Number 23

The ground, while still open, got a bit uneven. I was forced to jump bits of rough ground and zigzag around low patches of juniper bushes. The constant dodging set my boobs bouncing, to the point that it wasn't fun, much less exciting. I crossed my arms around my chest and tried to support them. Eventually, I slowed to a normal walk and could let them merely swing freely again.

I was feeling pretty good. I held my hands in front of me as I walked, palms stiff and pointed towards my chest. I held them a bit closer, close enough to allow my swaying nipples to gently brush against them with every step. That old, familiar tightness began to say hello. I could feel my nips stiffen, felt the pleasure flow, felt my lower lips swell just a little. I found myself breathing through a wide-open mouth. It was a good feeling, one which would linger for quite a while.

I gave my boobs a friendly squeeze and went back to concentrating on my navigation.

The trees on the far side were mainly deciduous -- birch or alder or something. I felt slightly guilty I couldn't tell the difference. They were more open than those I'd passed through earlier, with more light. Navigation would be easier.

From somewhere, well behind me in the distance, I heard the distinctive jutter of a heavy truck gearing down. My head snapped around, but there was nobody to be seen. Still, it was a warning of sorts -- risking getting seen was Good, actually getting  seen much less so. I tried to make better time, again wrapping my arms around my chest. The ground evened out a bit and I found I could run.

Panting, I reached the first trees, kept running until I was 25 meters into them, then stopped and turned around. A flatbed truck was moving along the road I'd left twenty minutes ago. I wondered if the driver had noticed my bare form from this distance. I wondered if he'd tell somebody.

I cut back and forth through the trees and found the expected track. It looked old and neglected, but clearly had been designed for heavy vehicles at one time. The map showed a bridge spanning a small creek part-way along. Given the overgrown nature of this trail, I suspected the bridge might be a ruin I'd have to climb over or wade around.

I was happily wrong about that; the bridge was still there. While narrow enough that it must have been designed for one-way traffic, it had been sturdily constructed of iron girders. I guessed that, whenever the track had gone out of regular use, the bridge itself had been deemed not worth the effort to dismantle and haul away. The girders were badly rusted now but the structure still looked solid. Well, solid enough for a 120 pound nudist and that would be enough.

There were no railings left, if there had ever been any, and I stepped close to one edge when I was halfway across. The stream below was shallow and fairly narrow. It was also very calm, mirror smooth in fact. I bent over and smiled at my reflection.

Yup -- it's me, world! Kat McMann, all 5' 6" of her. I leaned further over, admired the shape of my breasts below me. I teased pink nipples for a second and smiled to watch them grow in the reflection below -- long and prominent, nips to catch anybody's eye, nips to win wet t-shirt contests by mail. Boyfriends have told me they loved them, but they can be embarrassing sometimes.

Stepping forward so that my toes just overhung the edge, I gazed at my reflected sex in the water below, something rarely seen from that angle. I spread my legs for a better view, trailed a fingertip along my labia, felt my nips stiffen a little more, felt my tummy tighten.

I was enjoying myself, thought I looked pretty hot and almost regretted not being able to share the sight with somebody appreciative. Smiling a bit, I let myself daydream for a moment. If there had been somebody watching me, would they be turned on, too?

And where would they have been looking from? I looked around, examined the trail and the foliage on either side of the little stream.

Yes. There. If somebody had been watching, they — no, he , it had to be a he — he would be right over there, behind those low bushes on the far side.

I turned towards the bushes, smiled brightly, waved with one hand. Raising my hands over my head, I spun slowly in place before him, stopped facing him, lowered my hands to my shoulders and let them fall, running them lightly, slowly over my boobs, tummy, pussy and legs. I stopped with my hands outstretched but pointing inwards, as if presenting myself for his inspection.

I held the pose for a moment, then broke into an open laugh at my fantasy. I blew my imaginary voyeur a Marilyn kiss and started walking again. I didn't bother looking behind the bushes.

Three minutes later, I was at the pond; two minutes later and I was copying the number '28' on my map.

I was doing fine. I was delighted with the game, the challenge -- and the almost non-stop erotic windup. I would so definitely have to thank Erin when I got home.

I was also hot, dusty and thirsty. I had a gulp of water from my sack, then looked hopefully at the pond. To my delight, the bottom seemed to be sand rather than muck. I sat down by the water's edge, slipped off shoes and socks and left them by my bag as I gingerly waded in.

I was surprised at how warm the water was. It made sense, thinking about it; there were no mountains to provide glacier melt, the sun was high and the pond shallow. It was wonderful. I couldn't spare the time for a proper swim, but allowed myself to slip under the surface, shaking my head in the nimbus of red hair surrounding me.

I surfaced and floated on my back for a minute, enjoying the breeze on toes and breasts. I rose and combed water out of my hair with my fingers as I walked back to shore. I could have used a towel, but the dip had done my morale a lot of good. I stripped the water off my feet as best I could with my hands, dried between my toes with the tops of my socks. I sat in the sun for a couple of minutes, taking the time to enjoy the warmth while I put on some more sunblock and let my feet dry as much as possible.

Looking at the map, I became a bit concerned about the next leg. My hand-drawn markings put my third control point to the northwest of where I was, just beyond a series of close-together elevation lines on the map, and that indicated a very steep slope . To be honest, I wasn't all that keen on rock-climbing in my altogether. The option however, as always, seemed to be a long detour.

The map did indicate a trail going up and that gave me some hope. I oriented the map on the ground, opened the compass and laid it on the map so that one edge ran from the pond to the bottom end of the trail. I took a moment to turn the central housing of the compass until the red arrow inside coincided with the needle. With that, I was set -- so long as I kept the needle centred inside the arrow, I'd be heading in the right direction. It's never quite that easy in practice, but I was confident.

I took the pencil and drew a line on the map for good measure. I looked around, hoping to fix the pleasant spot in my memory, then pulled on shoes, socks and sack before heading out through the leafy sunshine, compass in front of me.

The slope — more of a cliff, actually — became visible through the trees well before I reached its base. The ground grew steeper, more littered with rocks and chunks of stone. When I got close enough, I could see that the rise was indeed just short of vertical. I saw the path and moved towards it and even that required some scrambling. I took the time to be careful as I moved.

The map showed the bluff to be about fifty or sixty meters high, but, from where I was standing, the trail looked to be in fairly good shape. I normally don't like heights at all, but it was clear that I could either do some climbing or add a couple of hours to my trip.

Up it would be.

I soon found my head emerging above the tops of the surrounding trees. I paused, looked around. It was an impressive vista. I could see for miles.

I started climbing again and paused. The bare cliff offered a fine view -- for everybody.

I again scanned the land below me, didn't see anybody. But, hey, there was certainly a busload of kinky hikers out there. Foresters, birdwatchers and other normal people were on top of that. I thought about it and, despite the height, grinned at that familiar glow inside me.

That's what this game is all about, Kat!

The trail was narrow and steep, but there were lots of handholds. I clung to the whitish-grey stone, let my legs drive me up and didn't ever look down. I was in pretty good shape, but my thighs were soon feeling the burn.

I stopped halfway up for a breather and took a cautious look around. There was no cover, none whatever. Anybody down below was getting an eyeful. Well, it was mine to give and theirs to enjoy and anybody wanting to give me grief would have to catch me first.

I gave a happy snicker, made sure of my grip and wiggled my butt at the world. Cliff-twerking was a new move, but I figured it had potential.

A broad smile on my face, I started my slow way up again, my tanned body as conspicuous against the limestone as a fly crawling up a bare plastered wall.

I was as turned on, as horny as I'd ever been. This had been the best day ever!   I seriously thought of stopping and rubbing one out while I clung to the cliff face, but common sense had the veto. I compromised, waited until I got a firm grip on a bush, then turned outwards and stroked myself for a few seconds.

My fingers swept over my sex, dipped into my entrance, pulled back over my clit. And again, giving myself just ten or fifteen seconds to tease myself and any watchers. My nipples were almost glowing when I let my hand fall away. Sanity vetoed an indignant objection from below my waist.

I hoped my hypothetical audience had enjoyed themselves.

I took a deep, ragged breath and kept moving.

My grasping hands found level ground and I was at the top. I heaved myself over the edge, heart thumping with excitement. A major tree grew there and I clung to it like a drowning girl to a lifesaver. I turned to stand in profile to whoever was below and kicked up one leg behind me like some Vargas poster, held the pose for a few seconds before stepping back, facing the trees and people below and standing in triumph, legs spread wide and both arms waving over my head. I felt warm wind across my skin, felt a coolness on my honeyed lower lips. I gave an eagle's shrill shriek of ecstasy, wished I could be louder.

Take that, world! I own this place!

The rest of the leg as almost an anticlimax after that. The expected stake was maybe 250 meters from the top of the cliff, just where my map said it would be; I dutifully copied down the number '31'.

The map suggested that reaching the fourth control point would involve going through some fairly low ground. It looked like some curved trails through the woods, then an arrow-straight road across a field with a few scattered trees. Once I'd finished all that, there'd be a few hundred meters' stroll through what looked like fairly level forest to another pond, on the east side of which would — I hoped — be my last control point. From there, it would be no more than half an hour's easy walk to the finish point.

Piece of cake.

I finished the one bottle of water, gulped down a granola bar and got moving.

+

I sagged a moment, standing by the side of the road, looking at the map in frustration.

So far, so good, but that long straight road across an open field? It had turned out to be a raised causeway maybe 800 meters long, running across a flat marsh. Oh, and the expected trees were all dead, probably killed when the water level rose. Now, there were only bare white trunks and a few equally bare branches. How old was this map?

I stared at it, wondered if taking the control points in a different order might have helped before putting that thought aside as a definite Too Late.

+

"Has anybody every been arrested on one of these, Erin?"

"I don't think anybody's ever gone to jail, if that's what you mean."

"Which means yes, somebody has  been arrested."

There were times that her grin could be annoying.

+

Standing by the side of the road, just short of the causeway, I took another look, scowled. I could see patches of open water and a lot of soggy-looking spots between those. Not only are swamps treacherous, but I'd be as visible wading through that slop as I would be walking along the road. The map suggested other routes, to be sure, but, I was again faced with either taking a long detour or committing myself a route offering no more cover than a football field if somebody came along.

I sighed, scratched my head, tried to think. I put my hands on my hips and leaned 'waay back. I felt my breasts shift as my chest turned up to the sky overhead. I ran my hands down my bum, straightened up. My back felt better, even if my mood hadn't improved.

A flash of light from the far end of the causeway had me jumping, almost levitating, off the road. I got the impression of sunlight on glass, but I wasn't going to stick around to be sure. There was a ditch, with some bushes beyond it and Mom's little girl was heading for those in one leap.

I didn't make it. The slope down into the ditch was steep and I started to skid a little. I tried not to fall, my feet scrabbling in the loose rock. I yelped in surprise when a strong hand caught me by my upper arm and held me upright.

"Careful!" a masculine voice warned from behind me. "It's slippery."

With that, I felt my feet slide completely out from under me. I was falling for real when a second hand caught my other arm, gave me a chance to find my footing.

It was him. The guy on the bus. Of course it was.

His hands released me the instant I'd regained my balance.

"Thanks," I muttered automatically.

I looked up at him. OK, my examination started low and worked its way upward. Muscular legs, a flat stomach, good pecs. And a nice smile.

I needed that smile right then. After my clumsiness almost sending me head over heels into the ditch, he could have destroyed me with a chuckle, let alone a smirk.

It wasn't as if he wasn't checking me out, either. Guys always  check you out when they think you aren't looking; it's almost a dance, with them pretending not to and you pretending you don't notice them trying. In this case, he couldn't even pretend all that hard.

Seeing his eyes moving over me, my eyes dropped to something I'd let my eyes skim over all too briefly. OK, properly equipped -- dark, circumcised, of a promising size and with a heavy, low-hanging sac.

I thought I was entitled to notice.

I was in any case hardly in a position to object, even when his eyes began wandering through Boobtown like he was a real estate speculator.

I was about to say something when I remembered the flash of light. I turned, stretched my neck to look down the causeway. My head was just above the road's surface, but I couldn't see anything at the far end.

"I think it's wardens," he commented. "I got here maybe twenty minutes ago. I started, got fifty yards down the road and had to scamper back here when I first saw them."

So, he'd been ahead of me in any case. Oh, well.

"I'm Dale," he said, holding his hand out.

"Kathrine. Call me Kat." His hand was strong and calloused with hard work and virtually swallowed mine in long, thick fingers, but his grip was careful, gentle.

"Hello, Kathrine-call-me-Kat. Nice to meet you."

He let my hand go, motioned towards a bare log a few steps past the bushes.

"Care to join me in my office?"

I giggled, sat down, waited while he joined me.

He spread out his map on his knees, his forefinger moving across it.

"So, we're here. My next point is here."

"Oh!" I said, a bit surprised. I showed him my own map. It was clear we both had the same fourth control point. He grunted.

We sat quietly for a moment, both lost in thought.

"There isn't," Dale said presently.

"Isn't what?"

"Another route, not one that wouldn't take us too far out of our way." His jaw pointed out along the causeway. "Looks like it's walk or swim."

He'd come to the same conclusion, then. Glumly, I looked at the dot of a vehicle in the distance, then down at the map again as if my irritation would change things.

I nodded.

"Looks like."

I tried to relax. I didn't have much choice. The truck would leave, sooner or later. In the meantime, we talked.

Dale was 25, two years older than me. He was a carpenter, had spent the past year working for a roof-and-siding company repairing damage from that major hailstorm two years ago. He liked the job -- it got him outside, paid well enough and he could get as many hours as he wanted. I was surprised that he thought my being an accountant was cool. We both had a liking for classic sci-fi films and agreed that Lang's Metropolis  had been just about the best. He had an older sister, a lawyer; I was an only child. This was the first Sun-Chaser event for both of us. Asides from sun-chasing and orienteering, he liked role-playing games and Thai cooking. My breath caught when he said liked ballroom dancing.

I loved  ballroom dancing! I had a sudden image of us together on a dance floor, my head against his chest.

His bare chest.

Oh.

Oh, my!

That just about did it for me. My lady lust level has been screaming up and down all day as I charged around the forest in the buff, felt wind and sun on my whole body, performed lap dances for invisible admirers, done mile-high twerking. I'd been so totally in the Hot Zone for hours. And now I was sitting next to this naked, drop-dead gorgeous  boy who seemed, in most ways, absolutely perfect.

I took another look at him beside me on the log. His legs were together, his hands in his lap. There was a smear of dried mud on one calf. He seemed to be doing that guy thing, just sitting there with his eyes fixed on nothing much in particular. Those large hands were well-tended and he'd had a recent haircut. He wasn't ripped or anything, but, yeah, carrying bundles of shingles up ladders or whatever had given him really nice muscle definition.

And he had decent chest-hair, which, regardless of what some of my friends say, I think is very attractive in a man. I closed my eyes for a minute, imagined again how it would feel against my cheek, how my tunny would feel against him as we moved on the dance floor. It was a nice daydream, but perhaps not the best one for the situation, if you know what I mean. I suddenly found I was having to work at breathing, felt a shiver in my ladybits. And my nipples sprang to attention. Of course.

I heard Dale choke slightly and turned to him. His eyes were locked on my prominent buds and it was crystal-clear that he was trying very hard to neither laugh nor gape at their very obvious arousal. He hurriedly turned his eyes away from me, stared pointedly through the bushes at the far-off truck.

"Sorry," he whispered. I knew he meant well, but, frankly, I didn't think he was all that sorry. Mind you, I'd been checking him out and could hardly protest.

I stretched out my hand and touched his arm.

He turned to look back to me.

"Kat, I..."

The thing I'd learn at Erin's free-swimming club, the thing about being nude with a bunch of other people, is that pretence can be pretty pointless at times. I waved my hand in front of him, cutting him off. I took a moment to stare down at my own chest, then shifted my eyes to his.

"It's OK, Dale. You couldn't really miss them, could you?" I tried what to give what I hoped he would take as a reassuring smile.