Chapter 5

The government sponsored raft trip down the San Juan River towards Lake Powell was scheduled to end later that day. Accompanied by two young rangers - Donna and Ellen -- I had floated over eighty miles along the slow moving stream and we were now approaching the takeout point where a boat trailer had been dropped off five days before. The girls and I were not looking forward to leaving the picturesque river canyon behind and towing the raft and trailer behind a truck along miles of dusty unpaved roads back to the ranger station. Ellen, who served as our guide, suggested we take our time and spend a few more hours enjoying the scenery. Donna and I readily agreed. So Ellen landed the inflatable raft at the base of a sloping incline of buff-colored sandstone, which despite being solid bedrock, had the appearance of a beach.

As there were few other rafting parties on this wilderness river, the three of us had become uninhibited when it came to clothing. Today, however, Ellen was intent on taking a rugged hike in search of a nesting pair of golden eagles reportedly nearby, so she changed into long khaki pants and a heavy shirt, grabbed a pair of binoculars and water and headed off upslope towards the high canyon rim. As Ellen disappeared, Donna also announced that she was going hiking. But other than a rugged pair of boots, she appeared to wear nothing but a baggy University of Utah t-shirt which ended just a couple of inches below her firm buttocks. So maybe despite the prickly brush that was sure to scratch up her bare legs, she was indeed heading off for a trek. I needed to compile handwritten notes collected while examining eroding Indian cliff dwellings earlier on the trip, and decided to spend a couple of hours working on the report. Wearing only a pair of swimming trunks, I ambled off toward a large rock overhang which created an oasis of shade in the hot desert sun.

A half hour later, I happened to glance up as Donna slowly walked towards me completely naked except for her boots. The thin tanned frame of this Japanese beauty was coated with suntan oil from head to ankle, which shimmered with sunlight in sharp contrast to her thick mane of raven hair which fell to her waist. In one hand she carried the half empty bottle of tanning oil, a hint that she had other things in mind than discussing archaeological sites. The sight of her was electrifying and the fabric of my shorts outlined a rapidly hardening cock. I hesitated only to reassure myself that Ellen was nowhere in sight before yanking them off. What a rush! I clutched my erection and began those slow up and down motions that would, in time, lead to the extreme pleasure of orgasm. But Donna stopped me and tugged me by the hand down the rocky slope to the river shore.

After kicking off her hiking boots, we entered the water and stood calf deep next to the partially beached raft, where Donna dumped a liberal amount of oil from the bottle onto my shaft and began to jack me off. I was in bliss! But this didn't last long, and she turned her back towards me and climbed into the raft, eventually keeling atop its bulky inflated side. Donna leaned her head forward until it rested atop one of the raft's inflated cross-members, her small butt now jutting skyward directly in line with my hard greasy dick. I assumed that Donna wanted to fuck doggie-style, and expressed astonishment when she thrust her anus directly against the tip of my penis. This was why she had lubricated me with suntan oil!

She reached out and grabbed my dick, guiding its shiny head towards a tight puckered target. We shoved our bodies together and her sphincter swallowed my cock head, followed by my entire penis, inch by inch, one stroke at a time. Gosh, she was tight! I had never done this before, but Donna's actions indicted a certain proficiency with this type of sex. With one hand, I held on tight to her mane of hair which had become sticky with suntan oil as it draped down over her back and shoulders. With my other hand, I probed her pubic mound and massaged her rigid little clit with my two of my fingers before thrusting them into a very slick vagina as far as they would reach. This pushed Donna over the top and she began to cum in a series of orgasms, almost like breaking waves, with a peak followed by a subsidence, only to peak once again. I gasped and shouted with the intensity of my own orgasm and shot jizz deep into Donna's rectum. Once spent, we collapsed into the raft with me still atop of her.

To cool off, both Donna and I took a lazy swim in the chilly river. We then crawled back ashore and lay naked on the gently sloping sandstone beach and basked in the warm sun. I noticed a small twinkle about a half mile distant emanating from a ledge on the canyon wall about four hundred feet above the height of the river. Squinting for a better look, it appeared that sunlight was reflecting off the lens of Ellen's binoculars - apparently she had abandoned her eagle project and was instead watching us fuck out in the open far below. I could picture her in my mind, masturbating away with pants pulled down to her ankles. By now, I knew Ellen was a voyeur and was confident that she would not report the two of us to a supervisor. So I didn't give a damn if we were spied upon.

As we lay on the sandstone, Donna and I talked about ourselves, something we had not done before in any depth. I described the lifestyle of a seasonal ranger, which meant spending only a few months in one national park before moving onto another. I had come to the Glen Canyon from Yellowstone, and was already using my professional contacts to angle for a winter job in California's Death Valley. This mobile lifestyle was terrible on long-term relationships, and I told Donna my focus was on reciprocal sex with limited emotional involvement, at least until I settled into a steady job.