Chapter 3

Our little rafting party continued to drift down Southern Utah's silt laden San Juan River towards a take out point near Lake Powell. For much of the day we floated through a 1,000-foot-deep meandering chasm carved into soft and crumbling sandstone as the river took us toward our destination. Ellen, the river ranger, said this geological formation was called the "Goosenecks," which prompted Donna, the other ranger, to read out loud from a geology field guide a description of what we were now looking at. The ochre colored canyon walls rose vertically right at the shoreline and there were no archaeological sites warranting investigation along this stretch of the river. So with little to do, Ellen and Donna lay back on the raft and soaked up the sun. There were few other people on the river, so both girls removed their bikini tops and slathered their torsos with suntan oil. Mid-day temperatures were very hot, and periodically we would dive off the raft into the sluggish current. Compared to the dry desert air, the river water was downright cold, and when the girls pulled themselves back aboard the small raft their chilled nipples protruded invitingly. All day long I marveled at the beauty of the surrounding natural landscape, and the spectacle of Donna and Ellen immodestly clad in just their bikini bottoms. More than once I silently thanked the government for paying me to take this river journey!

Late in the day, our little rafting party made camp on a sandbar several miles downriver from the Goosenecks. Ellen was a true "river rat" and once we were ashore she quickly set up a camp site while Donna and I laid out a row of three sleeping bags next to the river, separated about eight feet apart from one another which we believed would provide each of us some nighttime privacy. Donna placed her own bag in the middle between Ellen and me.

One advantage of river camping is that you can bring far more gear and supplies than a backpacker would ever dream of carrying, and Ellen produced three bottles of cheap red wine, the first of which we drank during supper. After doing the dishes and some general camp cleanup, we convened around a small fire to drink the other two. The day's heat had not yet broken, and Ellen wore an athletic bra and running shorts -- the crackling fire light accentuated muscles in an upper torso made firm by a summer's worth of pulling oars. Donna, who was much thinner in stature, showed up in a thin blue camisole top that hung no more than five inches below her small breasts, exposing a firm tummy. It was held up by a pair of string-like shoulder straps. Ellen noted Donna's matching blue panties and joked that the Utah wilderness had never before seen anything out of a Victoria's Secret catalog. Privately, I thought the designers of this camisole had someone larger than Donna's thin Japanese stature in mind, as one strap and then the other slipped from her shoulders, which she would self-consciously pull back into place.

But as the wine kicked in she eventually ignored a sagging strap. As Donna reached down to toss a new log on the fire, a chocolate brown areola peaked out at me from beneath her flimsy camisole, and as she leaned over to refill my glass with wine I could look all the way down its hanging neckline past her small breasts to the crotch of her blue bikini panties. I know this sounds pretty romantic, me alone in a desert canyon getting drunk on wine with two female rangers in their early twenties who were now wearing little more than their birthday suits. But the heat of the day had been physically taxing and the wine made me tired and groggy. So I excused myself and crawled off in near darkness to my sleeping bag. The moon had not yet risen, leaving the canyon floor lit only by thousands of glistening stars which served as a guiding light as I stepped away from the campfire.

I was in the habit of sleeping nude and tonight was no exception. So off went my swim trunks and I climbed naked into a cozy sleeping bag. This was not done with any erotic intent and I fell asleep and into the most amazing sequence of dreams. At first, these were a montage of odd places I had never visited or people I had never met, but gradually they became sexual in nature, containing fleeting scenarios of girls from various university classes that I had fantasized about or had slept with before becoming a ranger. Although still asleep, at a subliminal level I must have realized that my penis had stiffened and that this somehow was related to the pleasurable nature of my dreams.

This reverie ended when I was abruptly jarred awake by a painful nip on the flesh of my scrotum. By now, the moon had risen over the top of the high canyon rim, bathing the sandbar on which we slept in a faint orange glow. I looked down to see Donna giving me a blowjob, completely absorbed in her effort and not yet aware that she had awakened me. I had been sound asleep when the two girls came to bed, but it was clear that Donna had gradually inched her sleeping bag across the empty sand between us and it now touched mine. I glanced over at Ellen, who was now about twenty feet distant, snuggled into her own bag and snoring softly away.

Donna still remained modestly covered by her sleeping bag, but she had pulled mine down below my knees, and I now lay flat on my back naked in the moonlit night. She didn't resist when I pushed her sleeping bag aside, uncovering an upper torso still clad in that flimsy camisole. But the matching blue panties were gone and she was now naked from the waist down. As my hands grasped handfuls of her thick raven colored hair, Donna crawled completely out of her covers and straddled one of my lower legs, rubbing her clitoris up and down my shin bone. I could feel her chin against my balls, and her mouth formed a tight ring around the base of my cock which was snugly wedged deep in her throat. She was deep-throating me!

The sensation was incredible and I intended to make it last as long as possible. But Donna had other ideas and removed her mouth from my salvia covered penis, sliding her legs around my upper thigh. She produced a small bottle I had not before seen and dripped some oily lotion onto the tip of my upright cock, which she then stroked with both hands, the ointment mixing with my own pre-cum. Not to be outdone, I reached beneath the thin fabric of Donna's camisole and squeezed the bottle's remaining contents all over the front of her chest. As I pinched and twisted each of her well greased nipples, Donna lost all composure and reached her first orgasm of the night.