Number 23

This is my entry for the 2022 Nude Day contest. Please enjoy.

Just so you know, this is a rather slow-building tale. If you want non-stop, pounding sex right from the beginning, you might want to try the many other good stories here.

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I already knew what the sign on the wall of the rocking, shaking change room would say, but took a minute to read it anyway.

Participants are permitted to leave the bus
with only shoes, socks, hat and glasses or dark glasses.
Participants are specifically not permitted
to take electronic instruments of any kind,
including GPS, watches, phones, cameras, etc.
Good luck!

Below that, somebody had scrawled in crude letters, Beware of stobor!

I gave Heinlein a wry smile, then braced myself against the walls of the telephone-booth-sized space as the bus slowed suddenly, then swerved to avoid a pothole or something.

The event instructions had suggested just a minimal purse and mine was first into the metal box between my feet, followed by my wristwatch. My fingers fumbled with the buttons of my blouse; I shrugged it off my shoulders, felt it slide down my arms behind me. I took a moment to fold it carefully before placing it on top of my purse. I unhooked my bra, laid it on top of my blouse. My jeans followed the bra and almost filled the container, leaving me wearing only my panties. I thought about it for a minute while running my fingers over the red bra lines on my shoulders and under my breasts.

I knew I could back out; another contestant had re-emerged red-faced and fully-clothed from the change booth and sat back down. He'd forfeit his entry fee, but would on the whole have a much easier day of it.

He wouldn't meet our eyes. That was OK, actually. I didn't need the discouragement.

I took a deep breath, slid my thumbs inside the elastic waistband and pushed them down off my hips. I caught them on one foot, lifted them up to where I could reach them and dropped them into the box. Squatting down, I snapped the lid shut. It made a surprisingly loud noise. I stared at the number spray-painted on the lid and sides in one-inch white numerals.

I had just filled Box 23.

The surplus ammunition can had a hasp neatly welded onto it. I turned the hasp towards a hole at floor level and, in accordance with what we'd been told, pushed it halfway in. From the other side, I could hear a dull clunk before the box was withdrawn, turned and pushed part-way out again to let me see the sturdy combination padlock on the hasp. A small metal tag on the lock also read '23'.

A second later, the box was pulled away and replaced with a fairly small canvas bag on a shoulder strap. This too had a 'military surplus' air to it.

I caught a momentary glimpse of the hands holding it, a woman's hands with short nails, well-shaped but with no polish. There was a wedding ring set on the third finger of the left hand. A moment later, she was gone, leaving me alone in my compartment.

The bag also had the number '23' stenciled on the flap. We'd been warned to be sure that the numbers matched.

I scooped up the bag, fumbled with the buckles. I knew what was supposed to be in it, but when kit is minimal, every piece is essential. I wanted to check.

There was a tube of sunblock, a small bottle of insect repellent, a tiny pencil, a couple of pieces of moleskin for blisters, two one-quart bottles of water and two granola bars. Sun-Chasers clearly believed in traveling light.

More important were the folded topographical map, good-quality magnetic compass and printed control sheet with a list of control points, the places I would have to find. Only the finish point was marked on the map and the control sheet failed to show any of the common clues and directions classic orienteering often gave to provide more detail. All I had were a list of grid references; every contestant's list would be different.

The last item in the sack was a small GPS emergency beacon. It had been stressed that its use would result in an automatic disqualification and might also bring down stiff financial penalties if it was triggered for anything short of a real emergency.

Not to mention, I thought, some very stiff embarrassment.

I closed the bag, fastened the buckles and put the strap over my shoulder. I stood there for another minute or two, my arms braced against the walls as the bus rocked back and forth. Through a partial gap between the two exit doors, I could see glimpses of light, greens and browns, but not enough detail to make out an image. Sunlight through the gap set fire to a knife-blade of dust in the air. I had a rough idea where we were ('roughly' meaning 'within fifty miles') but there was a lot of land around here and we'd been on the windowless bus for the better part of an hour.

There was a tightness in my tummy.

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"When you're dropped off," Erin had told me, "It could be anywhere. That's kind of central to the game. You can't practise or try out the route in advance."

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I could feel the bus slow, sway slightly, then come to a stop. The doors opened suddenly and I coughed as the little room filled with dust and brilliant sunlight.

I stuck my head out, saw trees and gravel road and a whole lot of not much else. I stepped down out of the bus. The trees, bushes and grass by the side of the road were coated in a thick layer of white dust. The sky above was a cloudless blue; it promised to be a hot day.

The door started to close and I pulled my hand free. I saw the sunglasses of the driver in the rear-view mirror for just a second as the vehicle slowly pulled away. It sped up, went around a bend in the road and was gone, leaving me standing by the side of the road, still coughing slightly.

This was it, the Moment.

I felt awed. I felt challenged. I felt scared.

I felt utterly alone.

They said  nobody had ever, you know, actually died  doing during one of these events. But the people saying that generally weren't standing buck-naked in the middle of the wilderness.

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Roll it back.

"'Sun chasing', Erin? You've never mentioned it before."

"I found out about it a few months ago."

"Never heard of it," I said.

"It's not really secret," she replied, "but nobody talks about it."

"'Fight Club' much?" I snorted. "Come on, it's orienteering, right?"

"Yes and no, but mainly no. It's navigating cross-country, but the rules are really different. It's amazing!"

I could see the flush on her face as she said that.

"It's pretty hard-core, Kat. Everybody gets exactly the same gear - a compass and a map, basically. There's no GPS, no other kit, nothing."

"Oh."

I thought about that. It sounded intriguing. I liked being pushed to the limit.

"How long does it take to run a course?" I was used to orienteering events lasting around an hour, maybe a bit longer.

"It isn't about speed, Kat. They give you a list of control points and you have to make your way to each one. It can take all day. And there's no specially-printed event map, either; just a normal 1:50,000 topographical one. You have to figure everything out for yourself."

"Back to basics," I mused.

She giggled. "More than you can imagine."

"How many people?"

"You never really know. It's not a mass start. However many people show up, it's solo; you're on your own. A bus drops you off one by one and your event starts as soon as the bus door closes behind you. Everybody gets their own route."

Now, that  was different.

"How may control points are there?"

"Usually four."

"Only four?"

"They're spread out, Kat." She paused, thought. "Like I said, it can take all day, depending on the ground and the way you choose to go.

"Everybody gets their own route to complete. I guess more than one person can be given the same control point, but often enough you don't see anybody else until you get to the finish."

I was intrigued. This sounded like very different from the usual orienteering I enjoyed.

"When's the next one?"

"14 July. It's a Thursday, but that means there should be fewer other people around."

I thought about it.

"Mmm, maybe. If I decide yes, how do I register?"

She smirked.

"You can't. You have to be recommended. But I can do that for you."

She seemed eager to help.

"OK. I'll look at my schedule and think on it. Anything else I should think about?"

"Well," and here her grin caught fire, "there's just one thing more. Remember, there's a no-GPS and no-special-map rule, right?"

"Got it."

"There's also a 'No clothes' rule, too."

"The hell you say!"

+

Erin and I shared a love of tall men, good cider and hiking. We'd met through the university Outdoors Club. It had not been long before we became regular hiking partners, then friends, then besties. By second year, we were sharing a cheap apartment in the city's student ghetto and orienteering together on a regular basis.

I loved the outdoors, came alive in the mountains and found myself enchanted by the complexities of navigating my way quickly and accurately across rough terrain. It kept me fit and allowed me to compete with anybody on a level playing field. And I really liked the competition, having to push myself to the max.

From the beginning, Erin shared my basic hedonistic attitudes. Academics were critical for both of us and we both worked hard to maintain those scholarships. Outside of that, life was to be lived, skin to be enjoyed and time to be wasted in proper fashion. We'd shared a pretty casual attitude to clothing in our apartment and it sort of grew from there.

Erin had not-entirely-surprised me by having a membership in a local 'free-swimming' club, one which rented an after-hours municipal pool for large-scale skinny-dipping. Legit, entirely legal as it was all adults and absolutely not for me.

"Oh, come on, Kathrine! There's nothing pervy going on, I swear. It's just fun."

And it had turned out to be fun — a lot of fun — once she'd talked me into trying it. I had worried about being in a pool full of pervs, but it wasn't anything like that. There's been both men and women from my age up to people in their 80s. Everybody been nice and they all kept their eyes where they belonged. While blissfully sensuous, it was the antithesis of eroticism.

I found the feeling of the water on my skin delightful, far different from a bath or shower or swimming with a suit on. And it was liberating in the truest sense of the word, for I felt a lot of other stuffy imposed restrictions falling away with my clothes. Nor could there be any pretenses, no hiding behind expensive clothing. You were who and what you appeared to be.

I came away pretty much sold on the less-is-more philosophy.

It had been a fairly easy transition from that to Erin and I teasing each other on a hike, daring each other to take off our tops. The feel of the sun and breeze on my breasts and stomach felt relaxing, surprisingly good. I was disappointed when, arriving back at the trailhead and other people, we had to dress again.

After that, it hadn't taken Erin too much effort to convince me to try free-hiking with her in a less-frequented part of the foothills - like normal hiking, but with our clothes stowed in our packs. I'd been nervous initially. Boobs were one thing; total nudity another. Anybody could come along, right? Ever the bold one, Erin had her clothes off almost as soon as the car was parked, but I waited until we were on the trail before skinning down. Even then, I chickened out and kept my shorts and t-shirt tucked under a strap, close at hand.

The trail Erin had chosen was however such that you could generally see somebody coming a long way off. I relaxed as the miles went by, was able to concentrate more on the experience. I found I was enjoying myself thoroughly and my clothes were inside my pack the next time. It became a steady event for us.

We got hit by another reality all too soon however, with graduation and employment moving us apart. Whether it was a short flight or a long drive, we could get together only a couple of times a year, but we talked frequently, texted constantly.

.

Then she dropped her sun-chasing bombshell on me.

"The hell you say, Erin!"

Her smile grew a little on the screen, turned into a wide grin and she burst out laughing.

"No clothes? Seriously?" I demanded. Free-hiking was fine and I liked it a lot, but this was three steps and a leap beyond that.

"Oh, come on, Kat!" she replied. "How many miles did we do with our clothes in our packs?"

"That's not the same!"

We argued it back and forth.

"Let me think about it," I said eventually.

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I did.

I thought about it a lot.

The idea was thrilling and chilling in equal measures. With free-hiking, at least you had a chance to dodge, pull some clothes on if you ran into trouble. Sun-chasing gave you no such chance, but the challenge was just awesome.

So I thought about it almost endlessly.

I also thought about my Bare times after Erin had moved away.

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I'd continued solo free-hiking, getting less cautious with experience, more willing to push the envelope. While I treasured the calm natural peace free-hiking gave me, there increasingly was that frisson of sexual daring. It wasn't really about sex, yet it was very much about sex. Unwilling to debate it with myself, I just tried to enjoy it to the max.

I'd never been nabbed by a park warden or ranger, but will admit that there were a couple of close calls -- and each one had left me wanting more, needing to be even more audacious.

And there'd been one time I'd come around a rock to find myself face-to-face with a girl and two cute guys my age coming the other way. I could hardly turn around and scurry away, so I carried on, my eyes anywhere but on theirs. I have no idea what they thought, but they brushed by me without a word and were out of sight in seconds, leaving me shaky and blushing head-to-toe.

And breathless.

Embarrassed. That too.

And horny.

Oh, yes.

And this  horniness was anything but a small tingle. My heart was pounding, my stomach was so tight that it hurt and it was like my skin had turned into one great sensor for every whisp of breeze. My nipples were hard enough that they were practically puckered.

I looked around, stepped well off the trail and dumped my pack.

The ground was welcoming as I sank down into the soft grass. I ran my hands softly over my breasts, concentrated on the feeling of my palms floating over my nipples. I squeezed my soft flesh gently, began to mould it in my hands, shifting, weighing. I could feel ripples all the way down to my toes.

I pulled on my buds with thumbs and forefingers, rolled them, teased them and shivered as a stray gust of air wafted over the ladydew now oozing from my pussy.

One hand moving from breast to breast, I slid the other down over my ribs, across my tummy. I bypassed my sex, gently stroked an inner thigh with my fingernails, caressed my other thigh. I felt a hunger grow within me, drew a fingertip through my wetness.

I moaned softly as my finger explored, spreading slick dew over my lips. My pearl was almost crying for attention; my whole body froze as I stroked it gently with a slippery fingertip.

Light pouring between the leaves above me filled my eyes and I smiled at the sun's warmth. I spread my legs wider, drew the middle fingers of my hand the length of my outer lips, separating them, fingers trailing fairy touches on my inner labia. And again. Again, my clit being drawn between my fingertips this time. She emerged from her hood now, expectant, insistent.

I felt the desire growing within me, a soft roar of arousal, surging higher with each second, each movement. My nipples and clit seemed to have become one, a touch on one instantly echoing in the others.

I moaned again, louder this time, then gently probed my opening with two fingers, felt my inner walls shimmy in welcome. I pushed deeper, then drew them back, pressing on my G-Spot as they passed.

I was close, so very close. I wanted to stretch out this deliciousness, make it last, make it last forever.

My mouth hanging open, gulping for air, I pulled out my fingers and began to lightly circle my clit with one fingertip, keeping me just nearly almost, almost...

There was no time in my world now. I couldn't tell you how long I drifted through an boundless fog of pre-orgasmic pleasure. It might have been a minute; it might have been an hour.

Then, three fingers lightly sweeping my clit back and forth, drawing her from side to side, my other hand cupping first one boob, then the other, I began to pant, tried to make it last even longer while still pushing myself higher and higher up the slope, closer and closer to the brink.

My stomach began to tremble; my legs shifted back and forth, dragging my feet across the forest floor. I could smell crushed grass, feel the blood hammering in my ears.

It began, a growling fire deep at my very core. I went back to softly circling my clit with just one finger, round and round and round and a nova of ecstasy burst inside me, dragging out a loud cry of joy. I trembled, panted as it continued to grow. My body rose off the ground, resting now only on my shoulders and feet. Incandescent pleasure seared through my body, rebounded, filling my whole being with delight. It seemed endless.

My body fell back to the grass; my hands dropped away, fell to my side. I lay almost boneless in the sun, watched a brightly-coloured butterfly circle, then land on a branch almost directly above me. I felt like reaching out to it in welcome, thank it for its blessing, but simply hadn't the energy.

I lay there a long time, feeling the orgasm drift away like a slowly-ebbing tide, leaving me utterly spent, consumed with the bliss of it.

I was very late getting home that day.

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So, in the end, of course I said Yes to Erin. Having paid the entry fee, I received confirmation of my registration a day or two later, along with a welcome sheet with suggestions for first-time participants. I found myself becoming increasingly aroused every time I reread those dry instructions. I still had some questions, but I knew I could ask Erin when we met at the event.

Then calamity, a text from Erin two days before the event. A sick co-worker meant Erin's hours had been changed; she couldn't come. Have fun, don't get lost and I'm looking for a doctor who prescribes arsenic...

Right.

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The sun was barely over the horizon as I arrived at the rendezvous specified in the event notice, an out-of-the-way parking lot intended for hikers. I'd done an orienteering event there two years ago and remembered it as having lots of steep slopes and a confusing, tangled network of narrow and often muddy footpaths.

There were a few people already standing around when I pulled in and parked, half a dozen guys and three women. One woman was, like me, in her early 20s, a second maybe ten years older and the third much older, a frail, bird-like creature with braided grey hair and crêpy skin showing below the cuffs of her blouse. I wondered at her presence; this was supposed to be a demanding event. I shrugged - her business, not mine. I gulped the last of my now-cold coffee.

My car engine clicking as it cooled, I got out of my car and got ready to join the others. I had just slammed the door when a bus pulled into the parking lot.

I wasn't the only one staring as it approached.

For one thing, it was a very old bus. I'm no expert, but it looked maybe forty years old. The motor sounded healthy enough and there was no rust that I could see, but it was definitely dated and definitely a city bus vice a long-haul inter-city bus, if you get my drift. It bore the faded, painted-over green-and-white paint scheme of some unknown city transit company. I could make out a bold, stylized pocket compass newly painted on the side.