This is about as un-wholesome as a man could ask for. And I’m very grateful, ma’am and ma’am. It’s been a lonely ride and these tender affections have given me a welcome cheer amid the turmoil of the long trail. Dale Goodnight—now, that’s Dale Goodnight of Abilene, not Charlie’s brother from Texarkana—he told me of such a thing, lady kissing on lady, after he wintered in New Orleans during that big freeze across the South back four or five seasons. By the time the ground had thawed he claimed to have seen a dozen of such shows in saloons and card parlors. I thought highly of Dale, particularly because he rode an Appaloosa of considerable training and grace, but I never believed his wild stories. “The good Lord made man for woman and woman for man,” one of the young bucks, a preachy type, would often say when the story got told, which was often around the campfire as us cowpunchers longed for home and the feeling of warmth against the tanned hides of our skin. I read my Bible now and again, just like the youngin’, but it still didn’t keep my thoughts from roaming to ol’ Dale’s tall tales. Maybe he was talking the truth. And then I see this and it confirms it to me. I wish Dale was around still—he was trampled in a bad run six months ago and laid up five days before he passed—so I could tell him I guessed him wrong and figured him a liar when, right here sure as day, there are two women, naked as the day their mommas brought them into the world, and they are fornicatin’ in ways my mind thought impossible. If this is what it’s like in New Orleans then I shall certainly find cause to visit and seek this out. One time for me. And several more times for Dale Roy Goodnight of Abilene, Texas, God rest his soul.