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The string tie to one side of the bottoms was grasped between a finger and thumb and I pulled it slowly and deliberately until the knot released and the fabric began to slither down my hip. The other side remained tied and to shake it free I gyrated and wiggled my hips. As it started to fall free the crotch refused to be parted from between my slithery and engorged labia. I increased the gyrations of my hips, bending forward slightly so as to increase the view to the guy sat behind me. Dropping to the sand, my half naked butt pointing directly at the guy, knees spread wide apart, my hand eased the cloth from out of it's hiding place and dropped it to the sand. In that same position, with sun-block on my fingers I spread it over my pussy. The coolness of the cream felt so good. Fingers, long practiced at pleasuring that area, performed their magic, not only restricting to pussy but to the little star that men seem to find so irresistible. For a time I was lost in a favourite. I didn’t see any more sand in or around it, so I spread some antibiotic cream, covered it with a large piece of gauze, and wrapped a bandage around it. The wound was wide enough it couldn’t be stitched closed, and wasn’t deep enough to cause major problems, but man did it hurt! I fully expected it to remain sore and unusable for a few days, eventually leaving a nasty looking scar. I washed a couple of Motrin and penicillin down with water, before putting everything away back in the EMT kit and repacking it in the wagon. I put my bloody shirt back on, and walked up the hill, picking up my hat where I’d dropped it about halfway down the hill. At the rim, I picked up the Remington and carefully looked over the rim of the hill at the wagon train.A small group of men were having some kind of argument as they walked towards me. They were still three hundred yards away, so I turned back down the hill after scooping up the .308 brass, and my empty magazines. I put the A700 and my M4 under.
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