SRU Reforming the Brat
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SRU: Crockett's Last Stand free porn video
SRU: Crockett's Last Stand
By JDCopyhack
"You all go to Hell and I'm goin' to Texas."
With those words, the bittersweet political career of Davy Crockett came to an
end. Having just lost his re-election bid for a fourth term in congress, he
mounted his horse and began the long, lonely journey back to his farm in the
green hills of Tennessee. At one time, he had aspirations of running for
president, possibly as soon as Andrew Jackson's term ended. But now, his dreams
had been shattered.
He had been used as a pawn by the present administration while congress
attempted to pass an Indian Bill that would herd the various tribes into small
parcels of land called reservations. Over the years, Davy had learned to respect
the Indians and had earned their trust in the process. So, one day, he returned
to Washington from a speaking engagement, stormed onto the Capitol floor, and
said his piece. His opposition to the bill proved to be political suicide.
On the journey home, he fiddled with an idea that might help him regain some of
his lost pride. Across the Mississippi there was a new republic forming called
Texas. The settlers there were locked in a difficult struggle for independence
with the Mexican government. Their adversary was Generalissimo Antonio Lopez de
Santa Anna, the president of Mexico, commander of its armies, and the self-
proclaimed Napoleon of the West.
Davy had learned of the troubles taking place in Texas during the latter stages
of his congressional term. While Washington had not officially come out in
support of the burgeoning republic, many Americans had already joined the fight
for freedom. In return, the Texican government had promised land to any man who
came to bear arms against the Mexican menace.
By the time Davy returned to his home, the plan was all mapped out. He would
ride into Texas amidst much fanfare, a savior among mere men, and would
negotiate a truce with Santa Anna, perhaps over a bottle of Tennessee's finest
sour mash. After all, for all of his acclaim as an Indian fighter, his gift of
gab was still his greatest asset. In return for his efforts, the grateful
Texicans would elect Davy president of the new republic. Now nearing 50 years
old, he figured this might be his last chance at regaining his faded glory.
Soon, Davy kissed his wife goodbye and bade farewell to his children. "We'll be
together soon," he told them. "Our new house will be settin' on more of God's
green earth than your eyes could possibly see."
With that, he fixed his wide-brimmed hat atop his head and rode off with a band
of 12 men, whom he called his "Tennessee Boys." Among them was Jericho Smith, a
life-long friend, who was skeptical of Davy's plan, but followed him blindly as
always.
"You know what I always say," Davy told his friend the night before. "Be sure
you're right, then go ahead."
"I'll tell you this, Jericho. I know I'm right. I can feel it in my bones."
***
By the end of January 1836, they crossed wearily into Texas, and were greeted
with rolling green hills and towering forests. By now, Davy had heard that the
rebellion had intensified. Santa Anna himself was leading the Mexican forces
toward the town of San Antonio de Bexar, to recapture an aging mission turned
fortress called the Alamo, which had been lost by the Mexicans in a skirmish
with the Texican rebels.
"So, where to now, Davy," Jericho asked as they made camp along a small stream
running through an open forest.
"Well, seems to me that San Antonio's the place to be," he answered. "Looks like
thar's going to be a fair bit of fightin' goin' on and I don't want to miss out
on the fun."
Jericho nodded, then turned his attention to fixing a fire. While the others
went hunting for food, Davy grabbed the tin coffeepot and headed down toward the
stream, where we was greeted by an unusual sight.
There, bathing in the water, was an old man with a long white beard. Nearby
stood a covered wagon with the words "Spells R Us - Magical Remedies For
Whatever Ails You" painted in bright red letters on the over-stretched canvas.
"How's the water, mister," Davy called out.
The old man turned around and smiled, as if expecting this moment.
"Well, I see you finally made it. I wasn't sure how long that snow storm near
Little Rock was going to hold you up."
"You been followin' me, mister?" Davy snarled. "Cause if yer fixin' to do
something funny, I'd think twice if I was you. My boys are just itchin' fer a
fight."
"Oh, trust me, I mean you no harm," the old man said stepping out of the stream,
wringing water from his beard. "In fact, I came here to help you."
"You want to help? Why don't you start by puttin' some clothes on?"
"Oh my, I nearly forgot. I must look quite the sight. Please, give me a moment."
With that, the old man closed his eyes and did a slow pirouette. As he turned, a
tattered blue bathrobe materialized upon his slender frame.
"There, that's better. Please, sit down, Mr. Crockett."
Davy simply stared in amazement. Nothing he had ever seen compared to what just
took place before his very eyes.
"Do not be afraid, Davy. May I call you Davy?"
Yeah, sure, some people call me that."
"I know how hard this past year has been for you," the old man continued.
"Especially after that ugly mess in congress. To be honest, I never could stand
politicians. And now you feel that your best years are behind you. You see the
gray in your hair, feel the creak in your bones. You feel time is passing you
by, don't you, Davy?"
"How do you know all this?"
"You see, Davy, I'm a wizard. Now tell me how I can help you."
Davy pondered the situation. He had heard about the witches who practiced the
black arts in the foothills of the Tennessee mountains. But those were just
yarns his daddy told him to work up a good scare around the campfire.
"There's no such thing as wizards, old man. Why don't you finish up yer business
and get goin'. Yer runnin' outta daylight."
"I know it's hard for you to believe, Davy. But tell me, what do you have to
lose by believing in me? If I am just a crazy old man like you think, then you
will be no worse off than you are now. But if I am telling the truth..."
"You know what, old man? I don't believe a thing you are telling me. But I'll
play along if it'll jes get you outta here that much quicker."
"Good. Now tell me, what is it you seek in Texas? It can't be fame, because
you're better known than even the president. Fortune? From what I know, money
has never been a concern of yours. So, what then? Redemption?"
The old man had struck a nerve.
"I've already done more things than most men even dream about. But..."
"Go on, Davy."
"I'm not much of a fightin' man anymore. I mean, I'm still a good shot, the best
around, but I'd much rather talk myself outta a skirmish than shoot my way outta
one."
"I see," the wizard said, still twisting water out of his long beard.
"I figure if I can jes get Santy Anna alone for a few minutes, I can talk some
reason into him. Jes like I did with the Creek Indians."
"Now we're getting somewhere," the wizard replied, cleaning his ears with a
cloth. "May I ask what's stopping you?"
"Well, let's face it, he's surrounded by thousands of soldiers. I'm sure to get
cut low before I get a chance to talk with him."
"So, it seems to me then, that what you need is to be assured of a safe, private
meeting with Santa Anna."
"Yes, that's it exactly."
"Well, Davy, I have just the thing."
The wizard lifted himself to his feet and stepped back towards the covered
wagon. He rummaged through a trunk for a few minutes before returning with an
odd-looking fur cap with a tail.
"Here, Davy, this will help."
Davy took the object and stared at it. It seemed to stare right back through two
eye sockets fixed on the front.
"A hat?"
"Not just any hat, Davy, but a COONSKIN cap. Trust me, someday this will be all
the rage."
Davy removed his wide-brimmed hat, but as he attempted to put the coonskin cap
atop his head, the wizard interjected.
"Not yet! You must wait to put it on until you are fully prepared to meet with
Santa Anna. Only then will the magic work."
"Okay. How much ya askin' fer it?"
"How about we make a trade? The cap for your knife?"
Crockett reached down toward his beltline and removed the blade from its sheath.
The knife had been a present from his father, who made it for him shortly after
Davy was born. The younger Crockett used it for the first time when he was only
three years old to kill a bear that had attacked the family's livestock.
In the fading sunlight, Crockett looked at the reflection that stared back at
him from the silver blade. What he saw was an old man, once filled with purpose,
now seemingly lost in the wilderness. Perhaps this cap would help him regain the
confidence and tenacity of his youth.
"You got yerself a deal!"
The wizard took the knife, admired it, and then walked back to the covered wagon
where he stored it safely in the same wooden trunk that had produced the
coonskin cap. When he returned, he held out his hand and wished Davy well.
"Now, you better be going, Davy. Your friends are bound to come looking for you,
and quite honestly, I prefer not to be seen by anyone else."
"I understand. 'Sides, I'm getting kinda hungry anyway."
Davy turned and started back towards camp. After a few steps, he looked back.
The wizard and covered wagon were gone.
***
Davy and his Tennessee Boys enlisted in the Texican army as volunteers and
arrived at the Alamo on February 8, 1836. Leading a force of over 4,000 battle-
tested soldiers, Santa Anna arrived two weeks later and immediately took up
residence in the opulent home of the town's mayor.
Constructed of adobe, the Alamo was anything but fit for battle. Its vast
expanse, crumbling walls, and lack of parapets would make it difficult to defend
for even for an army five times the size of the 186-man Texican garrison. Yet,
for 12 days, they persevered under constant bombardment by Santa Anna's cannons.
But after a dozen nights, Colonel William Barret Travis, who had assumed total
command of the garrison after Jim Bowie took ill, gathered his men in the main
plaza.
Explaining that reinforcements would not be coming and that defeat was imminent,
he drew a line in the cold, hard ground with his saber and appealed to each man
to step across the line and join him in a fight to the death. All but two men
crossed the line. One, a sickly Bowie, asked to be carried across the line as
the garrison cheered. The other, a man named Moses Rose, who had fought with
Napoleon at Waterloo, was not as gallant. Later that evening, he scaled the
walls and disappeared into the night only to spend the rest of his life
defending his cowardice.
***
As the night dragged on, an eerie silence fell over the fortress. For the first
time since the siege began, the Mexican cannons were quiet. Exhausted, the Alamo
defenders lapsed into a deep slumber. All, that is, except for Davy, who fumbled
through his pack until he found the coonskin cap. The time had come to test the
old man's magic.
He removed his wide-brimmed hat and laid it besides the trusty long rifle he
named "Betsy." His old friend, Jericho, slept nearby, and Davy glanced in his
direction before scaling the low palisade fence he had been assigned to defend.
Slipping the coonskin cap onto his head, he felt an odd tingle that swept
through his entire body. It startled him at first, but soon he regained his
composure and crept slowly toward the Mexican camp.
The first hint that something was not quite right came when he looked down to
see his pant legs fusing together then change colors, from a dirty tan to a
vibrant swirl of orange, yellow, and blue. The material, now made of soft
pleated cotton rather than animal skin, billowed out as if to form a woman's
dress. Next to be affected was his coat, which turned a satiny white with a
neckline that plunged toward his swelling chest. The increasing heaviness
alarmed him and Davy looked down to see an ample bosom.
More changes followed, each quicker than the last. His hair became long, black,
and lustrous. His hands became thin and feminine. He felt a gnashing of bone as
his body shrank and reformed. His hips flared, waist narrowed. His movements
became more fluid. Even his skin changed from a pasty white to a creamy shade of
olive.
Despite the many changes and the confusion swirling about his brain, Davy
continued toward the Mexican camp. Suddenly, he doubled over in pain as he felt
a sharp tug in his groin. A gust of cold wind lifted the cap from his head and
blew it beyond reach into the dark prairie. Still he moved forward, feeling
better with each step.
Suddenly, he was confronted by a Mexican sentry and was startled at how tall he
seemed.
"What are you doing here," the sentry asked.
"I am here to see His Excellency," Davy answered, surprised at the softness of
his voice. Equally surprising was how fluent his Spanish had become.
"Ah, yes, I was told that the General would be entertaining tonight. Please
excuse me and I will summon his valet."
As the moments passed, Davy marveled at how easily he was able to secure an
audience with Santa Anna. Soon, they would be laughing it up and wondering what
all the fuss was about.
"You are late," a man said as he emerged from the darkness. "We must hurry. His
Excellency is running out of time."
As the man showed Davy to Santa Anna's quarters, he again marveled at how tall
his escort was, especially since he had heard the Mexicans were a fairly small
people.
The valet opened the door and ushered Davy inside a lavish sitting room.
"Please, sit," he said, pointing to a red velvet couch. "His Excellency will be
with you shortly."
Davy scanned the room. It spoke of wealth and power. This Santa Anna must be
quite full of himself, he thought. Tired of waiting for his host, he rose from
the couch and explored the room. At first, he was bothered by the annoying swish
of the dress he wore, but now he seemed more comfortable in the fabric. The same
could be said for the breasts that adorned his chest. They were large and heavy,
but again, he seemed to adjust quite naturally.
Across the room he spied a mirror. What he saw in the reflection took his breath
away. Instead of seeing the weathered face of an aging frontiersman, he gazed
upon the lovely visage of a Mexican senorita, not much more than 17 years old.
Davy gasped at the sight of full, red lips and wide, smoldering eyes. The black
hair cascaded down upon his shoulders and framed his face beautifully. Stepping
backwards to get a fuller look, he noticed a most voluptuous body.
With his now feminine hands tipped with red nails that matched the shade of his
lips, he reached towards his face and felt the silky skin where just moments
before there had been a two-week growth of beard. Examining further, he cupped
his full breasts and rubbed them gently. The sensation he generated brought an
unexpected smile to his face.
"What happened," he wondered aloud as he continued to gaze upon the beautiful
young woman he had become. But as he searched his brain for clues, he found few
answers. His search was soon interrupted by the sounds of a door opening and
boots clomping heavily on the tile floor. He turned quickly to see Santa Anna
dressed in full military regalia.
"Please, join me on the couch," he said in a gentlemanly tone. Davy easily
obliged.
"Would you care for some wine, my dear," Santa Anna asked, reaching for a bottle
and two glasses that had been left on the table behind him.
"Yes, that would be lovely," Davy answered, amazed at his breathy response.
"You may call me Antonio. What is your name?"
Davy searched the deep recesses of his memory, but the answer was not what he
expected.
"My name is Maria Consuela de la Pena."
The general moved closer.
"That is such a pretty name, but not as pretty as you."
Putting his glass down, he placed an arm around the new woman and gently guided
her to the next room, where a stately bed awaited them. There, in the soft glow
of candlelight, whatever last shred of his previous life Davy was holding onto
disappeared forever. Gone was the man of frontier legend, replaced by a young
woman who skillfully and instinctively brought pleasure to the most powerful man
in Mexico.
Santa Anna had never been with such a passionate woman. For the next hour, he
felt the warm embrace of her full lips upon his throbbing member and suckled her
bountiful breasts. And when he finally entered her, it was if this moment had
been pre-ordained. Each powerful thrust was greeted with a loving kiss, a gentle
caress, and an excitable moan. And by the time he emptied himself inside her, he
knew he had found his soulmate. They remained entwined in each other's warm
embrace until a knock on the door signaled an end to the tryst.
"General, it's time."
***
The peace of the pre-dawn hours soon gave way to chaos with the blood-curdling
sound of the "Deguello," the Mexican signal that no mercy would be given. As the
trumpets blared, four columns of Mexican soldiers stormed the Alamo from all
sides. Awakened at his post along the southern palisade, Jericho Smith grabbed
his rifle and leaped into action.
"Let's give 'em what fer, Davy."
There was no response.
Jericho fired into the darkness and soon, the first wave was repelled. As the
Texicans cheered, Jericho looked to his right expecting to see his old friend.
Instead, all he saw were the familiar wide-brimmed hat and prized rifle. With
little time to speculate on his friend's fate, Jericho put on the hat and took
hold of the rifle, hoping that Davy's marksmanship would somehow rub off.
Within minutes, the Mexicans again stormed the Alamo, only to be set back a
second time. But during the third assault, a breech opened up in the northern
wall of the compound. The Mexicans flooded into the main plaza and overwhelmed
the outnumbered defenders. The Alamo had fallen.
***
Though his troops had suffered over 600 casualties, Santa Anna entered the main
gate of the vanquished fortress to rousing cheers. "Viva Santa Anna," his men
shouted as the sun rose high in the sky. Before drinking to his victory, he
asked to see the bodies of the Alamo commanders. Travis died at the north wall;
a single bullet wound marked his forehead. Bowie was found on his cot inside the
chapel, his body pierced by more than a dozen bayonets.
Soon after inspecting the corpses and ordering them burned, the general was
summoned back to the main plaza. There, amidst his troops, were seven defenders
who had survived the battle and surrendered. Among them was a man wearing a
unique, wide-brimmed hat.
Jericho's mountain instincts had served him well during the battle. After the
Mexicans had broken through, he bravely fought his way to the long barracks,
where he and several others stood their ground, picking off the Mexicans one-by-
one as they entered the narrow quarters. But gunpowder and bullets were scarce,
and soon the remaining defenders ran out of both.
A compassionate Mexican officer, perhaps sickened by the carnage his army had
wreaked, offered the protection of surrender. Jericho and the others had little
choice but to accept his terms and were paraded out into the open. On more than
one occasion throughout the siege, Davy had climbed atop the Alamo's highest
wall and dared the army to attack. He even fired off several volleys, killing
more than a few Mexicans. Now, still wearing his friend's distinctive hat,
Jericho was mistaken for the famous frontiersman.
"Kwockety," the Mexican soldiers whispered as Jericho stood and stared at Santa
Anna. He decided to play the part as best he could.
"General, my name is Davy Crockett. I'm a congressman..."
"Silence," Santa Anna commanded. "I did not order anyone to take prisoners."
With that, he turned his back and waved his hand.
"Kill them all!"
***
Maria Consuela awoke sometime around noon, oblivious to the battle that had
raged hours earlier. That night she would make love to Santa Anna again, just as
she would for each of his remaining nights in San Antonio. In return, Santa Anna
showered her with gifts of silver, turquoise, and perfume. To many, she would
seem to be a prostitute, trading sexual favors for expensive trinkets. But the
truth was, Santa Anna had fallen in love with the young beauty and she felt the
same way. She was intoxicated by his power, yet entranced by the gentle, loving
way he treated her. No man had ever made her feel this way before.
"I will return for you," he said before leaving San Antonio to continue his
crusade. "You will love Mexico City. I shall build a palace in your honor."
As he kissed her hand gently, visions of adoring crowds lauding the mighty
conqueror and his new bride filled his imagination. Then, he wiped a tear from
her cheek and mounted his horse. Maria Consuela continued to sob as Santa Anna
and his army disappeared beyond the horizon.
Several weeks later, Santa Anna's army was defeated at San Jacinto. In return
for his freedom, he agreed to recognize Texas as an independent republic. He
never returned to San Antonio.
***
In the days and weeks that passed, Maria Consuela discovered the irony of her
situation. She was happy that Texas had achieved the independence her people had
fought so hard for, yet she grieved for the loss of the only man she ever loved.
But, time has a way of healing all wounds. In the years that followed, more
settlers flocked to San Antonio. One, a young man named Will Purdy, captured her
heart. Soon they were married.
***
Maria Consuela died in 1898 at the age of 79. At her graveside, she was
eulogized as a woman who had persevered through the most turbulent of times to
emerge as a loving wife, mother, and grandmother. For 50 years, she provided
loving support to her husband, who she was now buried next to in a small plot of
land at the far end of the spacious ranch they had built together. She taught
her three daughters the flowing movements of the festive Mexican dances and how
to embroider their own clothes, and she raised two strapping sons, who both went
on to serve as Texas Rangers.
There could be no finer tribute, the wizard thought as he watched the ceremony
from a nearby hilltop. Though the legend of Davy Crockett would grow to mythic
proportions with the passing of time, the legacy of Maria Consuela would live on
in the hearts, minds, and traditions of her family.
Redemption? Let history be the judge.
***
Author's Notes: Contrary to popular belief and cinematic presentation, there is
no historical evidence that suggests Davy Crockett ever wore anything even
resembling a coonskin cap (sorry Walt, Fess, and Duke). However, according to
Mexican accounts published following the battle, there is ample evidence to
suggest that Crockett surrendered and was later executed. Thus the facts behind
my fiction.
Angelica
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