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 If you're under the legal age in your country to read erotic material, do
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   The following story was written in an evening, and it hasn't been
properly proofread.  Expect continuity mistakes and other errors.  It
happens.  Permission is granted for you to make one copy for your own uses,
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   I retain full rights to this story.  (c) February 2004 by FastCat

   **>

   Powwow Dreams

   It was a hot summer afternoon, one vaguely mitigated by being high in
the hills north of Santa Barbara.  The dust was choking, the wind a strange
memory from days bygone.  In the center of the arena, a drum was surrounded
by singers and their calls echoed off of the hillsides.  Around them danced
the women in beaded outfits of leather and cloth.  Around them danced the
men.  Sometimes the men would break off and get into the Indian version of
break dance fighting, each trying to outdo the other in fancy footwork.

   And throughout it all, the beat of the drum, the heartbeat of the
powwow, rang strong and true.

   I had gotten dragged out to this particular powwow, five hours outside
of where I usually hang in LA, because my aunt thought that I wasn't dating
the right kind of person.  To her, that pretty much meant that I wasn't
dating an Indian woman, and therefore, there must be something wrong.  So
she harangued me until I gave in, and here I was, desperately wishing I had
a beer in my hand, baking in the stifling heat, choking on the never ending
dust, and without a prospect.

   I used to date an Indian woman, until I caught her sleeping around. 
Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, that type of thing would just be the
end of that.  She was one of those `out of a hundred' type cases.  Rather
than admit to her `other' guy that she was sleeping around with me, she
decided to let it be known that I had tried to rape her, again.

   Oh, yes, why just lie about one time?  Why not just make it seem like I
was stalking her.  The moccasin telegraph spread her story so fast that
there were messages on my answering machine before I returned from my
trip... Horrible messages, people who were threatening to kill me.  You get
the idea.

   I was sort of lucky that the news didn't jump state lines too quickly; I
had met a nice gal on the trip - one of those rebound things, and I had
been looking forward to a repeat performance when she called.  It was
short, nasty and very much to the point.  She had a bowie knife with my
name on it and she was going to use it to shave off my balls if I so much
as looked at her again.  When an Apache woman tells you something like
that, you can take it to the bank.

   Yeah, why bother with what she knew of me; much easier to believe some
friend-told-a-friend's-friend story than to believe me.

   So here I was, my aunt pointing out various women, all armed, and all
ready to slice me up if I talked to them.  I swear, my aunt had to be the
only one at the entire powwow who didn't know the story; or if she heard
it, she just dismissed it as useless gossip.  And I was about ready to go
up to one of those women, so they could put me out of my misery.

   The day left, rather abruptly, as it is like to do when you're up in the
hills, and people broke off to attend the various forty-nines that were
planned after the powwow.  Think of those as hook up parties, something
that any single guy passed puberty wouldn't miss on a bet.  I wasn't
figuring on being able to attend any of them, especially after the headman
dancer stopped by to personally let me look at his new Glock 10mm.  I
almost brought up that no weapons were allowed at the powwow, but that
would be as close to useless as to bring up the fact that the booze that
was stashed away in various places was also against the rules.

   So, everyone picked up some of their things, and being without much to
do, I started helping to clean up the trash that most people couldn't be
bothered to put into one of the many trash cans.  That Italian guy, uhh,
Iron Eyes, would have cried at the scene.

   Being that this was one of those casino powwows, the clean up crew of
course didn't include any Indians.  Mostly Hispanic folks, though a couple
white girls were on the crew.  At first, a couple worried gals told me not
to worry about it, to leave it to them, but they seemed to calm down after
no one came to yell at them.  And there was a mass of trash, more than
enough to keep everyone busy for a good hour.

   Well, that was one hour down, and another eleven to go before the powwow
started again, and... And what?  I could hear the 49's going in the
distance.  A couple of them sounded like they were really going strong, a
few sounded really half hearted.  There were still cars pulling out -
mostly the day visitors who came out to see Indian's do their thing.  A
couple cars full of `skins were heading towards the casino - you could see
it in their eyes, hungry for the card tables where they'd lose their money
from last weekend.

   Really, there wasn't much to do.  If I went out with any group of the
guys, my aunt would probably geld me, or worse, use those five hours in the
drive back home to chew me out.  That was enough of a threat to keep me on
the straight and narrow.  Going to the 49's was also out, for already
explained reasons.  I had already set up camp, so there goes that excuse
for spending time.  I didn't even have a book to sit and read.

   So it was with a sigh that I figured that my only chance to end boredom
for the second was to go take a shower.  I wasn't looking forward to it. 
The women had already taken their showers before the powwow ended, in
anticipation of the 49's, the men did theirs right after the powwow ended,
usually because the women demanded it, so the chance of there being hot
water was next to nothing.  To top it off, the heat of the day all
disappeared by now, the rocks having decided to be rather meager with
sharing.

   Well, it was something to do.  Maybe I'd freeze to death right after the
water hit me and my aunt could have a Popsicle to take home.  I stopped by
the tent, picked up the suds stuff, and a nice towel, and headed off to see
what the facilities were like.

   Ugh.  I should have expected it, after seeing what the arena was like.
The shower setup wasn't anything to write home about to begin with, being
an open topped affair on a concrete slab, but the floor was muddy, toilet
paper was strewn everywhere, and the kids must have spent most of the day
clogging up everything.  Some of those toilets had the perfume of having
been cooked all day long.

   The single valve on the spigot didn't enthuse either -- this was going
to be hell.

   No call but to make the best of what was offered, I figured, and I put
my mocs into a plastic bag, tossed my socks over on top of the wooden wall.
My shirt and hat shared a rusted nail, my pants joined my socks.  Boxers
went on top of everything.  And then I turned, slipped on the slimy floor
and landed on the corner of my ass.  Fuck!

   Bruised, more dirty than when I entered the place, and only cold water
in the offering - I was a sorry sight from head to toe and my `tude wasn't
much better.  So when the Hispanic lady walked in with her cleaning
supplies, I didn't much care to be modest.  "Occupied," I snapped towards
her and I carefully made my way to the valve.

   "But sir," said the lady, "I have to clean up in here..  You wait until
I done, have clean shower."

   I just looked at her, silently wondering how the shower could get much
cleaner, when the few bare bulbs decided to turn off all at the same time.
Holy crap, could this day get any worse, I wondered?  I heard some
rustling, then a click, and a small beam of light was centered on my
mid-section.  "Oh.  Sorry," she said, aiming the light more towards the
floor.  Great, I'm in the spotlight now.  I decided that life was trying to
send me a message, so I went back to where I had hung my clothes, stopping
just before the wall, stepping onto my underwear.

   Her small torch flashed around the room, onto the wall in front of me,
back onto the floor where my soggy boxers were, back onto the wall.  "Where
are your clothes?" she asked.

   That was a really, really, really good question.  And I really wished
she'd stop flashing that light around and hold..  Oh, well, there are the
lights again.  Yup, indeed, my pants and socks were gone.  So too was my
towel.  I guess a rusty nail saved my hat and shirt.  And I had mocs, nice
and safe in their bag.  Everything else was gone.

   I fished around in my shirt pocket, pulled out a half crushed pack of
cigarettes and asked the cleaning lady if she had any matches.  She
repeated her earlier question about my pants.  I said I didn't know, I
think they have been stolen, and I could really use a cigarette right now.
She fished into her apron and pulled out a lighter.  I leaned over to get
the light, and I dragged on it heavily.  And then started choking.

   I hadn't smoked in two years; the crumbled pack was mostly there to give
to elders as tobacco gifts.  Holy shit, I think the pack had been open for
nearly a year itself.  The woman offered her sage advice, "Smoking is bad
for you." Laughing while your choking is a piss poor choice, let me tell
you.

   I tossed the smoke onto the floor where it immediately hissed and went
out and I sighed.  "I guess you'd better clean," I observed as I went over
to get my shirt.  Thank the Creator that I chose to wear a long sleeve
snaggin' wool deal from Pendleton.  The tails would help to cover myself,
and I guess the hat would do for anything that slipped below that.  I
decided to leave my mocs in the bag - who knew what all was in the water on
the floor, and I didn't relish the thought of putting that crap into my
beaded shoes.

   I was heading towards the door when the cleaning lady offered yet
another observation, "You're naked!"

   Thanks for the news flash.  "I'll go get some pants from my tent..  How
long before the showers are clean," I asked.  It was sort of a stupid
question - anything short of a nuclear detonation wouldn't leave the place
truly clean.

   "Uhh," she mumbled, looking around.  "An hour?" she suggested,
dubiously.

   "See you in an hour," I responded, heading for the door.

   "You can't go out that way!" she yelled towards me.  Like I had much of
a choice.  I ignored her sensibilities and walked out the door anyway,
tripping right over her mop bucket that was helpfully preventing anyone
else from wandering in while she was cleaning.  And, as if things could
possibly get any worse, and I was seriously considering never thinking that
ever again, out of the other side came a young girl.  Mind, being pants
less, my spread configuration didn't hide much of anything, biologically
speaking, but I tried mightily to do so with my hands.

   Her mother followed her out.  And she screamed.  And they ran away. 
About that moment, I discovered that my elbow had been seriously scrapped
up - the heavy wool shirt helped pad it a bit, but a rusty nail from the
haphazard construction of the showers/bathrooms had raggedly sliced
through, doing the same to the skin underneath.

   Fuck.

   I hightailed it out of there, scooping up my mocs, forgetting my hat,
and literally flew across the campground to my nylon abode.  I dove into my
home away from home, flopped back on my sleeping bag and just..  breathed.
Once I found that I had a heartbeat again, I dug around for my spare boxers
and another pair of pants.  I then looked at my watch - or tried to.  My
bare wrist was the clue that it had been in my pants.  Along with my
wallet. Shit.

   I slipped into the boxers, tossed on the pants, and pulled out a pair of
shit kickers to put on my feet.  The scraping of my heal reminded me that
boots without socks is a piss poor idea, and I rummaged around for them. 
Once my feet with sheathed, I put on the boots and then went out to try to
figure out which group of young ruffians had stolen my pants.

   I was just considering if I would string them up by their balls, or I
would just do the Indian thing and force them to eat commods when the
brilliant spotlight came on.  Aimed right at me.  And a bright red light,
just in case I was unsure of the situation.  A high pitched "That's him!"
completed the picture rather well, I thought.  It was really unnecessary
for her to add, "Except he has pants on now."

   Remember what I said about the moccasin telegraph?  Trust me,
reservation police - AKA public safety officers, took such gossip like a
fish to water.  And man, I gotta say, they grow their officers mighty short
in this neck of the woods.  And rude too, he didn't even bother to say much
of anything before slamming me face down on his hood.

   I didn't bother with the usual denial of I didn't do anything - like I
would be believed anyway.  He had two witnesses of a known rapist exposing
himself to an underage girl at the bathrooms.  Heck, he might even have the
cleaning woman's statement as well.  I pretty much figured my ass would be
Bubba's by sunrise when his partner helpfully crunched my dirty hat onto my
scalp.

   Patted with a helpful squeeze to the little Indian, cuffed, and
unceremoniously thrown into the back of the car, the officers spent a good
twenty minutes taking the statements of the women (and giving a good chance
for the community to see who they had locked up in back.) Finally, one of
them came back, opened up the door, put their foot on the sill, and blinded
me with a Mag Light.  "What do you have to say, pervert?"

   I said about the only thing I could say.  "Talk to the cleaning woman in
the men's showers.  The lights went out, my pants were stolen.  When I
tried to run back towards my tent, I didn't listen to her, and I tripped
over mop that she had blocking the doorway." Yeah, that was convincing.  I
could just see him ready to take those cuffs off right now and let me
go...walk off a cliff.  He hmphed and slammed the door shut, and I had a
good half hour to consider just how many doorways I would accidentally walk
into - that is if I wasn't shot trying to escape first.

   I mean, hell, I likely should have spent that time praying.  Not that it
had helped in the past.

   The door opened once again, accompanied by the blinding light and I
heard the Hispanic woman speaking.  "Yeah, that's him," she said.  "He was
in the bathroom when I went to clean.  A good boy, though he shouldn't
smoke.  It's bad for him." The door slammed once again, and I idly
considered just how bad that puff of a cigarette had been.  Huh.  What do
ya know?  She was pretty much right - had I left instead of trying to
smoke, I wouldn't have spilled in front of that girl.  `course, the way
things have been going lately, I likely would have spilled in front of a
group of boys instead.

   It's hard not to contemplate how short one's life is going to be when
faced with these types of challenges, so I really wasn't going to feel
guilty doing it, instead of listening to the mumbled yelling from outside
of the car.  Finally, the door opened once again, and hands reached in to
haul my ass out.  I was again shoved over the car, but I wasn't about to
complain because someone was fishing to unlock those cuffs.  "You're lucky,
pig," muttered the public safety officer.  "I hope she was one hell of a
fuck, because she just saved your ass."

   You know, there is just something that is too wrong having an officer
call a was-prisoner a pig.  I was more concerned with rubbing my wrists
though.  Those cuffs were put on tight!  "Did you find my pants," I asked.
"My wallet and my watch were in them."

   He just gave me a friendly shove that nearly knocked me over and
muttered that if I wanted to, I could hike to the station and file a
report. The rocks didn't hurt much at all when he and his partner gassed
the car in the dirt.

   "Why a girl so young," asked the cleaning woman over my shoulder.  I
turned to glare at her.  I practiced that glare.  That was the `Mean Ticked
off Indian who's Ancestors had their Land Stolen by Your Ancestors' look.
It worked really well, too.  "You should choose women instead," was her
reply.

   "I tripped on your stuff," I replied, rather wounded that the glare
didn`t work.  "After my pants had been stolen after you walked in while I
was starting the shower after one shitty day."

   She threw down my soaked boxers that were in the bathroom, evidently the
piece of evidence that the cops accepted as proof that I wasn't going
around exposing myself on purpose and stalked away.  Pissy woman.  I left
it there in the dust now mud and stalked back towards the tent.  I figured
that the only way life was going to stop kicking me in the balls was if I
started hiding from it better.

   *>

   Sometime later, I don't know how long, since I had fallen asleep, and it
was certainly before morning since it was still dark outside, someone was
knocking on my tent.  And as any camper will tell you, that's a pretty damn
good trick.  "Yeah!" I called.

   "I have your pants," returned a voice that was either a boy or a girl,
either way, something that likely would get me another visit from Public
Safety, especially since I slept in the nude.

   "Just leave them out there, I'll get them in a few minutes," I called
back, and I fished around for some clothes.  Damn, they were freezing.  I
fought my way into them as I thought I heard whomever it was outside
walking away.  Finally decent, I zipped open the flap, expecting to just
reach out an arm to fish back in my missing pants.  Only they weren't on
the ground.  There was a girl there, holding them.  "Thanks," I said
curtly, holding out my hand.

   "Momma," said the girl in a Hispanic accent, "she said I had to make
sure they were yours."

   I looked at them.  They looked like mine.  Except more dirty since the
last time I saw them.  "They're mine," I replied, still holding out my
hand.

   "She said to make sure," insisted the girl.

   "I didn't write my name in them, if that's what you mean," I replied,
bemused, though starting to freeze.  "I don't suppose my wallet or watch
are in them?"

   "No," she replied, and I guessed her age to be maybe fourteen, or as we
on the trail like to say, ten to twenty, depending upon behavior.

   "Well," I said, wondering what to do, "how am I supposed to prove that
they're mine?"

   Evidently Mommasita had given instructions on this.  "She said that if
they were yours, they'd fit."

   Well, there's some pretty good reasoning there.  "Ok, I'll put them on,
and you can see that they fit, ok?"

   She nodded and then bent down, heading for the entrance where I was
crouched.  What the hell?  I grabbed onto the leg of the pants, she held
onto the middle, and my tug to pull them out of her hands only succeeded in
pulling her into the tent with them.  Ahh... Ahh... You know, maybe it's
this cursing that is giving me the run of bad luck.  I bit my tongue,
hoping that the Spirits would take pity.  I scooted to the side so that she
wouldn't land on me, and my hat gallantly leapt forward to cushion her
fall. Brave hat, giving it's life to protect a young one.  I would miss it
greatly.  Fuck the damn Spirits!

   I stripped off my pants and held my hand out for the other pair,
figuring to get this over with as soon as possible.  The girl, however, was
distracted staring into my lap.  My white t-shirt didn't do a whole hell of
a lot of good to cover the only inheritance I'd get from my deadbeat dad.
"The pants," I snapped.

   She handed them over dumbly and I leaned back, tossing my feet into them
and arching my back to pull them up, cringing as the teeth of the zipper
cut into my balls.  And probably putting on a pretty damn good show for the
girl.  But at this point, I really didn't give a damn.  I knew in an hour I
would be arrested for exposing myself to her anyway, since that was how the
weekend was going.  I zipped up, adjusted myself, buttoned and spread my
arms.  "They're my pants," I said.

   Her brown eyes looked over the jeans then up to me and she smiled,
"Momma thought they were, when she found them in the dumpster."

   Wow, in the dumpster.  Maybe that is where that smell is coming from,
and why they're colder than..  I really felt like crying, because if my
guess was right, I had lard, beans and Creator only knows what else all
over me, transferring from the soaked pants.  "Thoughtful of her to see
them returned," was my creative comment, and if you don't think a guy has
willpower, just think of me still wearing those pants while talking.

   "Momma said that if you want to, she could clean them, and you could use
our shower while they dry, but you couldn't wear them in the car."

   "Can I wear other pants in the car?" I asked, just a bit sarcastically.

   She shrugged, "She just said you couldn't wear those.  Why, your other
pants are dirty too?"

   "No," I replied, pealing out of the pants and decided to sacrifice my
sweat pants instead of dirtying another pair of jeans with whatever was
stuck to my legs.  I shivered and tossed on my wool shirt with bloodstains,
since being a proper Californian Indian, I didn't use a jacket unless it
rained.  Some socks went onto the feet, and the feet into boots and I was
ready.  The girl had been quiet while I was changing - she had been quite
observant while I changed again.

   "Let's go," I said.  She nodded, and slipped out of the tent, and I
followed.  Momma had helpfully pulled up the car while I was changing a few
times in front of her daughter.  It was a late 70's Ford Granada, and with
one headlight burned out, I really felt like I needed a drum, a beer, and..
Just forget it, it's an Indian thing, you wouldn't understand.  Instead,
just say I got into the car.  Backseat, of course.  My pants had the honor
of the front seat.  Any guesses where the girl ended up?

   Our chauffeur, Momma, the Cleaning Woman who had Batman's Apron, chatted
while she drove.  She drove really casually.  Lines on the road were just,
well, suggestions where other drivers were supposed to go.  She kept up a
good line of chatter while her daughter and I slid back and forth on the
seatbelt less naga-hide seats.  She asked what tribe I was from, if the
tribe had a casino, that sort of thing.

   Truth be told, I embellished the facts quite a bit.  Our reservation was
close to a mile square, with a few other squares in the distance that
others were squatting on.  The BIA keeps telling us they'll eventually take
care of them - a story we'd heard year after year for going on fifty of
them.  Our casino was about the size of those portable classrooms they use
at schools these days.  Twenty-eight gleaming, light and sound encrusted
bandits.

   On a good month, the profits cover the fees for the machines, the money
to the management company, salaries of those who work there, and the
electric bill.  Funny thing is, you'd expect by now that Indians would be
doubtful about any piece of paper a white man offers.  We never learn.  On
poor months, the management company patiently explains, again, that the
contract guarantees only payment to them, not profits.

   Our best month began with a couple who holed their oil pan going down
the dirt path we paid big bucks to have signs put along, leading to our
`casino.' It took three days to get the parts in (no one bothered to think
it was less than two hours to the nearest parts place) and the couple spent
almost all of that time trying to win back the costs of the parts on our
machines.  We really should have put a plaque in, to honor their
contributions to our tribal welfare.

   Don't get me wrong - the jobs at the so called casino have been the only
steady income on the reservation since the government first set aside the
worst piece of land in the county for the tribe to move to.  And it really
has been a change, once we guilted other tribes into paying for phone lines
and electricity.  Without those, I'd never make a living - or do what I'm
doing, which is essentially taking a vacation after a strong Christmas
season on an auction site.  I'm one of those auction whores who keeps the
post office afloat, selling near absolute crap.  I buy junk in Los Angeles,
return home, auction it off, go to our post office (the second enterprise
to actually pay people on the old Rez) ship it out and repeat.  Only the
tribal council members have a better house than mine..  Huh.  Come to think
about it, their jobs aren't supposed to pay anything...

   Anyway, I was pretty happy when we pulled up to a double wide trailer.
My bruised hip was happier.  I crawled out of the back, helped her daughter
crawl out after and Momma rescued my pants.  Brave woman.  Unlocked door,
enter into a rather neatly kept place.  Sure, the furnishings likely were
all purchased used, but up in these hills, garage sales and consignment
stores could hold some real gems for cheap prices.

   Momma suggested that I should go take a shower while she put my pants in
the washer, and the idea sounded good to me.  I went into the bath and
stripped, turning on the shower and was so happy when steam announced it
was ready.  Washing up with soap and water, well..  It was a nice
experience.

   I was washing my hair when the door to the bathroom opened and a
motherly voice called out she was leaving a fresh towel.  Ok, that was it,
I was actually going to have to thank her when I got out.

   Rinse, drip, pull back curtain, grab big fluffy towel, start drying. 
Sweatpants gone.  Shirt gone.  Boots gone.  Is there something about
washing in this county that required a Lojack on clothes?  A robe was
hanging on the back of the door, and I wrapped up my hair in the towel. 
Slipping on the robe, I thought that this was really, really starting to
get to the point of insanity.  It was short.  Really short.  If I sat down
while wearing this, I'd best make sure I don't sit on leather, or I'm going
to stick like packing tape.

   I got out of the shower and daughter yelled to momma to start the wash.
Really considerate that.  I asked where my clothes were, and the daughter
told me that they were in the wash.  Where else would my clothes be, I
silently asked myself.

   Momma called us to the kitchen and I walked into a very familiar odor.
Frybread.  A basket full of it, fresh, no lard congealing yet.  If you've
never had it, you'll never understand why us Indians are so addicted to it.
Go to a powwow.  Try it out.  Think of the best pizza crust you've ever
had, make it a bit softer, and you get some of the idea of what it is.

   "Anita made it," said the mother proudly.  "She is a good cook.  Try
it!" She pushed the basket towards me, and Anita blushed.  I picked out a
piece, bit into it, and it just melted in my mouth.

   "Mmmm," I said in salute to the cook.  "This is wonderful." Anita
blushed a deeper shade of red.

   Momma went on to explain that Anita keeps the house, since her mother
works all day and a good part of the night.  Anita apparently also cares
for children in the sort of trailer park, cooks all the best food, and made
all the curtains and cushions, plus the dress her mother was wearing and
the one Anita was wearing.  I nodded politely as Anita's virtues were
outlined, munching down on the incredible frybread.

   I took a good look at Anita.  Long black hair, straight and shiny.  An
oval face, a nose slightly squashed and flared.  Doe like brown eyes just
slightly too big for her face, small lips, puffy that led to a wide mouth
with pretty white teeth.  Sure, she'd never make a magazine cover, but her
face would certainly not turn boys away at school.

   Her shoulders had the slight divots that indicated hidden muscles from
hard work.  Breasts were nicely framed by the squared drop of the front of
the dress - call them half oranges.  The ruffled elastic across her chest
would cover any hint of nipples - a proper dress for any young woman of
modesty.  Enough to show she was woman, but not enough to advertise that
she wanted to prove it.  Ties around the middle tucked in the dress at the
tummy and flared it nicely over the hips.  Shapely legs poked out the
bottom, her feet were encased in the flat slippers of a working girl.

   All told, she might tip the scales at 120, height was a fair 5' 9".  She
might be able to pull off being Indian if someone didn't know what they
were looking at, or to a half-blood to anyone who did.  Which likely meant
that her father was an Indian from Mexico.

   Anita had best stay close to her mother, or the boys are going to get
her, I thought.  To her mother, I just said that she was a rather pretty
little girl.

   Momma wouldn't have any of that, though.  "She's a woman." She rather
pointedly continued, "Not a girl.  A girl doesn't know how to work, doesn't
know how to cook, doesn't know how to care for babies." She walked over to
Anita and patted her daughter's hips.  "Wide enough for children, narrow
enough for her husband.  A good woman."

   Uhh..  Ok, yes, time to change the conversation, because the barely
covered parts of my body wanted to put in their two cents, and I doubted
the robe was ready to cover that type of thing.  "Indeed.  I wanted to
thank you for helping me, earlier.  The accident at the bathroom was
embarrassing."

   Momma smiled and nodded, "You looked like a good man having a bad day. I
see that, over at the casino, someone has a bad day, things go wrong, but
then I see them later, and things are better.  You're going to have a
better day."

   I really wished I could be sure she was right.  In fact, I quietly
knocked on the fake wood counter behind me, thinking that was a close as I
could get to knocking on wood at the moment.  "Yes..  By the way, where are
my sweat pants?"

   Momma frowned.  "In the wash.  Didn't Anita tell you?"

   Anita bit her lip and I took her off the hook, because, well, she did
tell me.  "Oh, yes, I forgot.  This, umm, robe is rather short."

   The woman shrugged and pointed out the obvious that the house just had
two women.  Yeah, like Momma would be caught dead in such a short piece of
cloth.

   I was about to ask for another towel or something to cover my lower half
when Momma took the now empty basket from my hands.  "Anita," she called,
walking away.  "You be a good hostess, get him a beer.  Ask him if he wants
to watch television."

   Anita asked me if I wanted to watch television and if I wanted a beer. I
said sure to both, and off went Anita to get a beer.  Two X's on the bottle
- at least they drank passable beer around here.  Anita led me to where the
television was - in a small room with a daybed in it.  I hopped up onto the
bed, tucked dangly parts between my legs and crossed them so as not to
expose too much.  Anita was busy turning on the television at the time,
thank Creator.

   "I'll be back soon," she noted in her quiet voice and she swept out of
the room.  Television consisted of the late-late show, due to the time of
night..  Out here, it also might be the sole channel that was in my
language.

   I was hitting through the beer pretty quickly.  Which is bad, especially
for someone who couldn't hold his liquor even if it was in a bottle.  Fine,
fine, laugh as I fill a stereotype, but, well, there's a reason why these
things start in the first place.  The television did a good job covering up
the quiet argument in the other room too, which being in Spanish, wasn't
one I could follow anyway.

   When Anita returned with a fresh beer, I was pretty much ready for
another one, and silently hoping that there wouldn't be a third.  She left,
more arguing, and the television went to an infomercial, which was just
fine with me.  The guy was funny, hawking whatever useless trash he was
selling, and his straight man did a good job looking amazed every few
minutes.

   I feel asleep soon afterwards.  I had a pretty good dream, reenacting
one of the better moments with that slut whore who backstabbed me so
horribly.  My imagination was pretty good, even with a horribly good flash
at the end that was like lightning.

   I woke up when the TV went to annoying morning cartoon sounds, the sky
was still dark outside.  I was still a bit dizzy with booze, and I scooted
down the robe that had flopped up and I went to answer the call of nature.

   Momma confronted me when I got out of the bathroom, holding a Polaroid
in her hand.  My balls decided to crawl up into me, meeting up with my
quickly sinking stomach.  "What do I have to do," I asked, sensing the
blackmail that was to come.

   She flipped the picture to show me.  I looked, mostly to figure out
which body part Anita had used to get me off.  I was slightly relieved to
see her cum covered hand.  She was keeping me in the dark, though, and that
was starting to annoy me.

   "Look, I figured out what the picture was going to say, ok?  What do I
have to do?"

   The angry Momma façade slipped away with that.  This was supposed to be
a confrontation, and here I was, already accepting the inevitable.  Not
like I had much of a choice; I'm sure she knew just which officers to go
show that picture to.  I didn't even look drunk in the picture, I looked
like I guy who was enjoying shooting off after being jacked off by a kid.

   "Marry her," replied the mom finally.  My soon to be mother-in-law, I
suppose.  "Make her a legal."

   "Isn't she a bit young?" I asked.  She shook her head and showed me a
birth certificate in Spanish.  Yup, she's 17, according to the forgery. 
"Yeah, that's nice, would the folks down at the county office buy that?"

   "Her uncle works there, he's the one who said she should get married to
an American," she replied.  "His brother-in-law is a priest."

   "I'm only here for the weekend," I said, giving the only lame defense I
had.

   "The office opens at 9am for a few hours," she replied.

   Ugh.  Umm..  "We'll have to get my aunt from the powwow, she'd kill me
if I got married and she wasn't there," I shot back.  Come on, guy, you can
fancy foot yourself out of this.

   "No," she replied.  "She'd be a problem.  A new family doesn't need a
problem on their wedding day."

   Ahh shit.  Well, I could likely get the thing annulled somewhere along
the line, and there would be plenty of time to convince the Department of
Immigration and Citizen Bullshit that I was drugged and conned into this...
I tried one last method of shocking momma out of this wild plan.  "Well, I
guess I'd best go wake my bride and see if we can pass a couple hours in
bed."

   Momma frowned at that, and her empty hand balled up into a fist, and I
thought for a moment I was about to win my freedom.  And then her shoulders
slumped and she breathed out.  "No," she said.  "You'll wait until you're
married, and you'll treat her nice.  You're a nice boy, I can tell, who has
just had a bad day."

   Fuck.  The trouble was, she was right.  Just..  Huh, there's an
interesting problem.  "My wallet was stolen, I don't have an ID for the
county office." Would uncle ignore that requirement?

   She got a worried look on her face, and I really, really thought that I
was suddenly off the hook.  "You won't get mad at me?" she asked, which
just about shocked the shit out of me.  After this frame up, I'm supposed
to forgive whatever the hell she did?  I nodded my head, not trusting my
voice at the moment.

   "Anita took your pants, after we saw you walk into the shower.  We
walked the powwow, she picked out who she liked."

   I blinked.

   "I didn't agree," she continued, "until after the powwow.  Everyone else
left a mess, you were there cleaning it up.  They were partying, you were
making things the way they should be."

   And it was then, in my semi-inebriated state, that I decided, well, what
the fuck.  I'll do it, get married, play house with Anita so she can be a
citizen.  Because, well, I was angry as shit at the idea that Momma might
have been trying to make Anita get married.  That this was some plan to
determine Anita's future for her.  But if Anita picked me out..  Well,
truth be told, if she had been back `home', she likely would be getting
married right now anyway.  Right?  "How old is she really," I asked,
filling in data for my mind.

   "Thirteen," she replied with a touch of sadness.  "She's advanced for
her age," was added on with a bit of defense.  "Besides, if she doesn't get
married now, she'll just get into trouble, be a mother without a father
anyway.  The boys around here.." She spat onto the ground, the universal
sign everywhere for trash.

   Hey, I'm not too ashamed to admit it, I was a virgin until after I
turned 18.  But how does one..  Err..  I suddenly really wished I had read
more of those dirty magazines rather than just looking at pictures. 
Civilization had been doing it for thousands of years; it'll all work out
in the end, but, well, I really suddenly was worried about making Anita's
first time feel good.  Knowing that a response was required here, and that
fact finally penetrating my brain, I dumbly nodded.

   She smiled half heartedly and reached forward, taking me into a hug. 
"You'll make me proud," she said into my shoulder, increasing her squeeze,
"or I'll tell her cousins to come find you and bring me back your balls."
She let me go and started up into my face.  "Treat her ok..  You don't need
to baby her, don't need to treat her like a..  a..  A princess!  Just treat
her ok, and you'll both be happy.  Make her work, keep the house good.."
She frowned, and added, "You do have a house, right?"

   I nodded, adding on, "with two bedrooms." I don't know why I said it,
there's something that just sticks in your mind about making sure someone's
virtue was protected when talking to their mother.

   Momma was having none of that, and she poked me hard in the shoulder. 
"A second bedroom, for the babies.  She'll be happy once she has babies. 
Good babies, dark hair, brown skin like working people.  You give her lots
of babies and work to do, she'll grow up to be a good mother.  Promise me!"

   "I promise," I replied.  She nodded, tucked the photo into her utility
apron just in case, and went hustling off.  I heard her pick up the
telephone and start talking in rapid fire Spanish.  I suppose she was
arranging a wedding.

   How the hell was I going to explain this to my aunt, I wondered.  I was
still standing in the hallway, trying to figure that out, when a small hand
touched my arm.  Oh, it's my wife.  I smiled a bit nervously.  She brought
up her hands and tugged on my wrist, pulling me towards her room.  Uhh...

   "Shh," she said.  "I want to talk, about all of this.  Come."

   I followed and entered into her bedroom and I was taken aback by all the
frills everywhere.  Lacy curtains, ruffles on the blanket and pillows and
pink everywhere.  It was so much a little girl's room that if her intention
was to test out her husband to be, she was the hell out of luck.

   Instead, it turned out she wanted to talk.

   "I'm sorry," she said.  "That was the last bad thing I'll do to you,
ever.  I swear it, on the cross."

   I was honestly clueless as to what she was talking about, but decided to
reassure her none the less.  "It's ok," I said.  Maybe it was the pants she
was apologizing for.  "You really want to do this?" I asked.

   She smiled and nodded.  "Yes..  As soon as these," and she cupped her
breasts, "started to grow, the wrong type of boys started commenting.  You
must understand, they're gangsters.  They kill people and all the police do
is drive them down to the border so that they can return and kill more.  So
long as they kill brown skins, no one cares.  Rape?  That's nothing to
them. The police, if I gave a stink, would quietly tell immigration about
me, so I don't have an anchor baby." She finished with some anger.

   And really, I didn't know what to say.  Because even I knew, being so
far away from the city, how things were.  "And even if things went ok.."

   She nodded.  "I still likely get pregnant, being Catholic, and maybe I
get a nice husband.  Maybe we get lucky, and he doesn't get deported and
finds a good job.  Nothing much changes, yes?"

   "I'm not rich," I replied.  "Our lands aren't like these," I said,
waving a hand towards the brightly lit casino on the horizon.  "No big
casino.  I make my money selling stuff by mail."

   She laughed.  "Oh, I knew that..  Your jeans, they told me that.  Your
watch was good, a gift yes?" I nodded.  "The wallet, it was cheap.  Some
money, but no hundreds.  No fancy ID card, no wad of platinum cards.  But
it was the wallet of a man who could go somewhere, give my babies a chance
to live better than me.  And that is good enough.  But don't tell Momma. 
She thinks you got a big casino, lots of money."

   Holy shit, here's my out.  I could tell Momma the truth, she would toss
me out, and I would, I guess, have to start walking back to the powwow. 
Maybe I could get back by noon or so...

   Oh, Spirits, what would I tell my aunt?  There was no way in hell I
could bring this young thing back to the powwow; we would have to go hide
at home, introduce her to the family when she has a baby in her arms, when
she was older, and looked older because of the children.

   "We need to get back to LA, so I can pick up my car, and we can drive
home.  It's a long drive," I noted.

   She shrugged, "Long roads, short roads - how are they different if they
both lead to a better place?"

   Well, there's a good question.  Somehow, we'd figure out how to handle
this.  I just knew that I had to get her far enough from my aunt's arms to
make this work.

   *>

   Events went rather quickly that day.  Someone went up to the powwow
site, folded up my tent nicely, and fetched back whatever stuff I had left
there.  I called my aunt, told her I would be going back home, and listened
to her yell at me for a bit.  Thankfully, her cell phone battery died.  We
went to the county building, then to the priest, then back to the county
building.  We were driven back down to LA to my car, and then I drove her a
few hours in my car.  We pulled into a dime motel to sleep, and the nosey
owners wouldn't let a room to us until I showed them our marriage
certificate.  And we just slept; we were both dog tired after the events of
the night and day before.

   We breakfasted early, and piled back into the car once again.  Near
sunset, we pulled onto the track to home, and she had her nose up against
the window, point out excitedly at different things.  The rutted road
wasn't really that much to look at for me, but I did feel a bit of pride
she liked our corner of the world.  She snickered with me at the joke of a
casino, and we talked to the chairman for a while, who toasted our
marriage, signed her tribal card with a wink and even had time to ask me
were I picked up the kid.

   We have a pretty laid back tribe, and the applause was more than
scattered when I broke his nose.

   We then drove to where my house was and it took a few trips to unload
her stuff and mine into the place.  She fixed dinner from what we had on
hand, which I admit, wasn't that much to impress, being that I'm a single,
or was.  But she made a nice meal, some good fry bread, and we ate well
enough.  And, after spending some time unwinding together on the couch
watching the satellite for a bit, she suggested it was time for bed.

   I hit the shower, washed the teeth, blew out the hair and combed it
carefully.  I reached the bedroom just as she finished tidying up the place
to her tastes.  Some pillows had lace now, the quilt from her bedroom was
on the bed.  She made it her home, which was a nice touch, I suppose.  Just
like a woman to change things as soon as she got the chance, I thought with
a grin.

   She was gone for a couple minutes, and then returned in a short night
gown, white, lacy.  It complimented her well without being slutty.

   I was pretty much prepared to let things go for a while, mostly from my
own nervousness, but she was having none of that.  She hopped up onto the
bed, tucking her feet under her.  "Take off the robe," she ordered.  "I
wanna see my husband."

   I was the shy one in all of this, which was really funny, all things
considered.  I exposed myself, and well, I always was self conscious at
having the lack of chest hair.  Yeah, yeah, I know it's a genetic trait,
but still - I had chest hair envy.  So I was blushing when I took off my
robe, even though my cock had different ideas on the matter.  After all,
the little Indian already knew this girl could make it feel good.

   She smiled and bit her lip.  "You know," she said, moving herself
closer. "I really felt bad that I couldn't wake you and make it feel
better, but Momma wouldn't have any of that.  She said this was all
disgusting to begin with, and she almost refused to take the picture when
the time came." Her small hand wrapped around my member.  "Had I done
this," she added, leaning forward to lick my smaller head, her hand moving
smoothly up and down my shaft, "she likely would have refused to go along
with my plan."

   I blinked.  I knew she had picked me out, but I didn't know..  "You
planned all of it?" I asked, with a bit of a squeak.

   She nodded, forestalling any verbal response by sliding my cock into her
mouth, sucking loudly.  I winced at the scratching of her teeth.  She
pulled off after a few bobs up and down, smiling up at me.  "I'm Catholic,"
she added to her confirmation.  "Can't have sex outside of marriage.  One
of the boys, he got me so hot, I really wanted to.  But I didn't want to go
to hell, like the priests said."

   Her hand was about all that was keeping me from going soft.  Her words
weren't exciting me at all.  "So, you decided to get married, so you could
fuck," I replied, using the vulgar term explicitly, since that seemed to be
her intention.  She nodded and again sucked me into her mouth, moving her
head side to side, her teeth not rubbing this time, and her tongue adding
to the pleasure of her hand by slurping in the right places.  She pulled me
out of her mouth with a pop and again grinned up at me.  "Making love can
come later.  I like you now, you like me now.  By the time the baby comes,
we can deal with what comes in between."

   I stared at her, pondering her words, as her hand kept pumping up and
down my now slick shaft.  My balls were tightening up, not from disgust,
but from the good feelings she was giving me physically.  Emotionally, I
felt sort of sick.  And then, it was like a mental clicking, a changing of
channels.  One moment, I felt like someone who had been duped.  The next, I
had adjusted to this new reality.  "You know," I said, a bit of lust
seeping into my voice, "you're not getting much pleasure out of this..  And
I'd like to show you what a mouth on a sensitive girl's body can do."

   She grinned broadly.  "Ooh, I can hardly wait, but first, I want to get
you off.  My friends, they say that get a guy off quick, first, and he can
recover while making your toes curl.  Strikes me, that's a good idea." And
with that, she again sucked me into her mouth, her hand pumping strong and
steady, her tongue washing, tickling, dancing around the sensitive bottom
of my head.  And I groaned in pleasure, encouraging her to go on.  It was
so new to me, this idea of coming while standing.  My knees were going weak
just about the same time as I felt the familiar peak approaching.  "Best
pull off," I hissed out, my hips adding to her movements without any
conscious effort of mine.  "I'm going to shoot," I said.

   And she redoubled her efforts with her tongue, her sucking became loud,
sloppy.  Her hand was actually bringing a little froth to the coating of
saliva on my cock, her other hand reaching to cup my balls, a finger
reaching behind to tickle the few hairs hiding between the sack and my
anus. She hummed a uh-huh and that was the edge for me, I shoved my hips
forward, the first spurt coming harder than it has in years.  My knees
nearly gave way there, I have no idea how I remained standing unloading my
balls into her mouth.

   She didn't bother trying to keep up with my ejaculation, instead
concentrating on using her tongue to tease out more spurts, her fingers
being more gentle, but still insistent, and a buzzing Mmmm of a job well
done.  I opened my eyes, warning her it was getting too sensitive, and I
spurted again looking at the cum dripping out the edges of her mouth,
pooling on top of my cock, the puddle on the carpet below.  The sight of
cum before never was erotic to me, but at that moment, it sent shivers down
my entire body.

   She finally released her liplock on my cock, using her tongue to clean
up what it could on her face, while her hand wiped up her chin.  I
collapsed onto the bed, creating the first wetspot by a guy on her quilt.
"Oh God," I moaned, an aftershock rolling through me remembering what I had
just experienced.  And she smiled at me.

   She prodded her crotch and laughed, "My panties are so wet, one would
think I just pissed them." I reached out a finger, and trailed out the
outline of her outer lips, bringing a hiss of pleasure from her.  They were
indeed soaked through.  I reached up my wet finger to her neck and pulled
her back on the bed, to give her a deep kiss.  Our first, since our wedding
kiss was rather nervously chaste.  You know, it was funny - as I guy, I've
constantly had this erotic vision of a woman swallowing my load, yet I've
always been too chicken to taste it myself?

   I tasted the dregs off what she had taken, and the counterpoint of the
sweetness of her mouth, and that kiss lasted a long time.  The tongue duel
went on until my jaw started getting sore, my tongue almost hurting from
being extended so long.  I turned her head, kissing along her jaw line, as
my hand wandered across her chest, then down to her crotch, getting hung up
for a second in the flared lace of her gown.  I finally reached the dual
destinations of her earlobe and crotch at the same time.  I started nipping
at the ear, kissing the back of her jaw line, while dancing my fingers
across her crotch.

   She went from moaning to legs clenched in seconds, trapping my hand, her
whole body clenched in the impending orgasm, and I pressed my fingers into
the fabric of her panties, trying to force my way into her, and onto the
clit at the same time as I sucked her earlobe into my mouth, letting the
tongue play with the end, bouncing it against my teeth.  I had heard about
those who cum hard, the near uncontrollable body shakes, but it was
incredibly sexy to see that in person.  My fingers must have been turning
white from the lack of blood by the time she finally started to relax, and
I relented on my attack to give her a chance to breathe.

   Again, she kissed me, but this time with a more urgent intensity than
before.  Her tongue was the aggressor, ready to chase mine down to my
tonsils.  Her hands weren't idle either, stripping off clothing as quickly
as possible, exposing more treasures for my fingers to play with.  A cupped
breast was played with when she, in frustration, just pulled down her top.
Her panties were tossed wetly against the wall, the frilly sheer coat
tossed aside with a moan of frustration.

   Her eyes got animalistic as she pushed me onto my back and climbed atop
me, and my concern finally broke through my lust.  "Are you sure," I asked,
and she bit her lip and nodded as she grabbed me and aimed me at her
snatch. She pushed down on me, and it was a bit of a struggle, the ample
lubricants from both of us making her slippery, my cock kept slipping
forward to hit her clit, or tried to slide backward to her asshole.

   I tried to reach down, to help, and she hissed out, "Rub my breasts,
pinch my nipples, please!" And it was hard to argue with her.  My fingers
started tweaking both, little fingers teasing underneath, ring fingers
running along the sides, thumb and forefinger trying to pinch them into
submission.  She let out a gasp and lined me up again, forcing herself down
onto me, and my hips thrust up at the same time.  I plunged fully into her,
ripping past her maidenhood, and her body shook.  A groan escaped her lips
as her clit extended and rubbed up against my pubic hair.

   I held still to give her a chance to adapt to me, and to prevent me from
cumming instantly.  Her body wasn't having any of that, her hips started
grinding us together, her muscles inside massaging my cock.  I erupted with
a scream, echoed by hers as I pumped her full of cum.  I never had seconds
before, not even close to so soon - a morning after fuck was a rare thing
indeed, and if I thought I had an orgasm before, it was nothing like this
one.

   Her body was acting on it's own, clamping down on me, shivering,
shaking. Her arms collapsed, and she fell forward, her knees bending
uncontrollable as her body fucked away on my still shooting cock.  Even
though it was pumping nothing, not anymore, not after having the balls
drained so soon before, her body was seeking every last drop.  I was so
sensitive, and she was just uttering mindless grunts, her hard nipples
grinding into my chest.

   I felt a building at the base of my balls and it literally hurt as I
felt a second wave rack my body, my asshole clenching down, triggered by
the prostrate that put in it's opinion of how a cum should be.  I swear, I
must have had another quart of blood try to fill my cock, I could feel it
stretching to the bursting point and my vision started getting blurry as my
groin ordered all my blood to keep going.  I was panting as much as she
was, her quivering not stopping.

   Finally, it was a relief as the groin released it's grip on my body, my
lungs gasping for air, the blood slowly retreating from my cock, allowing
my vision to clear from the random spots I had been seeing.  Anita was just
quietly crying into my chest, tears dripping, sobs shaking her.  I brushed
her hair lightly with my fingers which were curiously sensitive, feeling
each hair.  The softness of her hair.  Red eyed, she looked up into my
eyes, and slid forward, causing a pop as my now deflated dick slipped out
of her body.  We kissed as our fluids dripped onto my belly, filling the
button, my tongue holding hers, as my arms held her tight against me.

   And in the back of my mind, a snide voice inside said, "It ain't love,
but at least that's one hell of a beginning."