Chapter 1

The journey west had suddenly fallen apart into a complete disaster for Sister Angelique and she knew down deep in her soul that it probably retribution from on high for her indecent thoughts about the young males pressing their private parts into the leather saddles with enthusiastic abandon in every direction. She had taken holy orders after constant urging from her parents who were certain they would not get through the gates of heaven unless they turned over at least one of their offspring to Holy Mother Church for service to the almighty.

She had wanted desperately to sample the sins of the flesh before her being packed off to the convent but the opportunity never seemed to arise and she was only able to get some fumbling about with hard dicks and being sprayed with the sticky stuff that boys shot out in happy exuberance when they were touched and tingled in the right place. It was entirely a failure from her point of view but her virginity was still intact despite her attempts to rectify her status.

Her beloved companion, Sister Immaculata had mysteriously fallen by the wayside at the way station a short distance from the rough and tumble town called Abilene that had sporadic outbursts of gunfire in the middle of the night both nights that they had stayed there waiting for a free stagecoach too carry them further on their journey to San Antonio, Texas and the new school that had been commissioned by the Bishop for the Spanish and Indian parishioners of the fast growing city. Her constant retching from the swaying coach was a burden to all of the passengers but Sister Angelique tended to her as best she could under the circumstances.

"Sister Angelique, I fear that I must either get off of this conveyance or certainly perish by God's will in a most ignominious manner."

The stagecoach driver was justifiably irritated but he allowed them to stop at the way station long enough to arrange transportation on a goods caravan back to the railhead for Sister Immaculata to get some medicine and medical advice about her condition.

She re-boarded the stagecoach and tried not to think too hard about the fact that she was now a lone female in the company of numerous hooligans suffering from lack of female companionship to ease their manly needs for solace of their urge to procreate or just get that tingle they remembered with great fondness. Sister Angelique didn't know the first thing about such matters but it seemed to her that she was being wasted by not being able to give such solace even though her vows expressly forbade such carrying-on.

They were into their second day on the trail southwest when the stagecoach was flagged down by a tall dusty stranger with a saddle hooked over his shoulder and a rifle in his other hand seeking transport to the next town to purchase a new horse to replace his expired mount. The driver seemed a bit nervous because he knew the young man previously from a place called Dodge City and he seemed anxious to please the stranger and grant his wish even though the coach was completely filled. Sister Angelique heard the driver call the man "The Kid" to the shotgun driver and she was surprised because he certainly didn't look anything like a kid. The saddle was swung up to the top of the coach and tied down by the shotgun rider who was expressly hired to protect the shipment of gold coins from the mint in Philadelphia. The guard was a silent shadow who seemed unhappy at the thought of the man joining their entourage but he made no comment because the addition of another gun to their defensive posture was welcome.

Even though the man tried to slap off the trail dust from his exterior, he was still a large thick bulk of humanity now seated at their feet in the small coach between the shiny black shoes of a drummer from back east and the robes of Sister Angelique covering her quivering knees now being touched with familiar male closeness by the lanky stranger. She was glad her cowl partially hid her face because she was certain she was blushing something fierce from the intimate proximity to sweaty and raw scented maleness literally at her very feet. She started to recite her prayers hoping that her thoughts would quickly turn away from the vision of his hardened shaft spreading her legs wide open for entry and ultimate loss of her virginity.

The drummer passed around a sample of his "goods" which turned out to be a whiskey brewed in Newfoundland by a family that had emigrated from Scotland shortly after the conclusion of the American Revolution. They were well-known in the eastern states for their superior product and the drummer would have no difficulty in obtaining orders from every watering hole between Saint Louis and San Antonio.

At first, Sister Angelique was reluctant to take the tiny metal cup with the high octane spirits inside but she felt it would be rude to turn it down and gulped it in one swallow. That turned out to be a bit of a mistake for her untested digestive tract and she was on a quick buzz before she knew what hit her. The pretty nun slid down low on the bench and her knees were soon bouncing around his ears and neck like she was trying his head on for size to see how well it fit between her legs. The young man looked up and saw that she was one of those religious people that were coming out to the west to convert the Indians to the straight and narrow. He wanted to tell her to be careful with them because the "Real Indians" didn't hang around the forts or the towns but did their level best to remain free on the prairie and away from the double-crossing white man.

"The Kid" knew it wouldn't be proper to address a lone female out on the plains without an introduction so he settled for allowing his head to rest with familiar ease right between her knees and let her squeeze his shoulder length hair up hard against his ears like a glove of female scented perfume. He could hear her moaning in her sleep and every now and then her legs would tighten up and he could feel her pelvis twitch with a distinct motion that brought a smile to his unshaven face. The drummer was in a deep sleep from sampling too much of his own product. The recently married couple with eastern duds and shoes that would be a disaster if they had to walk in them was sort of hunched up around each other like lovers in a rowboat tossed and turned in a rough sea.