Hot Hen's Milk & a Cold Day in Hell

"There is more to it than that Myles, keep your lips from flappin' until she finishes, can you do that?"

Skottie expanded on her observation that this lichen was being eaten by voles, possibly only female voles. The hypothesis was that it may have some positive effect on their female reproductive cycle. "So, Myles, once we have enough lichen, we'd like to have you make a soup or something out of it so we can eat it and see what happens to us female mammals - if anything."

The professor sitting across from me elaborated, "Some lichens are poisonous, so I thought we could feed it to you first and see if anything bad happened to you," she chuckled for the first time in my memory. "I contacted a botanist, and he said this species was safe and if the voles are eating it, we could too."

"Myles, did you remember to bring the old family lichen soup recipe with you?" joked Hailey.

"Nah, I'll use the standard recipe from Betty Crocker's cookbook, her section on cooking with mosses, grass and lichen is hard to beat," I replied in a deadpan voice.

"Myles, this is science damn it!" growled the professor as she stuck her neck closer to my face, "I need you to respect this process and document everything you do with this lichen. Otherwise, you have wasted my time. Is that clear?"

"Yes, it is Dr. Fukadavich." Skottie, sitting next to me, tapped her boot against my foot as an offer of moral support. I appreciated it.

"Myles, you'll start in the morning. Don't make me wait for breakfast and don't waste my hen's time either, be ready to head to the field areas as quickly as possible. Got it?" Pushing her chair away from the table, she returned to her quarters.

Following a simple breakfast designed for quick cleanup, I handed out packed lunches to the research team. My lunch was packed with the taste of freedom. I got behind Skottie on the ATV, she dropped it into gear and opened the throttle and we were off, rolling over the muddy tracks in the tundra to her field area. The forecast was for a fabulous 25 degrees Celsius, mid-70's 'beach weather' back in the States.

We were dressed in layers, easy to shed for comfort during the warming day. I placed my hands in the hollow of Skottie's slender waist above her hips, holding tight around her puffy coat. It was nice to hold a girl and feel the breeze and know that Dr. Fukadavich and camp duties were falling away behind my back. Moving my hands under Skottie's outer covering, I let my fingers roam as Skottie shifted in the ATV's seat. I pulled her closer to me, sliding her back into my spread legs bracketing her thighs. Skottie sat up straighter over the handlebar, pushing back with subtle pressure and settling into my groin and chest. By her posture she let me know she liked to have the company of a passenger this morning.

When we hit a bump, my hands jumped up, landing higher on her ribs. I kept my hands where they'd landed. I held tight, for safety of course. I could feel the underwire of her bra under her sweater and shirt. I grinned into her tied-back hair when she accelerated and hit the next bump hard with an open throttle. My open hands jumped a little higher, cupping her breasts under her coat. I heard the throttle rev up and I knew we were headed for another direct hit on the next pothole in the muddy track; we bounced in the seat, and I squeezed her tits, just in case her bra was not sufficient to keep Skottie's jugs from jiggling out of control on this wild ride into her field area. Skottie seemed to appreciate my care in adding extra containment of her jostling boobs.

My driver whipped the ATV around in a hook slide and cut the engine as we came to a stop. "Did you enjoy the ride?" she asked as she unzipped her coat in the warming, calm air, dropping it in the basket trailer that carried her small animal traps and field gear behind the ATV.

"It was bumpier than I was expecting," I answered, "and the road was rough too." I smiled.

She smiled. "You'd think this tundra landscape was flat everywhere, but there are a few places where one can find bumps -- if you know where to look."

I shed my jacket as well, donning my photographer's vest and slinging my camera over my shoulder. I scooped my backpack out of the trailer, ready to go scrape pink lichen off of some rocks and record sample numbers, location, and date on the collecting baggie and in my field journal.

"We're going to walk around this pond to check my live traps to see what we've caught and weigh the little furry critters." I followed as Skottie headed out to document the small mammals in her field area.

I paused, squatting to take a photo of the colored morning sky reflected in the grass lined pond. Skottie watched me framing the photo, composing it in my mind, changing the setting on my camera and snapping photos from various angles. "You know Myles, I kind of always focused on getting my research done and I don't think that I ever stopped to notice the beauty of this place."

"Thereis a lot of beauty out here." I pointed my lens at her, clicking off a handful of shots as she was taken by surprise at my focus on her. "Turn, give me a three-quarter profile. Stick your thumb under your pack's shoulder strap." Skottie beamed and did as I instructed. "Good girl. You take direction very well," I said as I held the viewfinder against my eye, snapping off more frames as she shifted her hips, adjusting her stance for the lens. "Those are going to turn out quite well. There is a lot of beauty out here." I stood and followed my arctic fashion model around the lake as she started her research.

Skottie had a map of where she had set her live traps, each numbered. It was a good day for catching voles. Skottie was excited to find a vole in most of her traps; "AnotherMicrotus oeconomus" she exclaimed, "plenty of Tundra Voles out last night," she told me as she weighed the animal inside her tube and recorded its weight and slipped it inside her pack. At the next stop she sang out, "Oh Myles, lookie who we have here, a Singing VoleMicrotus miurus. I think this is a pregnant female." She wrote up this specimen in her field notes and put it in her pack. I photographed the process and had her hold out the trapped voles for digital documentation.

I got plenty of action pictures. "Hey Skottie, I thought this was catch, record and release. You're not releasing them. Do they make good pets?"

Skottie laughed. "No, unfortunately these guys, or gals, as the case may be, are going to be sent to Mouschwitz."

"What? Did you say Mouse-schwitz?"

"One of Dr. Fukadavich's bits of dark humor. Mouschwitz is her name for the part of the lab where voles are terminated for dissection and study of stomach contents and blood samples."

I grimaced. "Eck. Sounds to me like the kind of place the Nazi professor would enjoy running."

Skottie kept walking to the next location, "It takes some getting used to -- at least it did for me. But it's gotta be done in the name of science. We are going to have to find out if it's only the females that have this pink lichen in their stomachs. Then we have to propose a hypothesis as to why and then build a case. Blood samples from those voles that are eating this pink lichen may be useful in my dissertation research."

"Spoken like a true Nazi," I replied as I walked beside her. Skottie stopped, turned and glared at me.

"I'm speaking of Dr. Fukadavich; sorry I shouldn't have made it sound like I was belittling your research. I understand you have to do these things for science." Skottie's look softened. I put my hand on her shoulder, "Hey, I could help you with that unpleasant part if you want me to," I offered. "It makes sense that after collecting pink lichen out here, I would be the best qualified to identify it in the stomach contents of these Mouschwitz victims."

Skottie kept the pace going. I continued, "I can do stomach contents, but I can't tell a girl vole from a boy vole -- unless the girls have nice bumps." Skottie turned on her heels and stopped to face me. I almost ran into her. She grabbed my cheeks and kissed me on the lips.

She pulled back, still holding her hands on my cheeks, "I accept your offer," breaking into a broad smile. "I'll do my part for the sex thing; you don't have to worry about that."

"The 'sex thing;' you're talking about girl and boy voles, right?"

"Myles, I said I'll do my part for the sex thing, you don't have to worry." She turned her head and swiveled her hips, leading me on.

We finished our circuit around the large pond; I took more photos of her research method and of the scientist at her work. I found opportunities to take some close-ups of interesting plants. On the far side of the pond were a few boulders. Skottie pointed them out and took me over to show me the colors of lichens. There were very few pink lichens, but I sampled one and bagged it with the proper notation. "It'll be tough to make soup out of this tiny 2-gram sample," I lamented out loud.

"I'll take you to the next location; there is more of it there. I can let you go to work collecting while I do some other things in the area." We trekked across the tundra; I took landscape photos on our way to a low ridge of smooth, glaciated granite. "I'll meet you here for lunch, Myles. I think you can get a decent amount of pink lichen samples here."

I was hoping for a goodbye kiss, but she called over her shoulder as she walked into a thicket of waist-high scrub trees, "Don't forget, we have a lunch date," disappearing over the small rise.

I was efficient at harvesting pink lichen. By mid-morning I'd collected enough to make what I thought would be enough for around 64 ounces of soup. Tasting some of the raw samples, I was impressed - not favorably; it was like eating thin cardboard that had been laying in the dirt. I wondered if it would mess up this science experiment if I prepared the lichen before just boiling it in the soup pot. Marinating this coarse vegetable course might make it more palatable, but I didn't want to raise the ire of Dr. Fukadavich by getting too fancy in the kitchen. I decided I should harvest more pink lichen and make a couple of different batches of soup - all in the name of science.

I was on my knees focusing on a low-angle portfolio shot when Skottie crept up behind me, pressing her boot onto my butt, making me tumble forward. She stood over me laughing at her prank. "What's this Myles? Wasting precious field time taking pretty pictures?"

I rolled to my side, propping my head up with one hand with my elbow on the soft ground and my other hand cocked on my hip. "I was beginning to think my lunch date was going to stand me up. But it appears my lunch date had plans to sit me down."

Skottie peeled her backpack straps off her shoulders and threw herself down facing me, taking a pose that mirrored mine. "I couldn't resist once I saw your derrière sticking out in today's amazingly warm tundra air."

"Hey, I'm ready for our picnic lunch. It's nice that you ordered beach weather for today's lunch date," I said as I crawled to pick up my camera and pack, fishing my lunch out of its main pocket.

"I'll meet you on those rocks, too damp to sit on this tundra turf for our picnic date," she said as she scrambled up to fetch her pack and carry it over to the smooth, pale rocks.

Joining my field partner on the outcrop, I noticed that the stone surface was radiating a pleasant warmth in the sunshine.

"This is nice. It's really warm today. I don't think I need this sweater in this weather." Skottie set her lunch pouch aside, lifting her arms and peeling her sweater off over her head.

I got a couple of close-up shots as her sweater was over her face and a few more in quick succession as her face was revealed and her nose was lifted by the knit collar. When she had pulled the wool from over her eyes, she was surprised to see my lens just a few feet from her sparkling eyes. "Myles, are you taking photos of a girl mammalogist with her hair all mussed without any warning?"

"Candid shots work best in my professional opinion," I replied from behind my viewfinder as I continued to press my shutter release collecting more frames. "Besides, I understand part of my job is to document a girl mammalogist who is out standing in her field - or, in this case, sitting in her field."

Skottie scrunched her nose in an expression of playful disgust at my pun. I recorded her funny expression; sending her to begin preening her hair for the impromptu photo-shoot that was developing. Skottie stopped fussing with her hair, turned her shoulder to my camera and began to unbutton her shirt, one seductive button at a time. My camera worked to catch her facial expressions as she teased the lens, pouting her lips, giving me a haughty profile with an uplifted chin followed by a toss of her tied back hair and a sultry look out from under her lowered eyelids. Skottie was seductive and natural as she worked down her placket. I focused on my subject and her slow, seductive rhythm waiting for her to further reveal herself in this barren landscape.

Skottie rolled her shirt off her shoulder, keeping her back turned to me in three-quarter profile, making sure I had plenty of time to catch the right angle. She brushed her showing bra strap off her shoulder in slow motion. I was getting all of it. I didn't need to say a word; Skottie was putting on a fine show. The shirt came all the way off her body; she turned her back to me, unhooking her bra and tossing it a few feet away with a flowing feminine sweep of her arm. Draping the sleeves of her shirt over shoulders and around her neck she crossed her arms over her breasts and gave me an impish look with pinched, full lips as she twisted around to face the camera. Her boobs were bunched and full, billowing over her self-hugging arms. Her smirking eyes asked the question, 'Do you want to see what I'm holding in my arms?' I kept working the angle without a word, knowing that we were nowhere close to being through.

Skottie held her position for a moment, moving her lips and head, dropping her chin, and making serious faces, imitating her idea of what a model on the fashion runway was supposed to do. She tired of that pose, shifted to hide her crossed arms from me, adjusting their position and spun back to the lens to give me a more intimate show. She had slipped her hands under her breasts, cupping them with a bit of lift. She had her fingers spread over her pale mounds, letting her jutting nipples poke through her fingers for a tantalizing appearance, visible between the covering hand's thin, delicate fingers fanning over her rounded contours.

Skottie was warming to the camera, fast becoming comfortable with the blink of the shutter as her fluid hand and arm movements trailed up and down her chest, playing peek-a-boo with my lens at one moment, followed by a coy, hunched, and secretive look. Her hands slid down her field pants, exposing the bumps to which I had become acquainted on our ride out this morning. She untied her boots, placed them and her socks behind her as I took photos of the topless maiden undressing under balmy skies of northern Canada. All of these elements were hard for me to believe were happening.

Skottie stood on the sloped rock face, balancing as she shimmied out of her pants, her own twin outcrops shown in profile, rising with a firmness from below her toned shoulders. The pair jiggled like ripe fruit dangling on a breeze-tossed branch as she bent her knees and pushed her trousers off her flared hips. I captured their silhouette against the high sky as I lusted and hungered to capture those ripe, dangling fruits for my own.

Kicking her heavy field pants off to the side, she stood in her underwear, her bottom pointing in my direction. Running her thumb under the waistband of her slinky, dark blue fabric, she tugged at her last remaining garment, positioning it half off her tight little ass, showing me a beautiful half-moon. With her thumb hooking her dainties, she pulled in a provocative manner away from her hip bone, holding them there with a gap as she gave me a come-hither look over her shoulder. To this day I think that shot of Skottie is the most engaging and erotic photos that anyone has ever been fortunate enough to take.

With a quick dip, she shed her panties and handed them to me. I was surprised and flummoxed. Models aren't supposed to give their unmentionables to the photographer; it only distracts them from their job and breaks their focus, at least that's what it did to me. My hands had more fun than should be permitted, rubbing the light, silky nothings between my fingers. I stuffed the naughty girly gift into my photographer's vest for safe keeping, trying to refocus on the naked lady strolling atop the granite stage in front of me.

I rolled to my back and pointed my camera up at Skottie, getting a vole's eye view looking up between her yams, framing her smiling face while admiring the compositional contrast of her cylindrical nipples punching from the top of her sloping soft orbs. I love the look from beneath a woman's tits. The look of her ripe, red nipples as they extend into empty space, a space penetrated by her indulgent curves, an erotic, expectant space filled with the most feminine of forms. I photographed plenty of shots from beneath Skottie's towering titties. I redirected my focus between her thighs. She noticed where my lens was tracking, dropping both hands in faux modesty to cover her vagina, which I thought was a hot pose and said so.

With her hands still covering her lady parts, she swayed her hips, pulling her hands wide, spreading her labia in a flowering show of pretty pink petals. She unfurled the fleshy folds behind her hands. Skottie opened up to me, her inner secrets exposed by the parting of her seductive hands placed over her glistening crevice. Extending her right index finger, she touched herself, making small flicks to the engorged bud emerging from behind velvet curtains. She moaned at her own self pleasure, taking in a sharp breath as I caught the moment on my camera.

"Watch out Myles, I am liable to start dripping all over your camera lens if you stay down there under my naughty bits." She was right, I caught a close-in image of an amorous dew droplet, backlit and shining like a diamond, as it beaded and fell from her soaked pink petals while she rubbed small circles around her hot bud. Another classic shot. It was a great day to be a photographer.

From my vantage, looking up from her feet at the blooming tundra rose, I saw her taut thighs ripple as she plowed her furrow with a single finger. Her knees buckled. Skottie mewed with a low, sticky tone that escaped her lips like the oozing of sweet molasses. She tossed her breasts outward as her lungs filled with air, clasping her pleasuring hand tight against her secret folds. Skottie crumpled under the orgasmic reverberations undermining her rubbery legs, finding support on the broad, flat stone surface. Bracing with one arm behind her, she leaned back with bent knees. I snapped a photo of a reclining nude girl with heavy eyelids weighed with desire.

"Enough of this modeling business," she panted. "Myles, what the hell are you doing behind that camera still? There is a hot and bothered damsel in distress over here. She needs a good ravaging and you've got the only cock for miles. Drop that damn camera Myles and come take this damsel and fuck her plenty hard. I can't stand it any longer; I have to have your cock up inside me right now."

Skottie watched me strip out of my clothing and gear with lusting bedroom eyes. The corners of her lips turned up with a slight smile when my erection sprung out in full glory. She positioned herself in a seductive way, letting her knees splay to the side, opening wide to make room for me to fit between legs.