Pharr Flung (Well Hung) Tours

Loria was spending a lot of time in the bathroom as I packed our clothes. "Hey kid, are you all right in there? You didn't look too chipper at breakfast."

"It's that time of the month I'm afraid. Damn I hate this. My endometriosis makes it feel like my guts are being pulled out with barbed wire, it's a pain. I'm going to see another doctor once we get back from this summer fling. I hope she might have something, anything, to alleviate this cursed existence. Nothing has worked a lick for me really. Female problems are the worst. A curse on my uterus."

I spoke through the closed door, "Loria, I know you're suffering big time. Anything I can do for you?"

"Mer, just stick with me, my back ache is on the intense side; I'm not sure I'll be able to make the hike into the Canyon of the Vaginas today."

I acknowledge my friend's circumstances. "We'll stick together. Don't worry."

The Pharr Flung Adventures tour van hit the road with Mirsa riding shotgun, sulking in an unproductive silence, leaking the sour venom of a woman scorned. Vance could sense Mirsa's cold toxins in the atmosphere, hanging like a heavy fart, but had no clue how to handle it.

The lonely two-lane blacktop threaded through a stark, baked landscape of red layered rocks. Needing to fuel up, Vance slowed the van as we approached a green sign designating the town of Mexican Hat, really nothing more than a wide spot in the road. We stopped at the dusty store. Vance got out to fill up the gas tank. A sign on the shoulder of the highway advertised 'Navajo Rugs For Sale'; but some wiseass had painted a 'D' in front of the word 'rugs'. "Ladies get out, stretch your legs." He suggested we use the facilities, as toilet stops would be few and far between for most of the day as we crossed this wilderness.

Loria, not feeling well, was the first to take hunched steps toward the single restroom in the back. Mirsa and I waited our turn, strolling past the display of unappetizing ancient food items sheathed in thin plastic displayed next to the ubiquitous stock of t-shirts, caps and assorted kitsch to supply the infrequent traveler passing through these parts. Loria, after freshening up, emerged from the back and spoke to the attendant behind the counter, "Your light bulb in the restroom is burned out. I had to use the flashlight app on my cell phone to see what I was doing. Thought you should know."

The kid running the store grunted to indicate he had the capacity to hear Loria, if not respond, as he sat poking his finger at his own phone. Mirsa had spun to use the restroom as soon as she saw Loria coming our way. A gray pickup caked with splattered dry red mud idled in front of the door. Once Vance walked in to get his fuel receipt, two hombres stepped out of the truck and followed in his boot steps.

The characters looked edgy as they whipped their heads side to side as they stood blocking the entrance. They wore their hats with the brim pulled low over their eyes. They pulled up a bandana from below their Adam's apple to mask their faces while keeping their other hand inside their jacket pocket. The kid behind the cash register kept poking at his phone. He didn't notice his latest customers until one of them reached over the counter and swiped the phone out of the kid's fingers.

"Whoa man," was the kid's reaction. "Be cool."

The other bandito, projecting something that looked like the barrel of a pistol from inside of his jacket pocket, walked with a menacing look toward me and Loria. Vance hurried around the side of the counter to confront the masked man pressing close to us; but he was intercepted by the gunman holding the kid's phone. Vance was threatened with something hidden in the assailant's pocket, which he jabbed into Vance's gut. Vance halted his steps, "These ladies are my guests, they stay with me. You won't touch them, understand?" With a controlled and commanding voice, Vance instructed us, "Meredith, Loria, stand behind me." We walked with trembling legs, following Vance's command as the bad guys cast a suspicious eye on every baby step we took. With a wave of the hand, we were directed to a corner next to a rack of bison jerky, key chains and souvenir caps. We knew to stay put. We stood behind Vance, not moving a twitch until this criminal activity was concluded. One masked man watched us while the other moved over to the refrigerated beer display case.

Everybody in the joint jumped six inches when a high pitched scream pierced the tension-filled store. Mirsa then made a second, louder and longer scream of distress. The two gunmen were surprised by the hidden person in the back of store. Alerted to her panicked presence, the one by the beer stopped trying to make his beverage selection and hurried to the back of the store, the source of another piercing scream. He gripped the door knob and turned, but it was locked. He stepped back a step or two and fired a shot at the unyielding hardware, blowing it off. He threw the door open to confront the hidden woman screaming her lungs out.

When the door was ripped open, we could see Mirsa standing on the toilet seat, her bare legs spread for balance with her hands pressed tight to her cheeks as she shrieked at an even higher decibel level. I did not think it possible that such volume could come from such a petite blonde. Mirsa sucked in another short breath and bellowed, "Snakes! Snakes! I hate snakes!"

The bandit who had just shot off the door knob had been expecting to find a woman hiding from an armed robbery, screaming in terror at the presence of armed men. In fact she was unaware of the robbery and was just trying to pee in the dark when she was startled by something else. His gaze scanned down her naked legs, to her feet balancing on the toilet seat and then down to her pair of baggy shorts left on the floor. Swarming around the toilet were a handful of large lizards flicking their black, forked tongues as they loitered in the restroom. They were Gila Monsters to be exact.

"I hate these snakes. Help me! Help me, you gotta save me!" With that, Mirsa leapt from her stance on the toilet, flying through the shot open doorway with the form of an Olympic broad jumper, landing on the shoulders of the bad guy. Mirsa straddled his neck, wrapping her legs around the man's back, tucking her calves under his arms while grabbing his head and pulling him tight into her bare crotch.

"Oh thank God! I was about to die in there. Thank you for rescuing me! It's wonderful to be rescued by real man." Mirsa heaped breathless praises upon the man whom she was riding, while working on her balance atop his shoulders. It looked to me like she intentionally pulled his masking bandana down, exposing his mustachioed face. She held tight to the bandit's head, either out of panic or out of her pent-up hormones, or both. Enjoying her position of safety in another man's arms, or shoulders, she shifted her open thighs, bringing her pussy to her savior's mustachioed lips as she began to grind her exposed pink labia into his chin. "Sweet Jesus you're so good. You're just what a girl needs."

The robber staggered back, unsure if he was being attacked to thwart a robbery or being attacked out of gratitude and awarded for his accidental heroism. "Sweet man, eat me, lick me with your tongue. Take me. I need you, I want you. I want to ride you until I have a gully washer. You're my kind of desperado, I need you desperately."

The bandit guarding us, shouted over to his partner in crime, "Yo! Gazpacho. We got some other fucking business to take care of." Though he probably didn't hear because his ears were covered by Mirsa's vibrating thighs as she was making grunting and groaning noises. She hung on, thrilled to be taken on this impromptu wild mustache ride. The interlocked pair waltzed through the aisles, Gazpacho not seeing where he was going and Mirsa not caring where she was going. She worked her steed harder, "Suck my clit," she demanded. She pulled him harder into her cunt, "Stick your tongue deep inside me. Slurp my pink canyon walls. You're making me wet. Take me, eat me. I'm yours."

The holdup was not going as planned. The get-away driver waiting outside in the idling pickup was wondering what was taking so long. He got out and came in to see what the problem was. Our guard was fed up with the seductive shenanigans and barked, more in disgust with his partner Gazpacho than with us; "Y'all stay here, I gotta try and get this show on the road. Please excuse me." With that, he directed the driver standing gobsmacked in the doorway to grab as much beer as he could and take it out to the truck.

"Should I get some lite beer too? Or just regular Budweiser?" asked the driver, still staring at the reeling pair. Mirsa was bumping and grinding in growling ecstasy, while her lower partner was just bumping as he staggered in circles trying to meet the demands made by the owner of the attacking pussy that had him tongue tied.

"Damn it guiso brains, this is a robbery, not a brewery sampling tour! Just grab something and carry it to the truck. No time to be picky."

"I think an autumnal malt with a festive aftertaste might be nice; do you think they have something like that?" The driver seemed indecisive in his heist.

The gang's leader stepped to the liquor shelf, picked out a couple tequila bottles and handed them to Mirsa to hold as she perched on her man's shoulders as they wobbled past. He then stuffed a case of Coors between Mirsa's titties and the forehead of her victim. He pointed the stacked couple toward the door, "Take it outside you two." They twirled in the direction they were pointed. Mirsa moaning sweet swears as she had her lubricated lips sucked and licked. Mirsa, sitting too tall to fit under the door frame, conked her head on the way out; she let out a different kind of moan, then ducked enough to pass under. Mirsa showed that she was more than able to handle her licker as she spurred him to the waiting truck.

The masked man stood watching them weave their way out, then turned in admiration to us three in the corner, "She didn't even drop the tequila when she hit her head. She sure can handle her liquor. What a woman."

The driver was urged to make a selection and get back in the truck. The leader returned the cell phone to the kid, lifted a few cases of beer out of the cooler before scooting out the door. We watched from the inside as they packed the stolen beer and tried to fit the four of them in a pickup. Mirsa took charge, forcing her man into the bed of the truck. She had his jeans down and was riding him cowgirl style in the open bed of the pickup as they peeled out, leaving us in shocked silence.

The only sound for a moment after they sped off was a lone coyote on the ridge across the highway, howling in the morning air with what sounded to me like laughter. I can only guess why.

*****

We waited a minute or two to make sure they were clear out of sight before we allowed ourselves to take a deep breath.

Vance broke to go to the back of the store and check the restroom. "Did any of you gals see several Gila Monsters in here when Mirsa was screaming from the top of the toilet?"

We both nodded. "Yeah, I saw 'em. Mirsa saw something, but she called them snakes."

Vance shook his head, "I tried to tell her they're not snakes, they're lizards. But I don't see them here anymore. They're gone. Where'd they come from and where'd they go? It's the damnest thing isn't it? It's like that girl was cursed to become an enchanted magnet for venomous creatures." Vance bent down to examine the floor, "Just a pair of woman's shorts here on the floor. No panties either."

"Typical Mirsa," opined Loria flatly as Vance picked up Mirsa's abandoned garment and went to pack them in her abandoned luggage.

"I never seen anything like that," said the store clerk. "I expect she'll be pretty happy for awhile with those three hombres and a lot of beer."

Vance made sure he got his fuel receipt and we three got back in the van and headed into the wilderness. I asked, "How long until we get to the Canyon of the Vaginas Vance?"

"Meredith, we've got some miles north on this paved road, then we'll turn off onto a dirt road that will get kind of bumpy and I'll have to take it slow for a lot of dusty miles before we arrive."

Loria inquired, "Can you elaborate upon who carved the vaginas in the canyon wall and why they did it. And how about a refresher on the etiquette we need to observe as we approach the reputed mystic feminine force which is said to dwell there and watch over the canyon?"

"I would hazard a guess that the reasons those vaginas were etched into the sandstone are probably as varied as the number of women who carved them. Ancient oral history says that the Canyon of the Vaginas is a sacred women's space. I think that is understandable across all cultures. Some traditions say that the carved vaginas are fertility talismans. Others believe that a broader meaning may be in play as to how the etched genitalia were used."

"Like what?" probed Loria.

"Please don't count me as any kind of gynecological expert, but beyond fertility, it is claimed that the canyon was used ceremonially to heal certain issues related to women, but please don't ask me for details or specifics on that subject."

Loria explored the subject with another question, "Have you ever heard if the ceremonial magic worked?

"The sample size that I'd be familiar with is quite small. The Canyon of the Vaginas is not well known and is well hidden. What I usually hear from females who have visited the canyon is that it's a transformative experience for a them; including visions reported by a few of the woman I've spoken with." Vance paused, and then added another element to the powerful medicine imbued to the location, "I've been told that after a healing ceremony performed within the canyon walls, that if the stream that flows through the canyon begins to flow red, it is a sign of menstrual blood and strong feminine energy flowing out of the earth mother. It is supposed to be taken as a sign of healing, cyclical renewal and blessings of health if that happens."

I asked the obvious, "Vance, have you ever seen the Canyon of the Vaginas flow out red?"

Vance looked a little uncomfortable talking menstrual flow with a couple of women, but answered, "No I haven't. Maybe I've just never been there at the right time of the month." He stopped, thinking his joke was awkward and in poor taste. Then continued, "But I've heard of a lot of things out here. Sometimes the stories that seemed too bizarre to me to be true are eventually revealed to be as described. I've learned to swallow my skepticism. Given the opportunity, the truth may be revealed to me."

Vance turned off of the paved road and drove along a gravel road that soon gave way to a rough, washboard surface. I noticed the corrugated ruts did a handy job of vibrating my softer tissues tucked between my receptive thighs, stimulating my labia and merrily bouncing my clit as we rode along trailing a large plume of dust. I was thinking of lust in the dust as I gave in to my secret desires stirring me up. I gazed at Vance, recalling my cheesy fantasy on Loria's couch the night we laughed at the idea of joining Pharr Flung Adventures and dreaming of a well-hung adventure. This was shaping up to be just as I'd fantasized, maybe better.

I asked my next practical question, "How long of a hike is it to the Canyon of the Vaginas?"

"It's mostly level ground, but we'll have to walk for a little more than two miles to get there."

I then spoke up on behalf of my friend, "Vance, Loria is not feeling too well this morning, she may not be able to hike to the Canyon today."

Loria jumped in, "I need to get to the Canyon of the Vaginas. I will do fine. Vance you have to get me there, I feel it is really important for me."

My follow up question was, "What about respect and our approach to this sacred site? What did you say about honoring the feminine force, the protecting witch, which inhabits the Canyon?" Of course I remembered quite vividly Vance's description around the breakfast table in Albuquerque three days before. Selfishly, I wanted to hear him explain the erotic nature of it again as I concentrated on the ripples rising from the van's shock absorbers, up into my seat and warming my pussy as I sensed myself getting dewy between my feathered folds.

"This is what I'm told; out of respect for the magic vaginas and the feminine energy of the canyon, I'm told that it is an insult for a girl to enter the Canyon of the Vaginas wearing panties that cover her... I'll leave it at that - wearing anything that covers her... you know what I mean."

"Where do female guests of the Canyon disrobe?" I asked, shading again toward the practical.

"There is nobody around for miles, so I'm sure it'll be just us three. You will see as we come out of the forest that there are a few staffs or poles stuck along the trail above the canyon before it descends over the cliff face. These poles act as a kind of altar. The poles are strewn with lady's undergarments, flowing in the breeze, like Buddhist prayer flags on the slopes of Everest."

Loria leaned forward, "You said undergarments. Do you mean panties, or do women leave their bras hanging from these phallic symbols as well?"

Vance swallowed, "Not that I'm telling anyone what to do, but it is my understanding that many of the women who come all the way out here for whatever reason, many seem to leave behind all of their lingerie, panties and bras. I'm told that women who make the effort to find this place, find a fuller mystical experience if they experience the Canyon of the Vaginas in the buff."

"So what about guys who make it out all the way out here? What do they do and what do they experience?" I asked.

Vance answered, "Speaking from experience, I can go either way, dressed or buff; so long as I am mindful and respectful of the feminine presence. That respect applies to both my guests and any feminine spirit that may be watching over the place. Guys are at the mercy of the feminine prerogatives and powers out there."

I squeezed my legs tight together and felt the compression of my swelling feminine frills. The vibrations being transmitted to my pussy were doing tiny wonders for both my lubrication and my naughty imagination. "Tell me Vance, where will you be? Are you going to guide us through the canyon after we respectfully disrobe?"

"My plan is to point out a few things from the rim above the Canyon of the Vaginas. From there we can get a good look at the hoodoos, the petrified peckers standing erect as a testimonial to the power of the pussy over the penis. You can look over the landscape from above and select an appealing place down below where you might want to sit, relax and meditate or work into one of the visionary, mind-warping head to toe curling experiences that I'm told some women are capable of obtaining. I will let you pick a spot from above before you descend through the Canyon of the Vaginas. After maybe a half hour or so, I'll make my way down and walk among the geologic features, sticking to the path to allow everyone their own privacy as they seek their own experiences among the stone vaginas and penises."

"Half an hour sounds about right, maybe a little too long. I hope I can find you so you can give me some pointers down there. Pointers on the geology once we're down below the rim of the canyon I mean." I gave my thighs another tight squeeze for fun as I glanced at our driver to see what looked like a growing bulge beneath the steering column. I flexed my vaginal muscles and gave myself another internal squeeze. I was thrilled that I'd signed up for a well-hung out-of-the-way adventure. I was getting excited.

Vance drove the van off of the corrugated dirt road, easing onto a pitted track that climbed up the side of a sparsely wooded low hill, a light warm breeze blew our trailing cloud of dust off to the south. Finessing the accelerator, he guided the vehicle in, through and over the ruts, parking behind an outcrop of buff sandstone.