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Most of the campers here were over fifty years old. They could best be described as people you would usually find at a Renne Faire, except they are naked.I couldn’t resist looking at the woman. She reminded me of a centaur. Her back went straight down and then angled out where her butt began. I thought Chastity’s ass was huge, but it was nothing in comparison to the Kilimanjaro hanging off the back of this lady.“So everybody is naked?” I scrunched up my nose in disgust.“You don’t have to get naked, if that is what you are asking,” Mike anticipated my question. The only clothes I saw as we drove slowly through the campground was a shawl or a hat. I even saw a woman riding a bike naked. Can you imagine what her seat smells like after her wet ass and pussy has been on it all day in the hot sun?It was a hot summer day in Georgia for sure.I saw some old people playing Botchi Ball. I didn’t know what Botchi Ball was, but Mike explained it to me even though I didn’t ask. I told him it. I tore myself from the musings of memory as we sauntered over to chief's hut. Given the events of the next few hours, I think it best that I turn over the narrative duties to the person most intimately involved, our Dear Tess.This is Teresa here.As we walked to the Chief's hut, I tried to compose myself and begin to formulate in my mind the questions I needed to ask him, and the manner in which I would broach the rather delicate subject. I remembered that Percy had mentioned that no white man (or woman, for that matter) had been encountered by the tribe for several generations, yet I knew that the Chief had himself been brought up and tutored, at least for a part of his life, with a white family.Presently, as we arrived at the Chief's hut, dear Roderick excused himself to scurry off and attend to some camp necessities. I hallo'ed at the Chief and heard his booming bass voice invite me in.As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I peered about the hut. Decorated in the usual tribal.
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