Memories

Posted by wendy on December 25, 2007 at 17:58:02:

In Response to being directed to Uncle Buck's Phototales on December 25, 2007 at 09:47:59:

A couple of my girlfriends and I always had to play the indians because our parents wouldn't let us own guns. The neighbourhood boys and a the other girls always insisted on being the cowboys, because they had shotguns, and rifles, and pistols, and these snazzy cowboy outfits. They'd wear these studded cowboy boots over their jeans and fringed leather pants, and they had leather jackets over western shirts and vests, along with bandannas and cowboy hats, ammunition belts, and more. They were armed to the teeth and dressed to kill and they used to make us strip nearly naked to play the indians and wouldn't let us wear anything but these tiny loincloths that barely covered our crotches. Our breasts along with everything else were completely bare. We watched the cowboy and indian movies and it was true that the indians fought totally naked except for their loincloths. My two girlfriends and I also had nothing but little sticks that we pretended were tomahawks. Well - guess who won those games? We were totally outgunned, outnumbered, and outclothed, and we never had a chance. We ended up shot dead at the end of every game.

We always got to sneak up and attack the cowboys though, and we had to do some dastardly thing like burn down a pioneer village to justify the cowboys killing us. Because there were only three of us and about ten cowboys and cowgirls, we also got to pretend to be lots of indians. So once they shot and killed us, we got to be more indians - only to get shot down naked again and again. Sometimes we'd have hand to hand fights if we snuck up close enough, but they cowboys and cowgirls would punch us in our bare bellies, stick toy knives into our abdomens, and shoot us at point blank range.

When we fought close up, they ALSO had no hesitation in ripping off our pathetic little loincloths. Even that one tiny bit of loose cotton was really pathetic against any one of the things the cowboys and cowgirls were wearing - like their boots, and jeans and leather jackets - let alone against all that gear. When they had our loincloths off and we found ourselves fighting totally nude, we'd always get shot at least once a game right in the crotch. That's actually when I first remember coming - when one of the tough cowboys wearing boots, jeans and a leather jacket, stuck his cap gun hard right into my pussy and pulled the trigger. The loud gunshot sound sounded and even felt like it had exploded right inside me, and suddenly I was completely wet inside.

And of course both the cowboys and the cowgirls loved to shoot us in our breasts. We got to be really good at dying, doing these dramatic dying scenes, clutching our shot tits, and belly, and groin, falling backwards when we were shot in the chest, and doubling over when we were shot in the gut. We watched how the indians died in the movies, and we soon became pros. I think we could have got jobs as stunt women the way we learned to hit the ground hard, and of course the sounds of the cap guns firing mingled with our own shrieks and yells as we were shot. I'd scream AIEEEEE and ARRRHHH when I was shot, and when one of the cowboys or cowgirls punched me in the belly I'd go UNGGGGGH or UMMMMPPPPP. Someone watching or filming would have thought we were being hit by real bullets and really being shot dead.

Thank you Buck for bringing back these fond memories.... Wendy

I don't know about websites, but I know we used to watch lots of movies in those days (and they were not even r-rated) in which the indians really were completely naked except for their little loincloths and in which they were always shot to pieces. I remember one (can't remember the name) where all the soldiers in the fort had left the fort to hunt down some marauding indians and only the women were left behind when the indians attacked the fort. The women all donned cavalry uniforms and the woman in charge said "Aim low and shoot off their britches if they're even wearing any." (I still remember that line). Well, the Indians attacked near naked, yelling and waving their tomahawks in the air (pretty useless eh?) and a whole lot of them quickly got shot down by the women firing from the fort walls. Then the Indians battered down the fort gate and charged in, but the women had the cannon ready right inside the fort gate and fired it right into the mass of indians storming in. Naked indian bodies flew everywhere and ended up strewn all over the ground. The indians tried to flee and the women shot them in the back. Just then the soldiers returned and the remaining indians were caught between the soldiers shooting them from the front and the women shooting them from the back until every last one of them was dead. I don't think a single soldier got even hurt. Like you say, Buck, that's not too politically correct today, but in those days we took for granted that the indians had to get shot down because after all, they attacked the fort, so what did they expect?

But of course when we played, the sex roles were reversed because the three of us who were the indians were all girls. And we always fought against at least four or five cowboys and about the same number of cowgirls. Thinking back, I don't even know why we weren't embarrassed to be fighting bare breasted and nearly naked (and often completely naked) against these fully clothed cowboys and cowgirls with their boots and jeans and leather outfits. I think we just took for granted, like in the movies and comics, that that's how it was - that if we really wanted to play the indians right, we had to dress (or actually undress) for battle just like they did. We never even questioned it, so the fact that we were girls didn't change that, and so our tits and bellies were bared every time we went into battle - and those were always the favourite targets for the cowboys and cowgirls, so we always accepted that they had to be exposed to take the bullets. Even the Classics Comics (like Deerslayer and Last of the Mohicans) which were politically correct in those days, had the indians completely naked except for little loincloths when they were shot down, and I remember noticing in those comics how most cowboy gunshots were to indian bellies.

And you know, Buck, we didn't even mind "having the stuffing knocked out of us" as you say. Maybe it's because the kids all knew just how hard they could punch, kick, and knife us so we really felt it without it actually hurting us. We actually pretty safe and it never occurred to us that we might really get hurt. Sure, we got our share of bruises and scrapes, but we actually never got badly hurt in all those years of fighting. They'd punch us hard enough in our bare bellies so that the "Ummphhhhhh" and the "Uuuunnnggghhhh" we emitted really felt genuine but we never had to go a doctor for our wounds. Maybe the closest we came to getting hurt for real was when they used their boots on us. One of the cowgirls - Cindy - who had by far the snazziest and toughest cowboy outfit, had these amazing high metal-spurred cowboy boots with metal buckles that she wore over her leather pants and that came over her knees, and that she just loved to plant on our dead indian bodies to gloat over her victory. But sometimes in hand to hand fighting when she punched us Indian girls down and then landed on top of us on the ground, I remember that metal and leather grinding into my bare skin (and even into my crotch) and it did hurt. But there was never damage, and we indians always got up to fight again. In some basic way, we actually trusted each other a lot even as we fought to the death (always my death…!)

In fact, I have to admit I really liked my one-on-one combats with Cindy, because she was just so tough and fierce - a real tomboy. She was taller than me, weighed more than me, and was a lot stronger than me, and she liked to use every single one of her advantages - in clothing, strength, and weapons - against me, and she always took me closer to the edge than any of the other cowboys and cowgirls. She just had a knack for being totally realistic and in her part as the toughest indian-fighting cowgirl in the west. Whenever we had a one-on-one, she’d make sure I really felt her hard punches against my bare belly and abdomen. When she had me down on my back, she’d deliberately bring her cowboy boot up between my bare legs till I could feel it against my exposed crotch, and Cindy was one who always wanted me totally naked before she finished me off, so I knew that every single fight with her would include her ripping my loincloth off at some point. And she’d always say something when she did it (like “I’m going to strip you completely naked, injun gal”) to really make me feel totally vulnerable before she killed me. I could tell she liked the feeling of stripping me of the only shred of cloth I had, and exposing my pussy to her fists, boots, and weapons. In fact, I always felt more vulnerable fighting Cindy than anyone else in hand-to-hand combat, in part because her many layers of clothes, including her awesome boots and leather pants, vest, long leather jacket were the toughest of anyone’s. When the weather got colder, Cindy would always joke that her cowgirl advantages were multiplying and our Indian disadvantages growing because she got to put on extra layers of clothes while we still had to fight naked.

Aside from an initial non-lethal bullet wound or two just to let me know who had the guns and who was going to win the fight, Cindy always liked to make me feel all her other advantages before using her guns to finish me off. So I always got a real pounding from her - fists, boots, knives and more - before I died. And because she was so realistic and would string out the fight as long as possible, I always put up the most resistance against her, struggling and fighting hard against her overwhelming might even though I was naked and unarmed, trying to wrest away her knife or gun from her (always unsuccessfully.) And the more I fought, the tougher and more violent Cindy would get against me, my resistance feeding her power, fury, and determination to pound this indian into submission, her punches for example getting harder and lower till her fist would land right in my naked pussy, pistol whipping me, swinging her rifle barrel into my bare belly, sticking her gun right into my bare tit and deliberately blowing off the nipple, getting me down flat on my back on the ground and then making me raise my arms at gunpoint and then drawing her knife blade down slowly from my tits to my crotch so that I could almost feel like the blood was oozing, and more. Cindy had the most amazing and endless repertoire of violent actions that could be inflicted on a naked body, and all the other cowgirls and cowboys naturally regarded her as the leader and tried to learn from her fighting and killing skills, just as we got to practice and improve our dying skills the more we fought.

Amazingly, as I said before, Cindy knew the edges of the limits like a pro, and she never caused me any lasting damage, though she came as close as possible, and brought me closer to feeling like this was a real fight to the death than anyone else. In the end, once she had pulverized me with her fists, boots, and everything else, and had me flat on my back totally naked on the ground, breathless and with all the resistance knocked out of me, she’d sometimes knife me in the abdomen and groin with her Bowie knife, and slice me open before finishing me off with bullets. I’d struggle against her right till the end and as long as I could, but of course I never had a chance. Even physically, she could easily overpower me. But the end of the fight always had much more to do with weapons than with physical strength. So I always saved my last strength to do a really good dying scene - I’d owe that to Cindy (we actually became the closest of friends through all this!) So when she knifed me and shot me, my naked body would crumple, jerk, and buck violently till I ended up dead and still - usually spread-eagled on my back (that’s the way everyone seemed to want it) - alongside my equally naked and dead indian girlfriends.

Actually, Buck, one of your photo pieces reminded me a lot of Cindy - the one in your "Hostile Ground" piece where the woman in leather pants, brown shirt, and black boots moves in to shoot down a whole bunch of indian girls, who are nearly naked and completely unprepared. You have a great shot of her from the ground up, showing a close up of her black leather pants and boots, that makes her look so tough. She then shoots down all the Indian girls with a big black machine gun. Her look, her firing stance, and the deliberateness with which she aims her big gun at the unprotected Indians all reminded me a lot of Cindy actually. Cindy had a machine gun too, among her huge arsenal of weapons that included shotguns, rifles, and six-shooters. In fact, I had a special dance of death just for getting machine-gunned

And I think the other reason we didn’t mind “having the stuffing knocked out of us” was that it was just what we expected - the indians always ended up dead in the comics and in the movies, and we all just accepted that the cowboys and the cowgirls got to do the shooting, and we got to do the getting shot and dying. And after all, what did we expect fighting naked, outnumbered, and with these useless little tomahawks against fully clothed cowgirls and cowboys armed with guns. We never had a chance and it would have been ridiculous not to get the stuffing knocked out of us in those circumstances. And in some ways I think we actually got to have a better time than the cowboys, because we got to be much wilder (and maybe freer) than them - we always got to attack, sneak up, and do dastardly deeds to justify us getting shot, while they just had to sit there waiting to be attacked, and then we got to do these really dramatic death scenes, almost acrobatic sometimes, our naked bodies doing a dance of death as multiple bullets hit us, flinging our arms wide as we hit the ground, clutching bullet wounds, screaming as we were shot, writhing in agony on the ground till the cowgirls and cowboys put us out of our misery with some more gunshots, all of which was a lot wilder and more dramatic than them just shooting their guns at us. So I think we actually had quite a lot of fun as we had the “stuffing knocked out of us.”

And I have to be honest enough to say that the three of us indian gals all got some amazing sexual kicks out of it too - way more than I can imagine the cowgirls and cowboys getting with all their clothes on, though I know that some of them got a real kick out of the contact they had with our bare tits (and with our exposed crotches after they ripped our loincloths off). One of the cowboys, who’d always wear this black leather jacket, loved capturing me and then executing me by shooting my breasts right off. He’d grab me from behind, one leather clad arm hard round my bare waist, then shove his shotgun hard into my naked tit and pull the trigger. I know for a fact that he came more than once killing me like that. But we three Indian gals would sometimes compare experiences afterwards. For me the biggest turn on was having my loincloth ripped off and then feeling the metal gun barrel right in my unprotected pussy before being shot right there. I think I did some of my most dramatic dying scenes after getting shot in the crotch when I was totally nude.

I don’t know what it was, but even that tiny loincloth seemed to provide some feeling of security, even fighting against impossible odds. But once they tore that loincloth off and I was completely and utterly naked, all their cowboy clothes, boots, leather, and guns suddenly looked and felt a hundred times more powerful to me. Almost instinctually at those moments - feeling totally powerless and completely vulnerable, and even without thinking, I would raise my bare arms high above my head in complete surrender, and often plead with them “Don’t shoot me, please. I give up.” If I didn’t raise my arms right away, one of the cowgirls or cowboys would be sure to point a shotgun into my lower belly and say “Reach for the sky, injun.” And of course I did. If I didn’t raise my arms high enough, they’d prod me with their guns, and say “Higher!” But it was always at that point that I knew I was cooked and about to get finished off. It was almost a bit of a ritual sometimes, specially if this happened to me after my two Indian friends had already been shot dead. Their naked or near naked bodies would be lying sprawled on the ground riddled with bullets, and I’d be standing there totally nude, arms in the air, breasts, belly and crotch completely exposed, facing a whole bunch of fully clothed cowgirls and cowboys all with their guns pointed right at my unprotected body. And then I remember some of them very slowly and deliberately lowering their shotguns and rifles so they were aimed right at my pussy, and I can still remember their smiles as they prepared for the kill.

Those moments, that seemed to last forever even though I am sure they weren’t that long, were really like preparing for an execution, and I could feel my insides start to get wet at the anticipation of multiple lead bullets penetrating my soft flesh and tearing apart my budding womanhood. At those moments too, just before they squeezed the triggers of their guns, one cowgirl or cowboy would be sure to give a little speech, just to prolong the anticipation, something like “Let’s teach these indians a lesson they’ll never forget. This’ll teach ‘em to try and fight us naked and without guns - what do they expect? We’ll fill her body with hot lead and heavy metal slugs before we send her back to the happy hunting grounds. And be sure to aim low where it hurts the most. Let’s give her a taste of cowboy bullets she’ll never forget. When I say FIRE, shoot her to bits, and keep firing till there’s nothing left of her.” All through this, my arms were still raised high over my head, completely exposing my bare tits, belly, and groin to the gunfire that was about to come. Then there’d often be a ritualistic “Ready, Aim, FIRE…!!!” before the air was filled with smoke and the sound of guns all firing into my naked body (some of those cap guns really sounded like gunshots).

And I’d do this wonderful dance of death that I was really good at - as if the steady gunfire actually kept my naked body suspended in mid-air for a while jerking back and forwards as the bullets penetrated my unprotected flesh, my bare tits twitching and shuddering with each bullet, and my crotch, thighs, and belly all taking multiple hits that would double me over before the next tit shot straightened me up again. For me, it really did feel like multiple orgasms - the first I ever had as a growing woman - and each scream I emitted as the bullets hit me was also a bit of an orgasmic scream, I have to admit. I’d even have a special scream for direct shots to my pussy, so the cowgirls and cowboys always knew when they’d hit the bull’s eye. Then, finally, some powerful shotgun blast at point blank range would send me careening backwards arms spread wide, and I’d hit the ground hard, spread-eagled, naked, and dead. But I usually had my last orgasm after the cowboys and cowgirls would gather round my dead body to savour their victory, and one of them (this was often a part of the ritual) would be sure to place a heavy cowboy boot right on my unprotected crotch and stick the smoking metal rifle barrel right into my lower belly, while others poked my naked breasts with their rifle barrels as if to assure themselves that I was well and truly dead. Then with the three of us indians all lying shot dead and naked, the cowboys and cowgirls would sometimes drag our three bodies into a pile.

It would always be up to the cowgirls and cowboys to decide when that game had ended and then we’d get up, start a new game, and fight them again as a new bunch of indians. After all, we Indians were so defenceless and so easy to kill that some of our games only lasted 15 or 20 minutes before we were shot dead. So we’d often play three or four or five times in an afternoon, always with a new storyline, and getting shot and killed many times in a day. There were endless stories and endless variations, so we literally never got bored. In this way, getting punched, kicked, knifed, and particularly shot naked became so much part of my growing up, coming of age, sexual awakening, and my life that it’s almost in my cells. I was never embarrassed being naked, even though it did always make me feel totally vulnerable when fighting against fully clothed, armed, and booted cowgirls and cowboys. And it just became natural and obvious to me that if I was going to fight naked, then of course I’d always have “the stuffing knocked out of me” as you put it so eloquently. It’s just the way things were, it was in all the movies and comic books, and it was simple reality that and if my two indian girlfriends and I were going to fight naked and unarmed against more numerous and fully clothed guys and gals with guns and knives, then of course we’d end up being knifed and shot naked every time. How could it possibly end differently - To hell with political correctness.

I know it’s all had an effect on me even to this day, like even now I always wear an absolute minimum of clothes, often even in winter wearing just a small halter top and short skirt under my winter coat so that whenever I go indoors and take off my coat, I’m usually the most naked person present in any gathering, which I am sure all goes back to my indian days. All my halters and t-shirts are really short and always sleeveless, so my bare abdomen and belly flesh, arms, and low back are always exposed. I never wear jeans but usually just really thin and short skirts that leave my legs bare, or else low-cut sundresses with plunging necklines that also bare my back. And when I go out with guys, I almost always seem to pick those who favour tough clothes like boots, jeans, and leather jackets, and I still feel my vulnerability when they put their hands on my naked back and shoulders. So I guess in some way, I still feel a bit like a naked indian even though it’s years since we played cowboys and Indians.

Well, Uncle Buck, you sure have started the memories flowing. Let me know if you do a phototale with any of this stuff. I’m glad there is still someone out there who appreciates good old-fashioned westerns without any political correctness in which bare Indian bellies, chests, backs, groins (and yes, tits) cop the gunshot that they’re asking for by attacking and fighting naked with their pathetic little tomahawks against well armed and fully clothed cowboys and cowgirls. I mean what do you expect those cowgirls and cowboys to do if they’re attacked by a bunch of screaming, naked savages waving their little wooden axes in the air. Of course, they’ll shoot ‘em down with all the guns and firepower they have. I’d do the same if I were them.

But here's a confession: We were way older than 10 when we played cowboys and indians the way I described. Of course, we'd played when we were younger. But we must have been 14 or 15 when my girlfriends and I started playing bare-chested. I remember clearly it started as a dare. A whole bunch of us neighbourbood kids went out together to an old-fashioned cowboy and indian movie that was actually more violent and graphic than most. The indians were wearing nothing but small, thin loincloths, and in this movie, unlike most, you could see the blood and bullet holes appear on their bare bellies, chests, and backs every time they were shot, and a lot of the battle scenes were in slow motion. I remember we talked a lot afterwards about what kind of special effects they must have used to get the blood to suddenly appear on the indians' bare skin when they were being shot.

Anyway, the last big battle of the movie was the most graphic and violent of all, and I think we were all fascinated watching the cavalry, all uniformed in their high boots and blue jackets, using Gatling Guns on the indians, who had no guns at all of course, and whose naked bodies twisted and jerked in slow motion as they were raked with the machine gun fire. The Gatling Guns would just rhythmically go Ratatatatatatat and the indians would scream and throw their arms in the air as their bare torsos suddenly filled with bloody bullet wounds. The indians did some of the best slow motion dances of death we'd seen in the movies, and then the cavalry charged into the remaining indians and ran them through with their long sabres. At the end, the camera slowly panned over the battlefield full of near naked corpses riddled with bullets, and some with sabre gashes in their bellies.

I really identified with the indians and after the movie said "Wow. We never died that good when we played. That was awesome." And one of the boys said "Yeah, and you never dressed right either. We were really dressed as cowboys but you weren't dressed as indians. You should have been wearing nothing but loincloths." And then he dared my two girlfriends and I to re-enact the movie we'd just seen with us "wearing nothing but loincloths" just like in the movie. We hesitated and the other kids taunted us, saying we weren't game to really be indians. So we took the dare.

I remember we felt really self-conscious the first few minutes, but then we got totally into the game, did some of the best dying scenes we'd ever done, and we had a blast. My indian girlfriends and I felt really good and sexy running around nearly naked, and we could tell that the cowboys and cowgirls were completely turned on as well. Even though we hadn't played in quite a while, it wasn't hard for the oowboys and cowgirls to rustle up jeans and cowboy boots and leather jackets, since we lived in a rural area out west and lots of folk dressed that way anyway.

Well, we all had such a good time (and we actually laughed so much as we played) that it started us all on a whole new phase of cowboys and indians that was actually way more fun and way more adult than anything we had played when we were younger. After that first time, my girlfriends and I completely lost our inhibition and had no problem stripping for battle every time. The game became our little gang's special "thing" - like our local gang trademark -and we'd play cowboys and indians like that whenever we all got together. I remember we did it all the way till we were 18, but after that, we all went off in different directions, to college and whatever, and lived in different places, so our local gang somehow split up. But you're imagining us being 19, Sam, is actually not too far off the mark. Just so you know....

Thanks again for archiving this. I am really flattered.... truly....!

That ritual, too, started as a dare (lots of things seemed to in those days - because somehow our teenage pride wouldn't let us ever say no to a dare). I remember we'd all looked together at a comic (sure wish I could remember the name but we read so many of them in those days to keep getting new ideas and storylines for our games) in which these frontiersmen and frontierswomen, all clad in fur lined neck to toe coats, with these really long-barrelled rifles, were avenging some dastardly indian deed by killing all the indians, who as usual were wearing nothing but loincloths, even though it was obviously winter. Several scenes in this comic had the indians being shot down in the snow. We had long discussions about that in our little group, with some of the kids (who claimed to know this stuff) saying that indians rubbed bear oil into their skins to protect them against the cold. Is that true? I never did verify this little "factoid." But anyway, the discussion ended, I remember, with a challenge, that if we indians were as tough and wild as we pretended we were, that we wouldn't be wimps and would fight naked in the winter too, just like the indians in this comic book. Well, what were we going to do - be "wimps"...??!! So we did...

And to tell the truth, my indian girlfriends and I really didn't mind, both because we just got used to the cold against our bare skins (it actually got to feel good) and because we were sneaking up, running around, getting shot, and dying so actively (way more than the cowboys and cowgirls who often just stood there firing their guns) that we indian gals kept ourselves warm with all the activity. Even to this day, I can feel that feeling in my skin and bones, which is why I still dress minimally even in the winter and I just enjoy the feeling of the cold against my bare arms, legs and belly. I can't tell you how often friends ask "Aren't you cold?" And I never lie - I don't say "No" but just "Sure I am, but so what..."

But of course Cindy was right in a way. We definitely felt our disadvantages and vulnerability even more in the winter, and we were even easier to kill then. Like in hand to hand fights with the cowgirls and cowboys, our flailing bare arms couldn't make a dent against all their extra layers of clothed armour while their punches still landed hard on bare flesh, and our little tomahawk sticks were even more useless, whereas they could so easily plunge their knives right to the hilt into our naked bellies (Cindy and some of the other cowgirls and cowboys had those long-bladed knives with retractable blades), meeting no resistance at all.

And then I think there was also a kind of extra psychological edge that the cowgirls and cowboys had against us indian gals in the winter time. Partly I think it's because the winter felt like their ally, almost like a subtle extra weapon they had - with the sometimes biting cold against our bare skin feeling like we were being stabbed and pierced with hundreds more knives. And I might be just imagining it, but I don't think so, that our cowgirl and cowboy buddies got even more aggressive against us in the winter, as if our nakedness in the winter was even more of a sign of our uncivilized wildness and savagery that justified their attack and invited their fists, boots, knives, and bullets even more.

OK Sam and Uncle Buck. I am going to tell you one last story here before I chill for a bit, both because I can see we are running out of space in our message board conversation here, and because the holidays are over and I have to attend to my work duties again. But I'll tell this one in commemmoration of my official new Naked Wendy name that you gave me in your archives.

When I wrote to you yesterday, I was thinking how many of our game 'rituals' started seemingly by accident and without any deliberation. They just "happened."

Well one of these that I just mentioned in passing yesterday was going from the loincloth-wearing stage to the often-entirely-naked / totally nude phase. That didn't happen for quite a long time, actually, and when it did, it really wasn't intentional, I have to say. In fact, I would even say that the opposite was the case. For the longest time when we played, our little loincloths were almost sacrosanct, you could say, and it literally never occurred to us that we could ever be without them. We always tied our little loincloths very securely to ensure that our pussies were properly covered and protected. and even the cowboys and cowgirls somehow accepted that - no matter how low they aimed their guns into our abdomens, it was not OK to shoot us where we were covered. They could shoot us as close as they wanted to that spot, and there were plenty of times we indian girls got shot a few inches below our belly buttons, but the basic rule of our game was that they could only hit us and knife us and shoot us where we were naked.

So everyone accepted that the cowboys' and cowgirls' fists and bullets always had to meet bare indian flesh. And that meant that blows and bullets to the loincloth-covered area were out of bounds. We didn't even have "no below the waist" rules - it was fine for example for them to hit us, knife us and shoot us in our bare thighs, hips, and lower abdomens. So basically - naked indian skin, wherever it was - and it was, after all, 95% of our bodies, so they had plenty of choices on where to pump their hot lead - was the only legitimate target for cowboy bullets. And the small covered area at our pussies and clits remained our sole protection. That protected area was tiny, but somehow it felt huge.

No matter how exposed and vulnerable our bare bellies, legs, and tits were to the cowboys' fists, knives and bullets, somehow we were still protected. Our true and deepest vulnerability and sexuality were still safe. To me personally, this little protection somehow lessened my vulnerability enormously and so I never minded flinging the rest of my body around as wildly as possible in our games, because my true inner secret was till guarded. It was almost an unexpressed rule in our games. In fact I don't remember us ever referring to it explicitly. We would often joke that there were only three rules in our games - (1) that the cowboys and cowgirls always ended up winning and the indians always ended up dead; (2) that no one would actually get hurt; and (3) that cowboy and cowgirl fists, boots, knives, and bullets always had to target and land on naked indian flesh. But we never actually spoke about or gave expression to what lay beneath the loincloth - we spoke around it but never about it. Remember we were about 15 years old at the time.

So how did such a basic and fundamental rule change? It happened quite a bit later and it happened entirely by accident. I'd guess we were 16 by then. I remember that moment as vividly as if it were yesterday. It was fall, there was a whistling wind, and the air was already bitingly cold. Maybe because the sound of the wind masked our steps, the three of us cowgirls had managed to sneak up on the cowboy camp way closer than we usually got. There were about four cowboys and five cowgirls - all in their jeans, high cowboy boots, weatern shirts, cowboy hats, and fringed leather pants and jackets, with holstered six-guns, sheathed long knives, and holding rifles and shotguns. The three of us as usual brandished our little wooden tomahawk sticks and were barefoot, bare-breasted and naked but for our little loincloths.

We were outnumbered three to one (to say nothing of outgunned and outclothed as usual), but that was normal. This time, we were so close, crouched behind trees and boulders and they were so unaware of our presence, just talking and laughing among themselves around their campfire, that we figured we could really use surprise to our advantage and take a few of them down before they even knew what hit them. We'd even planned among ourselves that if we ever managed to disarm a cowboy or cowgirl, we'd use him or her as a shield against the gunfire of the others. This was our best chance. One of my fellow indian gals. Suzie, gave the charge signal, and we pounced from behind on three of the boys who happened to be sitting next to each other right in front of us.

In a moment we were engaged in the most furious hand to hand combat, we wrestling and the three boys punching, the other cowboys and cowgirls drawing their guns and knives. Because we jumped them from behind, we easily got the three boys to the ground, and, landing on top of them, for a moment seemed to have an advantage. But I had taken the biggest and strongest of the boys, who was also a good bit taller than me, and it didn't take him long to reverse the score, shove me off him, and land on top of me. He had me face down, was trying to pin my bare arm behind me, and had already drawn his gun and stuck the metal barrel hard into my naked side at waist level. But I struggled like a demon, thrashing back and forth, trying to bite his leg (not easy, since he had high leather boots over his jeans that came up to his knees), and trying to squirm out from under his weight and to stop him pinning me down.

Meantime, as I continued to fight as hard as I was able, I heard and then saw out of the corner of my eye that it was already over for my two indian girlfriends. As I struggled and twisted in my own battle to the death, I heard the sound of punches against bare flesh and saw Suzie standing, with her arms pinned behind her by one cowboy, being mercilessly pummelled in her bare belly one of the cowgirls. Then, a couple of moments later, I saw indian Amy's bare legs standing right by me, her bare arms raised high in surrender, and then heard about ten loud gunshots in quick succession right next to me as three of the cowgirls fired their shotguns, rifles, and pistols almost simultaneously at point blank range into Amy's near-naked body. One of the cowgirls - the one nearest to where I was fighting - was firing both her pistols together, one in each hand, into Amy's belly. Amy screamed, jerked wildly, and fell dead to the ground right beside me, after which she copped a couple more bullets that made her body twist and buck before it was still.

I think the cowboy I was fighting - his name was Rob - was even more distracted by the drama happening right next to us, and couldn't help but watch Amy's death throes with some fascination. It was the opening I needed, and I squirmed suddenly and pulled really hard to get out from under his weight. But somehow, his metal boot buckle had gotten entangled with the string that held up my precious loincloth, and as I pulled forward and away from him, I felt my loincloth come right off me. Feeling me get away, he lunged forward, slammed me in the small of my back with the barrel of his pistol, and pushed my shoulders back down to the ground. I could feel the loincloth at my feet, but I don't think Rob was even aware that it had come off, as he was right on top of me and didn't see it happen. His booted leg was right across my bare ass.

Well, that moment seemed to last an eternity, as if I had to make a gigantic decision at that point on which my life and everything else totally depended. I had never ever fought totally nude before, and suddenly felt hugely vulnerable in a way that I'd never dreamed of experiencing. Suddenly and at that moment, the feeling of Rob's studded leather boots against my bare flesh where the loincloth used to be, and his leather jacket against my bare torso felt a hundred times more powerful than I had ever experienced. Before I at least had something - a token protection maybe, but it did protect the most important part of me. Now I had absolutely nothing - nothing at all. When Rob had first stuck his gun in my side and told me to drop the tomahawk, I had let it go, so I was totally unarmed, and I now had not a shred of clothing against his jeans, boots, leather jacket and more.

I could have stopped the fight then and there by just saying my loincloth had come off, and I am sure he would have respected that. But at the same moment, I realized that if this battle were real, no self-respecting indian would stop fighting just because his loincloth had come off. I'd identified so closely with the indians in all these years that in that instant, I just decided to BE that indian, and keep fighting the way an indian would. In fact, having nothing left to lose somehow made me fiercer and wilder in that moment and I actually felt my strength double - I think taking Rob quite by surprise, as I shoved him off me and then jumped on top of him. Some of the other cowboys and cowgirls had already seen my loincloth lying on the ground and had gathered around. Now that I was on top of him and had him down, Rob and everyone else saw that I was fighting totally nude.

But my momentary victory in getting Rob down was very short-lived indeed. Cindy walked up from behind, shoved her shotgun barrel into my bare waist, wrapped her leather jacketed arm around my throat, pulled me off Rob, and stuck the shotgun barrel into my bare tit. I remember her smiling from ear to ear as she then pushed me away from her into the middle of the circle, where Amy and Suzie now both lay dead. I still remember Cindy's words - "Now look what we have here...." as she lowered her shotgun barrel so that it was now aiming directly into my exposed pussy. Then she said "Here's a shot I've been waiting for for a long time. Allow me." Never, ever had I felt so powerless and utterly vulnerable, totally and utterly naked, surrounded by a whole bunch of fully armed and fully clothed cowgirls and cowboys, with the shotgun pointed directly into THE most vulnerable part of my body. At that moment I not only knew I'd be killed as usual, but I almost felt like I was really going to die if she pulled that trigger. For me, it was the most realistic-feeling moment of any time we had ever played. And Cindy then carefully aimed, very deliberately and slowly, and fingered the trigger. I raised my arms and really pleaded: "No Cindy. Don't do it. Don't shoot me there." She even answered me: "You kept fighting indian and you would have killed Rob if you'd had half the chance even if you were stark naked. So there's no mercy, baby." Then, with a huge smile I'll never forget, she fired her shotgun three times in succession right into the centre of my pussy. With the first shot I felt that my clit was ripped right off, while the second two pussy shots seemed to plough deep inside me. I screamed, clutched my mortal wounds, toppled backwards, and hit the ground face up, arms and legs flung wide, spread-eagled, dead, utterly naked for all the world to see my most intimate self.

It was a turning point and hugely powerful I think not only for me but for all of us. The taboo was broken, and after that moment, it became nothing and even normal for the cowgirls and cowboys to rip off our loincloths quite deliberately in battle. It started as a genuine accident, and then became totally part of our game. From that moment on, we only had two rules in our games.

Now, Sam and Uncle Buck, I really have to chill for a while I think, because there's no more webspace left in this message board conversation and because I really have to deal with some work I've neglected. Thank you both so much for drawing all this out of me. I never would have started gushing if it hadn't been for your inspiration. It's been really liberating - you both really rattled my cage and blew it right open in fact. Hope I haven't over-gushed and taken up too much time and space. Thank you both for your sweet and encouraging notes that kept me going. Love and wishes and Happy New Year to you both, and to the other two folk who kindly wrote their responses too - It's never too late, Peter.... Go for it!

With warm appreciation from a Very, Very Naked Wendy.

Of course, Sam, you are right that it was totally daft for us indian gals, nearly naked and with nothing but tomahawks, to take on a vastly superior, fully clothed, and fully armed cowgirl and cowboy force that outnumbered us 3 to 1 - specially in winter as you say, when we were even more disadvantaged. But the problem we always had was that no one else but Amy, Suzie and I were ever willing to play the indians, and that started out simply because we were the only ones in the neighbourhood without guns. The others all had guns and a lot of them had fancy cowboy outfits to boot, plus they really liked to win. Winning never mattered to the three of us, and we happened to think that sneaking up, being wild and savage, doing dastardly deeds, running around naked, and dying dramatically was way more fun (and more aerobically and acrobatically challenging) than just firing guns.

But it was only ever we three against 9 or 10 of them. So it was inevitable we'd "get the stuffing knocked out of us" whenever we played. The way we got around our numbers disadvantage in those days is that always got to be more than just three indians. In any given afternoon of play, we'd generally be 12 or 15 indians, so after we got shot down, we'd start a new round. So in our minds, we were actually a whole tribe of indians, and we'd each get killed four or five times in an afternoon - always in different ways and with different story lines and plots, though each usually ended with multiple gunshots in one form or another. When I think back, each round of fighting was probably round 20 minutes or so, but we'd usually play for a good two hours at a time.

But the other part of what you say is also true. We'd seen plenty of movies that had those "death-in-battle oaths" you talk about, and that was definitely part of our creed. Amy, Suzie and I in fact often took those oaths quite formally, and the cowgirls and cowboys knew it too. So we always knew we'd die in battle each time, and it made us that more daring in our attacks knowing ahead of time that we were definitely going to get killed in any case. So there was nothing to lose.

I remember one movie (sure wish I could remember those names) in which these indian braves, again wearing nothing but little loincloths and brandishing their lances, took such an oath when it was obvious that they were going to be defeated. Then almost ritualistically, each one of them separately - one by one - charged towards the cavalry lines. The cavalry was all lined up with their rifles ready, and as each loincloth-clad warrior swooped down the hillside towards them, the commander would say "Ready Aim FIRE" and 50 or 60 guns would go off at once, all aimed at the single near-naked warrior with his lance raised over his head. So they shot down the braves one by one in that way, and each of the braves did a beautiful dying scene as his bare belly and chest and legs took multiple bullets before toppling off his horse. The last two warriors, the cavalry commander waited till the indians were really close before giving the command to fire, so I can't imagine any of the 50 or 60 bullets missed its target at such close range. I remember that we reenacted that particular scene several times actually in different forms in our games. It felt like facing a firing squad naked, and that was altogether a different feeling than fighting in battle. Quite a turn on to tell the honest truth.

I wish I knew where Cindy was these days, or some of the other neighbourhood teens, because I'd love to hear now - years later - how all those experiences playing cowboys and indians felt to them. I've said some how it felt for me to fight and get shot naked, but I'd really like to hear now how it was for those cowgirls and cowboys to kill us naked indian gals and what their experience was.

OK Amy, since you asked..... (and since I offered). Well your intuition on Suzie sure was right on target. Now I can see how you figured that out (first I couldn't even guess how you knew that.) Well Amy was really different from both Suzie and me. You see, even though our styles of fighting and dying were as different as our characters, we were both fighters. Somehow it never even occurred to Suzie not to charge naked into the gunfire - she was NEVER going to go quietly or even raise her arms in surrender. I'd surrender all right, but then - once there was a gun muzzle jabbed into my bare belly, I wouldn't go quietly. Sometimes I'd try to grab the gun away from the cowgirl or cowboy, and always I'd fight like the dickens - even unarmed, naked, and with my bare hands - I'd always go down fighting. I really liked the close-range combat (in fact, I always figured that when you don't have a gun, your only chance of bringing down a fully clothed and heavily armed cowboy or cowgirl is by getting close - then at least you have a chance of landing some blows or getting a tomahawk strike in, even if - just like in your story - it doesn't make much of a dent in a heavy leather coat). But still I actually thought I was a way better and smarter fighter than Suzie, because she never even had a chance to get close or bring down any of them before the gunshots tore her apart.) So I'd still be fighting all the way to the end even when while they punched, kicked, and knifed me in my bare body. It was almost a ritual with us that you had to end with a gunshot - something about bullets vs bare flesh was totally final - so they always eventually shot me dead, but I fought all the way.

Well Amy was totally different from Suzie and me in that way. She just wasn't a fighter, simple as that. It wasn't in her blood or character I guess. Even her body type was different - she was just softer all over - as if you could hardly see a real muscle or bone - there was no hardness in her body. Her whole body - specially when it was naked or nearly naked - just always looked the softest and most vulnerable of anybody's in our group. Amy I think was also the prettiest girl in our group, and I really think the boys in our group were always most turned on by her, specially because her breasts, when they were exposed, were just so soft and lovely. In fact, Amy probably got shot way more often in her breasts - just because they were such lovely targets - than either Suzie or me. But she sure didn't know how to fight! Sometimes even in our stories, we'd have to invent special roles for her, because it just didn't fit her character for her to have done any dastardly deed! She wasn't the dastardly type.

At the same time, she was as much into being an indian as Suzie and me. We were totally bonded, the three of us, and she was as eager to play as us. In fact she was definitely at least as good at dying as Suzie and me, if not better - but different. Suzie and I would shriek and yell when we got hit by bullets, and our naked bodies would jerk and twist violently at each shot, but Amy would kind of squeal in this very feminine way, and she'd do this incredibly graceful death dance that Suzie and I couldn't have done in a million years.

It was even different in close-up fighting. I think I had (and still have) pretty strong stomach muscles, so I could handle pretty hard punches, kicks and stabs in my naked belly without it hurting. But Amy's belly was so soft that it always seemed to crumple when punches, leather boots, and knives landed there. So while Suzie and I always went down fighting, Amy always seemed to die without hardly fighting back.

And by the way, Amy was definitely the cowgirls' and cowboys' favourite target for capture and interrogation before execution. There were plenty of times when Injun Amy was captured at gunpoint, and had her bare hands and arms tied behind her back while the cowboys and cowgirls extracted information from her about the whereabouts of the rest of our tribe. They'd draw the knife blade down her naked body (and when we were older cut off her loincloth too) to get the information they wanted, they'd punch her, and stick their guns into her threatening to shoot off her breasts or fill her groin with lead, and more. She'd play that captive part so well - way better than either Suzie or me (who were more tempted to spit in the faces of our captors or at least scowl and glare at them.) But Amy would plead for them not to hurt her, beg them not to shoot her, and pretend she just didn't know the information. But in the end, of course, she'd always squeal just at the point she was convinced she really would get hurt if she held out any longer. Then they'd shoot her down of course, or else sink a knife deep into her. But she sure played the captive part well!

Somehow, Amy never lost her feminine quality, even in the midst of all the fighting, while I guess that Suzie and I had a bit more of a tomboy quality - at least in really getting into the fighting and combat. Funny the differences eh? It's almost as if Suzie and I convinced ourselves with each battle that we really had a chance and were going to fight whole-heartedly - we had a fierce quality, even though of course we never had a chance in hell. But you knew Amy was going to lose before the fight even began - she just LOOKED so vulnerable against the fully clothed and fully armed cowgirls and cowboys, that she was more "target" than "enemy."

Anyhow, you can see there were endless subtleties here - wasn't quite as simple as just cowboys and indians. Each of us had our own character and way of playing and I think you really got some of that in your story in an amazing way.