I was raised around people who coud see beyond the veil into the realm of the supernatural. In New Orleans, my neighborhood had old folks who told fortunes, cast spells, threw tricks, and filled mojo bags with herbs and bones and megical charms. So, being able to peer into a scrying bowl or reading palms or cards was nothing new for me.
My Mom is psychic - she always knew much more than she should. I could never get away with anything - and I mean anything. Now, we aren't talking about mere women's intuition or a mothers insight, dear friend - the night I was about to give my virginity away to an undeserving college jock she interrupted our sexual liason THREE times. After the first interruption, I turned off my cell phone - after the second, I took the land line off the hook and the third time she called the JOCK'S phone. This is what she said - 'whatever you're doing STOP!. We finally took the hint and my hymen stayed intact for a later date and a more heroic lover.
She also dreamed dreams that came to pass and was a good discerner of truth. So, what I'm saying is that this stuff was second nature to me. Not that I was gifted - I can't see or know anything other than what's plain as the nose on your face. But, I am certainly not a skeptic.
When my Mom remarried, she wed a Texas rancher and we moved to central Texas. He became my pop and I became his child and heir. He has always been good to me. But, he was the type that if he couldn't see it or touch it - it didn't exist. Pop and Mom were married 18 years before she passed away. Not too long ago, Pop came to me and told me that several of his cows were missing and he suspected foul play. He had brought out the authorites but no clues as to the whereabouts of the cattle could be found. I told him that we needed to try an alternative method to recover the cows.
True to my heritage, I suggested that we visit Mr. Cain. He had been a friend of my mom's. She had always been kind to him. He was old as the hills, blind as a bat and only had one leg - but he was gifted. He could read cards and tell you anything you wanted to know. Pop was reluctant but he gave in to me because he loved me. I drove him out to Cain's ramshackle old house by the railroad track and we got out. It felt funny. He didn't have much use for light - so there wasn't much - and the place smelled as much like Crown Royal as any bar I've ever been in.
Mr. Cain was gracious and invited us in and asked us what he could do to serve us. Pop grimaced, but he told Cain that we had a couple of cows missing. Pop didn't say how many nor did he describe the cows. Cain sat down and laid his cards out and waved his hands over them and looked at them close - eyes all scrunched up. My Pop was fidgeting and fretting and wishing he was anywhere else. Finally, Mr. Cain looked up and said - "the black and white one will come home, she'll be injured - she's been hung up on something. And as for the red bull - you'll never see him again." Pop looked at Cain funny, stood up and walked out - leaving it to me to cover his palm with cash and thank him for his trouble.
On the way home, Pop was quiet. Finally, he looked at me and said - "You didn't tell that old dried up shyster what cattle were missing did you?"
I laughed and reminded him that he hadn't told me - how could I?
Two days later the red and white cow came home - her tail was almost severed after being hung up in a gate or something. The red bull never showed up. Several months after that Pop was asked by one of the hands about his visit to the mysterous Mr. Cain. All he had to say was, "I wonder where that old keister had my cow and bull shut up at?"
Some people can't be convinced of the reality of the supernatural - I am not one of them.
Here's an excerpt from my paranormal erotic: "Sweet Evangeline" where Evangeline peers into the black waters looking for the face of the man of her dreams.'
The book can be found on my website - sablehunter.com
The class assignment had been to create the perfect man.
As a witch, she should have known better. But it had been so much fun.
No, this wasn’t Hogwarts. The project was for a final grade in the Advanced Sculpting Class at the University of Texas in Austin. And since Evangeline had all of these powers just lying around, she decided to cheat. If she were going to sculpt the perfect man, she wanted it to be her perfect man. After all, it was somewhat a tradition for the women in the Beaureguarde clan to seek out the face of their beloved. Her grandmother, Nanette had seen her grandfather’s face in the waters from an old well that had been dug by slaves down in New Iberia Parish, near Bayou Teche. Why shouldn’t she? All she wanted to do was look. There couldn’t possibly be any harm in that. Could there?
The more she thought about it, the more excited she became. Up to this point in her life, men had just not been a factor. Despite what some would call her wild pagan ways, Evangeline was an old-fashioned girl. She was a romantic. As pathetic as it might sound, she was saving herself for the man of her dreams. And so far, he had kept himself very well hidden. Now, that she had decided to tempt herself with his face, she couldn’t think of anything else. The Summer Solstice was at hand and according to her Book of Shadows, there was no better time.
God, she was hot! She stood in the dark and listened to the creaking of the old house as it settled on its piers. Living off campus hadn’t been a mistake, she needed the room for her sculpting. But still, the nights were almost unbearable. It was the incessant heat! Austin was under a heat wave advisory and the air conditioning did little to cool the poorly insulated house. But that wasn’t the heat that kept Evangeline Martel awake, it was the heat of desire that flowed through her body.
Evangeline cast a circle and then sat down in the middle of it. Despite her initial enthusiasm, this had not been an easy decision. Evangeline knew that love spells were not to be taken lightly. Through the years, she had seen lonely women come to her grandmother, seeking assistance in finding true love or holding on to a man who was ready to pull up stakes and move on. Love spells could back-fire on you. So, Evangeline had to be very careful.
He was out there. She could feel him. Their paths had not crossed; she would have known, she would have recognized him. And she longed to see his face. Tonight, she would.
Sipping a tea made from orange peel and meadowsweet, she closed her eyes and willed herself into a trance like state. Holding her palms upward, she hummed - just a couple of notes - a melodic, poignant repetition that settled her mind and opened her spirit to the powers that surrounded her. When she felt that she had made a connection to the Goddess, she lit a red candle and uncovered the black scrying mirror that lay before her.
Placing her hands over the mirror, but not touching the surface she began to speak.
“Mirror of power, show me his face
Show me my true love, through time and space
Bring me his image, revealed in your light
Share with me, your vision, bring him to my sight.
Slowly, she moved her hands away. At first the surface of the mirror was smooth, but then - it was as if it became fluid and a mist seemed to rise from the depths of the blackness. A light began to glow from deep within the reflection. Evangeline’s heart began to race and her blood was rushing so fast that it roared in her ears. She leaned over the mirror, her long dark hair creating an ebony curtain on either side of her face. “Come on sweetheart, let me see you,” she spoke to him as if he could hear her.
A form began to appear. It moved closer, slowly, as if coming from a long distance. Evangeline closed her eyes, willing him to come to her. “Come on, baby, I’ve waited for you so long.” She opened her eyes. And gasped.
An image was in the mirror. It was a man, and he . . .was . . .beautiful. No human being should be so perfect. “Please, let him be real.” she prayed. He didn’t look real. He looked like an angel. Angel. Until she had a name, that was what she would call him. Hair of gold, eyes of green, a body that Adonis would die for, and he would be hers? “Come to me, love. I can’t wait to hold you.” Her grandmother would faint at the sacrilege, but Evangeline couldn’t help herself, she bent down and kissed the surface of the scrying mirror. Because right now, it was as close as she could get.
Evangeline Martel could never leave well enough alone. Now, that she had seen Angel, she wanted him. As her hands fashioned the clay, they itched to touch his skin. As her fingers molded his muscles, they longed to knead into his flesh. She had it bad. If she were a regular girl, she would have sighed with longing and endured. But she wasn’t. What was the use of possessing ancient tomes of wisdom if they just lay on the shelf to catch dust?
On the second floor of the small house that she rented, Evangeline had made a ‘craft room’. The thought had made her laugh. So many Martha Stewart wannabe’s had craft rooms filled with hot glue guns, paper cutters, beads and such. However, her craft room was different. It was full of herbs, oils, gemstones and candles. A rug lay on the floor that was inscribed with a circle. Next to the window, a small altar sat that held her bell, her Book of Shadows and a beautiful pentagram carved from a sacred oak. Bookshelves lined the walls, each level laden down with books concerning the craft. The types of magick represented were myriad - there was Celtic, Hoodoo, Voodoo, and Santeria - even Egyptian. There were books on the magical uses of herbs and the proper way to use crystals. Far Eastern knowledge was also represented with books on Reiki and chakras. If a spell was needed, Evangeline had no excuse.
Sitting on the floor, she thumbed through a likely volume. Yes, here it was. ’How To Call Your Dream Lover To You’. Perfect.
Evangeline lay alone in her bed and longed for a man.
Not just any man would do, it had to be him. She closed her eyes and willed him to come to her. She wasn’t dreaming, she wasn’t even asleep. Evangeline was wide-awake and desperately hungry for his touch. Her eyes went to the closed door of her bedroom. She imagined that it opened slowly.
Someone was standing there, in the shadows.
‘Oh Goddess, please let it be him,’ she breathed. Then, the figure stepped forward and her body began to tingle. It was Angel! He had heard her heart’s cry. He had come.
Her eyes devoured him. His chest and shoulders were massive, yet he was lean and hard and muscled to perfection. A pair of jeans, low slung, covered powerful thighs and tight hips. But what caused the cleft between her legs to dew with excitement was the blatant evidence of his desire for her. Angel was immensely aroused, his erection straining the threads that kept it bound.
She came to her knees on the bed and held her hand out to him, pleading for him to come closer. Her dark blue eyes, the color of the Caribbean Sea at twilight, locked with eyes of the deepest forest green. “Angel, I need you so.” At first glance, his face appeared hard and unyielding, with high cheekbones and a strong jaw line. But his lips were sensuous and when he smiled at her, a hint of a dimple next to his mouth made her want to probe the tiny well with her tongue.
“Do you want me, love?” he asked, already sure of her answer. He came to her, placing one knee on the bed next to her, pulling her body close to his. Evangeline’s breathing grew ragged. She clung to him, pressing her needy breasts to his rock-hard chest.
“I am desperate for you, ” she confessed. She let her tongue play over his chest, circling his nipples, nipping at the defined pecs. Her hands were not still. She feverishly caressed his shoulders, slid her palms down his arms, around his waist and up his back. He moaned his enjoyment, his hands cupping her hips, kneading. Pulling her tightly against him, his own hips begin to buck slowly against her, pushing rhythmically, letting her know that being inside of her was all he could think about..
Breaking the embrace, she pulled her own gown over her head, anxious to feel his hot skin rub against her own fevered body. “Take these off,” she urged, unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans, pushing them down his hips. Her hands cupped him through the cotton briefs, tracing the living evidence of his manhood. “I love how your cock jumps in my hand.” In answer to her caress, he ripped the jeans and briefs from his legs, giving her full access to all that he was. She pushed him back on the bed and knelt over him. “I can’t get enough of you.” She took him in her hand, marveling at the length and breadth of him. “You are so thick. I cannot tell you much I want you to push deep inside of me, stretching me, filling me. I ache for you.” He tried to sit up, anxious to do what her words described. But she would not have it, not yet. She took him in her hand, rubbing him up and down, letting her other hand gently massage his sac, a growl escaping from his lips as she teased his round, hard balls. She couldn’t keep her mouth off him. He tasted salty, musky, and manly. Her tongue tickled the head of his penis. But that wasn’t enough. He pushed it up toward her lips, and she gave him what he longed for. She took as much of him into her mouth as she could, letting her tongue and lips feast on him. Setting a pace that was designed to drive him mad, she moved her mouth up and down his rod until he lifted her from him, laid her back and rose over her.
“Are you ready for me?” He cupped her vulva, the creamy wetness that he found a testimony to her excitement.
“Completely.” Evangeline closed her eyes, lifted her hips and relished the exquisite thrill that rushed through her when he began to enter her trembling depths. “Oh, Angel - I’ve dreamed of this for so long!” She flexed her inner muscles, drawing him deeper, hungrily pulling him in, until he was buried completely - their joining a merging of minds and hearts, as well as bodies. “How does this feel?” she asked as she undulated her hips, milking his shaft with the contractions of her vagina.
“Amazing.” He leaned over her, drinking from her lips, scorching her neck with hot, wet kisses, and then blazing a trail from the hollow of her throat to the peak of a plump, swollen nipple that throbbed with need. He wet her nipple with his tongue, then blew his heated breath on it, causing it to thrust upward seeking his attention. “Do you want me to suck them, love?”
“Oh, please.” He gave her relief; opening his lips wide, taking as much of her breast into his mouth as he could. Then he began to pull on the areola, creating a mind-blowing suction that spiraled directly to her clitoris, forcing a groan from her lips. He laved the swollen bud with his tongue, and then he began to move. In and out, in and out, increasing the rhythm until she was mad with sensation. He held her up, moved to her other breast and gave it the same heart-melting attention. All the while, he was plunging, pumping, rocking, thrusting, pleasuring her until she arched off the bed and shuddered in unspeakable ecstasy.
The contractions of her climax went on and on, spurring him toward an explosion of heat and light. “Oh, Angel - I love you so.” She held her arms up to him, ready to draw him down for a sweet, deep kiss.
But her hands closed over nothingness. He was not there, he never had been.
“Holy Shit!” Eric McAllister woke up from the wettest dream he had ever had. Lord, you’d think he was sixteen years old, again. Damn! To be honest, he had never had a dream like this at sixteen or since then. He looked down at himself and the sheets. Laughing at his predicament, he began extricating himself from his bed linens. Cum was everywhere, he had exploded in the most thunderous orgasm of his life. Desperately, he tried to hang on to the feeling, to the touch of those hands, to the velvety rasp of her tongue. God in heaven, she had been the hottest lay in he had ever - - - and it had all been a dream.
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