To The Wild Country Ch. 02

While I gathered my beach essentials and stowed them in my daypack, Megan slathered her arms, legs, torso, buttocks, and ample breasts, squeezing and smooshing them with her slender fingers. An extra dab she rubbed onto her nose; despite using sunscreen all week, the summer sun had toasted it. Before she could even ask, I stepped close and took the bottle from her hand. "Allow me." With one hand I brushed aside her bushy red ponytail and flopped it forward over her shoulder. A generous blob of pearly lotion I squirted onto her neck and began smoothing it down her back.

"How'd you know this is what I wanted?" she asked.

"I'm psychic."

"Really! So, tell me, what am I thinking right now?"

"Let's see . . . you're thinking you love it here and don't wanna leave."

She chuckled. "You're good!"

No, I wasn't psychic, just familiar with Nature Girl. And, familiar with her body, as familiar as I could possibly be without being her sexual partner. Her head-to-toe freckles intrigued me, and not just because of the unique character they gave her appearance. Their myriad shapes, sizes and patterns stirred my imagination. Widely sprinkled in places, in others they clustered like constellations in the cosmos. Was that a serpent slithering up her right shoulder blade? A daisy on the small of her back? One sizable freckle beside her right areola created an optical illusion; when viewed from a distance, it appeared she possessed a third nipple.

Once I had completely coated Megan's back, I handed over the bottle and stripped naked in solidarity. Since she was going to hike sans clothes the three-quarters of a mile to the hot springs, so was I. We donned our daypacks and hats then set off across the footbridge spanning the Salmon River. All week, not once had we made this hike nude but all things considered, it seemed the natural choice. And it was exciting because we planned to spend the entire afternoon at the lake with no means to cover up; every stitch of our clothing remained in camp. And we weren't the only ones making the hike naked. Wearing only a small daypack, baseball cap, and sandals, Tina trotted past. That petite blonde had enough energy for everyone in the group. And then some!

Hiking amid the aromatic evergreen forest, whenever I glimpsed Megan's bounteous breasts bouncing gently with each unhurried footfall, or fell behind on narrow, single-file stretches of trail and gazed upon her fine freckled fanny, my mindset wasn't purely prurient. Don't misunderstand; she personified femininity of the highest magnitude and my male instincts responded. But at the same time, her beautiful body held equal esteem with the soul inside, the Nature Girl with whom I was growing closer each day.

We were the last to arrive lakeside. After doffing her sandals and daypack, Megan stepped carefully onto the log dam. Her wide-brimmed straw hat atop her red head, from a seated position on the barkless pine logs, she slid into the water.

All of Megan's classmates were naked except for Amanda. Some waded around while others lounged in the shallows, floated on air mattresses or sat on logs in the dam, both above and below the waterline. This tableau had existed all week and by Friday, the casual nudity seemed so downright routine I had to pause and remind myself how uniquely special it was. Many times at nude beaches and hot springs across the west I had been in the presence of many more nudists than this, hundreds more. Those occasions were pleasing, but I much preferred being in the company of nudie friends.

For a while I talked with Jason and Nadia, the three of us seated on a submerged log in the dam. Afterward, I waded waist-deep across the lake toward the far end where Bethany reclined in the shallows with Helen. Without warning, SPLAT! something warm and gooey splattered my back. I turned around and found Tina, standing on the muddy shoreline, bending over and scooping another handful of mud to shape into a projectile.

"You little twerp!" I hollered, "I'm gonna get you!"

I had been on my way to discuss with Bethany career opportunities in the field of geology, but my conversation with that intelligent, inquisitive girl would have to wait.

Toward shore I waded to arm myself with a mud ball. I hadn't taken two steps when Tina flung another handful. This time she missed by a wide margin. A handful of mud I tossed and missed her as well. Her body was so small, scoring a hit was going to be difficult so I took a different approach; holding a handful of mud I moved rapidly toward my tiny target. Tina tried to escape by climbing straight up the steep muddy bank but her effort proved futile; even scrambling on all fours, she made it only halfway before she stalled. Her crouched posture and wide stance allowed a splendid rear view right up her blonde wazoo. Never had I seen such a tiny cleft on any adult female.

I was tempted to target her sweet petite anus. Instead, I pulled my punches; a huge double handful of mud I heaved and scored a direct hit on the small of her back. Tina flopped on her stomach and slid back down to water's edge. I made another mud ball. Cowering, she begged, "Truce!" She looked so childlike, so innocent, so vulnerable. My paternal instincts wouldn't allow me to press the attack; I dropped my mud ball. "Okay. We're even."

Tina looked me in the eye. Both of us were grinning like drunken hyenas. There's nothing like playing in mud to awaken your inner child. As a result of her slide, Tina's front was covered with mud. She rolled over and sat on the bank slathering more onto her arms and legs. I did the same; standing, I rubbed handfuls on my arms and chest.

Nearby, Megan floated on my air mattress, watching. "Hey Megan," I called out, "Check this out. Natural sunblock!" Her sky blue eyes alight with curiosity, she rolled off the air mattress and waded toward me waist-deep. Into shallower and shallower water she waded, inch by inch revealing more and more freckled skin.

Standing ankle-deep at arm's length, she asked, "If it washes off, it won't do any good."

"Well, let it dry an' stay out of the water for a while."

Mud bathing is an ancient tradition. Adherents claim it promotes skin health. Letting the mud dry is said to draw toxins out of the skin and the entire body as well. Whether or not that's true I have no clue. But one thing is certain: mud bathing is good clean fun, especially when enjoyed as a social activity.

Megan adjusted the fit of her wide-brimmed straw hat then sat down beside Tina and began slathering her arms and legs with mud. The girls advanced the agenda by coating each others' backs. Others joined the fun; in twos and threes and more, all of the students, busty Amanda included, stood or sat on the muddy bank, slathering themselves. Amanda stood beside me, coating her arms and legs and perfect oval face; circles she daubed on her cheeks and a single streak she wiped across her forehead. No one offered to slather her back so I stepped up to the plate. A handful of mud I scooped and asked, "Want some on your back?"

"Yeah! Thanks!"

I commenced slathering that portion of Amanda's back not covered by black polyester. And that area was substantial; from neck to buttocks. A smidge of rear cleavage was visible and the curvy contours of the remainder of her divine derrière stood out in stark relief beneath the dripping wet, skintight spandex.

Unexpectedly, Amanda sloughed the shoulder straps. With both hands, she clutched the bodice to keep it in place. This unambiguous invitation to slather her shoulders I seized. With one hand I brushed aside her long brunette ponytail and flopped it forward over her shoulder.

Standing five-feet-six, her physique was similar to those of her female classmates -toned, lean, strong- but her breast endowment exceeded all of them by a landslide. While slathering her back and shoulders, I must confess, my impulse control took a holiday. My hands slid under the edges of her swimsuit to coat her sides, and in the process, my fingertips swiped the outer limits of her unseen breasts. I didn't have to reach very far; her hands, clutching her bodice, smooshed her bulky breast tissue sideways.

Amanda didn't flinch or voice objection. Moreover, she aided and abetted; still clutching the bodice, she raised her upper arms away from her torso to make it easier to slather her sides. While I did that, my fingertips repeatedly swiped the edges of her puffy pillows. And again, no objection. After I had adequately coated Amanda's back and sides, and a minor portion of her breasts, she reinstated the shoulder straps.

Amanda didn't even ask if I wanted my back slathered; she just scooped a double handful of mud. "Here ya go," she said cheerfully then slapped it on between my shoulder blades. She was simply returning the favor -in more ways than one; when her hands reached my waistline they slid farther south. Granted, having one's buttocks rubbed doesn't pack the same erotic punch as having other private zones touched, but nevertheless, Amanda's touch sent scintillating sparks shimmying up and down my spine. She was very thorough, even sliding her fingertips deep between my buns to achieve total coverage. Once she finished, I turned around and found her wearing a devilish grin that matched mine. We had both taken a bit of bodily liberty. No harm, no foul. All in good fun.

I finished slathering my arms and legs. In the past whenever I had taken mud baths, it was always with cold mud. But this warm mud felt comforting, almost a like being wrapped in a cocoon. Once everyone was thoroughly coated, a few students went back in the lake to wash off while some, Amanda included, sat on the log dam to allow time for the mud to dry.

Tina wasn't content to just sit around doing nothing. The little ferret resumed working on leaky spots in the dam. Having nothing better to do while my mud dried, I gave her a hand. She had applied so much mud she didn't even appear to be naked; no anatomical detail was discernible. Her wispy bush was completely concealed under a huge glob and her tiny nipples didn't protrude through the thick coating. Even viewed from behind, it looked like she was wearing a bikini brief; her crack was full of mud.

Our dam-reinforcing efforts weren't bearing fruit. Water kept leaking between the logs and sticks like it had done all week. But the time spent working wasn't wasted; I enjoyed the company of this petite elf, all the while engaging her in rambling conversation. Beneath Tina's childlike exterior dwelled a vibrant, intelligent young woman who I daresay could excel in any intellectual pursuit she put her mind to. Eventually, we gave up trying to stem the leaks. By then our mud had dried and shrunken considerably. I didn't feel detoxified, just mummified.

Amanda had traveled to the mountains with Walter, Mark and Bethany. Now, late in the afternoon, the four of them were standing chest-deep in the lake, washing off mud. It appeared Amanda had sloughed the shoulder straps of her black one-piece in order to wash more easily and Walter was helping by scrubbing mud off her bare shoulders. For ten minutes they rubbed and scrubbed then waded to the log dam and climbed out of the water. Amanda was the last of the foursome to begin climbing out. She hadn't reinstated the shoulder straps. And she wasn't clutching the bodice to her bosom. In one hand, she held her limp stripped-off one-piece. Amanda continued climbing out of the water, inch by inch revealing her nakedness.

Once she stood atop the dam, she stepped carefully toward shore upon the wet slippery logs. Her slow transit allowed time for a thorough examination of her body featuring a starkly white one-piece shadow, shapely buttocks, a dense dark unkempt pubic patch that thwarted inspection down below, and huge, ponderously pendulous breasts with sizable brown nipples aimed straight down at the ground. I would describe them as sloppy big. In my humble opinion, Amanda was a prime candidate for breast reduction surgery. Perhaps that was one of the reasons, if not the only one, she remained suited all week. Now, her decision to strip off must have been a matter of practicality; she didn't care to wear her wet filthy suit on the hike back to camp.

That she didn't employ her suit as fig leaf suggested she wasn't embarrassed. Well, maybe a little; once she cleared the dam and reached solid footing onshore, she picked up the pace. Her quick cadence across the carpet of brown pine needles made her breasts and buttocks jiggle with equal intensity. Twenty feet later she reached her daypack on the ground. She bent over to retrieve her orange beach towel, briefly flashing pink. Keeping her back toward the lake, she stood upright and wrapped the towel around her torso. She turned around and tucked in the flaps at her bosom. While Amanda gathered her stuff and stowed it her daypack, she talked with her friends.

Walter, Mark and Bethany dried themselves and got dressed. Afterward, the three of them, and towel-wrapped Amanda, hit the trail back toward camp. Amanda glanced back over her shoulder, grinning. Perhaps she was reliving her brief exposure in view of her friends. I wanted to believe in hindsight she found it exciting.

Into the lake I went to rise off mud. Others were also in the process of washing off, packing up and hitting the trail back toward camp and ultimately, Boise. This was the moment I wasn't looking forward to: the beginning of the end of an amazingly gratifying week.

Megan was in no hurry to leave. Floating on her back on my air mattress, her eyes were closed, her breathing slow and even. She appeared to be asleep. Utterly relaxed was she, this child of the wild. Her moist mouth was slightly open. Late day sunlight glinted off her braces. Chest-deep in the warmth, I waded closer and, for a time, just stood there admiring her. As if my thoughts penetrated her dreams, she opened her eyes and blinked once, twice. "You're right," she said, "I never wanna leave."

"Okay. I'll bring you food every now and then."

"Pizza?"

"Sure, but I can't guarantee it'll be hot."

"Doesn't matter. I'll reheat it at The Source." She smiled, then immediately drew her lips together.

A moment passed then I suggested, "Let's take a walk over there."

"Okay." Megan rolled off the air mattress. Side-by-side, we waded into the shallows then upstream toward the power of Vulcan.

No one else was there. Tranquility reigned in the forest. Amid bubbling vents and steaming trenches we wandered until finally, we came to a halt in the center of the cauldron. Like Adam and Eve before the fall from grace, face-to-face we stood bathed in primordial steam surging from the core of the earth as it had since the dawn of creation. Megan placed her hands atop her head and interlaced her fingers. Her breasts rose in response, making it appear her tiny button nipples were looking directly at me, imploring.

Relaxed, eyes shut, she inhaled deeply, drawing into her body, and indeed her soul, earth's energy so freely given. Steam condensed into droplets on her freckled skin and trickled down. For a time, I was privileged to indulge leisurely appreciation of her youthful loveliness; full fertile breasts, the chalice of her hips, lean lithe legs; a natural beauty immersed in the beauty of nature. After drinking my fill, I asked, "What are your hopes for the future? Job wise?"

Megan opened her sky blue eyes and let her arms fall relaxed at her sides. Her breasts relaxed as well and assumed their natural state of repose. "I'm not exactly sure. I know I don't wanna work for the timber industry. Don't wanna part of something that destroys."

"Well, logging does the same as wildfire. Regenerates the forest."

"I'd rather see a burn than a clear-cut. It's ugly."

"True," I allowed, "but you know what else I see when I look at a clear-cut? Rebirth. New beginnings."

"That's what I wanna be involved in . . . nurturing."

"Maybe you could work for the Forest Service and dedicate your career to planting."

She nodded. "I'm kinda leaning in that direction. A job like that would keep me out here."

Megan raised her eyes to the sky where late day sunbeams slanting through clearings in the evergreen forest bestowed loving life energy on the earth. Nearby, a Mountain Jay squawked. Two squirrels leaped from one tree to the next and scurried down its trunk. Far overhead, a lone eagle silently soared on the westerlies. I knew where Megan's head was at. Mine was in the same place: heartfelt veneration of God's great wilderness.

Finishing the thought she had begun, I said, "And a job like that would also keep you near the hot springs."

Megan looked me in the eye and beamed a wide smile. "Yeah! That too!"

All summer, I had restrained my behavior around Megan, fearing I might say, or do, something she might construe as an unwelcome come-on. But now, I just had to say, "You have a lovely smile." Immediately, she clamped her lips together. Funny girl! She was more embarrassed about her braces than her nakedness.

In a singsong voice, I chided, "C'mon, let's see it." Megan tried to hold it back but couldn't. She smiled again, and this time put her entire heart and soul behind it.

"There ya go!" I said. "That's what I wanna see!" I leaned close and into her ear whispered, "It's dazzling!"

"Stop it!"

Megan wasn't pissed at my good-natured teasing; she expected it from me. Neither was she embarrassed because she kept smiling. So did I.

Back at the lake, all of the students had departed save for Kelly and Tina. Kelly laid on her back on my air mattress, gazing at the cloudless western sky. Energetic Tina was at it again, poking sticks in the dam to shore up leaks. No more sugar and caffeine for that girl!

Like Megan, I didn't want to leave. But leave we had to. We loaded our stuff into our daypacks and policed the area. We found a bandana someone had left. On Monday, Megan would try to reunite it with its owner.

Only Kelly had worn clothing to the lake. Not bothering with it, she stuffed her duds in her daypack then the four of us began hiking the three-quarters of a mile back toward camp. I walked behind the trio, trying to decide which bare butt deserved the blue ribbon. Megan's fine freckled fanny was the most eye-catching by far. Kelly's cute caboose was firm and round with just the right amount of jiggle. Tina's tiny tush gave her the appearance of a young girl. Megan, Kelly, Tina . . . My admiring eyes flicked from one set of jostling buns to the next to the next. It was impossible to choose a winner. It was like trying to compare apples to oranges, to cumquats. Each was perfect in its own way.

Everyone else had already bugged out. Twenty minutes was required to break down our tents, pack everything away and stow gear in the Blazer. Only then did we begin getting dressed. With each article of underwear the girls donned, I lamented, knowing this would be the last time I would ever lay eyes upon their bits. Megan stepped into black cotton panties and pulled them up. She donned her plain white brassiere backwards, fastened the clasp at her sternum, then spun the garment around. As she pulled the D cups into place and positioned the shoulder straps, I sighed. It felt like the final curtain; the performance was over, the lights went down, and there would be no encore. Not until the girls were completely dressed in shorts and T-shirts did I don clothing, signaling the end of an amazing week in the wild country.

On the drive back to Boise, into the stereo I popped a John Denver compilation cassette, my favorites from the 70s. After spending a week in the wilderness, this bespectacled nature boy's music seemed a fitting soundtrack for the journey home. The tunes were agreeable to my traveling companions and, at times, Megan, seated beside me, sang along. When the instrumental intro of To the Wild Country began playing, Megan blurted, "I love this one! Turn it up!" I cranked the volume and, along with the opening stanza, she sang: