To The Wild Country Ch. 01

"Morning."

Megan nudged Kelly. Slowly, she roused. When Kelly tossed off her sleeping bag and sat upright, I discovered she slept topless. Her nipples and areolas looked disproportionately large for such small breasts. Acting unconcerned that I had a clear sightline into their tent, Kelly rummaged around until she found her yellow tube top then casually pulled it on over her head and aligned it properly around her chest.

Gleaned from years of observations at nude beaches and hot springs far and wide, I have found that small breasted women tend to have small nipples and amply endowed women, larger nipples. Certainly, exceptions exist; I was camping with two of them. Both defied convention.

Once the girls were fully dressed and out of their tent, the three of us sat cross-legged on the ground having breakfast of oatmeal, raisins and coffee, fairly plain fare but in the wilderness it tasted like ambrosia. Food always tastes better consumed outdoors.

"Okay," I said, "we can either head back to Boise or spend the day at Worswick."

They knew I was joking; their reply was swift and unanimous. "Worswick! Definitely!" Their smiling faces reinforced their excitement. And I was smiling too.

On that midmorning at Worswick Hot Springs, our vehicle was the first parked alongside the gravel Forest Service road. That may have been the reason Kelly didn't use the Blazer to change into her hot pink string bikini. Standing at the open tailgate, she glanced in both directions to verify that no cars were coming then turned her back and dropped her cargo shorts and black cotton panties as a single unit, leaving her clad only in yellow tube top. Her bikini brief at-the-ready, she stepped into it and pulled it up her tanned legs. Her back still turned, she traded tube top for bikini top. But she wasn't quite finished; she turned around and retied both strings on the brief to prevent it from falling off. Had Kelly known how entertaining her quick-change flashing was, she might have demanded payment. And I would have gladly paid. Priceless.

Daypacks slung over our shoulders, we proceeded up the trail toward the main hot pool. We had the entire place to ourselves. Megan and I stripped naked then the three of us waded in and reclined neck deep in the penetrating heat. Our heads resting on clumps of meadow grass, for the longest time no one said a word. Words were unnecessary. Words would have intruded on the serenity. The only sounds were birdsong and water cascading over the log dam. How long did we remained in our respective states of quiet meditation? Twenty minutes? Longer? Eventually, Kelly rose from the water and sat on the dam. Her brown eyes gazed across the valley at distant mountaintops. And my eyes gazed upon her bodacious nipple pokies.

Midmorning became late morning and the day crowd began arriving. By noon the pool was filled with bathers, mainly twenty and thirtysomethings, most of them naked. And noon meant increased levels of ultraviolet radiation. Megan rose from the pool, toweled dry, then began rubbing sunscreen on her freckled skin. More breast squeezing and smooshing. Mmmm! And more involuntary fluffing on my part. With an assist from Kelly, who slathered her back, Megan was adequately protected from the sun's harmful rays. While the sunscreen soaked in, Megan suggested we take another walk, this time in the opposite direction and follow the hot creek downstream to see where it led.

Megan started walking downstream. "Aren't you guys gonna get dressed?" Kelly asked. Megan stopped and turned around. "Nah." The hot creek flowed toward the gravel Forest Service road but Megan wasn't worried about that; the road was sparsely traveled and motorists who ventured far into the backcountry most likely wouldn't be offended by the sight of peaceful nudists doing their thing. Off we went, freckled Nature Girl followed by her posse, the bearded mountain man and the bikini-clad co-ed. We must have looked a sight!

The creek meandered and flowed roughly parallel to the gravel road which was only 100 feet away, plenty close for anyone driving past to glance out their window and spy human wildlife in its natural habitat. For me, the road's close proximity added a titillating element to the walk. But Megan seemed to pay no heed to its presence. Her attention was focused on the creek bed to avoid stepping on any sharp rocks that might hurt her unshod feet.

The creek came to a culvert under the road. Having a height of four feet; we bent over and waddled through it. I followed right behind Megan within sniffing distance of her splayed buttocks. Despite an ardent effort to catch a whiff of her feminine scent, all I smelled was the overpowering aroma of cocoa butter.

One-hundred-fifty yards later, at the warm creek's confluence with Little Smoky Creek, the former was tepid, yet much warmer than the latter. Into Little Smoky I waded with the intention of immersing my entire body to induce shrinkage. Never did I feel emasculated with a shriveled penis because once it began its recovery in the warmth, its rapid growth became a focal point of female curiosity. Countless times after plunging into cold water, I found amusement in having girls gawk at my manhood while it swelled by degrees until it dangled at its normal flaccid length. What must they think about this part of male anatomy that seems to have the split personality of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde?

The temperature of Little Smoky Creek felt like it was hovering a few degrees above freezing. I reclined and let the cold work its magic on my genitals. Kelly waded in and stood knee-deep nearby.

"C'mon, sit down," I said, "cold water's good for your skin."

"How so?"

"It closes your pores and squeezes out bacteria that gives you zits."

Kelly scoffed. "Yer full of it!"

"No, really. Just try it."

She shot me a questioning expression. Nevertheless, she sat down chest-deep and hollered, "Omigod that's cold!"

"Splash some on your face," I said. Kelly did as I suggested and not just once. Handful after handful she scooped and splashed onto her face which didn't have zits to begin with. But this cold water therapy would ensure that acne never gained a foothold.

Kelly quit splashing. "You know, once you're in, it's not so bad." True. By now I had been immersed for several minutes, and although far from comfortable, it was tolerable. And I was shrinking magnificently.

Kelly taunted her housemate. "Get in here!"

"Can't," Megan countered, "sunscreen's not soaked in yet."

"Yeah, right."

Megan stood ankle-deep in the warm creek nearby. Literally turning her back on the possibility of immersing herself in Little Smoky, she turned around and squatted in order to inspect a school of minnows inhabiting the shallows. I was beginning to believe Nature Girl purposely assumed anus-baring split-labia poses just to titillate. God bless her!

Upon leaving the cold creek, my entire package had shriveled, been reduced to a mere shadow of its former self. My penis had completely contracted and my glans wasn't visible; the shrunken skin sheathing my shaft enveloped it. By all appearances, I possessed zero length. Both girls behaved like it was impolite to look at my truncated condition but their curiosities compelled them to glance. And their attention assisted in my genitals' recovery. As we stood there in the warm sunshine, my penis swelled by degrees and my glans slowly emerged, like a turtle's head coming out of its shell. Only a few minutes of warmth was needed to restore scrotum and penis to their normal dangling configuration.

Back at the main hot pool it was getting crowded. Most of the bathers were naked including four young women reclined neck-deep. Three brunettes wore dark seamless tans and their blonde friend sported a pasty white one-piece swimsuit shadow which contrasted starkly with her tanned face, shoulders, arms, and legs. For her, being naked in the sunshine was a foreign experience. I found it pleasant, imagining their drive to Worswick, how the three nudist girls must have employed arm twisting to persuade their non-nudist friend to take a chance and bare all. And it worked; as the blonde laid back in the crystal clear water with her body visible to everyone, her seemingly unbothered demeanor suggested she had little trouble making the leap. Whatever inhibitions she may have felt vanished like the sulfurous steam rising into the blue summer sky.

Time passed much too quickly as it always does while engaged in sublime pleasure. Late afternoon, we prepared for the long drive back to Boise. I didn't get dressed for the walk back to the parking area. Neither did Megan. After being naked virtually all day, why bother? Standing at the Blazer's open tailgate, we rummaged through our daypacks for our clothing. A pickup truck approached on the gravel road. Megan didn't cover up. As the truck rumbled past, the man driving honked his horn in approval of the freckled female scenery. Nature Girl acknowledge him with a wave and a brief metallic smile. I was surprised she didn't moon him.

Because of the human presence, both in the meadow and on the road, my hopes for another Kelly quick-change-in-the-open seemed dim. I couldn't have been more mistaken. Even though many cars were parked nearby, and the possibility existed of another vehicle coming along, Kelly stood at the tailgate and, facing in my direction, quickly traded bikini top for a red T-shirt. In the interim, her petite breasts with oversized nipples smiled back.

Before my hopes of viewing more had even taken root, Kelly slipped her bikini brief down and off. The T-shirt hung down below her waist, but most of vulva was visible, enabling me to verify my supposition that her brunette pubic hair was trimmed. But that wasn't the sole reason she sported such a pronounced camel toe when bikini clad; her outer labia were extraordinarily meaty.

Immediately, Kelly stepped into clean white cotton panties and pulled them into place. Black gym shorts completed the quick-change. Had Kelly wanted privacy, the Blazer was available, so I can only assume she didn't care if I stole a fleeting glimpse of her bits. Either that or she purposely flashed me with playful intent. Perhaps some of Megan's mischievous mooning behavior was rubbing off. Girls will be girls.

Megan got dressed, bit by bit covering her bits until all that remained were memories of her bare freckled skin. All of us fully dressed now, and our gear stowed aboard the Blazer, we set off down the twisting, turning, dusty gravel road, the first leg of our 3 ½ hour journey back to Boise. The girls sat in back again so they could talk. At first, conversation centered on school related topics; classes, projects, and the upcoming week-long field trip the entire forestry class would be taking in mid August. But after a while, talk came to roost on their high country adventure just past.

And it had been an adventure for me as well; four days in the mountains with these delightful, free spirited young women, working, camping, socializing, and having wet, wild, naked fun. So, my fantasies regarding Megan did come true -minus the hot monkey sex. But no matter; those fantasies I could reserve for a rainy day.

* * * *

Tap, tap, tappety tap . . .

Friday morning in the forestry lab, Megan sat at the computer terminal beside mine, assisting in entering the pine bark beetle data we collected in Sawtooth National Forest. She looked different somehow. Was it because now I had an easier time envisioning her naked? No, the reason: she was dressed more conservatively than on past Fridays: a sleeveless yellow & cream floral print blouse and khaki shorts. Her parents were in town for the weekend and directly from the lab she was going out with them for lunch. Wonder what her mom and dad would have thought had they known their baby girl enjoyed running around naked in public? In the company of a man 11 years her senior to boot? Wearing makeup and with the top sheaves of her long red hair secured with a large silver barrette, Megan appeared more worldly than her 19 years.

After all the data had been entered, Megan printed my next assignment. She started to rise from her chair but without warning, Richard was standing right behind us, saying, "So, how'd the assignment go?" His presence was unusual; since he conducted class only Monday through Thursday, he seldom made an appearance in the lab on Fridays. And, at six-feet-two, his presence was commanding.

I swiveled my chair around and faced him. "Went real good. We worked our tails off." Her back toward Rich, Megan glanced at me from the corner of her eye and smirked, perhaps thinking, Liar!

"Excellent!" Rich acknowledged, then turned to Megan. "Sounds like you and Kelly earned your extra credit."

Megan swiveled her chair and looked Rich in the eye. Wearing a straight face, she said, "I think so. We learned a lot."

"Ed must be a good teacher."

"The best!"

Now it was my turn to glance and smirk. The three of us talked a moment longer then Megan excused herself. Her parents awaited. As she walked toward the door, my mind's eye didn't see khaki; her fine freckled fanny was beautifully bare in the warm mountain sunshine.

Richard plopped down in the vacated chair, faced me and said, "I'd like you to take part in the field trip coming up in three weeks." He continued, speaking about the week-long field trip his class would be taking. Also going on the trip would be teaching assistants and research assistants, all of them having backgrounds in the natural sciences. My BA in geology would serve his multidisciplinary approach to field instruction. He stated that the week in the mountains was very informal and whatever geologic knowledge, or general knowledge, I could impart would be readily welcomed by his students.

It sounded like an engaging experience and great fun: camping in the wilderness with a large group of inquisitive students with the great outdoors as their classroom. And if there was a river, lake, or hot spring near the campground, so much the better because I knew the age-old equation: college kids + water feature = skinny-dipping. The prospect of spending more time with Megan and Kelly having wet, wild, naked fun sent my excitement into the stratosphere. And would any of their female classmates join the bares?

On a work table, Richard spread a large-scale topographic map and showed me the mountainous region where the field trip would take place, 80 miles north of Boise along the south fork of the Salmon River. He pointed at the map. "Here's where we camp."

Immediately, I understood where he pointed. A wide smile spread across my bearded face. My heart rate quickened. "That's right by Vulcan Hot Springs."

Richard was smiling too. "Uh huh."

"So, Rich, is there gonna be time for soaking?"

"We always make time."

"Any of your girls ever go skinny-dipping? Huh?"

He nodded. "Some." He paused a moment while perusing the map then turned and looked me in the eye. "I gotta tell ya, this field trip's the best perk of my job."

Richard was a great guy, endowed with a pleasing appearance, a benevolent soul, and a quick wit. Abbey did herself proud in snagging a husband. And now, as I stood there regarding his beaming expression, I was beginning to see a facet of my bother-in-law's personality hitherto only guessed upon: benignly prurient. Much like myself.

I was acquainted with all 19 of Richard's summer school students having spoken with them on Fridays in the lab. If only a few of his 11 female students wound up skinny-dipping at Vulcan, it would still make for an awesome week in the wild.

* * * *

Early Monday morning I departed for my next assignment in China Basin, a valley ½ mile wide by 2 miles long. Down the center of this pine-speckled expanse of relatively flat terrain meandered the Queens River, a clear, cold tributary of the Boise River. At the roadside pull-out alongside the gravel Forest Service road, five cars were parked, all with bicycle racks on the back. China Basin was a playground for mountain bikers who plied a network of trails crisscrossing the valley. While backpacking into the valley, two bicyclists approached, headed in the opposite direction. Both were tanned, toned and lean. From a distance, determining gender was impossible because of their unisex attire: black spandex cycling shorts, multihued short sleeve jerseys, sunglasses and stylish helmets. I stepped aside to let them pass and only then did the mounds beneath a jersey identify the cyclist in the lead as female.

"Howdy!" I greeted the couple.

"Hey!" they replied in unison. As rapidly as they approached, they zoomed on down the trail.

The wide trail upon which I tread paralleled the south bank of the Queens River and appeared to be a major artery of the bicycle trail network. In every direction, rocky peaks thrust above the treetops, standing majestically silent against a blue summer sky. Only on the mountain flanks and at riverside did pines grow dense and dark. Elsewhere across the valley, trees were widely scattered. There, sunlight reaching the ground provided habitat for wildflowers and grasses that elk grazed upon. Paradise. The kind of place where clothing hinders enjoyment.

Thirty paces off the trail, inside a horseshoe bend of the river, I sloughed my backpack. First order of business: get naked. Swiftly, I did so, and planned to stay that way all week. On undeveloped National Forest land, no laws prohibited simple nudity. Many times on assignments in the high country I conducted tree inspections in the nude, always in solitude. In China Basin I relished the opportunity to perform my job duties unclothed in view of others.

My assignment was to inspect afflicted pines throughout the entire basin. Since Monday was already half gone, I began in a fairly small area of dead pines in the upper reaches of the basin where the Queens River flowed out of a narrow canyon. On the half-mile hike to the inspection zone, a lone cyclist approached from behind so stealthily I barely had time to turn my head and see the woman zip past. Wearing red spandex cycling shorts, a sung-fitting white crop top and black helmet, within seconds she vanished around a bend in the trail. Although I didn't get a look at her face, I like to think she was grinning. That encounter set me to thinking: I need to stay aware of my surroundings. I didn't anticipate trouble . . . but you never know.

Four hours were required to complete the inspections and by 4:30 P.M. I began hiking back toward camp. I was almost there when two cyclists approached, headed in the opposite direction. From a distance, their unisex cycling attire offered no gender clues but long dark hair flowing out from beneath their helmets sparked an involuntary response: Girls! Yeah! I stepped aside to let them pass. When they had closed to within 20 feet my bubble popped; short whisker stubble on both dudes. Oops. When you roll the dice, sometimes you're gonna throw snake eyes.

Averaging 20 feet wide and knee-deep, the Queens River would be classified as a creek back in my home state of Indiana. Cold and clear, it provided a refreshing, albeit brief skinny-dip to wash away dirt and sweat. Late evening, after a time of quiet contemplation around a small campfire, I crawled into my sleeping bag and drifted off to the music of the mountains: the sweet singing river, wind in the pines, and somewhere far, far away, the call of a nighthawk.

Tuesday morning I awakened late and enjoyed a leisurely breakfast in bed. Not until warming sunbeams were slanting through the pine forest did I crawl out of my tent to begin the day. A quarter-mile upstream from my camp was a rustic bridge across the Queens River that provided the only access to hundreds of acres of mountain bike trails in the north half of the basin. The bridge, 25 feet long, was volunteer-built, not commissioned by the Forest Service. I had to applaud the builders' resourcefulness; spanning bank-to-bank were a pair of hefty pine logs, atop which were lashed crossways smaller logs, five feet long and several inches in diameter. The only non-native component was nylon rope. Fat, knobby mountain bike tires had no trouble rolling over the primitive decking, but negotiating the bridge on foot proved tricky. And there were no handrails to prevent falling six feet into the knee-deep river strewn with granite boulders the size of pumpkins.