To The Wild Country Ch. 02

Once we arrived in camp, Tina didn't put her shirt on. Why bother? Her next stop was the hot springs. Only one of her classmates, Phillip, was present to witness this petite blonde striding into camp with her tiny breasts proudly on display. Standing in front of his tent, he was stuffing his daypack in preparation for the hike to the lake. Tina spent a few minutes gathering her beach essentials and stowing them in her daypack. Once finished, she slung the pack over her slender shoulders then set off at a trot over the footbridge spanning the Salmon River.

By this point in the week, Wednesday, it was prime time to offer the students an opportunity for a baking soda bath. While packing for the field trip, I pondered how much sodium bicarbonate to bring. I erred on the side of caution and brought two ten pound boxes. Figured that should be plenty for all the girls to wash every square inch of their bodies, including the yummy parts. And I had every intention of watching them do precisely that.

My group was the last to finish the test plot observations and come down off the mountain. By the time I arrived at lakeside, almost everyone else was already there, sitting on logs in the dam, floating on air mattresses or reclining in the shallows around the lake's perimeter. Those who had skinny-dipped before were naked again and those who declined to bare all, Amanda and Dustin, remained covered. Such an idyllic scene; everyone relaxing. Everyone except Tina. Below the dam, she was busy shoring up leaky spots with sticks she had scrounged from the surrounding forest. After a day of physical activity, that indefatigable little ferret was still going strong.

The only students unaccounted for were Shannon and Patricia. Shortly after I stripped naked and slid into the water, they arrived lakeside wearing bikinis, Shannon's scarlet and Patricia's midnight blue. Both had their long brunette hair pulled back in ponytails. They draped their towels over a pine branch then doffed their daypacks and kicked off their sandals. For a moment they stood with their backs toward the lake, engaged in a cloistered conversation below the threshold of hearing. But gradually their voices increased in volume.

"We talked about this," Patricia stated emphatically.

Shannon responded meekly. "I know but . . ."

"Well, I'm gonna!"

With both hands, Patricia reached behind her back and unfastened the clasp holding her bandeau bikini top. After pulling the garment away from her chest, she draped it over the pine branch beside her towel. Guys in the lake caught the drift of what was happening ashore atop the steep muddy bank and focused their attention there. Hesitantly, it seemed, Shannon matched Patricia's bravado; she reached behind her back and untied the string on her bikini top, pulled it away from her chest, and now both girls stood topfree with their backs toward the lake where everyone was watching.

Patricia hooked her thumbs under the waistband of her low-rise bikini brief. "Okay," she said, "we'll go on three. Ready, one, two, three!" Patricia whipped down her brief, exposing her creamy white buns. But Shannon reneged; her brief remained in place. As if to shame Shannon into compliance, Patricia rapidly completed the task; down her tanned legs she slid her brief, stepped out of it, and draped it over the branch beside her discarded top.

Patricia stood with her shapely bare backside toward the lake, her arms folded cross her chest. She looked over her shoulder and flashed a devilish grin. She must have noticed the guys grinning back. Shannon remained frozen with indecision. She glanced over her shoulder and met the collective gaze of those in the lake. Confirming she had an attentive audience probably wasn't a wise choice for someone contemplating a public nudity debut.

"C'mon Shannon," Helen called out, "you can do it!" Others in the lake, male and female, voiced similar encouragement. Shannon's body language screamed reluctance; rigid torso, blank stare . . .

Nevertheless, as if in a trance, she hooked her thumbs under the waistband of her bikini brief and, in one smooth fluid motion, peeled it inside out, down and off. Peer pressure is a wonderful thing.

Blushing, Shannon spun around and hustled toward the lake. Perhaps she wouldn't have felt so exposed if she hadn't trimmed her pubic patch: shaved on the sides and a general thinning elsewhere. In haste to submerge herself, she didn't use the preferred entry point into the lake, the log dam. Instead, she took the most direct route, straight down the steep, muddy bank. With her arms extended wide to each side for balance, she made it only four steps before her feet shot out from beneath her and she plopped down hard on her pale posterior, on which she slid the remaining distance into the water. That must have crammed some mud into private places! All of Shannon's classmates enjoyed a hearty laugh but also gave her a round of applauds, acknowledging her bravado. Grinning sheepishly, Shannon looked relieved to be in the lake where no one could see her bits.

Meanwhile, Patricia took the preferred, longer route onto the log dam, affording leisurely inspection of her youthful body. Every set of eyes, male and female, followed her progress as she stepped carefully onto the dam, lowered herself into a seated position on the barkless pine logs, and slid into the water.

Having beheld Shannon and Patricia bikini-clad for two days, I was familiar with their lean, toned physiques. Now, like an artist who had finished a preliminary figure sketch, I was able to shade in the details: pale pleasingly plump breasts with succulent rosy nipples, divine derrières, and wrinkly inner folds dangling between gaping outer lips.

"I brought lotsa baking soda." Megan didn't hear what I said. Seated beside Nadia on a submerged log in the dam, both were laughing so hard at a dirty joke told by Walter that I had to repeat myself. Once she caught her breath, she responded. "Good! I'm gettin' kinda grungy."

"Well, whenever you wanna take a bath . . . "

"How 'bout right now?"

"Let's do it!" If only . . .

From my daypack on shore, I retrieved my aluminum cook pot and a ten pound box of baking soda. Megan met me at the creek just upstream from the lake where the water was crystal clear and perfectly hot for bathing. After mixing a batch of soda/water slurry in the pot, I placed it on a flat spot of bare granite. Megan scooped a double handful then surprised me when she splashed it onto my back and commenced scrubbing.

"I owe ya one," she said. "You did my sunscreen at Worswick." Megan continued scrubbing, up, down and sideways and, being polite, her hands never strayed below my waistline. Dang!

Megan didn't make any announcement like: Okay, anyone who wants a bath, come and get it! But our behavior drew the attention of those in the lake. Kelly came over. She reached behind her back and untied the string holding her bikini top. After pulling the garment away from her chest, she rapidly stripped off the brief and tossed it, and her top, onto the bare granite.

On our assignment, Kelly always wore a bikini while soaking at Worswick Hot Springs. Now, she must have felt it was more efficient to bathe without the hindrance of hot pink polyester. Or, perhaps, she finally felt ready to cut loose and get naked like almost everyone else. During those four days in Sawtooth National Forest, Kelly did a few quick-changes in the open, during which I briefly glimpsed her bits, but not all of them at the same time. Now, beholding her completely naked was like all the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle had finally come together and I was able to see the entire picture.

Her brunette pubic patch had grown somewhat thicker during the three weeks since she and Megan accompanied me to make pine bark beetle inspections. But the additional hair couldn't conceal her meaty labia. Oversize brown nipples and areolas looked freakishly large for a girl with virtually no breast tissue. Very odd. And, oddly captivating. Whenever I caught myself staring, I had to look away so as not to seem insensitive. But her posterior was perfectly proportioned: firm and round with a small butterfly tattoo on her left bun.

From the cook pot Megan scooped a double handful of slurry and splashed it onto Kelly's back. I did the same to Megan. In a daisy chain we rubbed and scrubbed. Since Megan had taken no liberties while scrubbing my back, I restrained my behavior again. But it was difficult to prevent my hands from wandering south to explore the curves of her fine freckled fanny. At least I could admire it -and fantasize.

Others converged to bathe. Dustin, Eric, Phillip and Mark along with Nadia, Helen, Lisa, Rachel and Bethany. The guys may have genuinely wanted to freshen up but I felt their motive was equal parts seeking 'hands on' time with their female classmates. And they found it. Over the course of ten minutes, guys scrubbed the girls' backs and vice versa. Everyone talked, joked, and laughed all the while. Once the first pot of slurry was gone, I mixed another. And shortly thereafter, another.

Bathing is far more fun when it's a social activity. Everyone's hands politely observed boundaries, but no one had any qualms about touching themselves in private places to wash away grit and grime. Blonde Nadia spent so much time vigorously scrubbing her brunette bush I had to wonder if she was easily orgasmic and was inducing precisely that. While watching her rub her crotch, I silently solved quadratic equations to prevent my penis from engorging into a major faux pas. And I wasn't the only guy struggling; a few other semis were evident.

Yes, everyone's hands respected boundaries. Everyone's except Eric's; he grabbed the rear waistband of Dustin's tidy whities and yanked hard, exposing most of his pale buttocks. "HEY!" Dustin hollered and twisted away from his assailant. All of the girls laughed. Like a shiver of sharks circling in bloody water, Phillip and Mark pounced on Dustin and, along with Eric, tugged at his underwear, trying to rip it off. "YOU FUCKERS!" Dustin screeched and tried to get away. The girls laughed even louder.

Several times over the years I had witnessed girls stripping girls completely naked at clothing optional venues. It always involved swimsuited girls physically 'persuaded' by friends to join the bares, albeit reluctantly. Sometimes with vehement reluctance. One occasion stands out.

Earlier in the summer I went to Pine Flats Hot Springs after completing one of my assignments. A dozen bathers, both genders, most of them naked, were already there, reclined in the large rock-lined riverside pool filled with crystal clear water. Shortly after I arrived, four college age women, all with long brunette ponytails, came to soak. After depositing their stuff, including a large cooler, on the ground, three of them stripped off every stitch of their lightweight summer clothing and underwear. The fourth stripped off her red camisole and denim shorts down to a black string bikini. The four of them waded into the pool and sat down chest-deep. They popped the tops on their beers and, over the course of ninety minutes, quaffed can after can. Their collective level of intoxication set the stage . . . .

The foursome climbed out of the pool and went for a cooling dip in the Payette River. What a vision: receding in the distance across the wide gravel bar, three seamlessly tanned backsides and one barely covered. After their swim, while walking back toward the hot pool, one of the naked girls used both hands and, with lightning-quick finesse, untied both bows, -back and neck- on bikini girl's top. She didn't react fast enough to prevent her friend from snatching it away. "Carly! Gimme that!" bikini girl hollered then spun around and clamped both hands over her smallish breasts.

As if the assault was planned, another naked girl immediately untied the strings on the right side of her bikini brief. "Laura!" bikini girl yelled and wedged her right hand into her crotch to keep the tiny triangle of black polyester in place. That shift exposed her right breast until she extended her left forearm across her chest. At the same time Laura was untying the right strings, the third naked girl was untying the left. "Mandy! Dammit!" The seat of her brief fell away, exposing her pale buttocks.

Bikini girl was in a pickle; she needed more hands but, having only two, abandoned any hope of hiding her breasts in order to recover her lower zone. She clamped her legs together to prevent her brief from falling to the ground while trying, with both hands, to retie the left side strings. Her effort was futile; all three of her friends were tugging at her brief, trying to rip it off. "You guys! Stop it!"

"C'mon, Amy," Mandy said, laughing, "give it up!"

Amy wasn't giving up easily. Frantically, she slapped her friends' hands away while trying to retie the strings. When that didn't work, she walked away, fast. That didn't work either; they followed, still tugging.

Meanwhile in the pool, the dozen spectators were being entertained by the antics. Had the four girls been alone at the springs, perhaps Amy wouldn't have put up a fight. She might have surrendered and joined the bares. But she was determined the men present, strangers all, weren't going to see her naked. Too late; she was virtually there already.

Carly, Laura, and Mandy kept pressing the attack and quickly succeeded in separating Amy from her bikini brief. "You guys! Gimme that!" Waving the brief overhead, Carly took off running down the gravel bar while Laura, waving the top, took off running in the opposite direction. Not hiding anything with her hands, Amy just stood there glancing back and forth at the two pieces of her suit going their separate ways. She looked mortified.

Amy had three options: say "What the fuck" and stay naked; try to reclaim her bikini and somehow put it back on; or get dressed in her camisole and shorts. The first option was dead on arrival. The second seemed impossible given her friends' determination to make her a nudist. The third was unpalatable because that would involve returning to the pool, giving the men soaking there an up-close-and-personal view of her body. But the last was the only viable option, the lesser of three evils.

Amy looked toward the pool, at the smiling male faces. Holding her right forearm across her chest, and her left hand over her vulva, she stepped three dozen brisk paces toward the pool and when she arrived, didn't make eye contact with anyone. She bent over and, with her right hand, retrieved her clothing and while doing so, briefly uncovered her perky pale breasts with rosy button nipples. She turned her back, stepped into her denim shorts, then pulled them into place over her fleshy round buttocks. She tossed on her camisole, smoothed it down, then turned around. And again, she didn't make eye contact but must have noticed all the smiling faces. Quickly, she packed her stuff in her daypack and donned her sandals. Scowling, she stormed away toward the parking area. Clearly, she was pissed.

Moments later her friends returned to the pool. "Sheeseh," Mandy said and shook her head. "Yeah," Carly agreed, "Amy can't take a joke." They waded back into the pool, sat down chest-deep, and waited for Amy to return. Thirty minutes passed and she didn't. The trio climbed out of the pool, toweled themselves dry, got dressed, and departed. I always wondered what came afterward. Was Amy waiting in the parking lot? Or, still furious, did she drive away, leaving her friends stranded?

That kind of stripping doesn't happen often enough, at least not in my world. Watching Dustin suffer the same fate wasn't pleasing like the female-on-female variety, but it was hilarious listening to him screech and cuss and beg for mercy.

Slightly built, standing five-feet-seven, sandy-haired Dustin was no match for his taller, stronger friends. Eventually they succeeded, not only in ripping off his jockey briefs, but ripping them to shreds in the process. Acting embarrassed, Dustin stood with his back toward the girls, holding both hands over his package.

"C'mon Dustin," Rachel implored, "let's see it!" The other girls employed similar cajoling; they really wanted to have a look at his man parts. Dustin glanced over his shoulder and found seven bright-eyed girls wearing wide smiles. Make that eleven counting those still in the lake. Even Tina quit working on the leaky dam and focused her attention on the creek bed commotion.

For Dustin, it was crunch time: either run for cover or face the truth. His primal male instinct demanded the latter. Relenting, in a resigned tone he groaned, "Ohhh . . . all right," then turned around and pulled his hands away from his groin.

"Awww! It's sooo cute!" Lisa's comment wasn't exactly music to Dustin's ears. Neither was the sing-song chorus of female voices harmonizing on the same theme. Was it really necessary for Helen to step closer and bend down, as if only from inches away she could see it? Despite the playful small penis humiliation, Dustin's wry grin intimated he was warming up to the female attention. So much in fact that his member, all 2 ½ inches, fluffed a bit, adding minor percentages to its length and girth. Likely, he felt fortunate that Big Albert remained seated on the log dam at a distance. Had his monster meat been dangling alongside in the same view, Dustin's nub would have looked even smaller.

Dustin wasn't the focus of female attention for very long; once everyone finished bathing they migrated back to the lake. All of them were his friends so he held no grudge about the forced exposure and subsequent good-natured ribbing. He embraced the spirit of the moment and remained naked although he went back in the lake where his wee willy could hide.

Megan removed the scrunchie holing her ponytail and shook her head, releasing a riot of long red hair that fell past her shoulders. She placed the scrunchie around her wrist then, with a double handful of slurry, doused her head and began massaging her scalp the same way you would use regular shampoo. "No, that's not how you do it," I said. "You hafta comb it through." From my daypack I retrieved my comb then returned to the creek. "Would you like help?" I asked. "Please."

Standing behind Megan, from a cup I drizzled a steady flow of slurry onto her head while running my comb from her crown all the way down to the ends of her long red strands. The mechanical action of the comb's teeth, aided by the abrasive slurry, would remove oil and dirt. Drizzling, I ran the comb from crown to ends, over and over, on one side then the other. With each run, the comb was doing its job; dirty water dribbled down her back. I've always enjoyed watching girls fuss with their hair. And when I'm the one fussing with their hair, so much the better.

This method of hair washing takes much longer than conventional shampooing. Megan didn't question why I was taking so long; she just stood passively and allowed me to continue. Perhaps she, like myself, was feeling contentment. In the spectrum of human relations, interaction involving touch engenders a sense of intimacy surpassing mere friendship.

For five minutes I drizzled and combed. And whenever Megan shifted her weight from one leg to the other, her shapely buttocks shifted as well. Eventually, the water dribbling down her back ran clear; her hair was clean. I stopped combing. She turned and faced me then raked the fingers of one hand through the long red strands. "It certainly feels clean. Thanks!"

"You're welcome."

"Would you like help?"

I hadn't considered the possibility that Megan might return the favor. "Please." I turned around.

Megan didn't need coaching; learned from how I washed her hair, she did the same for me: from a cup she drizzled slurry and combed from my crown down to the ends of my long brown strands. Her touch was pleasing. Five minutes later, she stopped combing. I turned and faced her. "Thanks." "You're welcome." Her sky blue eyes locked onto mine. My hair was clean and all too soon, social bathing time was over. Megan turned away and stepped toward the lake.