wanted to share with this ending? 

Still, after a few days had passed before I was ready to write the review, the words lovely, fascinating and delightful had been the words I wanted to use. Do we set aside that which we abhor and forget that it happened? And remember only what brought happiness, joy to our lives? I still don't have an answer for myself. I did indeed experience all of the feelings I've shared, though I was devastated with the ending...

This book is memorable. Now that I've forced myself to remember the ending, I will not soon forget...yet... I loved the story, how it all came together... The final ending for at least one person who happily found a part of her past life... In the end, we must take both the good and the bad...???


GABixlerReviews 

My Writer's page: http://philipnewey.com/
My business page: All-read-E (manuscript assessment, copy editing and proofreading) http://philipnewey.com/All-read-E.htm

Everyone wants to write at least one novel, right? Well, from a very early age, somewhere in my mid teens, when I began to read in earnest, I know that I have. It probably had something to do with that terrible-beautiful teenage angst that many of us pass through. From that time onwards I began to write: novels, short stories - and completed none of them. I would start with an enormous surge of energy and inspiration - which would fizzle out after a few pages or chapters, or after a few days. I had a host of ideas and themes, but nothing that, in the end, held up as a story.

It was only at the beginning of 2012, in my 55th year, that I actually succeeded in completing a novel. At the time I was passing through another of those periods of angst - is that the midlife crisis thing happening? No fast cars for me, or pretty young woman. Novels and stories: that's what it was/is about for me. Perhaps more importantly, however, I finally felt that I had lived enough to be able to talk meaningfully about life, the universe and all that.

I like to write the kind of books that I like to read. That is, stories about real people in real situations; so people who want high adventure, mystery, science fiction, fantasy etc. can look elsewhere. (I do read those too, by the way.) It seems to me that what makes people "tick", what goes into being a human being, forming relationships, making decisions, making mistakes - these things are as mysterious, exciting, frightening as any mystery or fantasy we might devise. So, to a large extent, I write for myself. But I am immodest enough to think that others might also like to read what I write. In these days of short attention spans and quick fixes, my novels may not have a huge market - at least that is what the conventional publishing world probably believes. Nevertheless, some of you, I hope, will really enjoy the stories I have to tell and the people I introduce to you. I am also immodest enough to believe that my life experience has given me some insights into the way this bizarre human world operates.

So take the time to look at my novels. And, if you happen to like them, tell your friends.
Yours sincerely
Philip Newey

Bette Crosby Brings Early 1900s To Life in The Twelfth Child!

Abigail Lannigan   Born – August, 1912  
 I was barely thirteen years old when Mama
 died and left me and Will in the care of Papa,
 a man who’d think nothing of shoving a dose
 of castor oil down my throat
 just so he could watch my face turn inside out
. “It’s good for what ails you,” he’d say;
yet, I noticed he never gave Will the same big dose.
Papa didn’t say it in precise words,
but he made it clear enough he wouldn’t give two hoots
 if all the girl babies in Chestnut Ridge, Virginia,
were in the graveyard along with Mama.
Of course with him being a staunch Methodist,
I don’t believe Papa was capable of taking
 a butcher knife and slicing off heads or anything;
but he surely knew how to destroy people from the inside—
a sliver of spirit, a piece of pride, a chunk of heart—
until one day there’s nothing left but a walking around shell
 to do the cooking and laundry.
                It’s a roundabout story,
but Papa’s blind-sightedness
 is the very reason Destiny Fairchild
may end up in the Women’s Correctional Facility—
which is a fancy way of saying penitentiary.
Everybody’s life could have been a whole lot different
if Mama hadn’t died
 before she got a chance to set things right.

The Twelfth Child


By Bette E. Crosby



When a woman had struggled to live like Abigail Lannigan did, you know she is going to live a long, long life. In fact, when Abigail died, she just kept on, talking and moving around as when she was alive...

Can't say I blame her, because when she died, she had left some unfinished business and wanted to try to work everything out, if possible...

When her Ma died, Abigail was immediately responsible for all of her chores. She knew that if she really ever wanted to do anything with her life, like be a teacher like her role model, then she would have to act on her own to get away.

But when she did get an offer to help from that teacher, to go and live as a companion with a poet, she knew that it would be the only time--if she didn't take it now, she'd never get away...

Besides, her Pa let it be known that he expected her to be married at 16; he'd already picked out the boy and had invited he and his Pa to come calling...

Abigail left and was soon living with Miss Ida Jean Meredith. Fortunately she had been a reader all of her life and had always made good grades so that she was quickly able to help Miss Ida Jean as she was working on her next poetry book. But, unfortunately, she became ill and died, forcing Abigail to give up her only home. She knew she couldn't go back to the farm!

Readers will see how she struggled through and lived, until when she was older and needed help, a young woman
moved across the street from her and they became friends.

Very good friends. In some ways like mother and daughter,
in other ways like sisters, even with the difference in age.
She was so kind and concerned, that Abigail quickly wanted to help her as well, so she gave her old furniture that she was no longer using and odds and ends from her home to brighten up her new home. Abigail knew she didn't make much money, so she'd help her financially as well. Then as she got physically unable to drive and care for her own needs, such as taking care of bills, Destiny Fairchild took her to shop, handle her banking and later Abigail placed her name as co-signer on her bank account...

Now Abigail had quite a bit of money, having it left to her by her brother. It was at that time that a cousin started to visit, seeking recognition and a possible inheritance and when Abigail died...

He called the cops on Destiny!

It is always interesting to visit historical times and realize how glad we are not to have lived during those times! Right? This is a heartwarming story of how love can enter the lives of those who are alone, just by being kind to another. Crosby has much talent in creating her characters and readers quickly become involved in their lives as well. Sit back and relax and make a trip to the early 1900s. Enjoy!


GABixlerReviews

Award-winning author Bette Lee Crosby is originally from New Jersey, but now makes her home in Southern Florida where she lives with her husband Richard and a feisty Bichon Frise named Katie. A highly entertaining public speaker, Bette makes frequent appearances to support the various charities of women’s groups, and schedule permitting, she will join book talks and book club discussion groups.

In 1997 Bette abandoned the fast-paced world of advertising and embarked on a career as a novelist. Her books, frequently written in a Southern voice, cover a wide spectrum of locales and personalities as they tell tales of courageous women overcoming life’s obstacles. Check out her web site!

New Book Out - Waltzing Australia by Cynthia Clampitt!

Book Title: Waltzing Australia
Author: Cynthia Clampitt
ISBN: 978-1-4196-6306-2
508 pages

Available at Amazon.com and through Borders and other booksellers.





Would a sensible, successful woman in her mid-30s walk away from money, security, career just to make a dream come true? Absolutely!

Cynthia Clampitt wanted to write—and she wanted to get as far away as she could from the temptation to rejoin the corporate world. Australia was a lifelong interest, and it seemed to be the best, and farthest, place to start over.

Clampitt circled and crossed the continent, covering nearly 20,000 miles, many of them rugged. The child of that journey is the book Waltzing Australia, a journal that recounts six months of joy and adventure. It is a story about change and finding out who you are. But above all, it is about Australia: the history, legends and art, both European and Aboriginal; the beauty, the challenge, the people, the land.

Best-selling author Richard Lederer wrote of Waltzing Australia, “Cynthia Clampitt’s luminous chronicle of her love affair with Australia resonates to the heart’s deep core.” Others have compared her to Annie Dillard and Bill Bryson.

Aussie expert Barb Mackenzie wrote, “[Cynthia] paints vivid pictures of people, places and adventures. I can feel the sun, hear the crush of the bush beneath my feet and smell the salt of the sea. I know I will go back again to Australia but I can revisit anytime just by picking up Waltzing Australia and reading a few pages.”

Author/reviewer Helen Gallagher wrote, “Cynthia Clampitt surprises us with a writing talent and story-telling technique that is tough to master, yet she is consistently compelling to read.”

Waltzing Australia will encourage those who dream, as well as those who travel. It will delight those who know Australia and enchant those who do not. Readers will come to know Australia intimately, as the author leads them across the often-surprising landscape.

Australia fascinates almost everyone. Starting over and women’s adventures are also perennially hot topics. Waltzing Australia gives you all three. For Clampitt, sharing the adventure with others is part of the dream.

Click the article title to visit the Walzing Australia blog!



If you would like more information about the book or author, or to schedule an interview, slide show, or book signing, please contact Cynthia Clampitt at (847) 537-7915 or caclampitt@att.net.

Review: A Cross Estate Highlights A Single Life Story Affected by 9/11 Tragedy

“I told him to get out, to leave...” ~~~ “I can’t do that, Mom...I love you!” (p. 198)

It was a story about a family, much like many you’ve read. A young man is in love and is also deciding what career choice to make. At least that’s what I thought when I started to read A Cross Estate by William Thomas Kinsella.

In fact, the young man, the main character, is killed shortly after the second part of the book begins! On September 11, 2001...

When tragedy strikes, there is no way to really know what those who are involved are going through. However, Kinsella’s book strikes realism, a tone of truth that slowly pulls readers into the lives of those who have lost someone unexpectedly and senselessly. In this case, on 9/11. The story is sad and, in many parts, hard to read. You will see the bedroom of Jack Conroy, at his parents’ house, left as if he was away for just a while and was coming back to finish reading the magazine article lying on his bed. You will hear the frustration, anger and regret voiced by those close to Jack...

Jack Conroy had two career opportunities. He loved working outside and had taken a minor in landscape design while his major was in finance. His first job offer was to take a full-time job where he had worked summers, doing design work. His heart decision was to take that job. Not only would he be doing the work he loved to do, but also he would be able to stay with Veronica while she finished school, for she was the most important person in his life.

But his father was semi-retired from Wall Street and throughout his life Jack had been prepared to also work there. Indeed, his father had worked many years before he had gained a position and knew that his son was already better and more prepared to start work there immediately. So, when the chance came to interview for a position right after his graduation, Jack decided to at least go for the interview.

Once there, he was pleased by what he saw at the firm, and also that he was being favorably considered. He discussed his career issues with everybody who was important to him. Finally, knowing that he was young enough to work on Wall Street and still move into landscape work in not too many years, he accepted the offered position, just shortly before the firm moved to the Twin Towers.

Kinsella’s novel beautifully illustrates his writing expertise and his Master’s in English Literature. There is much to learn by studying the reactions of his true-to-life characters as they face their lives without the one person that had brought them all together...

Kinsella worked in Lower Manhattan during this tragedy. His writing reflects the horror both during and after a tragedy, all the more poignant by his sharing so much of the family life of “just one” that was lost. Highly recommended life story!

“He was a hometown boy. You probably saw him around town if you’ve lived here any length of time. He was an attractive young man who people wanted to be around. He loved to walk the sidewalks of this town growing up, and you never had to smile first when you saw him...Jack Conroy was the pure heart of America—the offshoot of our best roots and the flower of our American Dream.” (p. 145)

G. A. Bixler
for IP Book Reviews

Info about Miss Ruby...

This story was written and provided by Spencer T. Note that he is a follower on this site and you will find links to his various blogs...

Spencer is a favorite poet on the social networking site of Gather.Com as well. He shares all writing on the Internet and, as of this date, has no desire to seek further dissemination...

Please recognize his story as copyrighted!!! Author has granted permission for posting on this blog!

Given presentation in the blog format...it is recommended you go to Chapter 1 to start reading this life story. It has an adult content warning, please...

Miss Ruby by Spencer T., Third Chapter...

"Son, your friends and neighbors requested your presence to serve in the military through inscription which is a part of the requirement of being a young man. The US Army needed you but you seemed to ignore the second notice. The law allows me as a federal judge to place you in prison for up to five years and to issue a fine as punishment for your ignoring the service request."

"Yes Ma'am, and who are you in this case? Well, Miss Ruby Hines, I appreciate your concerns and have already considered that Mr. Turnage did not have criminal intent in his not responding to the second draft notice and believe I have a solution to this problem."

"Young man, as punishment for the crime of refusing to respond to a legal draft notice, my ruling allows for you to serve a minimum of three years in the military instead of the normal two. You may complete your present semester in college and will report to the US Army Intake center around the corner the day following the end of your semester."

"No, Miss Ruby I did not ignore the draft so I could help you with your daughter's visit. No, you owe me nothing. Yes, I know you love me and want the best for me. Yes, I know our relationship will change when I am gone. Yes, I know we are special to each other. No, I will never forget you. No dear, I don't want you paying the judge to keep me out of the army. I have no idea when; but, yes, I feel she is the woman I will marry someday. Yes, my parents know how I feel."

This incident happened in early October of 1965 not long after I turned 20 years of age, though at times my relationship with Miss Ruby caused me to feel much older. This beautiful, gorgeous woman who had all sorts of success kept me in a somewhat awkward mental state because she had chosen me to confide in and share what life normally brought years later. She admitted how unprepared she was for much of what she dealt with and knew her lack of much formal education had been a handicap for her. Still in her worse fumbling, she had been able to build a life, which many envied. They had no idea the sufferings she experienced, though. Miss Ruby was often like a delicate flower facing the horrible winds of life which all knew would someday appear. Often she was a contrast in emotions in that she swayed from a demure, caring person to a monster-like heathen. Her attention to detail in her dress and business dealings belied the often uncertainty I saw in her. I was never able to identify what I said or did which would frighten or upset her and send her off into a whirlwind of depressive action. She depended on me far more than I appreciated. I needed my own space and freedom to be who I was to become as a person.

The mysterious ways she was able to find out what I was doing or how she allowed my association with my real girlfriend to not destroy our relationship remained a puzzle. The passion she applied to anything having to do with me was amazing and always a good ego massage. Then at times I felt smothered by this woman though I willingly kept the association alive. She was like a drug to me and offered the ultimate high. Was I a lucky young man or a fool in a cage?

As the weeks passed and my semester got closer to its end, she seemed to be in a state of desperation to have me as often as time allowed. She made excuses for us to meet to discuss even the most trivial of topics. I had agreed we could share a dinner out at one of the finest restaurants as one of our parting celebrations and she freely kept that promise in the forefront. There was constant talk about what we'd have when I returned three years later. I knew inside if I married the woman I wanted to, then our relationship would draw to a close. Though she was willing to be whatever part she could be in my life, I think she knew I was being as honest and forthright as I could. I refused to mislead her.

The Christmas holidays were the benchmark for my final days before entering the Army on January 14. I was in a whirlwind of family activities, time with my girlfriend and entertainment engagements. She was present at every public event and a couple times had gifts sent to the house for me. She even sent gifts to my girlfriend. It was all winding down to a future neither of us knew much about and she wanted every minute of time we could share. Miss Ruby always held huge New Year's Eve celebrations at her lounges but this year she spent most of the night watching me sing at a function for a social club. I knew she was hoping for the possibility that once I got my girlfriend home we might have some time to share. That was her assessment, which was opposite of mine. I had told her I would never do that to anyone I cared about. She persisted, calling me stubborn or too proper for my own good.

We spent our final night together a couple days prior to my departure, with her treating me more like the "Last Supper" and totally wiping out my twenty-year-old body. Her stamina was amazingly more than any woman I have ever met. Admittedly, I knew this was our last encounter and did savor it as much as she did.

The military years passed as they would with regular cards and notes from Miss Ruby updating me on how things were going, with an occasional inquiry as to us getting together to share again. I never addressed that issue again for I knew my separation from her had to be clear. I had to move on with my own life, whatever it was to bring.

My wedding was planned for a couple months after my return from Vietnam. I took leave and came home to get married but did not visit Miss Ruby. On my wedding day she appeared with a large wrapped gift box for my wife and me, dressed as impeccably as I'd ever seen her. At the reception she interacted with family and friends and seemed genuinely happy I was happy.

From that point until she died, Miss Ruby appeared at special family gatherings including childbirths, sibling's weddings and similar events. She seemed a lovely shadow to have in one's life, though we only rarely met to discuss our lives. She felt like a secure image of someone special in my life in spite of the years that lapsed between encounters. I attended a function in her honor when I was nearly fifty years old and could see the remnants of the beautiful lady I once was close to.

Miss Ruby died in 1998, only weeks after her housekeeper had contacted me about her illness. My visit to her hospital room was overrun with memories and a lifelong passion of that young man who had been taught by this woman who was willing to teach him how to please a woma, how to make sure she received what she needed to be satisfied and how to experience and share the ultimate in sexual pleasures. In that hospital bed I still saw the sunlight-like smile she so readily beamed and could still see the remnants of who she once had been.

Long lines of entertainers, dignitaries, former city officials and common folk who knew her, or about her, wrapped around the funeral home for the last time to catch a gander at Miss Ruby. I was able to spend a few hours with her now-grown daughter who had a list of alphabet letters behind her name, yet felt compelled to remind me that I had remained someone special throughout her mother's life. She showed me pictures I had forgotten ever existed, explaining how her mom treasured me not only because she loved me but because I never took advantage of her and always tried to help her improve her life and circumstance.

It took this final chapter of her life to allow me to discover that Miss Ruby was seventeen years older than I. We had found common ground on which to share whatever it was we shared. Miss Ruby still lives in the special memories of my life.

Miss Ruby by Spencer T., Second Chapter...

Chapter Two

"I do not appreciate being treated like a whore! I told you I didn't want any money from you and was pissed when I found this in my vest pocket. Please take this fifty-dollar bill and do something good with it or give it to charity. If we are going to have some sort of relationship, I don't want your money!" Miss Ruby was totally confused; every man she had been with had loved receiving money from her. She quietly took the money and slipped it into the pocket of her robe.

I was keeping her off guard in always being different from what she had been used to. I didn't appreciate her take-charge attitude when it came to me and certainly didn't like her making plans for me when I had other things planned. Another issue was my car. She had ordered someone to have a key made to make it more convenient to move my car from one place to the other when we rode together in her limousine. It unnerved her that I was not impressed by the limo, her driver or any of the trappings that made her life different from mine. Though I was only a tender nineteen year old, I had already formed personal habits, which were just the opposite of the many men she knew. That impressed her, even though she still wanted me to be impressed with what she had accomplished. Soon, I found out that the gig we had at the Iron Gate had been arranged by her and was a payoff for something the owner owed her. We had been there weeks before I met her and before discovering what influence she had in the local entertainment industry. She tossed around her power to award or punish as she saw fit and wanted to have a lot more influence on me than I allowed. Often, all she wanted was for us to talk. She was fascinated by my ideas and ideals; and at some point asked, "Would you help me change my life?"

I was constantly in somewhat of a state of shock in dealing with her. I knew she was older than I but her age was a town secret. Some weeks had passed with us having intermittent encounters and occasional sexual interludes, which always freaked me to the maximum. Here I was, a young man still feeling his way in life, with a very beautiful, yet barely educated woman, who had a huge legacy of success dealing with the gutter end of life. Which I abhorred.

I constantly wondered if seeing her at all was too large a contrast for what I wanted from life; but my ego always climbed in the equation, causing me to succumb to her desires. It was easy to see that I had become someone special to her, perhaps because she came to realize I would not be overwhelmed with her lifestyle nor in what I could "get" out of her. We walked a fine line to continue that relationship¾whatever it was called. One day I came home from Harris Teachers College knowing I had to grab a nap before going to work at midnight after getting homework done. Miss Ruby called, begging, pleading that I meet her as soon as possible. Since explaining my situation didn't move her, I finally agreed for us to meet. She gave me an unfamiliar address not too far from my home so I wasn't too concerned. I went and knocked on the door to find her in jeans and an oversized man's shirt. I had never seen her in other than her finery, and was pleased to see an ordinary woman who was still just as beautiful as ever.

Ruby hugged me vigorously, "This is our new place. A place where we can meet and not be around the crowd or the bodyguards and all those people you don't care for. I want you to help me invest money in places so you'll think better of me." While she still had an almost begging expression on her face, she seemed satisfied that she was doing what I would have her do.

I was still somewhat confused, "why me?'

She went through a long explanation about never having met someone who wasn't trying to get all they could from her and she knew months before that she wanted me in her life. I couldn't help but be impressed that she thought enough of me to buy a small house where we could spend time together alone, but it caused me additional concern, wondering how deeply I was getting with her.

She told me she knew I had to get back to get some sleep, but I could stay there if I wished. As she planted the key in my hand, she hugged and kissed me more like a close relative would than a lover. We continued our occasional interludes, but she grew more dependent on my advice and ideas to the point that on more than one occasion she handed me a bag of cash to help her count. Always those sessions led to a discussion about purchasing another apartment building or house that would produce additional income. I had saved what I considered good money from my earnings from entertaining but wanted to leave that life because it kept me in a quandary, not really wanting to be in that life.

So I became not only her lover but also a confidant she grew to depend on more and more. I learned she had arranged for another Madame to handle her girls and was no longer involved in the gambling trade in town. She began to see that she could take the money she earned from her lounges and taxicabs and invest it in other legal enterprises and make even more money. It thrilled her like a child who had been given a new toy and it kept me visiting her regularly. There came a time we were at our house discussing investment strategy when she fell apart. She simply blurted out that I needed to step up to the plate and be more of a man for her, so she could step out of the limelight and be a housewife.

At first I thought she had lost her mind but then recognized that she was a very lonely person needing someone to share with her. It was then I told her about my girlfriend whom I later married. I was surprised that she already knew about her. She made a few specific demands to me, while I told her in no uncertain terms I could not be who she wanted me to be for her. After my suggestion that she find someone more her age I soon discovered she took it the wrong way because she went into a rage about having a lovely body, firm good looking breasts, a tight perfect ass and legs of perfect proportions. There was no doubt she was right in her assessment, but I was speaking about a more mature man who could satisfy her needs. Her only reply was, "but I want you."

We fell into one of the deepest sexual forays we'd had up until that point. We never spoke of it again. It became known in the streets that I was helping her change her life. This caused many encounters with men of all ages making sleazy inquiries as to how good was she in bed? Was she an alcoholic? Did she give good head and was her entire body as perfect naked as it was in clothes? I was the envy of many of the men she did business with, but it really was not a satisfying ego trip.

It did allow me to be recognized just about any place I went and accepted as well. Miss Ruby did in fact have a real influence in my life. A year or so after she accepted I was seriously involved with someone else, she had purchased a number of four-family flats, duplexes and a few houses; and I became her bookkeeper and created form letters to send to tenants when needed.

I received my first draft notice in the spring of 1966 and was mentally preparing to go to war. She wanted me to meet her little girl down south who lived with her sister before I was to leave so we prepared for the event. After deciding that she wanted her daughter to come to St Louis, she became a nervous wreck and fell into a depressive state. My attempts at getting her to go visit and not have the child to come here fell on deaf ears. Not known to me, she was preparing to create a life in which to introduce her daughter and keep her away from the real life style she had lived. I found her looking at every sort of magazine available and cutting out articles from the newspapers to help give her ideas of what to do with the child when she arrived. I didn't feel good about the pretense, but she insisted. When her daughter arrived, a beautiful nine-year-old child, I accompanied her to the bus station to meet her. Miss Ruby did not look like herself in that she was dressed in a light colored sundress with sandals as shoes. She was obviously nervous and felt out of place with a child by her side. I took the lead and talked with the little girl as a friend of her mom's and the child suggested that her aunt had wanted her to visit the zoo. We went to eat and took her daughter to the little bungalow she called our house. A handful of friends showed up to greet the child but didn't stay long. The next morning we took a daylong trip to the zoo and her daughter had a blast. I had to work the next day so I didn't see her till late and found Miss Ruby in a frustrated state because of the child. I took her to my house to play with my little sister and when some neighbor kids showed up, she fell into a good playing groove. The next three or four days were similar with the child being happy to play with the other kids. After her daughter went back down south, Miss Ruby fell deeper into her now almost continuous depression. She hated hiding her real life from her child and felt so ashamed. Nothing I did or said helped her get out of the depression that gripped her. It became common when I went by the house for her to be in a drunken stupor; yet she always wanted to engage in sex. Unfortunately, I could not tolerate drunks and refused to accommodate her. On one of those occasions she threatened to get another man who would take care of her needs. When I simply said OK, she went into a rage. She started throwing things around the house and screaming that I couldn't let her do that. I kissed her and walked out leaving her in a sobbing heap.

Miss Ruby by Spencer T. First Chapter...

Miss Ruby

Chapter One

Her dancer's legs and thighs rippled when she exposed them. Her walk was picturesque. Her breasts stood straight out, as if pointing at you; and at all times she held control over those around her. She barked orders like a sergeant training troops. But I knew, inside, she was a vulnerable and passive woman,maybe even baby-like in her lack of self esteem.

Miss Ruby had only recently retired from dancing at the last burlesque club on the Debaliviere entertainment strip. I had heard some talk that she might go to Las Vegas to dance. She led men around like pets on a leash, yet treated me with an unsteady hand, which begged for attention. I was confused, seeing all the cab drivers, police officers and city officials passing through her well-known Zodiac Lounge. The place was always packed! It was a fire hazard, but that department never moved to close it down, especially with that department's captain visiting often. It buzzed on all the time.

Miss Ruby was in meetings with individuals constantly. I noticed she always received an envelope from those she met with and often appeared to be giving out advice or orders. A huge monster of a man who rarely spoke a word shadowed her every move. He did a lot of looking around, occasionally nodding. I often wondered if he had a smile buried beneath his plastered, stern face.

My first few visits to this place left me in awe at the buzz of constant activity and traffic. I wondered how anyone could conduct business in such an environment above the blaring sound of the newest jukebox. The bartender shoved a glass in my face with an umbrella sticking out, speaking as he was moving away, "7 Up on the rocks. Miss Ruby said she'll be with you in a few."

As I turned to find a spot in a corner, a very beautiful woman dressed in evening attire bumped into me, spilling some of my drink. She was too apologetic, while dabbing my vest and shirt with a napkin so I attempted to calm her. Under her breath, I could hear her say something to the effect that Miss Ruby would kill her if...

The monster man moved quickly through the crowd coming my way but I had no idea he was targeting me. In a deep clear baritone voice he declared, "Miss Ruby is ready for you. Follow me." I followed him to an area to the right of the bar. We approached what looked like a solid wall of leather with stars twinkling, but he pushed on it and a door opened. Stepping inside, it took a minute for my eyes to adjust to the light. I saw what appeared to be a beautiful, luxurious room decorated in purples and maroons. Ceiling to floor drapes, a huge sofa, a lounge chair and a couple of tables were covered with embroidered doilies. I stepped onto a carpet so thick my feet felt as if they were sinking. Then an aroma I could not quite identify greeted me, though it was pleasing to the senses.

It took a moment before seeing Miss Ruby step from behind a drape to stand there in an awesome pose. Her outfit was limited to her garter belt attached to net stockings and pasties on her breast. She was naked otherwise as a treat for me.

Her body glistened like jewelry. The netted stockings exposed the shapeliest legs I had ever seen. The dots covering her nipples did nothing to hide her appealing breast. Stunned, I watched her walk towards me with that sunlight smile, as she purred something I could not quite hear. Before I realized it, she had embraced me and was leaning her weight on me to the point I had to shift my feet for balance. I had a flashback to a night with her a few days ago. It was actually good but the confidence of this 19-year-old-almost-a-man didn't know if he could handle what appeared to be happening. I was there with this gifted specimen of a woman but I had no idea if I was ready to even attempt to handle the situation.

Miss Ruby was an awesome character. As we shared time together, I learned she was the Madame of a brothel, owner of at least three night clubs, owner of several taxicabs, held high end gambling sessions, and controlled neighborhood numbers. She was well known by city officials. She moved about the city in the back of a limousine driven by monster man with no encumbrances from officials and appeared not only to be liked, but also nearly worshipped by many. Being always impeccably dressed with the most striking outfits, including a large matching hat, her appearance anyplace created a stir and when she walked into any room she solicited awes and whispers.

I was not comfortable in her presence and she knew my disagreement with her life style was the reason.

I had met Miss Ruby about three weeks prior and the recall of that night still hovered in my memory. I was doing a gig at the Oriental Club on Gaslight Square with a lady singer and a piano man when this shadowy figure had appeared in the doorway, strutted to the piano, and deposited a ten-dollar bill in the tip cup requesting we sing "That Old Black Magic." She repeated that request three more times making our earnings for the night well beyond normal.

Each time Miss Ruby strutted up, she played to the crowd. Her walks to the front easily caught the attention of everybody in the club and we all knew she was not the ordinary visitor. The tailored navy long suit skirt had a slit up to her thigh exposing rippling sensuous flesh covered in net stockings. Her shoes appeared imported. Her hat sat on top of her head like an announcement for all to look and the bun firmly sticking from the rear of her head spoke of personal care well paid for. The scent which hovered as she made her trips to the piano lingered unidentified by all, yet was clearly a most pleasant entrapment.

As we prepared to leave the joint and make our way to the Iron Gate club, located downtown on Washington Blvd. right at 8th Street, it was obvious something was happening outside. People milling around the door seemed to be in awe of something, when suddenly a huge well-dressed monster of a man came inside and spoke to me in no uncertain terms. "The lady wishes to speak to you." I headed out the door in my usual hurried stance, in anticipation of getting to the next gig. The sight of this long limo parked in front of the club stopped me cold and I barely noticed the arm hooking me. Again hearing, "the lady wishes to speak to you," I was directed to a rear door of the limo. The man opened the door, exposing a beautiful leg and presentation as if it were an advertisement on TV. There sat the "Old Black Magic" woman in absolute splendor smiling from ear to ear. She simply whispered, "I'll be downtown to hear you sing again and you know what I want to hear."

After changing to another puffy shirt and adding the silk and satin vest with matching bow tie, we fell into our second gig of the night as if it were a repeat of the first. "That Old Black Magic" was sung a few times to the applauds of the small but intimate crowd. They lavished eyes on the lady near the door who made a few trips to the piano depositing ten-dollar bills in our cup. She became as much a part of the entertainment as we were with her trips to the back of the joint to make her requests. I have to say I grew tired of singing the song over and over but was glad for the cash it brought.

After we said goodnight to the audience, this time the lady remained near the door as we gathered ourselves in preparation to leave. We were talking to the club owner and dividing our earnings, including the now infamous tip cup, when she appeared without warning and greeted the owner in a most knowing manner. Calling him by name, she suggested that we get a raise for our appearances with him. He agreed in what I thought too fast a response and as we stood there confused, he counted out additional money we had not expected. The Shock of this exchange nearly caused me to miss her hand touching my backside and rubbing it salaciously.

We said our goodbyes as the lady leaned over and whispered something in the owner's ear. They both smiled as she hooked my arm and steered me towards the door. Once outside I saw the monster man holding the door to the limo open as if knowing we were about to enter.

Confusion gripped me as I said, " I can't ride with you and leave my car."

She smiled and grinned devilishly, "That's no problem. Give the key to Tiny. He'll handle it."

The monster man's name was Tiny. How ironic, this well over six-foot, 300- pound-plus man was called Tiny. I was trying to think fast, but clearly! I had no idea where she planned for us to go or do.

She stated that entertainers regularly met in the cafe at the Chase Hotel after doing their gigs and she enjoyed watching us. Again more confusion wracked me, trying to figure out how she knew what our habits had been. I entered the limo with her holding my hand as if to encourage my comfort but she was failing. Sure I was in a state of aura in being in the presence of such a beautiful woman but questions began to spin in my head about the Iron Gate gig and how she came to know so much about me.

We arrived at the Chase driveway and were greeted by an attendant bowing and calling her by name. "So delightful to see you, Miss Ruby!" He held out his hand to assist her out of the long black car.

I noticed Tiny tipped him as we walked into the all-night cafe. A small crowd looked up and watched our entry. Miss Ruby stopped and spoke to several people as we headed to a booth. I felt a certain comfort in noticing the wink from my duo partner who was sipping coffee and smiling at me. It wasn't long before we were making small talk while eating omelets. Inside, though, I had begun to feel like a trapped animal on opening day of the hunting season. Was I being a fool for not keeping a positive attitude for the situation I was in, and the beautiful woman who was smothering me with attention?

At some point in our conversation, she casually said, "I have an apartment in the Park Plaza and would like you to visit me there."

The Park Plaza was attached to the Chase Hotel. I had not seen Tiny or my car and was frankly scared! Nevertheless, I followed her like a sick puppy through the maze of hallways and finally onto an elevator ride and a short walk to her apartment. Upon entering I was confronted with a level of opulence far beyond anything I'd ever seen. Her words to make myself at home fell on deaf ears in that my home was nothing like this one.

Miss Ruby went into another room briefly and returned in nothing but a slip and those net stockings, "You are about to get a wonderful bath!" She took my hand and led me to a marbled bathroom and I began undressing there in front of her as if it were the most natural thing to do.

I was struck by how the bubbles sat on top of the water. I could feel the heat from the tub and wondered who had gotten the water ready since I had not seen another person. She kissed me squarely on the lips and helped me to step into the heavenly, reeking tub of bubbles and scents. While I sank into its depths, she briefly left and then again appeared, wearing nothing but dots on her breast and gartered net stockings.

She began laying hands on me as if I was about to be healed of all my woes.

The huge sponge she used to soap me down and rinse me was like a feather being dragged across my skin; it tore at my senses. I don't know how long she stayed there washing me. I was actually getting drowsy when she said, "I'm going to shower while you dry off."

Sitting on the tub edge, with this huge towel, drying myself, I again wondered who she was and why she had picked me? Surely this was stuff of a young man's dreams and imagination, but the reality of it all remained a bit frightening. I sat thinking of this lady and the situation I found myself living, when suddenly she appeared at the doorway.

Handing me a terry robe, she covered her own nakedness with a similar one. I couldn't help but stare at her nearly perfect body and her firm round ass with legs as if they were molded for a specific purpose. Her smile seemed to bleed passion as she reached for my hand to lead me out of the bathroom. Entering another room that took my breath away with its decor, my mouth dropped open because there, the center of attraction was a huge bed in the middle of the floor, draped with very sheer material.

Miss Ruby touched me, as I had never been touched before, creating a shocking yet wonderfully thrilling experience. She kissed me like I had never been kissed before, causing my body to take a sudden sail off into an unfamiliar journey. Sensations overwhelmed me. Scents from burning incense and candles I had not noticed wafted my emotions to extremes I had never chanced to reach. When I felt the sensation of her tongue enveloping my penis, my hardness nearly hurt from the combination of the thrills and new sensations co-mingling. Never had I experienced such sexual pleasures. Reality faded to a shadow of itself as I attempted to inhale all of these new overpowering sensations.

Miss Ruby was in complete control.