Matt and I had been picked to join the group at the last minute. Matt because he could speak Sioux and was good with a gun and me because I could drive the wagons and knew my way across the desert and the mountains. But neither of us had ever really fit in. The Colonel and his group were bringing Christianity to the heathen Indians, but Matt and I just wanted to get laid. The two of us had long talks and we'd of both given almost anything to get under some of those skirts, but we also knew it would be worth our jobs to even try.

The closest I ever got to any of them was one afternoon after we'd camped near a stream. I'd snuck away to get a couple hours of sleep while they set up camp, and found a dandy place on a high rock overlooking the stream, but out of everybody's sight. I guess I'd been up there for about half an hour when I was woken up by the women laughing as they walked down to the stream. Curiosity beat out my need for sleep and I peered over the edge of the rock to see what they were doing. All thoughts of sleep disappeared when they all peeled off their black dresses and started washing them in the stream. And they made quite a sight, kneeling there in their white bloomers and stays. The good Christian boy my mamma raised would have backed out of there and never said a word to anyone, but I'd long since outgrown that shit. I just knew that I was finally going to get a chance to see what they really looked like.

It wasn't long before Angela stood up, stripped off her undies and dove cleanly into the water. The rest of them followed right behind her. I knew better than to try and sneak any closer; I'd get caught for sure, and that would mean my job. Even at that distance, I could make out their well shaped tits and the darker spot at the juncture of their thighs. With a fertile imagination like mine, just watching them gave me enough memories to last a good long while.