Gullible's Travels: Raw & Uncut

$22.95 / Perfectbound

ISBN: 9781457544361
582 pages

$9.99 / e-Book

Also available at fine
bookstores everywhere


From complete innocence to revenge and debauchery. Sexually explosive. Seriously humorous. Humorlessly serious. From shy naivety to kick-ass female empowerment. Based on the story of a true 1st Placed USA team that the US media ignored. “Gullible’s Travels: Raw & Uncut” follows the naughty and humorous antics of two friends on a USA ladies sports team and their 1st Place stretch both domestically and internationally.  Go USA!  Find out what countries were destroyed in their path, on and off the field.

This book includes a “bonus book” within the last 80 pages, that readers are thoroughly enjoying.  A candid look at today’s taboo topics, that the author fearlessly tackles.  “Saying what everyone else wants to!”.


Simply put this is a delicious slice of living, about really being alive for a troop of young ladies, if true, about the unexpected. “Horlarious” if I may sneak a term of the author encourages the “Yeah, this really happened,” and there is no reason to argue. There are many descriptions this read could adorn but I’m kind if keen on Escapades de Vengeance Féminine. “100 shades purpler…without the whips and S&M”.  —  By Wil Barnes, Sportswriter

Wil Barnes is a Staff Writer and Contributor for various national and regional publications, including Golf Courses of America, Golf, Golfweek, Avid Golfer and currently Golf & Travel.

Former Assoc. Editor/Senior Writer on Affluent Golfer. Cover story interviews include Dennis Hopper, Donald Trump, Jack Nicklaus, Clint Eastwood, Martin Sheen, Sugar Ray Leonard and Michael Douglas.

Radio host and contributor to sports talk, including 690 AM & 570 AM L.A., Fox & NBC Sports Radio covering PGA tour for 18 years.

Met Tiger Woods at age 13, covering his career from national amateur through professional that includes 14 major victories.

Long-time member of Golf Writers Assoc. of America (GWAA).


About J. Lee Webster

J. Lee Webster currently is married and lives in San Diego, California. Academically each year she was on the Principal’s List in high school, where she discovered her love of creative writing; was an Associated Student Body elected officer, and received the President’s Challenge Athletic Award twice while in high school. She has a B.S. in Business Administration.  As a writer throughout her career, she used her skills usually in a voluntary capacity for community service and sports clubs, and not monetarily.  She’s a self-taught self-employed entrepreneur today with many rich talents.

As a local sports champion throughout her amateur career, an avid natural athlete for decades, an event planner and traveler, she still snow ski’s, plays a beach sport called “Over-The-Line”, bikes, skates, scuba dives and coordinates group travel excursions to exotic destinations with friends.

Her personal interests are scuba diving, traveling, writing, drawing/painting, animals and her dogs, playing sports/competitive games, politics and patriotism.




She spends a week in the hospital.  She has broken her ankle so badly, that she has broken the fibula, the bottom of the tibia and shattered all the bones around her ankle at the bottom of her tibia into many pieces.  She’s put on a morphine drip, and she is in a lovely euphoria and feels no pain.  But she also does not remember much about the week she is there.  She zonks back out to sweet sleep.

After a 24 hour visit with God and His friends, she wakes up to find her leg in a cast all the way to her hip, hoisted up in the air as she lay in a bed, on Floor Three.  There’s a flurry of white all around her.  Nurses and doctors coming in and out, like a film set to fast-motion in her mind.  Shapes are not defined; they are hazy.  She remembers hearing a woman down the hall quacking and clapping her hands.

“Am I in the loony-bin?” she remembers thinking.

She is not sure what that Quack Lady is all about, and soon ignores it.

Behind the Oz curtain, there’s another woman in a bed on the other side of her room, in a coma, that family are sitting around with solemn looks on their faces.

She opens her eyes, and over her is Superman in a white coat, and angel wings.  Her doctor.  Gorgeous, angelic.  Radiant.  Beautiful blue eyes, long lashes, perfectly coifed gold blonde hair, strong structured high cheek bones, beautiful smile, with a golden glow around him, and a bright light above him.  The white, glorious light from the windows behind him edge out his strong features.  It must be God.  It has to be.

She smiles and mumbles, “Am I in Heaven?  I’ve made it to Heaven!”

Her doctor’s smile gets broader and answers her, “Hi.  We’ll take good care of you.  You are in good hands. You will be alright” as he gently touches her and rubs her arm.  It’s very comforting to her.

Then she realizes she is not in Heaven, as she tries to raise her head, and a blast of light-headedness and sharp pain shoots up her leg as she shifts her position.  There is no pain in Heaven.

She lets out a small moan, as her face scrunches up with the pain.  Superman sticks a needle in her ass.

“Hmmm, I think it’s the right cheek’s turn.  Here, this will make you feel better.”

And it does.  She mumbles an “ohhh, thank you” to Superman and fades back to sleep.

Inwardly, he’s impressed with the soft, smooth, muscular curvature of that ass.  He wonders if he might bend his needles trying to get them in.

And every time they come in to give her a shot in the ass, they ask her which butt-cheek’s turn it is.  She takes a guess.

In and out of morphine fog, she is more doped up than Elvis.  She’s constantly itchy.  Like cobwebs and little spiders are constantly crawling up her back, her arms, tickling her.

She vaguely remembers visitors coming by to check on her, but cannot remember them all.  Booh, Streak, and her other teammates swing by with flowers, little gifts and cards, and they all sign her cast.  She is well loved.  Her cast tells her any visitor she doesn’t remember.

“Dang, the Pope could have visited, and I would not have even known it.”

Toward the end of the week, a different nurse keeps asking Ryleigh if she’s had a bowel movement.

“Oh, ugh! Why do they keep asking me that?!”

She keeps telling them she has, since there are many nurses on each shift and they will not know any better.  She’s afraid of what they might do to her, if they knew she had not.  Ryleigh is very constipated from the pain drugs, but really does not realize it.

She would have stomach cramps, except the pain killers are working very well.  She figures maybe she doesn’t have to go, as she never remembers eating.

A tall nurse comes in and asks again a few days later.  Same answer.  Then Ryleigh accidentally poisons the air with a noxious fart that immediately fills the room.

The nurse who is in her 40s, and a rather big comely woman that no one is going to fool, says, “Oh no you don’t.  You bad girl.  You’ve been lying to me.  I’ll be right back!” and rushes out the room.

She comes right back with an enema bag and a bed pan.  She rolls Ryleigh over and sticks a tube up her butt, puts the bed pan under her and leaves.

Ryleigh grabs her stomach as it cramps up and hurts, and starts rattling.  She breaks out in a sweat and her face goes red.  Then the dam breaks.

Even though a little girl, she fills up the bed pan immediately.  Ryleigh is panicked.

The nurse returns, but is taken back by the smell, so she leaves and comes immediately back with a mask on like she was going to go scuba diving, with gear in her hands.  She starts spraying a can of Lysol all over the room and into the hallway.

Suddenly the coma woman wakes up moaning.  The Quack Lady stops.  And someone down the hall yells, “What the hell is that smell?!”

Then more people start sounding off.  The nurse removes the bed pan, and slides another one under Ryleigh…just in case.  And sprints away.

Ryleigh realizes it is the best she’s felt in days, but the smell is overpowering.  Her Floor Three is a mess.  It has permeated the walls now and left a residue.

“It must have gotten into the curtains!  The paint is blistering!”, a voice yells in a panic.

Her doctor, Superman gets the report, and reams Ryleigh for not going sooner, in his most polite comforting way.

“This is not healthy for you, and it’s rude to all the nurses and other patients.”

Ryleigh now can only laugh, “Hey, I did get the lady in the other bed to come out of her coma.”

She was hated on Floor Three, Floor Two, and Floor Four for quite some time.

But she doesn’t really remember most of it.  She feels she was only on Floor Three a few minutes anyway, and is glad to go home.  And maybe the spiders will stop tickling her.



Home|The Book|Author|Excerpt|Blog|Downloads|Contact
Click here for information on self publishing your book