To The Wild Country Ch. 01

Megan was still dressed as she had been all day: trail garb and wide-brimmed straw hat to shade her sun-sensitive skin. Knowing she was a naturist, my anticipation was building sky-high, awaiting the moment when the last stitch of her clothing lay discarded on the ground.

The first pool we arrived at had been created by impounding a substantial hot creek behind a dam constructed of logs, rocks, and gravel. Fifteen feet wide and 40 long, the shallow pool was occupied by two dozen people, both genders in their twenties and thirties, half of them naked. Acting unperturbed by the nudity, Kelly dropped her daypack on the meadow grass, kicked off her sandals, and waded in knee-deep among the bathers, some of whom extended friendly greetings. No barriers.

Megan began undressing. After taking off her straw hat and kicking off her sandals, she peeled off her T-shirt, revealing a plain white brassiere that formed tantalizing cleavage. She unbuckled her belt, unzipped and unsnapped her cargo shorts and pulled them down. For weeks, my imagination had supplied visions of Megan's bounteous bare breasts, so when she reached behind her back, unfastened the clasp on her brassiere and pulled it away from her chest, they seemed familiar. But I hadn't suspected they would have such tiny button nipples scarcely larger than some of the freckles surrounding them. She hooked her thumbs under the waistband of her black cotton panties and, in one fluid motion, slid them down and off. She tossed them on the discard pile then looked at me and grinned. I grinned back.

Nature Girl indeed! Neither scissors or razor had tamed her wild ginger bush. Its fiery hue virtually matched her ruddy labia which gaped, revealing wrinkly inner lips and prominent clitoral hood.

Megan held out her bottle of sunscreen. "Will you please?" She didn't need to ask twice. I took the bottle. She turned her back and pulled forward over one shoulder her long, bushy ponytail. A generous measure I squirted onto her shoulders then began smoothing it down her sculpted back. "And rub it in real good," she added. My pleasure.

While spreading the creamy white lotion, willpower of the highest magnitude was required to prevent my hand from wandering south to explore the contours of her fine freckled fanny. I didn't want to overstep any boundaries; I assumed she would prefer to slather her buttocks herself. For the better part of two minutes I rubbed it in 'real good' until it had soaked completely into her pale supple skin. "Thanks!" she chirped then turned around and took the bottle.

The remaining sunscreen on my hand I rubbed on my arm then perfunctorily stripped naked. Both girls glanced in my direction but otherwise displayed no reaction. I expected as much. Both were veterans at clothing optional hot springs and this outing was simply one more. Nevertheless, how pleasing it was being naked in their company. Re-creating thusly with friends adds a layer of familiarity otherwise unattainable.

Into the pool I waded and sat chest-deep beside Kelly. Megan continued rubbing sunscreen all over her body: arms, legs, face, buttocks, torso . . . . While slathering her classically proportioned breasts, her hand squeezed and smooshed the soft pliable flesh. And she rubbed it in real good. Her behavior resembled self-fondling and commanded the attention of every man present. When she finished slathering, Megan didn't get in the pool. She just stood there.

"Aren't you coming in?" I asked.

"Yeah, but I gotta let the lotion soak in so it won't wash off."

While waiting for that, I suggested, "You wanna walk around and check out the other pools?"

"Sure! Let's go!"

I made eye contact with Kelly, reclined with her head resting on a clump of meadow grass growing at water's edge. "You wanna go?" I asked.

"Nah, you guys go ahead." She slumped down even farther so that only her face remained above the surface.

I climbed out of the pool then off we went, the bearded tree inspector and freckled Nature Girl, wearing nothing but sunscreen and her wide-brimmed straw hat. I've always liked that look; a naked girl wearing a hat. Doesn't matter what kind. Hat, that is.

Worswick had a long tradition of nude use even though scant few trees screened the pools from the gravel Forest Service road. However, the main pool was 400 feet from the road and the other six were slightly upslope, which made it unlikely that anyone driving past would notice nudity. And each step we tread through the meadow took us farther from the road. The walk was exciting; out there in the wide open spaces with mountain vistas at every point on the compass. And walking alongside, a perfectly-at-ease young lady whose bounteous breasts bounced gently with each unhurried step up the trail.

Following the hot creek upstream, before long we arrived at another pool, a smaller one, occupied by a nude 20ish couple seated side-by-side. As we approached, their sheepish grins hinted we might have interrupted some underwater mutual masturbation. We didn't intrude on their space and kept moving.

The hot creek forked many times, each fork leading to one, or a cluster of vents. In areas where terrain was favorable -swales, depressions, bends- volunteers had utilized native materials -logs, rocks, gravel- to dam the creeks and impound pools, a total of seven. Most of the upper pools were vacant. When I stuck my foot into one I discovered why. "Ow! That's hot!" I screeched. Indeed, waaay too hot for soaking. Worswick was a popular four-season destination. Nordic skiers and snowmobilers could soak in the upper pools in the middle of winter. But in the middle of July, they were unusable.

"C'mon," Megan chided, "it can't be that hot."

"Oh yeah? You try it."

She stuck a foot into the pool but didn't react in any way whatsoever. It must have hurt like hell but she would never let me know it. Casually, as if in no distress, she pulled her foot out. "Nothin' to it." She feigned cool indifference even though her foot was scorched beet red.

"Okay miss smarty pants, let's see you climb all the way in."

"Can't. My sunscreen hasn't soaked in yet."

"Sure . . . handy excuse."

Megan's sense of humor made me smile. Another positive character trait. Both of us grinning, we headed downslope toward the main pool. Walking behind Megan, I was blessed with extended viewing of her fine freckled fanny. With each light footfall, one jostling bun, then the other, vied for my attention. It was like watching a tennis match. Ohhh, I'd love to slide up behind, grab her hips and . . .

Into the main pool I waded and sat chest-deep beside Kelly. She roused from a restful drowse. Megan waded in and sat beside me on the pebbly bottom. Conversations were going on all around us, but for a time, no one in our threesome said a word. Lying back with our heads resting on clumps of meadow grass, we allowed the heat to penetrate every pore. At length, Megan rolled her head and her sky blue eyes met mine. "You're right, you've got the best summer job in the world!"

"Yeah, sometimes I feel guilty getting paid for it." I paused a few seconds then blurted, "No I don't!" Megan laughed and flashed a dazzling metallic smile, then quickly clamped her lips together. Too bad she felt self-conscious about her braces; she had a lovely smile.

The ambiance at Worswick was similar to any other clothing optional hot spring; a congenial assembly of suited and naked, all bound by the commonality of sharing the same place on the planet at the same time. Conversations flowed as freely as hot water cascading over the dam. Never were exchanges forced or contrived. Everyone felt free to speak their minds. At times, bathers sat on the pool's edge cooling themselves; men, women, suited, unsuited.

I couldn't speak to Megan's and Kelly's mindsets, but socializing with naked men must have been pleasant as evidenced by their bright expressions and animated mannerisms while talking with other guys in the pool. Whenever men sat above the waterline, on rocks or the dam, the housemates didn't stare at the penises arrayed before them, but neither did they feel it necessary to avert their eyes. They allowed their gaze to fall wherever it pleased, following their instincts as naturally as the wildlife inhabiting the high country.

Through all of this, the sunscreen slathering, the stroll through the mountain meadow and now, as she sat on the dam with her body visible to one and all, Megan's behavior verified she wouldn't have cared if the whole world saw her naked. Nature Girl was at home in the wilderness clad only in fresh air and sunshine. That her nakedness was shared with others was incidental to her pursuit of embracing Mother Earth. Megan was truly a naturist in every way the concept can be defined. Even if she had been alone in deep solitude, I earnestly believe her enjoyment would have been just as gratifying.

The afternoon passed much too quickly. As the sun sank in the west beyond the mountains, we prepared for approaching night. I made the walk to the Blazer naked and so did Megan. She slung on her backpack and waited for Kelly, still wearing her hot pink string bikini, to sling on her pack. Once I locked the Blazer and slung on my pack, back to the main pool we went. Being late in the day, we had the entire meadow to ourselves.

The girls doffed their backpacks then set about erecting their tent. With each tent peg Megan bent over to press into the ground, her buttocks splayed, revealing her puckered anus and gaping cleft. I didn't get the vibe that her mooning was intentional; it was simply a posture she had to assume to accomplish a job. That her posterior was pointed in my direction each time she bent over was coincidental. Or was it?

Surprisingly, Kelly didn't utilize their tent to change into dry clothing. Standing in front of the tent, she simply turned her back, stripped off her hot pink bikini brief then immediately pulled on black gym shorts. The quick-change took only 5 seconds, but how pleasant, the fleeting glimpse of her cute caboose. Her bikini brief shadow, the inner curvature of her buttocks, was many shades lighter than her overall olive-skinned color. Her back still turned, she traded swim top for a red T-shirt.

Sundown. Twilight. Darkness.

All of us fully clothed to ward off the encroaching chill of night, we sat cross-legged around a crackling campfire, passing the evening in convivial conversation while munching the girls' seemingly inexhaustible supply of snacks. After a time, everyone fell silent and the night sounds assumed prominence. Somewhere in the meadow a small four-legged creature scurried. Unseen, a night raptor swooshed overhead, seeking prey. On a distant mountainside, a coyote sang a lonesome song.

Megan looked away from the flames and our eyes met. She smiled, briefly, a glint of yellow-orange firelight reflecting off her braces. Her sublime expression said it all: this is where she wanted to be. In the wilderness is where she found peace.

* * * *

In the predawn twilight I awakened to the rasp of the girls' tent door being unzipped. Megan, naked, crawled out into the chilly air then rose to her feet and scurried through the dewy meadow grass toward the hot pool, into which she waded and lowered herself chest-deep with an audible sigh. My first impulse was to join her. But no. Somehow, I knew Nature Girl desired solitude. I rolled over for more shuteye.

Awhile later, I roused from a half-sleep just as the sun's first rays broke above the jagged Sawtooth Range far to the east. Seen in profile, Megan sat on a rock waist-deep. Eyes shut and hands folded in her lap, she faced the rising sun, a scene of utter tranquility; naked nature and naked humanity existing in balance, in harmony, each loving the other. For the longest time, in silence, I gazed upon her meditations.

Megan might have continued her meditations much longer if Kelly, fully clothed, hadn't crawled out of the tent and spoken to her friend. "You want some tea?" Kelly asked.

Megan opened her eyes. "Sure. Thanks."

Kelly fired up their propane camp stove and put on a pot of water to boil. I unzipped my tent door which got Megan's attention. She looked in my direction. Her pale freckled breasts glowed pinkish in the dawn's early light.

" 'Bout time sleepyhead," she chided good-naturedly.

"Yeah," I said, "another day at the office."

Out of my tent I crawled naked then rose to my feet. Briskly, I stepped toward the pool, waded in, then reclined neck-deep, resting my head on a clump of meadow grass growing at water's edge. Megan repositioned herself and reclined neck-deep beside me. Without making eye contact, she said, "I suppose we oughtta listen to the traffic report and see if the freeway's clogged." I ran with the joke. "Yeah, good idea. I'd hate to get stuck in gridlock." The only gridlock was flocks of Mountain Jays descending from their overnight roosts on the pine-speckled mountainsides.

Both of us grinning, we sat up and accepted the cups of tea Kelly graciously prepare for us. Kelly sat on the rocks dangling her bare feet in the water. In the quiet of morning, few words were spoken; everyone turned their thoughts inward as we sipped our tea.

Eventually, I asked Megan, "You want a morning bath?"

"Uh . . . isn't that what we're doing?"

"No, I mean a real bath." I described the method of bathing using a baking soda/water mixture. With soap, detergent action washes away dirt and oil. With baking soda, abrasive mechanical action is what cleanses. It takes more time and effort but it's a pollution-free way to achieve bodily cleanliness.

Megan declined. "No thanks. I'm good."

But I was up for a real bath and not just to wash my dirty, oily skin. Bathing in public was a means to enhance my exhibitionistic activities; washing gives you an excuse to grope your privates with impunity. From my tent I retrieved the required supplies: a box of baking soda and my biggest aluminum cook pot. In the pot I mixed the soda/water slurry then set it on a flat rock on the edge of the pool. Standing knee-deep, I proceeded to rub the mixture onto my arms, legs, and torso.

A vigorous scrubbing I gave myself all over. Both girls acted nonchalant: Ed's washing. Big deal. But when my hands wandered down and began washing my penis, Kelly politely looked away. Megan's sky blue eyes remained aimed in my direction as one hand peeled back the skin sheathing my shaft and all five fingertips on my other hand clamped around my glans and gave it a good scrubbing. This was a motion that always gave rise to rapid fluffing and now was no exception. Within the span of ten seconds my penis lengthened and fattened considerably.

"Okay, you got me curious," Megan admitted.

"Then step right up!"

She rose to her feet and stood beside me. Rivulets trickled down the slopes of her breasts and dripped off their globular undersides. Handfuls of baking soda slurry she scooped out of the cook pot and began scrubbing; face, arms, armpits, legs, torso . . .

On wilderness excursions, extra emphasis is placed on washing body parts where bacteria levels can mushroom and cause skin irritation. Having voluminous back country experience, Megan understood this. She scooped a measure of mixture and splashed it onto her pubic mound. In what seemed slow motion from my male-centric viewpoint, her slender fingers raked through her gorgeous ginger bush and slid up and down her gaping cleft. She wasn't content to cleanse merely the exterior; two fingers she plunged inside to root any grit that may have lodged there. Megan was cleansing her body as she would in the privacy of her bathroom at home; her behavior wasn't intentionally provocative. But tell that to my libido; watching Megan finger herself fluffed my penis to a significant angle from vertical. Kelly grinned but otherwise betrayed no indication that she noticed my half-mast condition. Once the frontal portion of her lower zone was clean, Megan scooped another handful of slurry and gave her anus a good scrubbing.

Megan dunked herself underwater to rise off. She stood up knee-deep and slid one hand up and down her forearm. It was squeaky clean. "It really works!" she gushed. "I was skeptical."

"It works fine on skin but it's a real chore washing hair."

"Well, maybe I'll try that later."

We didn't have time to tarry at Worswick; work awaited. Standing in front of her tent now, Megan toweled dry then proceeded to get dressed. The panties she had worn for two days she held under her nose and performed a sniff test. Fail. She made a sour face then stuffed the soiled underwear in her backpack. Clean pink cotton panties she stepped into and pulled on, then donned a clean black sports bra.

Once everyone was fully dressed and breakfast consumed, we broke camp and headed for our assigned work area, up Black Horse Creek, 4 miles away. As expected, the parcel didn't have very many dead trees to inspect and the work went smoothly. By early evening, we had finished.

After dark, seated cross-legged around a crackling campfire, we continued munching the chips, pretzels, popcorn, and mixed nuts the girls brought. The conversation rambled but eventually, I steered it into personal areas, endeavoring to flesh out more about these alluring young women with whom I was sharing this high country adventure.

"So, how long have you two been housemates?"

Kelly answered: "About seven weeks but we've been best friends forever." Both girls expounded, telling how they had been friends since early childhood, grew up in the same neighborhood, attended the same schools, were in the same Girl Scout troop . . .

Megan looked at Kelly and exclaimed, "Oh! Let's sing Little Bunny Foo Foo. You remember it?"

"Yeah!" The girls began singing about Foo Foo and while doing so, pantomimed his fieldmouse -bopping behavior along with the lyrics. When one or the other messed up by pantomiming incorrectly, they laughed like young schoolgirls. In many ways, it seemed they had regressed back to their formative years, to adolescence. Charming. Two more Girl Scout campfire songs they sang and when finished, Megan said, "Sing us a song."

I finished chewing and swallowing a mouthful of Doritos. "I'm not much of a singer."

"Awww, c'mon," Kelly implored, "everybody can sing."

They weren't going to let me slide. "Uh, okay. Lemme think . . . "

Deep into my mental database I searched, trying to decide which one of the Boy Scout campfire songs I had learned as a youth could possibly compete with Foo Foo. Perhaps, Alice.

I cleared my throat and sang:

"Alice where are you going?

Upstairs to take a bath

Alice with legs like toothpicks

And a neck just like a giraffe raff raff raff raff raff raff raff

Alice stepped in the bathtub

Alice pulled out the plug

Oh my goodness! Oh my soul!

There goes Alice down the hole!

Blub blub blub blub . . . . "

And, like Megan and Kelly had done, I pantomimed along with the lyrics. They smiled approvingly at my amateur effort. The campfire camaraderie lasted late into the evening but finally, bedtime arrived with dreams of the morrow: an entire day at Worswick.

* * * *

At daybreak, I crawled out of my nylon mountain tent while the girls were still sound asleep in theirs. Seated cross-legged on a thick carpet of brown pine needles, I put a pot of water on my propane camp stove. Not until I poured my second cup of coffee and warm morning sunlight flooded the valley did Megan awaken and look out through the screen door of her tent. Wearing a white T-shirt, she sat up. Her eyes were mere slits. A disheveled shock of long red hair hung in her freckled face. "Mornin'." She sounded sleepy.