The Hole in My Leg
I have a hole in my leg, a small round depression about the size of the head of a thumbtack. It’s not real deep and it sort of reminds me of a small pox vaccination spot, like I used to see on people. The infamous hole is located on my right shin about midway between my knee and my foot. There is no pain – now. When Jess was small, he would irritate me by putting his finger in the hole and pressing. It didn’t really hurt, but I always expected it to hurt. So when I would fuss, he would just do it more and more – it became a game with him.
When he got old enough, he asked Big Sister – “how did you get that hole in your leg?” And I made the mistake of telling him the truth and now, every time I recount some tale of oddity, he’ll laugh at me and say – “Likely story. Sounds like the time you got the hole in your leg.”
But the story was true. Just because he doesn’t believe me, doesn’t mean the story wasn’t the whole truth and nothing but the truth.
So, let me tell you the tale of how I got the hole in my leg.
At the time of the ‘incident’, he and my mother and I were staying at the lake house in East Texas. The property has about twenty acres and he and I and the other cousins, were privileged to keep horses there for our riding enjoyment. And we did. We rode up and down every dirt road and out in the pastures and down by the lake. It was an idyllic time. Most of the time I rode bareback, the saddle was always just a little too heavy for me to hoist up on Comanche’s back. He was tall, but I was lithe and could bounce up there with no problem – then.
We loved to ride around town, down to the little store for soft drinks, around by the post office to get the mail, over the rail-road track and down the church-row, as I called it. Most of the streets in town were dirt roads and there were more hound dogs than traffic. A lot of times, I rode alone. Comanche was used to traffic. Eighteen wheelers and log trucks didn’t faze him. He was a good horse, but one day something did startle him. And me.
Comanche and I spent our days together. At the time of this story, Jess was probably two and I was eleven or he was one and I was ten, I can’t remember. This particular day, Comanche and I had gone on a jaunt and we were on our way home. Right in front of the lake house was a steep gravel road and we were heading down it at a trot. When out of nowhere there came this horrible, grinding, rushing, screaming noise! I thought the sky was falling. The only thing I have ever heard since that even rivals the noise I experienced that day was when the shuttle fell over our house in 2003, which was the largest rescue effort – bigger than 9/11 because it covered a huge amount of square miles. When the shuttle fell, it scattered debris over our lakehouse land and the deer camp. Remains of the astronauts and much wreckage were found scattered on our property. But the moment I heard that shuttle tearing through the sky, I thought the world was ending.
Looking back, this was the sort of noise I heard. Now, you can imagine what Comanche did. Even before I realized what had really happened, he went crazy. He reared up, he bucked, he kicked, he screamed and he ran. I was in shock, trying to control the horse and trying to tell where whatever was attacking us was coming from. And what it was – was a plane – a jet – a fighter jet. Barksdale Airforce base was only about an hour and a half away by car – probably only a few minutes by fighter jet and I know – I know – he was higher than I imagine. But as far as Comanche and I were concerned, it seemed like he skimmed the top of our heads. We were buzzed by a damn big plane.
And that’s not all – as the plane was screaming away and Comanche was panicking, he veered off the path and must have stomped a swarm of bees because in the midst of all of this chaos – bees started stinging us. One stung me in the leg and damn! It hurt. By this time, I was sobbing. I was scared. My horse – at that very moment – pitched me high in the air and I landed on that gravel and didn’t have the good sense to turn loose of the reins and I got dragged down the hill on the gravel. Obviously, I also did not have brains enough to wear jeans, I had the habit of riding in a little skimpy sundress – the same type garments I wear now, so my legs were unprotected and they got scraped and tore up – and stung.
I will tell you that I thought I was dead. I screamed and balled and sobbed and hollered. The whole county knew I was in dire straits. And my leg hurt! When my mother came out to see what all of the hell was about, and I tried to tell her – she laughed. She, like Jess, to this day does not believe that Comanche and I were attacked by a fighter jet while minding our own business. And to cap it off, when she looked at my leg, the bee’s stinger was still lodged there. And after she got it out and doctored me, a hole formed in my leg where the stinger had been.
And that is how I got the hole in my leg.
Now, I can tell a story. I love to tell stories. My books are a huge part of my life. Tales of the McCoys and the Cajuns and the Hill Country Good o’le boys are my imagination – mostly – ha! But the tale of the Hole in My Leg is the gospel truth.

About sablehunter

Sable Hunter writes erotic romance. She writes what she likes to read and enjoys putting her fantasies on paper. Her stories are emotional reads where the heroine is faced with challenges, like one of her favorite songs – she’s holding out for a hero – and boy, can she deliver a hero. Her aim is to write a story that will make you laugh, cry and sweat. If she can wring those emotions out of a reader, then she has done her job. She grew up in south Louisiana along the mysterious bayous where the Spanish moss hangs thickly over the dark waters. The culture of Louisiana has shaped her outlook on life and made its way into her novels where the supernatural is entirely normal. Presently, Sable lives in Texas and spends most of her time in wild and wonderful Austin. She is passionate about animals and has been known to charm creatures from a one ton bull to a family of racoons. For fun, Sable has been known to haunt cemeteries and battlefields armed with night-vision cameras and digital recorders hunting proof that love survives beyond the grave.She writes for Secret Cravings Publishing as well as publishes much of her own work. Join her in her world of magic, alpha heroes, sexy cowboys and hot, steamy, to-die-for sex. Step into the shoes of her heroines and escape to places where dreams can come true and orgasms only come in multiples.
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14 Responses to THE HOLE IN MY LEG

  1. Lillie Miller says:

    So funny. Lol I can picture you telling that story to your mom and

  2. Emma Fitzgerald says:

    Oh Sable! You really have had a full, exciting and interesting life!! 🙂 Love hearing little stories like this about people! And your’s never fail to entertain! 🙂

  3. Clare O'Beara says:

    Wow! what a story! You don’t need to invent much for your books do you!

  4. Becky Turner says:

    I love hearing personal stories from a persons childhood. You are such a great story teller, I can actually picture the events as you portray them- whether it be a childhood memory or baby making practice, you always give such vivid detail, that I either feel like I’m watching it happen or participating in it. You have a God given talent and I’m so thankful I stumbled upon your works.

  5. JeanMP says:

    That is quite the story, you certainly have led a very interesting life, very exciting. Thanks for telling us this story from your childhood.

  6. Love stories like this! Jess reminds me of my sons. They will tell their version of the story and that will be what everyone remembers and laughs at for years. It’s a guy thing, I swear.

  7. Love reading your post Sable….*S*
    I absolutely believe you…*S*.
    I think our experiences when we are younger have a way of sticking in our memories for our entire lives. Especially when involves fear and pain. Humans have forever memories when it comes to our sense of smell, fear and pain that forever log into our memory banks. Once it’s there it is NOT likely to leave within our our lifetime.
    I don’t know about anyone else, but I’ve had a run with a wasp nest, and pissed off termite who bit a chunk out of my leg. ***still shiver with “that” memory***, and a dime size scar to prove it too!


  8. Elaine S. says:

    Sable I can believe it…my grand parents house is about an hour outside the Columbus Air Force Base in Mississippi and the fighter jets come screaming over their house regularly. It does sound like they are just above your head. I also grew up with my dad working at Cape Kennedy. I got to go through launches of what ever missile was going at the time. Windows and ground shook. Plus the noise level was wickedly loud. So I can say I do believe you!!!!!

  9. Cindy Hamilton says:

    What a story, loved it!!

  10. Tiss says:

    I liked your story. I too have rode the country side horseback, not bareback, I always used a saddle, but used to know every place to go. Kind of miss doing that. Just you and a horse, no better way to be. And I ALWAYS wore jeans….
    Yeah, the instinct to hang onto those reins can be dangerous. Thanks for sharing.

  11. Mary Preston says:

    I can see why your Mother laughed. I laughed too. I could totally picture this.

  12. Wow, what a story. But, I’m not laughing. I rode bareback and it was idyllic. However, there were a few incidents… one of which was another horse that backed up full speed, kicked at my horse, but got my leg instead. The dent, the outline of the hoof, was there for years!

    Where I live now, there have been several times where jets screamed directly above our house, on purpose obviously, shaking the whole structure. No, I was not happy about it.

  13. wyndwhisper says:

    Hi Sable,
    I have no doubt that your story is true. I lived with my sister on an air force base for a little while and I could swear those jets were right on top of my head sometimes.
    but also because I have a story no one believes too. I grew up with 5 brothers and sisters and when we were little (youngest not even born yet) we had a goose. that goose loved the kids and would play just like a dog, until it heard me open the door. then it would sneak up to the end of the trailer and look around the corner and wait for me to come off the porch. at that point it would chase me around the yard trying to catch me. I was the only one it did this to.
    one day we were in the garden and mom sent me to get the hoe, on the way back that stupid goose snuck up behind me and grabbed me by the seat of my pants. I started screaming , he started honking and flapping his wings, I screamed louder and started crying because I was sure he was going to kill me, all while running in one spot. it must have been the most hilarious sight to see. to this day they still don’t believe me when I tell them that the goose was my stalker and was out to get me ~ LOL!
    tammy ramey

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