WC 103 Angie's Waterfall Woes

Angie Eveready was not given to long bouts of contemplation. She was a firm adherent of the "if it feels good, do it" school of social behavior. But in the wake of her third, less-than-perfect experience with making love in the great outdoors, she felt the situation required a good, old-fashioned think.

The perfect place for such deep introspection was stretched out on something like a massage table, while a sweet Italian chiropractor named Dr. Ari A. Fresca did all sorts of delicious things to her bare back, and shoulders, and thighs, and bottom.

Her first taste of sylvan sex, a romp in the woods with Ernie, had been a total blast, at first. But it ended in failure when his dog, Buford the Beagle, nosed into the act, so to speak, in a very up-close and personal way.

Then came her near-drowning experience while skinny-dipping. How was she supposed to know that Bruce, the wildlife biology grad student she was giving an underwater blow-job, would become so mesmerized by the sight to two damn coons he wouldn't think to let her surface?

Those unsatisfactory experiences lead to some second thoughts, not to mention, insect bites, a crick in her neck, muscle strains in her back, a minor concussion, and one helluva cold. The back and neck were mending nicely, thanks in no small part to the dedicated work of Dr. Fresca.

It was in the midst of this discontent that Ralph showed up. Like most members of the small student body at Wodehouse College, he was a friend of a friend. They met at an Earth Day planning session.

Ralph was a sharp dresser and fast talker. Many otherwise charitable observers considered him a low-life, slime-ball. Others insisted he was more like a case of persistent jock itch. But he had these soft, puppy-like eyes that, for no discernable reason, gave certain females the mistaken impression they could safely confide in him.

It wasn't long before Angie joined that number, confessing her love of the wilderness and her long-held fantasy of communing with nature by making love in the great out-of-doors. After her third post-planning session beer at Ralph's apartment, she even admitted to her two recent failures in this regard. She then granted Ralph a sample of what would be in-store should she ever achieve the long-sought natural nirvana.

All this fired Ralph with an even greater zeal to help Angie fulfill her fantasy. The term "even greater" is appropriate, for when it came to face and figure, mother nature had been very kind to Angie. She possessed the type of body the late Aldous Huxley would no doubt have described as, "pneumatic." While her long legs, shapely bottom and generous bosom diverted the attention of most men, those who managed to lift their gaze would behold an exquisite, Madonna-like face that featured dark brown eyes, full lips, and a smile that was both beatific and seductive.

It was an accepted truth around campus that whatever Ralph might lack in looks, smarts, and class, he more than made up for with a line of solid-gold bullshit. Using this skill, he convinced Angie her problem with outdoor sex wasn't the fantasy or setting, but her male partners. She needed a guy who wouldn't bring a dog along or get fixated by two raccoons, someone who had access to a mountain cabin near a waterfall, and who knew everything anyone needed to know about the wilderness. In other words, she needed a fellow nature-lover like Ralph.

By Ralph's somewhat loose standards, he wasn't lying, not really. He did know enough not to bring a dog and wouldn't know a raccoon from a rhino. He also thought that, with a little luck, he might be able to wangle a remote cabin he spent a miserable night in many years ago. To consider his claim that he knew everything anyone needed to know about the wilderness as valid, however, one would need to accept his contention that all any sane person needed to know about the wilderness was to stay the hell out of the place.

Though Angie was just a WC freshman, she possessed a remarkably inclusive attitude towards men. Still, guys with beady eyes, a face strikingly similar to that of a ferret, a scrawny body built by years of easy living, and the personality of a two-faced rat, were not her favorite type. But those soft eyes and the promise of a mountain cabin near a waterfall proved too much to resist. She agreed.

Angie's cousin, roommate and best friend, Etta Toups, greeted the news with something less than wholehearted support. It was Etta's considered opinion that going from Bruce the grad student to Ralph the lifetime undergrad was a case of trading in a joke for a jerk.

Etta kept trying to talk Angie into giving Ernie, the first of her failed outdoor partners, another chance. There was no denying Ernie had a lot going for him. He was sweet and sort of cute, easy to coax into doing whatever she wanted, and had great stamina. The fact he was hung like a Clydesdale contributed in no small way, so to speak, to his appeal. But he also had that damn beagle. Thanks to Dr. Fresca's magic fingers her body, once a mass of pain and agony, was healing quickly. The bump on her head was gone, so were the headaches the concussion caused. But the memory of that day in the pines, when she was on top of Ernie, blissfully communing with nature and his super schlong, and what happened when Buford's cold nose made contact with a very personal spot, well, it was still painfully fresh and more than enough to outweigh everything else.

So Angie headed off to spend the weekend with Ralph in a mountain cabin near a waterfall.

The cabin in question was the seldom used property of a friend of the second wife of one of Ralph's cousins. He told Angie it belonged to his uncle. The location played a large role in its limited use. Reaching it required an extended hike up, and up, and up a long, narrow, overgrown trail. Even well-conditioned day-trippers found the feat a challenge. For those who were out-of-shape, and toting a backpack loaded with enough supplies for a weekend, it was crushing.

Being a gentleman, and a man whose idea of exercise was popping the top on another beer, Ralph let Angie lead the way. This gesture accomplished two things. It kept her from seeing him sweating and straining while giving him a highly motivating, low-angle view of her ample bottom in motion. This most inspiring view managed to keep him climbing that long, long trail even as he felt a growing kinship with those who endured the Bataan Death March.

No doubt spurred on by the vision undulating before him, Ralph managed to reach the cabin without collapsing or throwing up. They both gratefully dropped their overloaded packs. While Angie admired the tall hardwood trees surrounding the cabin, Ralph tried to unlatch the door. This proved a time consuming process. Due to a combination of lust of exhaustion, his fingers refused to stop shaking.

Unoccupied, rustic cabins often acquire a memorable, earthy aroma. This is most evident when first entering the structure. Consider for a moment; Grandma's attic. Now add in mold, mildew, animal droppings and the funky aroma of socks left months ago by some poorly-groomed hunters, and you begin to get the idea.

It was Ralph's plan to get Angie inside, spread out the sleeping bags, and begin the first of what he hoped would be many boisterous bounces in the cabin. The strong, unique aroma that wafted out of the cabin door, along with the sound of that waterfall, cancelled that plan.

When he tried to get her inside, she gave him a big kiss, giggled and slipped away. Her idea was to leave the door open so the cabin could air out while they went to find the waterfall. This didn't seem like a very good idea to Ralph who was both horny and still exhausted from the climb.

Those who have read, WC 102 Outdoor Angie, may recall her amazing ability to coax men into doing virtually anything she wanted. On this arboreal occasion, the quick removal of her t-shirt did the trick.

In justice to Ralph, it must be reported that few men, living or dead, could resist the sight of her bountiful bosom. Angie's breasts were large and shapely with the springy tautness of youth. To the slack-jawed Ralph, their large, erect nipples seemed to be pointing right at him. When Angie turned and headed for the falls, he followed like some dumb ox after a carrot being dangled just inches in front of him.

Though not very large, the waterfall was so impressive it got Ralph's mind off Angie's breasts for a good ten seconds. To him, the place looked like a jungle scene from some Tarzan movie. A thin stream of water seemed to appear by magic high in the forest, then it plunged down an almost vertical cliff face onto the rocks at the edge of a small, tree-lined pool.

The sight of Angie, sitting on a rock and taking off her hiking boots, diverted Ralph's attention and raised his hopes, among other things. To his disappointment, she didn't remove her shorts. Instead, she moved to the edge of the pool, found another rock to sit on, and began splashing her feet in the water.

This was better than nothing he decided, and quickly joined her. The water was colder than the proverbial well digger's ass in Idaho, but it felt good on his hot, sweaty feet. Something told him not to rush Angie, that his time would come, soon. In a rare display of patience, he put an arm around her shoulders and they just sat, savoring the spectacle.

But they were young and healthy. Ralph was also very horny. As for Angie, little was ever required to stir her primal instincts. Now she was falling under the romantic spell of the waterfall. So when Ralph took one of her breasts in his free hand and nuzzled her neck, she responded.

Passion is one thing; practicality another. In this case, their passion to copulate ran into the reality that there was no way in hell they could do so on that rock.

Ralph's very practical suggestion that they return to the cabin met with passionate resistance from Angie. She didn't agree to spend the weekend with a guy like Ralph, then hike all the way up here, just to screw in some dirty, stuffy cabin when they could be making love beside such a beautiful wonder of nature.

This attitude initiated a search, best described as frantic, by the hyper-horny Ralph. While Angie sat on her rock, contemplating the waterfall, he moved furiously around the edge of the pond, looking for a flat surface. Tucked away near the spot where the pool ended and the stream recommenced its downhill journy, he found that for which he sought.

It was a secluded nook, just up from a little strip of sand. Having once scored on the beach, he was glad there was a fern-like ground covering to keep the sand and dirt out of their asses. Not that he really cared. That would be Angie's problem. But he wanted to keep her happy, horny, and humping. With a yelp of triumph, he rushed back around the pool to claim his prize.

Angie thought the spot was great. She turned and gave the beaming Ralph a big kiss while pulling off his shirt. It fell to the ground and she rubbed her breasts against his pale chest, letting her hard nipples slip through the sparse chest hairs. With a cry of outdoor joy, she hugged him close, letting him start working on her shorts while she gazed over his shoulder at the waterfall.

It was while they were in the midst of this embrace, that the wind shifted. Until now, it had been to their backs, coming up the mountain. The most significant effect was to blow the mist and spray away from anyone who happened to be at the base of the waterfall. The shift in direction meant those tiny droplets of ice-cold mountain stream water were now being directed their way.

Both lovers noticed the chilling effect of the wind change at the same time. Their reactions differed, however. Ralph was all for returning to the snug dry, cabin. Angie, whose outdoor fantasies included making love in the rain, decided this would make a reasonable alternative, and insisted they stay.

In his excited condition, it took very little coaxing on her part before Ralph agreed. However, he urged her to go ahead and crawl into their hide-away. This time she agreed. But at the entrance, she paused. Recalling past disasters, she asked if he'd checked it out and was sure it was safe.

Ralph, who had barely glanced inside, said he checked every inch and for her not to worry. Reassured, Angie crawled in, rolled over on her back, snuggled in among the soft green ivy, spread her legs, and then lifted her arms toward Ralph in a totally unnecessary gesture of welcome.

Not unlike a drowning man lunging for a life vest, Ralph leapt into the breach. After one or two near misses, he scored a direct hit and sank into the snug warmth of Angie's exceptional pussy. If his body and equipment were less impressive than those she'd recently experienced, Angie didn't mind. With the exception of a few men she'd known, okay, make that one man, Ernie, it was her experience that all tomcats were gray in the dark. And what Ralph might lack in size and technique, he almost made for with enthusiasm.

At some point she began to feel something small and sharp poking into her bottom. Assuming it was a stick, she continued thrusting her hips up in rhythm to Ralph's downward thrusts, taking in every inch he had to offer.

Then she felt something else, more like a pinch this time, near the first one. She was closing in on what promised to be a really nice climax, and didn't want to stop. So each time she lifted her hips off the ground, she gave them an extra wiggle, hoping she'd land on a spot free of those stickers or whatever it was. This drove Ralph to even greater heights of verbal prowess, but the stinging only got worse.

Among her many talents, Angie knew how to multi-task. Even as the passionate coupling between she and Ralph became more intense, she slipped a hand beneath her and tried to smooth away whatever was bothering her bottom. When something sharp and painful stuck her hand, she jerked it away. While still hunching and moaning, she moved the hand near her face and gave it a close look.

Small objects were crawling around on the back of her hand. They were, to be more precise, red ants. One of them picked that moment to try a sample of her flesh. Since ants were simultaneously attacking her butt and hand, Angie's next reaction was, in hindsight, both natural and reasonable.

It would be hard to imagine any two people being closer at that moment than were Angie and Ralph. Despite this physical proximity, a vast communication gap existed between the young lovers. Ralph misinterpreted Angie's shouts and screams, not to mention the vigorous physical gyrations she was in the midst of performing, as manifestations of a passion that was about to explode. Having read several sex manuals and how-to articles, he knew real men always left their women satisfied. This led to a re-doubling of his efforts. Besides, he was on the verge of blowing a wad that could float the Titanic.

It was at this point in the proceedings that Angie got the distinct sensation the ants down below had begun an exploration of that environment and were approaching the same part of her anatomy Buford the Beagle had also sought to investigate, but with his nose.

This revelation proved highly motivational. With a scream of "Get off me you stupid bastard," Angie gave a particularly powerful heave with her hips while pushing against his chest with her hands. It was thus that she managed to dislodge the confused and preoccupied Ralph. This condition was due to his being in the early stages of what had suddenly become a mid-air ejaculation, similar in nature to the one experienced by Angie's first outdoor lover, Ernie.

It is a little known physical law that those lying buck naked in small, dim, secluded woodland nooks find it very difficult to remove ants that are inflicting a series of burning bites while at the same time doing their best to enter certain private passages and recesses of that person's anatomy. To Angie's credit, she quickly grasped this concept.

Shoving the bewildered and still spurting Ralph aside, she jumped up and raced toward the pool. Though it ran counter to her long, and loudly, espoused love of nature and reverence for animal rights, she fully intended to drown every one of what, in her mind, she now labeled, little mother-fuckers.

Do you remember that wind shift mentioned earlier? In case that item slipped your mind in all the excitement, it began while Angie and Ralph were playing tongue hockey and ripping off what little clothes they still had on. The shift propelled the waterfall's spray and mist in their direction and quickly covered their bare skin with a thin film of cold water. Then Ralph said lets go do it in the cabin and Angie said no, let's get in that spot you found and get it on. You remember now?

Well, that wind has continued blowing in the same direction. As a result, the once dry rocks which provided such sure footing when Angie and Ralph first arrived, are now coated with water and have become VERY slippery. It's a testament to either Angie's youthful agility or her good luck that she almost made it before a foot slipped, an ankle twisted and she went stumbling into the ice-cold water in a manner somewhat resembling the cannonball dive so favored my drunken men with large bellies.

To use the negative form of an expression made famous by former U.S. Vice President Dan Quayle, Angie was not a happy camper. By the time she managed to get her boots back on, a process delayed by her throwing one of them at Ralph, and limped to the cabin, her back was beginning to itch. A quick check of her official, Earth Day Guide to Plants and Other Outdoor Stuff, revealed the hard truth that the soft ground cover she had recently reclined upon was, poison ivy.

After-action damage assessment:

Angie:
1. Various bruises and abrasions
2. One sprained ankle
3. A severe case of poison ivy
4. Blisters on both feet
5. Numerous ant bites, some in very personal spots

Ralph:
1. Blisters on both feet
2. Dehydration, from carrying both packs back to the car
3. A strained back, ditto
4. One black eye, from Angie's well-thrown boot
5. No more Angie, not on Earth Day or in her lifetime

But now she was back in civilization and Dr. Fresca's fabulous fingers were making it all better, thought Angie. Her bare bottom wiggled with contentment under the kindly doctor's skillful touch. Maybe he's right. Maybe I do need to try experiencing nature in a more refined setting; like amid all the flowers and natural beauty he keeps talking about in his backyard. And with it being surrounded by a tall, privacy fence, I could lay out next to the heated pool in my bikini, or even less. After all, he says sunshine will help clear up the last of this damn poison ivy. And he's the doctor, and kind of cute for an older guy, so he should know.

--the end—

note: Like its predecessor, WC 102 Outdoor Angie, this is an entry in the Earth Day Contest. Your vote and comments will probably be my only reward. Please be kind. rf