The Sandy Chronicles - At The Clay Pit, Part One

There isn't much to be said for hanging around east Texas as a teenager, except that it makes one adventuresome. Sandy, Peggy and I found our way to a secluded spot outside of Jasper Texas, the beauty of which could be summed up by a vision of cool water surrounded by tall pines on a hot and humid day.

This particular spot was off the main, two-lane highway, down a red dirt trail of a road. Hardly more than parallel soft tracks in the earth with a hummock of pine straw down the middle, gathered by passing vehicles. Down that road, we had heard that some entrepreneurial east Texans had been dredging for Fuller's earth, a type of clay favored in the cosmetic and food industries for its smooth texture, the color varying from pale pink to dark ochre to whisper gray and as slick as cold cream. Thus, adventure beckoned to our cadre of summer hot house beauties.

East Texas, being a land of many waterways and much rainfall, made keeping the mined pits free of water a trial. Not long after dredging was begun in an area, the bucket would hit a spring or a sudden downpour of rain would fill the pit overnight and make the operation pointless. (Apocryphally, sometimes leaving the heavy equipment submerged at the bottom of the pit.) With the inevitable flooding, the equipment would simply be moved a few hundred yards further away through the pine forest and digging begin afresh, only to have the same thing occur, eventually.

That day, the three of us discovered one of the smaller pools, twinkling polished turquoise in color under the mid-day sun. We stripped off our clothes and began to paddle about and laugh and exchange tales. Not long into our forest revery, a voice made us aware of another's presence. That voice said, "Which one of you women is ready for some DICK!" The intruder said this with his hands down his open pants, waggling his member at us and being totally serious about his statement, for it certainly was not a question. I quickly sized up his age (under 17), and his IQ (about the same), and figured him for no threat.

What surprised me more than his appearance out of seemingly nowhere was the fact of Sandy's silence. I had come to know this tall, outspoken, gorgeous woman as being quite the jive-talker and figured she would be stepping up to that plate and knocking a line drive down his throat with a few choice and wounding words. But, no! She remained silent, as did Peggy. That left me, the skinny chick, to handle the matter.

I began wading toward the intruder's place on the pit's shore and giving voice to how he was violating our privacy and how it looked like a penis, only smaller, etc. That did deter him and he headed back into the woods from whence he came and we three naiads relaxed in our watery haven once more.

Only problem was that he soon returned AND with reinforcements! This time the entire dredging crew of  5 or 6 fellow rednecks joined him and began hooting and hollering at us. Had the original guy or the crew been good natured about the situation instead of harassing us, they would have been treated to a friendly conversation, as was my nature, even while swimming naked in front of a bunch of strangers. But as there was a slightly menacing air about them, we three decided to make our exit from the no longer calm waters of the clay pit pool.

First to climb up the bare clay cliff to the top where our car was parked was Peggy. It was a fairly steep ascent and she had to use pine tree roots and small plants to heave her way back up. I followed and Sandy was behind me. By then, the clay slope had become quite slippery with the water trailed by the two of us before her, and Sandy struggled to get a purchase on the climb out. In fact, she would gain a few feet of elevation, only to slither back down the slick slope on her naked belly, round bottom up in the air, and have to try again and again before success. All the while, the crew of dredgers was laughing and saying lewd things about the 'fat one' (though far from fat she was).

With that bit of indignity behind her, and the crew returning to their craft, we relaxed again and dried off before putting our clothes back on. However the original doofus re-emerged from the woods with a goddamn camera in his hands, snapping away! I charged at him and insisted that he surrender the camera or the film and he opened the camera to reveal that it was empty, wherewith I admonished him up one side and down the other as he beat a hasty retreat back to his crew.

Needless to say, this experience with the redneck brigade did not deter us from subsequent ventures into their territory. I wonder if any of them recall that adventure of ours?

Sadly, these images have faded in color from their original and quite brilliant hues.