One day, shortly before the War Between the States broke out, me and my horse booked passage on a riverboat up to Cincinatti to see the World Exposition. Dark Dick was on the boat, running his shell game as usual. Cream of Caulk had disembarked at Vicksburg to visit relatives.
While we were strolling about the Texas deck to pass the time, we spotted a beautiful young woman. My horse whistled. I told him to mind his manners.
"Oh, it's all right," he said. "Me and her are old friends."
He introduced the woman to me as Trix Malone. She said she was bound for Cincinatti too, where she would take a ferry across the river, then a stagecoach down to Lexington and points beyond.
I asked her how she had met my horse.
"Oh, didn't you know? My folks were his original owners. He won the Kentucky Derby when I was a wee lass."
I looked at my horse incredulously. He was beaming proudly. "No, ma'am, I reckon that news got right past me."
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(05-02-2018, 06:35 PM)Guest Wrote: " . . . He won the Kentucky Derby when I was a wee lass."
LOL, what the fuck.
(05-02-2018, 06:43 PM)Trix Wrote: LOL, what the fuck. True story!
When she turned sixteen, Trix discovered she had amazing powers: clairvoyance, telepathy, astral projection, you name it. She was afraid to tell people about her newfound gifts, lest they accuse her of being a witch. In those days, witchcraft was considered by devout Christians to be synonymous with devil worship.
At age nineteen, Trix befriended a sickly colt who was born on the family farm and cast a spell on him, turning him into champion racehorse. That was the same horse who would later become the central figure in this here yarn.
Trix was working as a laboratory assistant for Genba, the renowned inventor, when she met Dark Dick. They tried to elope, but her father, a man of considerable influence, was having none of it. He hired the Pinkerton agency to track her down and fetch her back home. She was inconsolable for a time, but she eventually got over it.
At age twenty-five, Trix was killed in a stampede at an exhibition of Buffalo Bill's Wild West Show in Knoxville, and reanimated by Genba in his laboratory a little over a year later.
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(05-02-2018, 07:12 PM)Guest Wrote: At age twenty-five, Trix was killed in a stampede at an exhibition of Buffalo Bill's Wild West Show in Knoxville, and reanimated by Genba in his laboratory a little over a year later.
Oh my God, FUCK yes!!!
Somebody knows what we're into!!!
05-02-2018, 08:05 PM
Wonder when the HOBO is going to catch up with Zane. The HOBO in Zanes hop the freight train video here is the Link
is Bo Keeley / Steven Keeley He was buddies with that weirdo Hydrick guy at one time. I doubt Bo Keeley victimized Zane
and it deal was probably the other way around.
Well anyway it is just a matter of time and Zane will get held responsible for his unlawful activities.
Zanes wife was also found guillty in a court of law in Ft Worth recently.
Oh well Zane is scamming alot of people with all his actions via youtube What a hero they have there in the real world he
is only a simple scammer using youtube and ebegging to pay for his drug / alcohol addictions.
I bought my horse from a man in Arkansas in 1855. The man was a judge and horse trader who had just been elected to Congress, and he was selling off his property and livestock to move his wife and eight young'uns to Washington, D.C.
I was astonished to learn the horse could not only talk, but had a wicked sense of humor to boot. The novelty of a talking horse wore off after awhile, and I was thankful to have someone to converse with on those long, lonely rides across the wild frontier. Years later, on a steamboat journey up the Mississippi, I would meet the person responsible for the horse's unique abilities.
Me and my horse struck out for the wide open West from Arkansas to seek our fortune. We dabbled in a little bit of everything, with modest success. My horse was an Indian agent and fur trapper at various points, while I worked mostly as a guard on Wells-Fargo coaches hauling gold and silver from the mines in the West to the relative safety of the big banks further east. We were both deputy sheriffs for a few months down in Arizona.
One day as I was transferring a shipment of gold from the coach to a monorail bound for Fort Knox, a voice from behind me said, "Put your hands in the air and don't move."
I did as the voice instructed. I had heard that command many a time in my line of work, but this time something was different. It was a woman's voice. I caught a glimpse of her face reflected in the window of the depot. A bandana covered the lower part of her face, but I recognized her, all right. I had seen that face on "wanted" posters all over the territory.
It was the face of Cream of Caulk.
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I should write some filthy dirty literotica about me and Zane.
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(05-02-2018, 08:11 PM)Guest Wrote: I was astonished to learn the horse could not only talk, but had a wicked sense of humor to boot.
Dude's on some good shit!!!
(05-02-2018, 08:11 PM)Guest Wrote: It was the face of Cream of Caulk.
Before Trix and Creamy came out west, they worked at the perfume counter in a department store in St Louis. To get by on their meager wages, they shared a room in a run-down tenement.
Sensing that the struggling young girls faced starvation, the owner of a seedy riverfront dive recruited them for a stage show with promises of stardom and wealth. They accepted the job and a generous cash advance without first finding out what he had in mind for them.
Trix was taken aback when she saw the costume he wanted her to wear. She tried to refuse, but the manager said, "A deal is a deal."
Creamy, who was a little more daring, wasn't as mortified as Trix -- until she learned what he wanted them to do while they were wearing the costumes. Then she, too, wanted to back out of the deal. No dice.
They tried to flee, but the manager barred the way out. They were trapped. Resigned to their fate, they took the costumes into the squallid dressing room and put them on, emerging a few minutes later with a dejected look on their faces.
"Excellent," said the manager. "Very nice indeed. Now go out there and work it."
Me and my horse were camping out under a giant redwood tree in California and eating peyote buttons one balmy summer evening, pondering the mysteries of life and what-not, when he turned to me and said, " I wonder how Trix is doing."
I didn't know who Trix was at the time. This was a few years before we met. "Trix who?"
"Never mind. Forget about it," he said sullenly and went back to contemplating his navel.
A lone cargo shuttle rattled overhead. On its way to San Francisco to deliver a load of hashish, no doubt.
A few minutes passed. The horse stood up abruptly and sauntered off.
"Where are you going?" I inquired.
"I have to take a leak. Do you mind?"
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(05-02-2018, 09:16 PM)Guest Wrote: Me and my horse were camping out under a giant redwood tree in California and eating peyote buttons one balmy summer evening, pondering the mysteries of life and what-not, when he turned to me and said, " I wonder how Trix is doing."
I didn't know who Trix was at the time. This was a few years before we met. "Trix who?"
"Never mind. Forget about it,"
Awwwwwweeeeeee thouuuugggghhhh!!!!!!!!!!!
One of Trix's more compelling stage shows, and the one that propelled her to instant stardom, was the one where she pulled flaming fireballs from under her petticoats, to the delight and astonishment of the audience. Nobody knew she was a witch at the time, so how she kept them under there without setting her clothes and herself ablaze was a complete mystery to all, even the great scientist and inventor, Genba.
It was also at that juncture in her career that any of us saw Trix completely naked from head to toe for the first and only time ever.
And, although the episode was quite possibly the first wardrobe malfunction in cinema history, it wasn't because her clothes had caught on fire.
The silent movie industry was starting to take off in a major way in 1888. Trix was riding high on the success of her fireball show and wanted to get in on the ground floor. She took a teleport to Los Angeles and met a big shot producer who had seen her show and hired her right away.
She was to play Lady Godiva.
A very long wig was supposed to cover all of her lady bits, exposing only her limbs and midriff.
Supposed to.
There was a hook hanging over the stage, and one thing led to another, and... well, you figure it out.
Me and my horse saw the whole ordeal from backstage. "Poor Trix!" I gasped.
The horse snickered.
I elbowed him in the ribs. Hard.
He stomped on my foot.
I poked him in the eye.
A comedy trio who witnessed that backstage exchange between me and my horse would later make it the basis of their entire decades-long film career.
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(05-02-2018, 09:56 PM)Guest Wrote: One of Trix's more compelling stage shows, and the one that propelled her to instant stardom, was the one where she pulled flaming fireballs from under her petticoats, to the delight and astonishment of the audience.
Literally want to cry right now at the beauty of this mental image.
Trix was well into the fifth decade of her film career before anyone noticed that she hadn't aged a day since Genba resurrected her, over sixty years before.
I was an old geezer. Genba was an old geezer. Dark Dick was an old geezer. So was my horse. Creamy, as lovely as she still was, was showing her age.
But not Trix. She still looked twenty-five. She had to be eighty-five by now.
She had told us all she was a witch back in 1926 or thereabouts, but still....
I asked my horse about it while we were sitting at the card table in the game room of our Pebble Beach bungalow playing gin rummy one day.
"What do you think?"
He looked at me over the rims of his bifocals. "About what?"
"You know. Is it her magic, or something Genba did in the lab that day?"
The horse shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe neither. Maybe both."
Cream of Caulk stopped by in her custom hover car that a Mexican chop shop had tricked out to look like a old timey hearse, with flames painted on the front quarter panels.
"What's shakin', Creamy? Rob any stagecoaches today?"
"You know I gave all of that up decades ago, you old buzzard."
And so she had. The long arm of the law had finally caught up with Creamy and her band of outlaws. She had done hard time. She had gotten religion. She still dressed slutty though, so it ain't all bad.
"What do you think Trix's secret is?" I asked her.
"I know exactly what it is, but I swore I'd never tell."
"Oh, you'll tell," I replied. "Come over here and sit on my lap."
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Oh I see what this is now...
The Picture of Trix Gray.
(05-02-2018, 11:11 PM)Trix Wrote: Oh I see what this is now...
The Picture of Trix Gray.
Huh? Has this story already been done?
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Just a tiny part of it!
(05-02-2018, 11:15 PM)Trix Wrote:
Just a tiny part of it!
That last segment was drawn somewhat loosely from Heinlein's To Sail Beyond the Sunset and some of his other Lazarus Long novels, but I left out a lot of really raunchy stuff. LOL
When Trix was a young woman, sometime before she started training racehorses and riding them to victory in national horse races, she liked to make mud pies in interesting shapes that offended the sensibilities of the straight-laced womenfolk of her sleepy little town. Many a distraught lady would come calling to tell Trix's parents what they had seen, and demand that they do something to curb their child's creative impulses.
But Trix would not be curbed. Her artistic creations became ever more realistic and lifelike, until even her own mother could no longer deny what they uniquely resembled. Her sculptures became larger and larger too, reaching such immense proprtions that they could no longer be kept hidden from travellers passing on the road in front of the house. Indeed, they eventually became so large that they towered over the countryside and could be seen from miles away.
The flabbergasted townsfolk had finally had enough, and insisted that the judge order Trix's parents to send her away to a convent. Wishing to keep peace in the community, they reluctantly agreed.
That didn't solve anything, however. No sooner had she settled in at the convent than Trix proceeded to invoke the outrage of the denizens thereof with her works. The Mother Superior called in an exorcist to cast demons out of the child. She was required to spend every waking hour either kneeling in prayer or performing work in the nunnery's vast gardens.
Nevertheless, the sculptures kept coming and coming. They got bigger and bigger until the base of each one covered an entire homestead plot.
Then, on her sixteenth birthday, it suddenly stopped. Trix had sublimated all of the immense energy of the massive symbols and concentrated it deep within her soul.
And that's when the real magic started happening.
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