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Checkpoint Duties at Cline: Hairy armpits and no inhibitions...
The Uvalde Office of the United States Border Patrol was responsible for the checkpoint 20 miles West on Hwy 90, situated at Cline.
The checkpoint received a wide variety of travelers ranging from local ranchers, to members of the U.S. Air Force stationed at Laughlin AFB, to regular travelers. Some of those regular travelers weren’t so regular.
A company out of Southern California provided budget expeditions for tourists to see the United States in vans. Most of these tourists were from Europe and Australia. Our checkpoint was on one of their routes.
Checking these vans imprinted a series of memories that I still haven’t forgotten. I remember one in particular. It was a regular van, not by any means a plush RV. After talking with the driver, both of which were from Europe, I opened the back door and the odor of several people who hadn’t showered in more than a day, hit me.
Then the paradox. As my eyes adjusted to the low light of the interior of the van, I observed that most of the travelers were female, and young, and pretty. After I checked an array of passports from France, Spain and Australia and confirmed they were in order, one of the women asked if they could get out and stretch. “Sure,” I said as I could see nothing wrong with them getting out of the cramped confinement of the van.
Five girls, three of which were wearing tank tops, and a couple of men exited the van. At this time in my life I was in my twenties and my powers of observation were keen. The women were unanimously pretty, sexy and as they got out of the van, generally void of bras. That fact stopped me in my tracks.
The next attribute that I noticed, and no one could have missed it, was that the girls had more hair on their armpits than I did! As they stretched their arms well above their heads, they exposed bushes of hair under their arms. I had never seen anything like it and I’m sure I went into a state of shock. Part of me saw beautiful women that were very friendly and sexy while another part of me was hit by the heavy tufts of hair under each of their arms. And their legs weren’t shaved.
I was working with an even younger agent, whom I’ll call Henry, on this day. He and I were dumbfounded, watching the women stretch in their skimpy clothing. I remember that both of us had nervous smiles as we couldn’t look away. It was then that one of the girls saw a garden hose at the end of the trailer. “Is there water? Can we use the hose?” The girl asked innocently.
How could I deny her an innocent request? “Sure,” I replied, still frozen in awe at the spectacle I was observing.
One girl said something to the others and they scurried over to the hose. I had finally broken my gaze from the girls and was saying something to Henry when I saw a look of absolute terror on his face. Shit. I jerked my eyes back to the girls and one of them was in the process of removing her top and two more had the same idea.
I froze again.
Henry didn’t. “You can’t do that. Put your shirts back on!” He ordered nervously, his voice lacking any authority.
The girls ignored his nervous request and washed their faces and bodies with the water from the hose. They weren’t shy in the least. They giggled and frolicked in the hose like young kids would in their backyard on a hot Texas day. Except these were far from kids. Henry and I did our best not to stare. I’m sure we weren’t very successful.
A few moments later, they had their shirts back on, smiled and thanked us without a bit of embarrassment and got back in the van.
From that day on while many of the other agents hated to check these tourist vans, I didn’t mind it. They were different from what most of us in the United States thought of as sexy, but they were always respectful, happy, and nice.