Mountain West

"Can I come between your tits," I pleaded without warning.

Alison smiled with ecstatic pleasure, "Yes, baby, fuck my tits!"

So she dropped her legs from mine, and I scrambled forward straddling her big breasts. My cock was dripping with her juices and that was more than enough lubrication. I knew I would only need a few strokes. So as Alison pushed her fat tits together, making a tunnel for me, and I slid my length into it.

Her tits were so soft, warm, and inviting that eight or nine quick pumps was all I needed. Soon, I announced the inevitable. "I'm cumming. Oooooooooohhhhhhhhhh!" I closed my eyes and groaned, as I deposited spurt after spurt of semen on Alison's neck and chin.

When I opened my eyes, I could see that a little lake had formed in the hollow notch of her neck, and as she released my shaft from its fleshy prison, her tongue reached down to her chin to lick my seed from it. Then, she reached a finger into the milky lake on her neck, and scooping more of my spunk from it, carried it to her waiting mouth. She licked her finger clean.

"You taste good," she said smiling. I found my jeans. I had a bandana in one of my pockets, and I handed it to her.

"I made a mess on you," I apologized. Without saying anything, she reached her finger back to her neck, dragging more of my cum to her mouth.

"A tasty mess!" she said, smiling even more brightly. I lean over and kissed her hard on her lips, on which I could taste my salty cum. She wiped the rest of my deposit up with the bandana. Then, I reached out of the door to the tent and turned off the lantern.

Without putting our clothes back on, we slipped naked back inside the down sleeping bags, zipped them up around our necks, and quickly fell asleep in each other's arms.

When I awoke, it was just getting light in the eastern sky, and Alison was already to work, lying next to me, stroking my excited member. When she had me fully aroused, she unzipped just enough of the sleeping bag, so that she could climb on top of me. She lay her big breasts on my chest, and kissed me really passionately, while she humped me faster and faster, moaning and groaning her way toward another climax. Then, I could hear some activity in the other distant tent and knew that Alison had again incited our fellow campers.

I reached my hands to her round, firm ass cheeks, and grabbing them tightly, I began to slam that tight ass harder on the stiff dick on which it was impaled. Alison came really quickly and loudly.

Then, without a word, she unzipped the bag just a little more, and withdrew my thickness from her wet hole. Spinning around on top of me, she planted her open pussy on my face, and leaned over to take me in her warm mouth.

While I sucked her sex into my mouth, Alison used her hands, along with my deep thrusts into her throat to bring me to ecstasy in only a couple of minutes. Soon, I quietly growled my intentions, "I'm cumming." After last night, I knew she was intent on swallowing my entire load, and so as she grabbed me with both hands around the base of my ball sack, she milked at least 10 jets from my engorged penis, each one shot deep into her waiting throat. She took everything.

She hadn't even released my sex from her lips when my whole mouth coaxed another climax from her pussy. She moaned a string of muffled obscenities into the bottom half of those down-filled bags, and then she shuddered for another 30 seconds grinding her pussy wildly on my face as my lips, tongue and mouth brought her to a second orgasm that unleashed another flood of arousal. When she raised herself from my face, I must have looked a little bit like a glazed donut!

As Greg and Coral finished their morning calisthenics, Alison and I snuggled in our sleeping bags, each of us getting dressed inside the warm and cozy confines. When they seemed to have finished, we got up, slipped on our jackets, and went out to our campfire.

I restarted the blaze, and just as the sun rose over the mountain, its flames began to produce enough warmth to make us comfortable again. I made coffee, and when Greg and Coral emerged sheepishly from their tent, we sat silently on the logs and drank greedily from metal cups.

We were out of freeze-dried fruit, but the girls brought out some more nuts which Greg ground up and added to his pancake batter, and opening another can of Spam, he fried us up another big breakfast.

After we ate, we each took turns cleaning up, shampooing our hair and taking quick cold baths in Mirror Lake, before changing our clothes in our tents. Then we cleaned and packed up our camp, put out our campfire, and started hiking down the trail, two couples hand-in-hand, headed back toward the West Tensleep Lake trailhead.

We got to the trailhead just before noon, and I knew an emotional farewell was imminent. Alison and Coral were crying, each of them hugging us closely and kissing us passionately. It seemed odd; we hadn't even known each other for 24 hours, and now it was nearly impossible to say goodbye.

They were headed back to Chicago, and we were on our way farther west. I pretty much knew that meant that we would never see them again, despite everyone's repeated promises that we get together next summer. We exchanged phone numbers and addresses and then we got into our respective cars and drove in opposite directions.

Greg was quiet for about two miles. Then, his sardonic wit got the better of him. "Alison was a busy little beaver last night, huh, buddy?"

I looked at him like I couldn't believe he was going there. "Yeah, and Coral slept the night away like an angel, right?"

He paused, and then he said what we were both thinking, "How the hell did we stumble onto that! Jesus, those two were incredible! We're the two luckiest fucks on the planet!"

I started laughing. "You're right, but you know what? If we're so lucky, how come they're driving in the other direction? Why didn't we go with 'em, Greg?"

"Because we've got other hot girls that we have to meet."

"But we don't need other hot girls, and I don't think we could find any that were hotter than those two anyway. Jesus, Greg, they were both fucking perfect, and they really liked us."

"They really liked us because at the moment that they found us, we were the only two other people in their world. And we gave them what they didn't have -- food and sex. Those are pretty basic needs. Of course they liked us! But back in the real world, I suspect we're pretty unremarkable."

"So you don't want to call 'em? You don't want to try to get together with 'em?"

"I didn't say that! I just think we need to be realistic. I doubt that things could ever be exactly the same. Still, what do we have to lose? And you're right; Alison and Coral were pretty close to perfect!"

I didn't say anything for a while. I was thinking about what Greg had said. He was a pretty philosophical guy, Greg, and he was probably right. But now I didn't want to think about what might or might not happen some day; instead, I was thinking about what had just happened.

"So could you hear us last night?" I asked only half sarcastically.

"Every fucking word! How many times did you make her cum, 'big' guy?" he asked, winking at me.

"I thought you heard 'every fucking word?' You tell me!"

"That Alison was really something; man, she was hot for you! I think you'd have a better chance with her, than I would with Coral."

"I don't know about that. But god, Coral was really beautiful, wasn't she?"

"Yes, she was."

Both of us stopped talking for the next 50 miles. We were both remembering.

We arrived in Jackson, Wyoming, about 7:30 p.m. We had no idea where we were going to stay. We just knew that Jackson was that day's final destination, and that neither of us had had a drink for a week. So, our first stop was perhaps the town's most famous location -- The Million Dollar Cowboy Bar.

It was only a little more than an hour before sunset, but we naively ignored that reality in favor of whiskey and beer. Our week of deprivation resulted in an embarrassing kind of gluttony. We started with beers and after we had consumed three or four of those, we began doing shots of Wild Turkey Liquor. By 10:30 p.m. we were soused and stumbled out of The Million Dollar like motherless children. We had nowhere to go.

Thank god Greg was driving. I didn't have any desire to test the local yokels. For a few minutes, we just sat in the car trying to sober up a bit. Then, Greg started the engine and drove out of downtown Jackson and managed to find a road heading out of town. He only drove about a half a mile, before he pulled off on the shoulder, stopped the car, and turned off the ignition.

"What are you doin'?" His head was turned, and he was looking out his driver's side window at a split rail fence across the road. There appeared to be a big open meadow, inside the fenced off area.

"This looks like as good a place as any," he said.

"Greg, that's private property. We can't stay there. Besides, won't someone see our tent pretty easily?"

"We're too drunk to put up the tent. Let's just grab our bags, climb the fence, and sleep right there. The sun will wake us up really early. We'll be gone before anyone knows we were ever here."

I was too intoxicated to argue, much less come up with a better idea. So, Greg opened the trunk, we unhooked our bags from the bottoms of our packs, and we crossed the road and hopped the fence.

We each took our boots off, and then just crawled into the bags, pulled them over our heads and fell asleep.

I awoke first. The sun had not yet climbed over the horizon, but it was light enough to see. When I pulled my head out of my bag, I could barely make out an enormous brown form hunched over the ground, barely moving, a short distance from me. I had to readjust my eyes; I was hungover, and barely awake.

It took about five seconds for the form to come into focus, and when it did, I nearly jumped out of my sleeping bag involuntarily. A huge elk buck with a massive 12 point rack was feeding not 20 feet from me on my left. Then, I saw the others; another 20 or so of his buddies were following his lead, 30 feet behind him.

When he saw me move, he stopped enjoying his breakfast and stared at me menacingly. He easily weighed 600 pounds, and though I knew little about the habits of the male elk, he didn't seem to appreciate my presence.

I spied my boots just a foot or two away from me, so I slowly and carefully unzipped my bag, then reached for them and brought them inside. Then, I slowly slipped each one on. I didn't bother tying them, but tucked the laces inside, so that there was no chance I would trip over them.

Then, I saw Greg's bag on my other side. He was huddled inside, his head not visible. He appeared to still be asleep. "Greg!" I whispered loudly. I don't know why I did that, but I got the absurd feeling that I was trespassing on my brown friend's turf, and that if I was doing so, I should at least be stealthy about it. Greg didn't move.

"Greg! Greg! I whispered more loudly. I saw the bag move, and in a second, Greg poked his head out to look at me. "What?" he said annoyed.

"I think we better leave, like right now! We've got visitors!" I whispered more loudly. He turned his head and jerked a little when he saw the massive creatures. For a brief moment, he didn't do anything, just lay there staring at the herd. He seemed to be thinking.

Then, suddenly, he unzipped his bag, grabbed his boots, and slipped them on. Like me, he didn't bother tying them. But unlike me, he made no effort not to startle our brown friends.

Then, he stood up grabbed his bag, and started walking toward the split rail fence. I looked at the elk. They stood there chewing, but didn't move. So, I stood up, and like Greg, grabbed my bag and started walking. I'll confess that I think I walked a lot faster than Greg.

We both reached the fence at the same time and crawled over. As we were crossing the road to get to our car, I turned and looked back at the herd beyond the fence. Then, I saw the sign, only a few feet in front of the split rail fence. It was 20 feet across -- National Elk Preserve. How we missed that the night before I will never know. "Greg, check it out," I said pointing to the sign.

"Huh. Probably should have noticed that last night! Oh well, they seemed pretty domesticated. It's not like they were going to hurt us or anything."

We threw our bags in the trunk, jumped into the car, and drove to a grocery store to stock up on provisions. We ate a dry breakfast. Then, we got back in the car and headed north to Grand Teton National Park, where for the next two days we camped at Jenny Lake Campground.

Jenny Lake was beautiful, with views of the snowcapped, jagged peaks of the Tetons across the lake, but after seven days in the wilderness, it was a little too tame for Greg and me. We weren't used to neighbors. So, two days there was plenty of time. We packed up our camp again, and headed north -- this time bound for Yellowstone National Park.

We continued north on US 191, intending to find a similar camping spot in Yellowstone, but the road was so crowded with people that we knew there was very little chance that we would find any place to camp. We didn't even bother asking.

We drove agonizingly slowly by Old Faithful and the Grand Canyons of the Yellowstone. It took us nearly six hours to drive through the park, and after doing so, we wanted more than anything else to get the hell out of there.

We arrived Gardiner, Montana, just outside of the north gate of Yellowstone, about 4:00 p.m. It was only another hour and a half to Bozeman. Greg figured that worst possible scenario was we would end up camping in Patty's backyard. Syndee was scheduled to arrive the next day.

So, as I stood by listening, Greg called Patty's house from a pay phone outside a grocery store. A girl answered, and Greg asked if Patty was there. When he was told "no," he mentioned Syndee and told the voice on the other end of the phone his story about coming to pick her up. She seemed to know all about it.

"Would you like to talk to her?" the friendly, female voice had said, "She's right here!" We didn't expect Syndee to arrive until the following day, so with Patty gone, this was fortuitous. Syndee's voice came on the line.

"Hi, Syndee, this is Greg.... I thought you weren't arriving in Bozeman until tomorrow?.... Oh, I see! Well, that's good.... I just wanted to tell you that Steve and I just drove through Yellowstone, and we're only an hour and a half away from Bozeman now."

"We were thinking of driving up this afternoon. Is that okay; are you going to be there?.... Would you mind asking Patty if we could camp in her backyard?.... What? Really?.... Are you sure?.... Well, we've been sleeping on the ground for a week and half so, yeah....

What condition?... Seems like a pretty weird bargain, but yeah, I'm sure we could do that.... We're not promising anything. Neither one of us is Fred Astaire!... How many?... Okay, well... Alright, we're leaving right now. We should be there by about 6:00 p.m.... Alright, we'll see you soon!.... Goodbye!"

"What did she say?"

"Well, first, Syndee's ride left a day early, so she got there today instead of tomorrow. Second, she said that Patty and her roommates have got plenty of room, and that we're invited to stay at their house. They've got bedrooms for both of us."

"Wow! That sounds pretty good about now! What else? What about Fred Astaire? What was that all about?"

"Well, there's a catch! It seems that we have to dance with all of the girls!"

"What girls?"

"Patty and all of her roommates and friends. Plus Syndee of couse."

"What kind of dancing?"

"Jitterbugging."

"I don't know how to jitterbug!"

"Yes, you do. I've seen you plenty of times. At The Tiki. You can dance as well as I do."

"Not really, but at least there it's with some girl I know -- someone who doesn't expect much of me."

"Well, you don't have to. I guess you can always sleep in the backyard!" he said, laughing."

I should explain. Western swing music was a short-lived craze around that time, especially in our neck of the woods. Bands like Asleep at the Wheel, Commander Cody and His Lost Planet Airmen, and others had revived classic acts like Bob Wills and the Texas Playboys and Spade Cooley that wed traditional western music with big band jazz.

The dance of choice anytime a western swing band was playing was the jitterbug, or at least a western version of the swing dancing that accompanied big band music during my parents' time. If we went to clubs, most people were jitterbugging. I didn't really know what I was doing, but my technique was simply to go so fast that no one could figure out I didn't know what I was doing. I was nervous that these girls would find out my ruse.

We jumped back in the car, headed up US 89 to Livingston, and then we turned west on Interstate 90. We had no trouble finding Patty's house. Bozeman wasn't a very big town.

We turned onto Grand Avenue and soon pulled up to a huge, white Victorian home, replete with a turret and several second story gables. We walked up the front sidewalk and onto a huge wraparound porch.

When we knocked on the ornate front door, we discovered that Patty had returned. She had apparently been at work. When she greeted us at the door, I immediately realized that Greg and Jake were right -- she was a knockout. She had long, straight brunette hair with just enough curl to wrap seductively around her shoulders.

She looked like she spent a lot of time in the sun because her dark locks had turned naturally blonde in places, and her face, arms, and legs glowed with a tan that could have come only from time spent in the sun. She was wearing a tan button up shirt that was emblazoned with the letters USFS, green khaki shorts, and a pair of hiking boots -- we learned later that she was spending the summer working for the US Forest Service.

She was more slender than her sister, and not as well endowed, but she could only be described with one word -- beautiful. She had a face that could rival any successful model at the time, though she was probably not tall enough to be considered for such work.

After Greg introduced me to Patty, Syndee joined her at the door. It was the first time that I really got a good look at her. She was just a little smaller than Patty, and her curling, flowing red hair was a little longer than her sister's. She had a more mature and buxom figure; still, there wasn't an ounce of surplus flesh on her hourglass frame.

She was wearing a flannel shirt that was tied underneath her fine rack. She had it unbuttoned on her chest to reveal a white tube top from which her creamy boobs spilled. Her bare midriff exposed an incredibly trim waistline that was featured above the shortest pair of Daisy Dukes I had ever seen.

She also had pale, milky white skin that presented a sharp contrast with Patty's dark tan, but the get up she was wearing screamed sexy, farmer's daughter, and you had to wonder if she had planned to come off that way, or whether she was unaware of the cliché.

We went inside and entered the living room. It was like walking onto the set of a Russ Meyer movie. Besides Patty and Syndee, there were four other handsome women variously seated or standing around a large Victorian library room decorated with built-in hardwood bookshelves and cabinets, and a huge fireplace and elaborate mantle. An extremely tall blonde, wearing tight jeans and an oversized flannel shirt that was seated on a worn out Queen Anne sofa spoke first, "So, are these our guinea pigs!" All the girls laughed.