An Island Meets the Prairies

This is the third instalment of the series. The second one I titled An Island Reemerges, since it takes place somewhere else entirely. The setting of this particular chapter is fictional and all resemblance to actual places or people is coincidental. The next segment is a direct continuation of this story.

The dusty red-white Sooner Bus Company coach began the winding descent down rocky outcroppings into the Cimarron River basin. The rays of sun illuminated the waving brush of the prairies that was swaying in the gentle midday wind. Within minutes the bus would come out of the snaking turns and pull up to a rustic series of shacks. Sonya Knox had been assigned by her sociology department to document statistics and life in that decrepit corner of the state. She had been allocated two weeks and about $160 in expense money. She hoped that she could find enough to do beyond two hours of her presence there. Circle Nation Indian Reservation was pretty much an open book, with very little to interest outsiders.

Before she knew it, the coach was hurtling out of the last turn of the descent and along a dusty road parallel to the river. Not much time was left. Was she really thinking of this experience with such loathing? Sonya hadn't digested until now how dull her return to Circle Nation would be in comparison with her experiences since leaving. For that year and a half had encompassed an engaging and intriguing course load at Oklahoma State in Stillwater. It had given her affirmation that there was a border to these dreary prairies. So all of those days spent actually completing her assignments at Green Hill High School, the main repository of the youth for most of her tribe's villages, was a means to a logical end. And above all of that there'd been her union with Fumiko. That was definitely a facet of her existence that seemed completely mismatched with her previous life as a reservation brat.

Sonya alighted from the bus and gazed upward to her right at the blue on white sign. "Circle Nation" was in big bold stylized western font, while below it was the caption, "Gem amid the blighted prairie, daughter of its concealed heritage." She picked up her beaten Umbro duffel bag and shuffled through the dirt track that functioned as the main passageway through the reservation.

She finally arrived at a dilapidated cabin with the mailbox that read, "Canmore", the name of her immediate family. These names had been chosen at some time during Indian re-education programs meant to blend them in better with the settler neighbours. Suffice it to say that this was of no consequence; the locals at Circle Nation, particularly youth of her age, would deride the white Oklahomans as "peckerwoods", "trailer trash", "rednecks", or if they were diplomatic, "sooners". Once Sonya had tracked down the origin of the name "Canmore". It turned out it was a royal dynasty in Scotland, but its former glory was plainly gone.

The process of greeting her family members was plainly mechanical. Obviously, her mother Flo and father Stephen, were thrilled to see her. Her older brothers Drew and Vic, had already spoken on the phone with her, because they had known they would be at work in the service station on a nearby highway when she would arrive. And her sister Andrea was away anyway most of the time doing her own job as clerk at the post office in another county. So after quickly settling in to her old room, which seemed pretty bare, Sonya went over to the only bathroom and stripped down to take a shower. She quickly lathered herself down and washed her hair with Aveeno. After finishing, she wrapped herself in a bath towel and laid down on her cosy fleece blanket, where she dosed for two hours.

Upon waking up, Sonya reached for her cell, an outdated Motorola, and flipped it open. It showed her having two new text messages, both from her department head updating her on a filing deadline. The one she had been waiting for had not been there, but she resolved to go ahead anyway. Pulling on a light slip and some cargo shorts, Sonya gathered her purse and went out into the kitchen. Their house was a veritable testament to the neglect that existed on these reservations. Sonya yanked open the antiquated and leaking Kenmore fridge and pulled out a tall pitcher of concentrated cranberry juice. She then sent a text to a number saying, "Gonna b there now". With that she downed a glass of the juice and headed out the door.

Walking through the deserted dugouts of the reservation was usually a solitary experience at this time of night. She passed a group of high school boys who were camped out on a bench and arguing over who's turn it was to buy cigarettes. She staggered gingerly through the parting of a dinky chain link fence, and through the dusty dirt of the other side. It was near dusk, and the Cimarron river basin looked serene at this time as she stared over it. By this time she had worked up a burn from the strenuous terrain, and she was surprised at how out of shape she was; but then again Sporty had never been her favourite Spice Girl.

It was therefore a relief as she came upon the bland, whitewashed, but otherwise decent guest section of the reservation. This was a sort of hotel for the few persons who stayed over briefly, as well as rented quarters for a handful of permanent residents who were not blood members of the tribe. It was right next to a desolate ravine, and Sonya was confronted by the sight of a lone figure walking along its edge, as they neared it became clear it was a slim girl. Sonya recognized her vaguely. Although the children of the tribe all knew each other to some degree, Sonya recalled that this girl was not from Circle Nation but from one of the other small hamlets that composed tribal land. However, they all attended the same high school, and although once it had been very unorthodox, moving between one hamlet or another was possible.

Sonya passed on the right and made eye contact with the girl, who reacted with a wave of recognition, and then sheepishly looked away. OK, if I should remember, I should remember her being awkward too, thought Sonya. As she neared the lobby entrance to the guest section, Sonya took a glance back, and was startled to see that the girl was walking very sluggishly with her head gazing over her shoulder in Sonya's direction.

But the girl rapidly whipped her head forward and scuttled off. Sonya still could not put her finger on who she was. After refocusing on what she was doing, her heart began to increase its rhythm, eager to keep on. She climbed the one staircase toward the second floor and went over to room 207. She knocked rather loudly, and waited expectantly while the din of AC radiators sounded throughout the somewhat empty building. After a surprisingly long wait, she heard the chain sliding and the door unlocking. The woman who greeted her was of above average height, a bit curvy, and possessed tanned skin, although she was clearly not one of Sonya's people. In fact, the dark black hair, brows, and lashes betrayed her Italian lineage. She was dressed only in a turquoise cotton T with the collar torn and frayed to expose the straps of her bra. The hem of the shirt hung low and underneath it was presumably a pair of cotton panties. She grinned immediately once she saw Sonya, and the two hugged, and then sealed the reunion with an open mouthed kiss. "So special to have you."

"And you too, Becky," Sonya responded. Although she was born and raised in a traditional Italian family in Philadelphia, Rebbecca Rissotto seemed far more at ease with her rustic surroundings than even Sonya was. She had been working at Circle Nation now over four years, starting as a college intern in the field of education from Oklahoma State, but now serving full time with what passed as the reservation's education system.

Becky led her inside the familiar quarters that included a small salon, sparse kitchen, bedroom and bath. Although rather spartan, the apartment was easily maintained and clean, and Becky had spruced it up by acquiring ornate rugs from the tribe as well as from tribes in other areas she had visited.

Sonya had known Becky since she was in high school and Becky was only an intern, but only now as coming to understand that her choice of where to live was a pure act of rebellion. She had stated once that all Rissottos had until then worked for one of the family's small businesses, such as the laundromats, dry cleaners, and wine/liquor stores. Few of them deigned to go to college, except the handful who would go for accounting, finance, or business degrees. However, this was counterbalanced by their being able to afford many luxury items, and every house owned by one of them was outfitted with fine furniture, jacuzzi, and of course the Audi or Lexus in the garage. Becky could attest to her relatives being hard partiers as well when they weren't working, and she had once attended a female cousin's wedding where she walked in on the bride's brother getting a quickie from an older bridesmaid in the women's bathroom before the ceremony, and then having another guest during the end of the reception in a maintenance closet. That cousin Ritchie was now a boldly philandering husband whose wife was often privy to his conquests, if not a willing participant. This didn't prevent them from having volatile marital arguments.

So it was not surprising that a girl like Becky, who had told Sonya that she was aware of her own desires, would feel like a deviant in this family. Becky was just as vivacious as her family members, but her interests were more into the arts and humanities, music, and actually experiencing college for its own end. To top that off, she and Sonya had the same awakening in their adolescences, which were four years apart: They had realized that there was virtually no interest on their part in boys, and they had accepted it without even trying. But to try to fit in while living openly like this was hopeless in Becky's family and high school. On the reservation Becky had been able to thrive as someone who didn't need to put up with family pressures to get married, and the locals, young and old, generally did not interfere or pry into her private affairs. This also means that not all of them warmly embraced her. But she was an effective teacher, popular with the kids, and was now working on getting more of them to graduate, enter college or at least gain employment.

Sonya had been one of the first class members to learn with her, and it was hard to recall that period now that they were seated on the two couches in Becky's salon, Sonya with her legs up to her side sipping some of the home brewed tea, while Becky was sitting lotus style on the love seat. The position offered up a tasty view the crotch of her panties, which were indeed cotton and pink. "Hope this music is okay with you, its a new collection of drum rhythms from Senegal," said Becky. She had always had this unusual affinity for foreign music styles, which Sonya had once thought was pretentious.

"Sure, I guess. Anyhow," changing the subject, "I was hoping you could visit me at campus more next semester."

"Well, you know," replied Becky, "I'm now basically the superintendent of this district, minus the salary of course, so I'm gonna have to wrangle vacation weeks from the district council, and of course try to find someone to fill in when I'm gone. But let's just enjoy this time now," she shifted slightly and leaned forward. "Did you find a good fit or two over there in Stillwater?"

Sonya smiled, understanding immediately. She recounted her experiences with Fumiko, reminded Becky of their trip to Japan, and when she saw that Becky was enjoying the story, filled her in the details of their lovemaking. They held each other's gauze during the juicier parts, which included Sonya's torrid tryst with the military policewoman in Okinawa.

By the end of the story Sonya's eyes had come to be locked in on the tanned face of Becky, the scattered freckles across her cheeks, the nose that seemed to flare unintentionally when she seemed excited, and the impish smile. Most of all, the studiously pulled eyebrows and drawn back hair showed that although Becky remained a strong, assertive, and outdoors girl with simple dress, she succeeded in projecting a simpler version of femininity, without needing the fake glamour of too much make-up or designer clothing.

"Wow, that was tantalizing," responded Becky once Sonya had finished. "I feel like I need to top that while you're here."

Sonya rose from the couch. "I just came here to get a good ol' taste of home." She sauntered over to the love seat, and sat between Becky's thighs, which had now come unwound. Becky acknowledged this by nuzzling Sonya's neck and reaching both hands around to fondle her nipples through the slip. She continued to massage the neck with her mouth for several minutes, and gradually lifted the top off of Sonya's head, before unhooking the sports bra. Sonya could no longer contain her own desire, and she rose to her feet, unbuttoned her shorts, and stepped out. Her panties now featured a wet strip in the center, which had begun to develop during the narration earlier. She turned around to see that Becky had the same thing in the middle of hers. "Get on your feet." She pulled off the torn tee, and took in the curvy form of the teacher. "You still know that's my favourite bra, don'cha?"

Becky grinned now wider than ever, and unhooked it herself. It revealed two voluptuous and well sculpted breasts, large Cs, that seemed to float in the air rather than just hang. Becky always had a knack for keeping her body in shape, and it was a testament to her diligent aerobics practices that her abs were flat and rocky, her legs were iron hard. She never went for the skinny waif look that appears in magazines like Vogue or Vanity Fair. No, Becky always wanted to look like a Roman huntress. And that was the exact effect she had now standing there in just her pair of cotton panties. Sonya leaned in and cupped her right breast with her hand while nuzzling the nipple. The other one she massaged with her right hand. "This is a real homecoming," she exclaimed.

But Becky wasn't content to be passive. She wrapped her arms around Sonya's ass, propelled her into the air, and Sonya responded by twisting her legs around Becky's waist to be carried to the waiting bed. There Sonya felt her panties get taken off by what seemed to be a force field. One second she was laying there, the next her wetness was exposed to the cool night air and the humidity of it. And then she looked down and saw those brown freckles and black hair diving in and forcing those legs apart. Becky always took her time, starting by kissing the small strip of pubes at the top, then licking slowly from bottom to top.

After only two minutes the sensations were overwhelming, and Sonya could feel herself literally being juiced, the moisture coating her lips and seeping around Becky's face onto her cheeks. She exploded in moans and exclamations, and after briefly feeling burnt out, she climbed onto her knees and pushed Becky onto her own back. Sonya voraciously returned the favour, lapping up the syrupy discharge like it was a priceless reserve. Whereas Becky had felt content to pile on when the climb began, Sonya allowed it to build to a point of no return, then she crawled up Becky's body and lay parallel to her on top, grinding their sexes together in a primal thrust.

When the deed was done, the two women were exhausted. Sonya managed to curl up in Becky's embrace, and the two kissed each other full in the mouth, imparting their tastes back on each other.