GRANDMA'S JOURNAL
About five years ago I was down in our basement, going through an old steamer trunk that has been in the ****** for three generations, and maybe even longer than that. Most of what I found consisted of very-old photographs of the type known as "tintypes" and "daguerreotypes," lots of ****** Bibles, correspondence from one ****** member to another, and journals my ancestors had kept.
I began reading the journals first, starting with one written by my maternal grandmother, and when I had finished it, another written by my maternal great-grandmother, and finally the journal of my great-great-grandmother. It was that one which I found extremely fascinating, since it contained many descriptions of what life was like in the latter half of the 19th century. Because the author was a woman, like me, her words gave me a viewpoint that is rarely found in books about that period in the history of our country.
It was when I was about halfway through the journal written by my great-great-grandmother that I began to read the part that captivated my heart and my soul, and that led directly to a change in my own marriage which has proved to be beyond momentous. I think as you read the words of my ancestor, you'll understand what I mean.
The part of the journal I'm referring to described what life was like for my great-great-grandmother, Emma Lou, and her husband, Hiram. At that time they were living on the reservation of the Perce Nez Indians, in Idaho. He was employed as a teacher in the part of the reservation school that schooled the boys, while she taught "homemaking skills" to the girls. Both were familiar with the language spoken by the natives, of course, although most of the lessons were taught in English, since the main mission of a reservation school in that day and age was to teach the red people how to assimilate and become productive parts of what was deemed "American culture".
The particular part of Grandma's journal that enthralled me started June 23, 1880, which she said was one week before their tenth wedding anniversary. I'll let her speak for herself now, and I hope you find her words as fascinating, as well as instructive, as I did when I read them.
Wednesday, June 23, 1880.
Hiram and I have decided to celebrate our 10th anniversary by taking a leisurely trip to Yellowstone Park, where we will see all the wonders we've read about. How fascinating to think we'll soon be visiting our beloved Nation's first National Park, and only eight years after it was founded. We plan to travel by coach to Missoula, then to Bozeman, and thence ride horses south to the Park. I can't tell you, dear Journal, how excited I am to at last get away from Reservation life and see other parts of this Great Country of ours.
Thursday, June 24, 1880.
We leave tomorrow on our Great Adventure. As Wm. Clark said when the Corps of Discovery saw the Pacific Ocean for the first time, "O the joy!" To me, this is our own journey into the unknown. Hiram mentioned today there are rumors of what he calls "free Indians" at large in the area we plan to visit, but he anticipates no trouble with them. After all, we have been at peace with the Nez Perce for at least three years, so why should there be any problems with those who have rejected the Reservation life? I have resolved to put the matter out of my head and trust in God to watch over us.
Saturday, June 26, 1880
I apologize, dear Journal, for my lapse. Yesterday was a day of horrible heat and dust as we worked our way up the Lolo Trail, seemingly fighting with all our strength for each inch we gained. I pity the poor horses who were pulling our coach. After all, they did all the work while we just sat inside our shaded coach and complained. I Resolve to treat horses much better in future. Tomorrow morning we leave for Bozeman, and since that road is much better developed, we expect to reach that City late tomorrow night. May the Lord grant it.
Monday, June 28, 1880.
Another exhausting day on the road yesterday, leaving me too worn to write even a single word on these pages. Tomorrow will be better, Hiram has told me, since we'll be traveling by horseback from now on, rather than being shaken to death by the coach. I pray it will be so, but must admit I am not as convinced as I once was. So much for my fantasy of a leisurely journey.
Tuesday, June 29, 1880.
Wonder of wonders, today was even easier than anticipated. We both have excellent steeds to ride, and our guide is knowledgeable about this area and interesting to listen to as we ride along. The pack mules have been well-behaved, and if we make similar progress tomorrow, we should enter the Park tomorrow afternoon. Given our progress today, I have no doubt we will meet that prediction.
Wednesday, June 30, 1880.
Fear freezes my heart as I write these words. Wild Indians were sighted this afternoon, and before we knew what was happening, our guide, may the Lord damn him to Eternal Fire, deserted us. Hiram and I were surrounded by four of the Savages, all decked in feathers and paint, and screaming so loudly I almost fell from my horse in a swoon.
I am writing these words by the last rays of the day, and soon all will be dark. We were taken to the encampment of the Indians, and it gladdened both our hearts to see squaws were there. We learned from our days on the Reservation that when on the warpath, Indians normally do not allow women to accompany them. I pray that knowledge will prove to be true, because otherwise we are truly lost.
There are eight teepees in the camp, which Hiram says indicates there are that number of warriors. He thinks that means they are merely a wandering band, out to gather food for the coming Winter, and mean no harm to us. I pray his words prove to be accurate, for I must admit I am terrified by memories of all the stories of what was done to white women by other Savages. I resolve to meet my fate, whatever it may be, with whatever Grace and Fortitude the Lord may grant me.
They are lighting a huge bonfire now, which strikes terror into my heart. My dear Hiram has been trying to comfort me, but all I can think of is the two of us being roasted over the coals. May our end be quick, if it does, indeed, come to that.
They are coming for us now. May anyone who discovers this and learns of our fate do whatever can be done to avenge us.
Thursday, July 1, 1880.
I awakened late this morning to the peaceful sounds of birds singing in the trees. I have never in my life felt as rested and at peace, as I am now. My mind would think of nothing but the events of the night before, and all that had come to pass after we were led to the bonfire by the people of the band. As I thought of them, and what they had led us to discover about ourselves, I knew I loved them as deeply as I'd ever loved anyone, and that I would forever regard them as my friends.
Before I explain why I had such startling changes in the way I had at one time regarded our Red brethren, I feel I must add this request that must seem so strange to you, Dear Reader. My request is that anyone who reads this Journal promptly and completely destroy it without pause. I think once you've read my descriptions of what came to pass last night (can it truly be only such few hours since those wonderful things occurred?), you will understand why those events cannot ever be allowed to be revealed to others.
As Hiram and I were brought to a stop once we felt the heat from the fire, one of the squaws approached us. Using the few English words she knew, plus a bountiful helping of sign language, she pointed to me as she said, "Dress off."
As she said those two words, she lifted both hands above her head, miming the action of disrobing, and leaving no doubt as to her meaning. Hiram cried out, "No! Never!" as he struggled with the two braves who were holding his arms, but that did nothing to change what I'd been told to do. Again the woman raised her hands above her head to illustrate what she wanted me to do, then nodded her head to emphasize her request.
When my husband continued to cry out and struggle, I turned to him and said, "Please don't fight them, my love. We must do as they ask, or they'll kill us. Please."
My words quieted him, and the look of resignation that passed over his face reassured me that his protests had ended. I turned my back toward him, then said quietly, "Please unbutton my dress, dear heart. It's the only way we'll get out of this alive. If they mean to ravish me, then it's a small price for us to pay for our lives. Please."
It took several seconds for him to understand that the path of no resistance was the best, and then I felt his fingers opening the six buttons that ran down my back. As soon as he had accomplished that, I lifted my arms over my head to signal what needed to be done, and again I had to wait until at last he resigned himself to the situation, and lifted my dress off over my head.
As soon as that part of my garments was taken from his hands by the squaw, I said softly, "Now the bodice, my love. Please unlace it for me."
His hesitation then was shorter than before, and I soon felt his fingers untying the laces that affixed that piece of my clothing which supported my breasts. When it, too, was hanging loose, he removed it from my body and gave it to the woman.
Since I had been riding my horse astraddle, there was no way I could wear petticoats, even if I had brought some with us on the trip. That meant the only thing protecting my modesty was the simple undergarment that has covered a woman's private regions for many years, my shift.
Before I could even prompt Hiram to remove that part, also, his hands were at my waist. His fingers quickly untied the string that held them around my hips, and in an instant he had pulled them down so I could step out of them. Before they were in the hands of the woman who seemed to be in charge, I could hear the murmurs of approval from those who were standing in front of me, gazing with rapt eyes at my naked body. When the woman held up one finger and twirled it in the air, I had no question what she wanted, and in a totally wanton display, I held my hands high above my head and revolved my body slowly in a complete circle, so all of them could see what had been hidden from their eyes only moments before.
When I turned far enough that I could see my husband, he was staring at me with glazed eyes and an open mouth that panted for air. I took that to mean he approved of what I was doing, and I unconsciously lowered my hands to my breasts, placed my palms under them, and lifted them as if offering them to each and every person who was watching me. The chorus of approval made me even more wanton, and my fingers soon found my nipples and began to pinch, twist, and pull them as far from my body as they would stretch.
As I did that, everybody raised one arm into the air, then as they pumped their fists high over their heads, they raised a throaty cry that sounded like, "Hey-ah! Hey-ah!" Again I did not need to hear English spoken to know I had pleased them, and again that seemed to find a level of perversion that I had never before known, or even suspected I had in my brain.
With my hands dropping to where my limbs join my hips, I spread my legs to their widest extent. The fingers of one hand spread my female part as wide as my legs already were, and those of the other hand began to scoop up the moistness that seemed to flow from my body in amounts I'd never known. When I brought my fingers to my lips, then licked them clean, the cries of approval were even louder than before.
The woman then turned her eyes toward my husband, and as she done moments before with me, she repeated her words of, "Dress off," as she ran her flattened hands down her side. Hiram did not hesitate as I had, and given that he wore but a shirt and his trousers, he was quickly just as naked as I. When his organ was revealed to be standing proud, in fact more proud that I'd ever seen it, more cries of approval rang out from the onlookers.
The woman looked back over her shoulders and said something that was spoken so fast I had no chance to understand her words, but when a child ran forward and gave a thong to her, I understood what her instruction had been. She again spoke rapidly, this time to one of the men who had been restraining Hiram, and in response he gripped my husband's manhood and began to stroke it roughly.
Hiram's only reaction to that rough treatment was to close his eyes tightly, then to rock his hips as his arousal increased by the second. At a second command from the woman, the warrior jerked my husband's organ as far from its home as it would go, and she expertly wrapped the thong twice around its prisoner and tied it off. My husband's groans of frustration told me that he'd been right at the edge of spending his seed, and the frantic way his hips continued to rock back and forth gave evidence of his great need.
Another command brought two more children running up to us, each of them bearing a buffalo robe. The robes were soon being spread on the ground beside the fire, and that was the signal for my part in the festival to proceed.
She pointed at me and then at the robes, leaving no room for misunderstanding as to what I was to do. Since I had no options, I meekly lay down on the makeshift bed and waited for whatever was to come. That part, too, quickly became apparent when she held both hands in front of her with their palms touching, then slowly spread them apart. As if joined to her by invisible strings, my legs parted and kept parting until at last they would move no farther, and I was left wantonly displaying that part of my body that should never be seen by anyone but my husband, if even him.
The woman then called out, "PeoPeo Pilpilp," which I recognized as indicating a small bird that is red in color. As my head turned toward a sudden movement, I saw a young boy hurrying forward, and I knew that was his name. He was surely no older than some of the students in Hiram's classroom, and I was confused as I wondered what his part in this night would be.
As he quickly approached me, he unfastened his breechclout and let it drop to the ground. Whether or not it ever reached the firmament, I do not know, because I had eyes for nothing but his manhood.
And it was truly a MANhood! I had no doubt it was half again longer than my husband's own organ, and undoubtedly twice as far across. To increase my fascination with it, it was dancing up and down with every step the boy took. The spider web of glistening diamonds that trailed from the head of the huge thing made my throat lock up, and it was all I could do to draw in a few breaths of life-giving air.
He paused for a heartbeat to look down at the moistness between my legs, then dropped to his knees. At a spoken instruction from the woman, he leaned forward, closer and closer to that part of my body that cried out for him, and if I had been able to speak at all, I'd have begged him to please, please hurry!
The woman spoke again, and miracle of miracles, his tongue found the part that needed him so desperately, and he began to slowly move it from my opening up to the bud that was standing in wait for him to find it. She must have given him further instructions, because then, oh, then! his questing tongue found the tiny thing, and for me time stood still as he licked and sucked it and drove me from what little remained of my mind.
The woman must have been watching me closely, because just as I could feel my body gathering all its strength for the release it was demanding, she spoke the single word, "NOW!" and he moved atop me and his organ entered my temple of love that cried out for him. Then, slowly, ever so slowly he began to move his hips back and forth, in stark contrast to what my husband had always done when we coupled.
Hiram had always been frantic in his movements as he entered me, and his rapid thrusts did little more than begin to excite me when he had already spent his seed and pulled out. The boy, by contrast, moved slowly and deliberately, almost as if he wanted me to spend before he did. I simply had no way to deal with that, and as my body screamed for release, I dug my fingernails into his beautiful bottom and pulled him deep inside me. That must have been the signal he awaited, for just as my release began, he thrust his manhood inside me farther than before, then held it there while his seed flooded that demanding part of me.
He lay there atop me for what seemed like eternity, then very gently touched his nose to mine and used it to caress me there. My husband had kissed me many times, although rarely after we had coupled, but his kisses never seemed as sensual, as exciting as having my nose caressed by the boy. I think it was right at that moment that I understood the Indians could be better than us in some ways, and maybe in many ways.
As the boy moved off me, I heard a moan from the other buffalo robe, and turned my head that way. To my unending shock, I saw my husband on his hands and knees. There were two of the warriors with him, both of them just as naked as Hiram. As I watched stunned almost to unconsciousness, one of them got down on his knees in front of my husband, then sidled forward far enough that his organ brushed Hiram's lips. I watched his lips fall open, and as I struggled to draw even a single breath, the erect, hugely-rampant organ disappeared inside the warm, welcoming opening.
To the accompaniment of Hiram's moans of pleasure, the second Indian dropped to his knees behind his crotch, and as his own erect manhood found the opening back there, my husband rocked back, almost as if begging that he be impaled. The warrior didn't hesitate, but merely thrust forward and I watched intently as his organ penetrated my beloved.
For the next few minutes, I watched the passion play the three men were performing, growing more and more filled with lust as I watched Hiram's openings filled to capacity in front and back. And then, just as I heard the warriors' groans that signaled they were ready to spend, my head turned back and I looked up to see a woman lowering herself to me.
She was lifting her dress above her waist as she slowly guided her body down to me, and when I saw in the flickering firelight that she was wearing nothing under her dress, I knew what she wanted. I knew to the core of my soul that I wanted her just as much, if not more, than she wanted me, and just as I was ready to reach up and draw her down to my mouth, her moistness found my lips, and my tongue began to caress and excite her private parts.
It was at that moment that I felt my legs being spread once more, and then I was slowly penetrated by one of the warriors, who was even larger than the boy had been. He drove me crazy by teasing me with his slow movements, just as I drove the woman crazy with my own frantic ministrations. She moaned, and I moaned in accompaniment as my tongue tasted all parts of her wonderful regions, and it never occurred to me to feel any sort of distaste when she began to move her body back and forth so I could lick and suck her from front to back.
At last the stimulation I was feeling brought my second release, and as it swept over me I sobbed with the emotions of love that overtook me. I knew at that moment that I had never before loved anyone, no matter of which race or gender they were, more than I did the woman and the warrior. It was no more than my station in life to abase myself to them, and to give them any pleasure they demanded of me, no matter how horrible that may prove to be.
Both the woman and the warrior withdrew from me at the same time, and as before my husband's moans drew my eyes to him. As I watched, he was again welcoming the organs of two other warriors into his body, one in his mouth and the other in his lower vent. But it was something else I saw that drew my eyes to his crotch, and I stared in shock and wonder at what was being done to him.
His manhood was still more erect than it had ever been, undoubtedly because of the thong that had been tied around it. It was so rampant that it was pointing at his head, a sight easy to see even in the darkness of the night.
That part of his body was being illuminated by a small torch that was being held beneath his manhood by a young girl. As the flames licked his organ, his groans of pain did nothing but excite me to even more lust than I'd ever before felt. As he rocked back and forth to escape the flames, it caused the two invaders to receive even more stimulation.
Most exciting of all, it was that stimulation that caused the two warriors to continuously cry out, "Kook mor!" That strange phrase was very common in the Nez Perce language, because it referred to an everyday activity: cooking meals. What the men were saying was that they wanted the woman to cook Hiram's organ so his frantic efforts to escape the flame would stimulate them even more.
As I watched his manhood being cooked, another woman mounted my tongue while the remaining three warriors took turns burying their organs deeply inside the part of my body that needed them so badly. And then, as my husband struggled to scream out his agony, I found the release that my body had always craved, and as I screamed into the moistness of the woman riding my lips, I fainted and knew no more until the next morning.
Thursday, August 1, 1880, cont.
When I awakened to this peaceful morning, the first thing I realized was that I was sleeping on the blankets we had brought with us. The second was that Hiram was sleeping beside me, and as the visions of his manhood being cooked flooded into my brain, I threw back the blanket that covered the two of us.
He was lying on his back, seemingly deep in an exhausted sleep, and snoring lightly as he always did when sleeping in that position. The only thing I had eyes for was his organ, and I looked there first, fearing that it would be gone.
It was still there where it had always been, but instead of the tiny thing I usually saw, it was hugely swollen, blackened like an overcooked sausage, and covered with large blisters. There was some sort of grease or oil coating it, and I knew at once that the Indians had used a healing lotion on it before they had left us.
And they had, indeed, left us. Where the eight teepees had been there were only rings of crushed grass. The site of the bonfire that had lighted the previous night's festivities had burned down to a few dull coals, glowing fitfully in a covering of gray ash. Of the men, women, and children who had their sport with us just a few hours before, there was no sign at all. We had been left to our own devices.
Hiram began to stir as I gazed at his blackened organ, and at his weak, "Good morning," I turned to look at his face. I was startled to see that he was smiling, and all I could think of to say was, "Doesn't it hurt?"
He followed my eyes to his crotch, and in stunned surprise he said, "My god! It really happened, didn't it? They actually cooked it!" He drew in a huge breath, then added, "No, it doesn't hurt at all. I think they put some sort of native medicine on it, don't you?"
I agreed with him, then when I began to take stock of our surroundings, I asked, "Don't you think we should try to find our horses and get out of here before they return?"
He just smiled lazily, then whispered, "I don't care if they come back, and I think you feel exactly the same way, don't you?"
That caused me to search deep in my soul, and as I reviewed the memories from the night before, and recalled how aroused and filled with lust I had been as the boy and four warriors impaled me and two women forced me to pleasure their private parts, both front and rear, I whispered in reply, "I feel as you do. I don't care if they do come back. I'm not the same person I was a day ago. I've changed, and I don't care who knows about it. I want . . . no, I need other men, and other women, too, in my life and in my bed, and I'll do everything necessary to make sure that happens. I think you want that, too, don't you, my love?"
"I want it more than I can ever say," was his reply to my question. Then, after we had both lain there in silence for a long time, he added, "I'll do everything in my power to bring men to you so they can give you the pleasure I never could. And if you want me to, I'll bring women to our bed so you can give them the pleasure they need. I want that so much that I can't even begin to describe it."
We lay there quietly for a long time, with us lost in our own thoughts. At last I kissed his cheek, then whispered, "I can't help but wonder what will become of us if . . . if they put a baby inside me. Surely when a boy and four men do . . . do that to a woman . . . she has to think about what may happen. Hiram, what will we do if I . . . if I have a baby because of last night. Will you hate me forever?"
He seemed to be stunned to the core of his being as he thought of the consequences of four men and a boy enjoying my favors. After a while, he turned to face me, then as he hugged me tighter than he ever had, he told me, "Never! Never could I hate you, Emma Lou. You're my wife in the eyes of God, and I will always love you and treasure you. If it was meant to be that you have a baby because of something that was beyond your control, then it will be mine to love and to raise.
"The more I think of that happening, the more I think it would be the right thing, because it would be our way of righting some of the wrongs that were done to the Nez Perce by our government. It should be our mission to replace all the men, women, and children that were killed in war, and if it is God's will that we do that, then I hope He gives us five babies from the boy and the men who . . . who lay with you last night. I want that to happen with all my heart."
I returned his embrace just as strongly, then whispered in his ear, "I will pray for that to happen, my love. I want us to have as many of their babies as God will grant us. I want other warriors to lie with me, and to give me their babies so we can raise them to take their place in Nez Perce society. I want that with all my heart, as do you, my husband."
Without even thinking about what I was doing, I got up onto my knees, then threw one of them over his head. As I settled into place on his mouth, I looked down at his loving eyes and whispered, "I think there's still some of their seed in me. Suck it out and eat it, and if you miss even a single drop I'll get a torch and finish what they started last night. I want to be entirely empty so if other warriors want to put their babies inside me, I will be ready for them."
And he went crazy with licking and sucking and swallowing as I described how wonderful it had felt to me when real men were inside me, filling me with their seed so I could carry their babies, and then later feed the rest of it to my husband. And at last I felt the intense craving for my release reach a fever pitch, so I gave way to it, and as my husband moaned beneath me while sucking and swallowing the seed other men had put in his wife's sex, I did my best to crush his head between my thighs.
The entries in Grandma's journal after that were written in the same vein, so I won't bore you with them, other than to say that they described how vividly the lives of the couple had changed. Grandpa would bring other men, as well as women, to their bed, sometimes several times per week. While the men took turns servicing both of them, they did their best to make their visitors achieve climax, to put it in modern terms.
Grandma's interest in serving other women seemed to increase over the years, until at last she gave herself over to a group composed of women who achieved their highest arousal as they tortured others of their gender. Her descriptions of the things those women did to her willing body excite me more than anything else I can imagine, and I have read and re-read them time after time, until my own interest in being submissive to women has become paramount in my life. My body now bears the marks of their love for me, and I wear each one as a badge of honor.
My husband, Darren, who also shares my passion for reading the journal, was slower than I was to develop his own interest in serving men in that capacity, but now he, too, finds his greatest excitement when he spends weekends, or sometimes longer, in the company of a group of men who take great delight in torturing one of their own sex. I have always encouraged him to give free rein to his imagination, and to beg the men to torture him in new and inventive ways. I am happy that he is happy, and I know he feels the same way about me.
There is one other thing I learned in the journal that may be of interest to you. In late March of 1881, almost nine months to the day after my ancestors' experiences in the camp of what they called "wild Indians," Emma Lou gave birth to twin boys. I have found photographs of the twins among the old daguerreotypes I referred to above, and was shocked to see how different the boys are in appearance.
There could never be any doubt they were half Indian, and also that their appearances were completely different from each other. It was that difference that convinced me they didn't have the same father, but instead one was fathered by the first Indian who ***** Grandma, and the other was fathered by the second Indian.
There are several other old photos in the trunk, each showing other children that were born to the union of my great-great-grandparents. In every picture, the fact that the child was half white and half Indian is evident. In all, there were eleven pictures of those children, including the twins, so I think Hiram and Emma Lou certainly did their part to restore the population on the Nez Perce reservation.
Shortly after I read that part of the journal, I had a DNA test done on myself. The test results confirmed there was Native American blood in my ******, and based on the percentage, it was probably first introduced in the latter half of the 19th century. So, I think I'm reasonably safe to claim that I have a Nez Perce heritage, and I am proud to tell others of that fact.
Finally, I have to say that I certainly understand my great-great-grandmother's desire that her journal be destroyed; however, I'm not about to do that. Instead, I continue to read it again and again. It has certainly proved to be effective in training my own husband to serve me in the same manner as my great-great-grandfather served Emma Lou all those years ago. Darren has, for more than three year, been bringing other men to our bed so they could impregnate me, just as the Indians impregnated my great-great-grandmother all those years ago. So far I have given birth to two sets of fraternal twins, proving that I inherited that ability from Emma Lou.
In both cases the twins did not resemble each other, and in fact the first set consisted of a white boy and a black girl. In the other set, both boys, one had flaming-red hair just like one of my lovers, while the other had the ruddy complexion, round face, and jet-black hair of a native American from the western United States. I'm sure his father was the Nez Perce Indian who spent three nights in our bed while my husband and I were visiting the places described in my great-great-grandmother's journal.
Altogether, I have given birth to five babies, none of which could have been fathered by my husband since I no longer allow him to have sex with me. He has always been the loving daddy of all my babies, and whenever anyone has the audacity to ask, he always assures the questioner that he is the father of all of them. I'm sure some of the busybodies walked away wondering why our ******** has such dark skin, but that is for them to deal with. As for the two of us, we simply could not care less.
Incidentally, I resolved long ago to preserve the journal in its entirety, and when the time comes, to pass it on to my descendants.
Don't you think that would be best for everyone?
The End
________________________
Questions or comments? Please write to me at: sharon_smif@gmx.com.
About five years ago I was down in our basement, going through an old steamer trunk that has been in the ****** for three generations, and maybe even longer than that. Most of what I found consisted of very-old photographs of the type known as "tintypes" and "daguerreotypes," lots of ****** Bibles, correspondence from one ****** member to another, and journals my ancestors had kept.
I began reading the journals first, starting with one written by my maternal grandmother, and when I had finished it, another written by my maternal great-grandmother, and finally the journal of my great-great-grandmother. It was that one which I found extremely fascinating, since it contained many descriptions of what life was like in the latter half of the 19th century. Because the author was a woman, like me, her words gave me a viewpoint that is rarely found in books about that period in the history of our country.
It was when I was about halfway through the journal written by my great-great-grandmother that I began to read the part that captivated my heart and my soul, and that led directly to a change in my own marriage which has proved to be beyond momentous. I think as you read the words of my ancestor, you'll understand what I mean.
The part of the journal I'm referring to described what life was like for my great-great-grandmother, Emma Lou, and her husband, Hiram. At that time they were living on the reservation of the Perce Nez Indians, in Idaho. He was employed as a teacher in the part of the reservation school that schooled the boys, while she taught "homemaking skills" to the girls. Both were familiar with the language spoken by the natives, of course, although most of the lessons were taught in English, since the main mission of a reservation school in that day and age was to teach the red people how to assimilate and become productive parts of what was deemed "American culture".
The particular part of Grandma's journal that enthralled me started June 23, 1880, which she said was one week before their tenth wedding anniversary. I'll let her speak for herself now, and I hope you find her words as fascinating, as well as instructive, as I did when I read them.
Wednesday, June 23, 1880.
Hiram and I have decided to celebrate our 10th anniversary by taking a leisurely trip to Yellowstone Park, where we will see all the wonders we've read about. How fascinating to think we'll soon be visiting our beloved Nation's first National Park, and only eight years after it was founded. We plan to travel by coach to Missoula, then to Bozeman, and thence ride horses south to the Park. I can't tell you, dear Journal, how excited I am to at last get away from Reservation life and see other parts of this Great Country of ours.
Thursday, June 24, 1880.
We leave tomorrow on our Great Adventure. As Wm. Clark said when the Corps of Discovery saw the Pacific Ocean for the first time, "O the joy!" To me, this is our own journey into the unknown. Hiram mentioned today there are rumors of what he calls "free Indians" at large in the area we plan to visit, but he anticipates no trouble with them. After all, we have been at peace with the Nez Perce for at least three years, so why should there be any problems with those who have rejected the Reservation life? I have resolved to put the matter out of my head and trust in God to watch over us.
Saturday, June 26, 1880
I apologize, dear Journal, for my lapse. Yesterday was a day of horrible heat and dust as we worked our way up the Lolo Trail, seemingly fighting with all our strength for each inch we gained. I pity the poor horses who were pulling our coach. After all, they did all the work while we just sat inside our shaded coach and complained. I Resolve to treat horses much better in future. Tomorrow morning we leave for Bozeman, and since that road is much better developed, we expect to reach that City late tomorrow night. May the Lord grant it.
Monday, June 28, 1880.
Another exhausting day on the road yesterday, leaving me too worn to write even a single word on these pages. Tomorrow will be better, Hiram has told me, since we'll be traveling by horseback from now on, rather than being shaken to death by the coach. I pray it will be so, but must admit I am not as convinced as I once was. So much for my fantasy of a leisurely journey.
Tuesday, June 29, 1880.
Wonder of wonders, today was even easier than anticipated. We both have excellent steeds to ride, and our guide is knowledgeable about this area and interesting to listen to as we ride along. The pack mules have been well-behaved, and if we make similar progress tomorrow, we should enter the Park tomorrow afternoon. Given our progress today, I have no doubt we will meet that prediction.
Wednesday, June 30, 1880.
Fear freezes my heart as I write these words. Wild Indians were sighted this afternoon, and before we knew what was happening, our guide, may the Lord damn him to Eternal Fire, deserted us. Hiram and I were surrounded by four of the Savages, all decked in feathers and paint, and screaming so loudly I almost fell from my horse in a swoon.
I am writing these words by the last rays of the day, and soon all will be dark. We were taken to the encampment of the Indians, and it gladdened both our hearts to see squaws were there. We learned from our days on the Reservation that when on the warpath, Indians normally do not allow women to accompany them. I pray that knowledge will prove to be true, because otherwise we are truly lost.
There are eight teepees in the camp, which Hiram says indicates there are that number of warriors. He thinks that means they are merely a wandering band, out to gather food for the coming Winter, and mean no harm to us. I pray his words prove to be accurate, for I must admit I am terrified by memories of all the stories of what was done to white women by other Savages. I resolve to meet my fate, whatever it may be, with whatever Grace and Fortitude the Lord may grant me.
They are lighting a huge bonfire now, which strikes terror into my heart. My dear Hiram has been trying to comfort me, but all I can think of is the two of us being roasted over the coals. May our end be quick, if it does, indeed, come to that.
They are coming for us now. May anyone who discovers this and learns of our fate do whatever can be done to avenge us.
Thursday, July 1, 1880.
I awakened late this morning to the peaceful sounds of birds singing in the trees. I have never in my life felt as rested and at peace, as I am now. My mind would think of nothing but the events of the night before, and all that had come to pass after we were led to the bonfire by the people of the band. As I thought of them, and what they had led us to discover about ourselves, I knew I loved them as deeply as I'd ever loved anyone, and that I would forever regard them as my friends.
Before I explain why I had such startling changes in the way I had at one time regarded our Red brethren, I feel I must add this request that must seem so strange to you, Dear Reader. My request is that anyone who reads this Journal promptly and completely destroy it without pause. I think once you've read my descriptions of what came to pass last night (can it truly be only such few hours since those wonderful things occurred?), you will understand why those events cannot ever be allowed to be revealed to others.
As Hiram and I were brought to a stop once we felt the heat from the fire, one of the squaws approached us. Using the few English words she knew, plus a bountiful helping of sign language, she pointed to me as she said, "Dress off."
As she said those two words, she lifted both hands above her head, miming the action of disrobing, and leaving no doubt as to her meaning. Hiram cried out, "No! Never!" as he struggled with the two braves who were holding his arms, but that did nothing to change what I'd been told to do. Again the woman raised her hands above her head to illustrate what she wanted me to do, then nodded her head to emphasize her request.
When my husband continued to cry out and struggle, I turned to him and said, "Please don't fight them, my love. We must do as they ask, or they'll kill us. Please."
My words quieted him, and the look of resignation that passed over his face reassured me that his protests had ended. I turned my back toward him, then said quietly, "Please unbutton my dress, dear heart. It's the only way we'll get out of this alive. If they mean to ravish me, then it's a small price for us to pay for our lives. Please."
It took several seconds for him to understand that the path of no resistance was the best, and then I felt his fingers opening the six buttons that ran down my back. As soon as he had accomplished that, I lifted my arms over my head to signal what needed to be done, and again I had to wait until at last he resigned himself to the situation, and lifted my dress off over my head.
As soon as that part of my garments was taken from his hands by the squaw, I said softly, "Now the bodice, my love. Please unlace it for me."
His hesitation then was shorter than before, and I soon felt his fingers untying the laces that affixed that piece of my clothing which supported my breasts. When it, too, was hanging loose, he removed it from my body and gave it to the woman.
Since I had been riding my horse astraddle, there was no way I could wear petticoats, even if I had brought some with us on the trip. That meant the only thing protecting my modesty was the simple undergarment that has covered a woman's private regions for many years, my shift.
Before I could even prompt Hiram to remove that part, also, his hands were at my waist. His fingers quickly untied the string that held them around my hips, and in an instant he had pulled them down so I could step out of them. Before they were in the hands of the woman who seemed to be in charge, I could hear the murmurs of approval from those who were standing in front of me, gazing with rapt eyes at my naked body. When the woman held up one finger and twirled it in the air, I had no question what she wanted, and in a totally wanton display, I held my hands high above my head and revolved my body slowly in a complete circle, so all of them could see what had been hidden from their eyes only moments before.
When I turned far enough that I could see my husband, he was staring at me with glazed eyes and an open mouth that panted for air. I took that to mean he approved of what I was doing, and I unconsciously lowered my hands to my breasts, placed my palms under them, and lifted them as if offering them to each and every person who was watching me. The chorus of approval made me even more wanton, and my fingers soon found my nipples and began to pinch, twist, and pull them as far from my body as they would stretch.
As I did that, everybody raised one arm into the air, then as they pumped their fists high over their heads, they raised a throaty cry that sounded like, "Hey-ah! Hey-ah!" Again I did not need to hear English spoken to know I had pleased them, and again that seemed to find a level of perversion that I had never before known, or even suspected I had in my brain.
With my hands dropping to where my limbs join my hips, I spread my legs to their widest extent. The fingers of one hand spread my female part as wide as my legs already were, and those of the other hand began to scoop up the moistness that seemed to flow from my body in amounts I'd never known. When I brought my fingers to my lips, then licked them clean, the cries of approval were even louder than before.
The woman then turned her eyes toward my husband, and as she done moments before with me, she repeated her words of, "Dress off," as she ran her flattened hands down her side. Hiram did not hesitate as I had, and given that he wore but a shirt and his trousers, he was quickly just as naked as I. When his organ was revealed to be standing proud, in fact more proud that I'd ever seen it, more cries of approval rang out from the onlookers.
The woman looked back over her shoulders and said something that was spoken so fast I had no chance to understand her words, but when a child ran forward and gave a thong to her, I understood what her instruction had been. She again spoke rapidly, this time to one of the men who had been restraining Hiram, and in response he gripped my husband's manhood and began to stroke it roughly.
Hiram's only reaction to that rough treatment was to close his eyes tightly, then to rock his hips as his arousal increased by the second. At a second command from the woman, the warrior jerked my husband's organ as far from its home as it would go, and she expertly wrapped the thong twice around its prisoner and tied it off. My husband's groans of frustration told me that he'd been right at the edge of spending his seed, and the frantic way his hips continued to rock back and forth gave evidence of his great need.
Another command brought two more children running up to us, each of them bearing a buffalo robe. The robes were soon being spread on the ground beside the fire, and that was the signal for my part in the festival to proceed.
She pointed at me and then at the robes, leaving no room for misunderstanding as to what I was to do. Since I had no options, I meekly lay down on the makeshift bed and waited for whatever was to come. That part, too, quickly became apparent when she held both hands in front of her with their palms touching, then slowly spread them apart. As if joined to her by invisible strings, my legs parted and kept parting until at last they would move no farther, and I was left wantonly displaying that part of my body that should never be seen by anyone but my husband, if even him.
The woman then called out, "PeoPeo Pilpilp," which I recognized as indicating a small bird that is red in color. As my head turned toward a sudden movement, I saw a young boy hurrying forward, and I knew that was his name. He was surely no older than some of the students in Hiram's classroom, and I was confused as I wondered what his part in this night would be.
As he quickly approached me, he unfastened his breechclout and let it drop to the ground. Whether or not it ever reached the firmament, I do not know, because I had eyes for nothing but his manhood.
And it was truly a MANhood! I had no doubt it was half again longer than my husband's own organ, and undoubtedly twice as far across. To increase my fascination with it, it was dancing up and down with every step the boy took. The spider web of glistening diamonds that trailed from the head of the huge thing made my throat lock up, and it was all I could do to draw in a few breaths of life-giving air.
He paused for a heartbeat to look down at the moistness between my legs, then dropped to his knees. At a spoken instruction from the woman, he leaned forward, closer and closer to that part of my body that cried out for him, and if I had been able to speak at all, I'd have begged him to please, please hurry!
The woman spoke again, and miracle of miracles, his tongue found the part that needed him so desperately, and he began to slowly move it from my opening up to the bud that was standing in wait for him to find it. She must have given him further instructions, because then, oh, then! his questing tongue found the tiny thing, and for me time stood still as he licked and sucked it and drove me from what little remained of my mind.
The woman must have been watching me closely, because just as I could feel my body gathering all its strength for the release it was demanding, she spoke the single word, "NOW!" and he moved atop me and his organ entered my temple of love that cried out for him. Then, slowly, ever so slowly he began to move his hips back and forth, in stark contrast to what my husband had always done when we coupled.
Hiram had always been frantic in his movements as he entered me, and his rapid thrusts did little more than begin to excite me when he had already spent his seed and pulled out. The boy, by contrast, moved slowly and deliberately, almost as if he wanted me to spend before he did. I simply had no way to deal with that, and as my body screamed for release, I dug my fingernails into his beautiful bottom and pulled him deep inside me. That must have been the signal he awaited, for just as my release began, he thrust his manhood inside me farther than before, then held it there while his seed flooded that demanding part of me.
He lay there atop me for what seemed like eternity, then very gently touched his nose to mine and used it to caress me there. My husband had kissed me many times, although rarely after we had coupled, but his kisses never seemed as sensual, as exciting as having my nose caressed by the boy. I think it was right at that moment that I understood the Indians could be better than us in some ways, and maybe in many ways.
As the boy moved off me, I heard a moan from the other buffalo robe, and turned my head that way. To my unending shock, I saw my husband on his hands and knees. There were two of the warriors with him, both of them just as naked as Hiram. As I watched stunned almost to unconsciousness, one of them got down on his knees in front of my husband, then sidled forward far enough that his organ brushed Hiram's lips. I watched his lips fall open, and as I struggled to draw even a single breath, the erect, hugely-rampant organ disappeared inside the warm, welcoming opening.
To the accompaniment of Hiram's moans of pleasure, the second Indian dropped to his knees behind his crotch, and as his own erect manhood found the opening back there, my husband rocked back, almost as if begging that he be impaled. The warrior didn't hesitate, but merely thrust forward and I watched intently as his organ penetrated my beloved.
For the next few minutes, I watched the passion play the three men were performing, growing more and more filled with lust as I watched Hiram's openings filled to capacity in front and back. And then, just as I heard the warriors' groans that signaled they were ready to spend, my head turned back and I looked up to see a woman lowering herself to me.
She was lifting her dress above her waist as she slowly guided her body down to me, and when I saw in the flickering firelight that she was wearing nothing under her dress, I knew what she wanted. I knew to the core of my soul that I wanted her just as much, if not more, than she wanted me, and just as I was ready to reach up and draw her down to my mouth, her moistness found my lips, and my tongue began to caress and excite her private parts.
It was at that moment that I felt my legs being spread once more, and then I was slowly penetrated by one of the warriors, who was even larger than the boy had been. He drove me crazy by teasing me with his slow movements, just as I drove the woman crazy with my own frantic ministrations. She moaned, and I moaned in accompaniment as my tongue tasted all parts of her wonderful regions, and it never occurred to me to feel any sort of distaste when she began to move her body back and forth so I could lick and suck her from front to back.
At last the stimulation I was feeling brought my second release, and as it swept over me I sobbed with the emotions of love that overtook me. I knew at that moment that I had never before loved anyone, no matter of which race or gender they were, more than I did the woman and the warrior. It was no more than my station in life to abase myself to them, and to give them any pleasure they demanded of me, no matter how horrible that may prove to be.
Both the woman and the warrior withdrew from me at the same time, and as before my husband's moans drew my eyes to him. As I watched, he was again welcoming the organs of two other warriors into his body, one in his mouth and the other in his lower vent. But it was something else I saw that drew my eyes to his crotch, and I stared in shock and wonder at what was being done to him.
His manhood was still more erect than it had ever been, undoubtedly because of the thong that had been tied around it. It was so rampant that it was pointing at his head, a sight easy to see even in the darkness of the night.
That part of his body was being illuminated by a small torch that was being held beneath his manhood by a young girl. As the flames licked his organ, his groans of pain did nothing but excite me to even more lust than I'd ever before felt. As he rocked back and forth to escape the flames, it caused the two invaders to receive even more stimulation.
Most exciting of all, it was that stimulation that caused the two warriors to continuously cry out, "Kook mor!" That strange phrase was very common in the Nez Perce language, because it referred to an everyday activity: cooking meals. What the men were saying was that they wanted the woman to cook Hiram's organ so his frantic efforts to escape the flame would stimulate them even more.
As I watched his manhood being cooked, another woman mounted my tongue while the remaining three warriors took turns burying their organs deeply inside the part of my body that needed them so badly. And then, as my husband struggled to scream out his agony, I found the release that my body had always craved, and as I screamed into the moistness of the woman riding my lips, I fainted and knew no more until the next morning.
Thursday, August 1, 1880, cont.
When I awakened to this peaceful morning, the first thing I realized was that I was sleeping on the blankets we had brought with us. The second was that Hiram was sleeping beside me, and as the visions of his manhood being cooked flooded into my brain, I threw back the blanket that covered the two of us.
He was lying on his back, seemingly deep in an exhausted sleep, and snoring lightly as he always did when sleeping in that position. The only thing I had eyes for was his organ, and I looked there first, fearing that it would be gone.
It was still there where it had always been, but instead of the tiny thing I usually saw, it was hugely swollen, blackened like an overcooked sausage, and covered with large blisters. There was some sort of grease or oil coating it, and I knew at once that the Indians had used a healing lotion on it before they had left us.
And they had, indeed, left us. Where the eight teepees had been there were only rings of crushed grass. The site of the bonfire that had lighted the previous night's festivities had burned down to a few dull coals, glowing fitfully in a covering of gray ash. Of the men, women, and children who had their sport with us just a few hours before, there was no sign at all. We had been left to our own devices.
Hiram began to stir as I gazed at his blackened organ, and at his weak, "Good morning," I turned to look at his face. I was startled to see that he was smiling, and all I could think of to say was, "Doesn't it hurt?"
He followed my eyes to his crotch, and in stunned surprise he said, "My god! It really happened, didn't it? They actually cooked it!" He drew in a huge breath, then added, "No, it doesn't hurt at all. I think they put some sort of native medicine on it, don't you?"
I agreed with him, then when I began to take stock of our surroundings, I asked, "Don't you think we should try to find our horses and get out of here before they return?"
He just smiled lazily, then whispered, "I don't care if they come back, and I think you feel exactly the same way, don't you?"
That caused me to search deep in my soul, and as I reviewed the memories from the night before, and recalled how aroused and filled with lust I had been as the boy and four warriors impaled me and two women forced me to pleasure their private parts, both front and rear, I whispered in reply, "I feel as you do. I don't care if they do come back. I'm not the same person I was a day ago. I've changed, and I don't care who knows about it. I want . . . no, I need other men, and other women, too, in my life and in my bed, and I'll do everything necessary to make sure that happens. I think you want that, too, don't you, my love?"
"I want it more than I can ever say," was his reply to my question. Then, after we had both lain there in silence for a long time, he added, "I'll do everything in my power to bring men to you so they can give you the pleasure I never could. And if you want me to, I'll bring women to our bed so you can give them the pleasure they need. I want that so much that I can't even begin to describe it."
We lay there quietly for a long time, with us lost in our own thoughts. At last I kissed his cheek, then whispered, "I can't help but wonder what will become of us if . . . if they put a baby inside me. Surely when a boy and four men do . . . do that to a woman . . . she has to think about what may happen. Hiram, what will we do if I . . . if I have a baby because of last night. Will you hate me forever?"
He seemed to be stunned to the core of his being as he thought of the consequences of four men and a boy enjoying my favors. After a while, he turned to face me, then as he hugged me tighter than he ever had, he told me, "Never! Never could I hate you, Emma Lou. You're my wife in the eyes of God, and I will always love you and treasure you. If it was meant to be that you have a baby because of something that was beyond your control, then it will be mine to love and to raise.
"The more I think of that happening, the more I think it would be the right thing, because it would be our way of righting some of the wrongs that were done to the Nez Perce by our government. It should be our mission to replace all the men, women, and children that were killed in war, and if it is God's will that we do that, then I hope He gives us five babies from the boy and the men who . . . who lay with you last night. I want that to happen with all my heart."
I returned his embrace just as strongly, then whispered in his ear, "I will pray for that to happen, my love. I want us to have as many of their babies as God will grant us. I want other warriors to lie with me, and to give me their babies so we can raise them to take their place in Nez Perce society. I want that with all my heart, as do you, my husband."
Without even thinking about what I was doing, I got up onto my knees, then threw one of them over his head. As I settled into place on his mouth, I looked down at his loving eyes and whispered, "I think there's still some of their seed in me. Suck it out and eat it, and if you miss even a single drop I'll get a torch and finish what they started last night. I want to be entirely empty so if other warriors want to put their babies inside me, I will be ready for them."
And he went crazy with licking and sucking and swallowing as I described how wonderful it had felt to me when real men were inside me, filling me with their seed so I could carry their babies, and then later feed the rest of it to my husband. And at last I felt the intense craving for my release reach a fever pitch, so I gave way to it, and as my husband moaned beneath me while sucking and swallowing the seed other men had put in his wife's sex, I did my best to crush his head between my thighs.
The entries in Grandma's journal after that were written in the same vein, so I won't bore you with them, other than to say that they described how vividly the lives of the couple had changed. Grandpa would bring other men, as well as women, to their bed, sometimes several times per week. While the men took turns servicing both of them, they did their best to make their visitors achieve climax, to put it in modern terms.
Grandma's interest in serving other women seemed to increase over the years, until at last she gave herself over to a group composed of women who achieved their highest arousal as they tortured others of their gender. Her descriptions of the things those women did to her willing body excite me more than anything else I can imagine, and I have read and re-read them time after time, until my own interest in being submissive to women has become paramount in my life. My body now bears the marks of their love for me, and I wear each one as a badge of honor.
My husband, Darren, who also shares my passion for reading the journal, was slower than I was to develop his own interest in serving men in that capacity, but now he, too, finds his greatest excitement when he spends weekends, or sometimes longer, in the company of a group of men who take great delight in torturing one of their own sex. I have always encouraged him to give free rein to his imagination, and to beg the men to torture him in new and inventive ways. I am happy that he is happy, and I know he feels the same way about me.
There is one other thing I learned in the journal that may be of interest to you. In late March of 1881, almost nine months to the day after my ancestors' experiences in the camp of what they called "wild Indians," Emma Lou gave birth to twin boys. I have found photographs of the twins among the old daguerreotypes I referred to above, and was shocked to see how different the boys are in appearance.
There could never be any doubt they were half Indian, and also that their appearances were completely different from each other. It was that difference that convinced me they didn't have the same father, but instead one was fathered by the first Indian who ***** Grandma, and the other was fathered by the second Indian.
There are several other old photos in the trunk, each showing other children that were born to the union of my great-great-grandparents. In every picture, the fact that the child was half white and half Indian is evident. In all, there were eleven pictures of those children, including the twins, so I think Hiram and Emma Lou certainly did their part to restore the population on the Nez Perce reservation.
Shortly after I read that part of the journal, I had a DNA test done on myself. The test results confirmed there was Native American blood in my ******, and based on the percentage, it was probably first introduced in the latter half of the 19th century. So, I think I'm reasonably safe to claim that I have a Nez Perce heritage, and I am proud to tell others of that fact.
Finally, I have to say that I certainly understand my great-great-grandmother's desire that her journal be destroyed; however, I'm not about to do that. Instead, I continue to read it again and again. It has certainly proved to be effective in training my own husband to serve me in the same manner as my great-great-grandfather served Emma Lou all those years ago. Darren has, for more than three year, been bringing other men to our bed so they could impregnate me, just as the Indians impregnated my great-great-grandmother all those years ago. So far I have given birth to two sets of fraternal twins, proving that I inherited that ability from Emma Lou.
In both cases the twins did not resemble each other, and in fact the first set consisted of a white boy and a black girl. In the other set, both boys, one had flaming-red hair just like one of my lovers, while the other had the ruddy complexion, round face, and jet-black hair of a native American from the western United States. I'm sure his father was the Nez Perce Indian who spent three nights in our bed while my husband and I were visiting the places described in my great-great-grandmother's journal.
Altogether, I have given birth to five babies, none of which could have been fathered by my husband since I no longer allow him to have sex with me. He has always been the loving daddy of all my babies, and whenever anyone has the audacity to ask, he always assures the questioner that he is the father of all of them. I'm sure some of the busybodies walked away wondering why our ******** has such dark skin, but that is for them to deal with. As for the two of us, we simply could not care less.
Incidentally, I resolved long ago to preserve the journal in its entirety, and when the time comes, to pass it on to my descendants.
Don't you think that would be best for everyone?
The End
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Questions or comments? Please write to me at: sharon_smif@gmx.com.
