Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience. ο>ΏNumber 23 by TarnishedPenny She's bare, alone and miles from her clothes. It's an event. 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. ***** 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 From the other side, I could hear a dull clunk before the box was withdrawn, turned and pushed part-way out again to let me see the sturdy combination padlock on the hasp.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. ***** "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." ***** 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. ***** 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. ***** 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. ***** 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. ***** 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. ***** 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 crΓͺpy 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. As busses go, it wasn't particularly big, not half as long as the one I rode every morning on my way to work, but it had the usual front and rear double doors on the curb side. The sign in the window over the driver's windshield read, 'Special'. It looked normal enough, but I did a double-take as it got closer. All of the large passenger windows had been neatly covered with sheet metal blinders painted to match the original colours. As the thing came to a stop, I could make out the pop-rivets holding the blinders in place. Above them was another row of small windows, each about the size of a loaf of bread. They were clearly more to let in light than to see out of. There was the usual airbrake hiss, a momentary pause, then the driver emerged. In his 40s, he was wiry and deeply tanned. He wore sandals, jeans and a faded white t-shirt with the familiar red-and-green logo of the International Orienteering Federation. A well-worn ball cap and aviator shades completed his costume. A tablet in one hand, he stood by the open door and waited silently while we gathered around him. He didn't introduce himself or waste any time with effusive greetings. "Sun-Chasers?" he asked. We all nodded and he looked at the tablet. "Smith, PD?" he called out. One of the men raised his hand. "That's me." The driver pointed over his shoulder at the door with his thumb. "OK, on you get, then." He looked at the rest of us. "Suzuki, M?" The middle-aged woman waved slightly and stepped up into the bus. One by one, he checked us off his list. I was one of the last ones. The interior was not quite dim, but hardly as bright as outside. The top row of windows had been frosted or something; light came in, which was nice, but we couldn't see out. I was relieved to see that everything was clean and that the seats, if worn, looked comfortable enough. The air conditioner seemed to work and that was a blessing. While not apparent from outside, the back end of the vehicle had been extensively modified. On the driver's side was a door with the standard international symbol for a toilet. I hate them, but am always glad they're there when I need one. A second, unlabelled, door was at the very end of the aisle, facing the front of the bus. It appeared to open into a small compartment of some sort. A third door was on the curb side, just about where the rear exit doors would be. This one bore the stylized symbol of a wire coat hanger. There had already been some people on the bus when our lot got on, but there was enough room for everybody. The driver closed the front door, then turned to face us. I could see his forefinger move back and forth as he counted us one last time. "Anybody up for a last-minute change of heart?" he asked. We looked at each other. Not likely! He looked at us for a few seconds, then flatly announced, "We'll be about half an hour to the first drop-off." He obviously wasn't one for excess chatter. With that, he turned and pulled a heavy curtain across the front of the bus, blocking any view we might have had out the windshield. ***** "There's no chance to study the ground in advance or cache stuff," Erin had said. "Everybody's on an equal footing." ***** The bus started up, paused, then sped up sharply as if turning into traffic. I was excited, but wasn't sure of Sun-Chaser etiquette and, as a first-time newb, figured I should keep quiet until somebody else said something. It turned into a long wait and I spent my time examining my fellow participants. Most were fairly young, in their 20s or 30s. There were some middle-aged people and the one very old woman. There were a few more men than women. All of them looked fit enough and most had the kind of tan you don't get in a booth. Clothes were uniformly light and casual -- except for footwear. There were no cheap shoes on the bus, not that I could see. I wiggled my toes in my own special Inov-8s and smiled inwardly. The bus slowed, turned, then drove on at a somewhat lessened speed. After a while, it turned again. We were moving slower now; the road seemed to have more curves in it and I could hear the crunch of gravel under our tires. A slight smell of dust became apparent. I wondered how we decided who got out where. Nobody had said so far and I'd been saving my questions for Erin. The road became bumpier, less comfortable for us. One of the other women gave a slight shriek as the bus hit a fair bump. Everyone began holding on tight to whatever they could. Maybe twenty minutes after that, the bus ground slowly to a halt. I could hear the parking brake being engaged, then the driver swept his way through the curtain. I caught a momentary glimpse of conifers and dirt road ahead. "OK, who's first?" he asked. I realized that there wasn't a protocol. We looked back and forth at each other, nobody jumping up to volunteer. "The routes are all about the same length and difficulty," he said. "You might as well take one as another." He waited for a few more seconds, then pointed at one of the men in the front seats. I got the feeling his choice was almost random. "OK, chum. You're it." He pointed at the door with the coat hanger sign. "You've got three minutes before the rest of us take off." The man looked a little uncertain, but stood up and headed to the back of the bus. A couple of people spoke for the first time, soft mutters of "Good luck!" He paused with his hand on the doorknob, then stepped inside. The door closed behind him and the driver slipped up front. I could feel the bus shift as the man moved around inside the change room. A few minutes later, I could hear the rear doors open. There was a short pause, then they closed again. The driver re-emerged, looked at the rest of us. "Next?" he said. "No? OK, we'll do it in order of seating. "You," he said, pointing at a blonde woman sitting in another front seat. "You're next. Go now, please, get started. I really don't want to have to come back here every stop." She nodded somewhat hesitantly, rose and moved back. The driver pointed at the man across the aisle from her. "Then you, right?" The man nodded. The driver looked at the rest of us. The expectation was clear enough. He smiled, slipped through the curtain. I looked at the blonde woman he'd chosen standing outside the change room. She swayed a little as the bus began to move and I could sense her trying to work up her nerve. She took a deep breath, went inside and closed the door behind her. I wondered to myself if all the other people were as turned on as I was. Maybe ten minutes later, the bus slowed, stopped. The light through the top windows was very bright now. I could hear the back doors open almost as soon as we had coasted to a halt. A few seconds later, they closed and I felt the bus begin to move. The man in the front aisle was already outside the change room door; he looked confident and stepped inside without hesitation. Another man was already moving to take his place. He was solid, this one, with wide shoulders, a just-there beard and curly brown hair. I was surprised to find myself blushing a little. OK, I'll admit to my having a fantasy moment about the two of us, but no, that's not why I blushed. I'd just realized that the first one to get to the finish point would be alone, event organizers and staff excepted perhaps. She'd be able to get dressed almost in private, but would be able to watch as the second showed up robed only in shoes, sunblock and dust. Together, they'd then be able to watch Number Three, and so on. Call me silly, but it was suddenly very important to me that I get to the finish point before this handsome boy... The bus crawled to a stop, the doors opened and closed, then he stepped inside and shut the door. It wasn't so much about him not seeing me. I suddenly wanted to see him - coming into the finish wearing just sneakers and a tan. I suddenly wanted that so much that it hurt. Maybe I could offer him a cool drink or something... There was already a woman moving down the aisle, but I stood, held my hand up towards her. "If you don't mind, I'd really like to go next. Please?" She shrugged, nodded. Instead of returning to her seat, she stood in the aisle, swaying with her hand in a strap above her. The bus again started to slow down. It stopped. I heard the exit doors close, heard a whispered, "Good luck!" from someone. I don't know now why I was surprised, but the cubicle was much smaller than I would have thought; I could easily have touched opposite walls with my elbows, let alone my fingertips and half the floor was taken up by the steps down to the exit doors. There was an opening in one wall at floor-level, at the back. One end of a metal box was already protruding from it. The bus jerked as it started to move. I looked at the sign, fingers reaching for my blouse. ***** The sound of the bus faded away, leaving me in the most perfect silence I'd ever been part of. For a moment or two, there wasn't even the sound of the wind and all I could hear was my heart pounding. I looked around. The gravel road, while passable enough, was narrow and rutted, like a seldom-used lumbering road. Second-growth pine trees rose on either side and I didn't think I could see twenty feet through them. I unbuckled the bag, pulled out the map and unfolded it. I checked my control sheet, found where my start point was supposed to be on the map and ran my forefinger from there to the two concentric circles indicating the finish point. Presuming I was standing where I thought I was, the finish point was no more than a quick hour-long hike. Only an hour, but that was if I didn't bother hitting hit any of the control points - and I needed them. I looked around for a better place to spread things out. Nope -- no flat rocks, no logs, no convenient stump. I shrugged, stepped off the road and spread out the map on the dusty grass. There was nothing that I could see to take a bearing on and nothing on the map to suggest one, either. Why make it easy, right? On the other hand, the bus had indeed turned around a bend in the direction shown on the map, so I was pretty confident that I was where I was supposed to be. I hadn't noticed any mosquitos, which was also encouraging. I checked the map for information on magnetic declination, did some mental math. The world revolves around its axis, the true north pole. Compass needles on the other hand point to the magnetic - north pole, a different place which is constantly moving. Right then, it was maybe 350 kilometers south of Santa's Palace. Depending on where you are, that difference and some dense bush can get you thoroughly lost. I was happy to see that my compass had already been adjusted. Never taken anything for granted. I marked my control points on the map with the pencil. Finished, I rechecked everything; this would not be a good time to be heading in the wrong direction. I tried to see if the best route automatically suggested itself. It rarely did and today was no exception. I guessed I had eight or ten kilometers ahead of me, if I didn't get lost or take any detours. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, smiled. Piece of cake, Katie! You'll be first in. Then, I wonder what his name is? I took a sip of water, packed everything up, slung the bag over one shoulder and, keeping my ear open for approaching vehicles, started trotting down the road. When I got around the curve 500 meters later, I saw the T-junction I'd expected not far beyond. I dug out the map again, kept the compass handy. The first control point -" and here I checked my list to be sure -" was almost due west of where I was, maybe a kilometer away. The map showed two reasonable-sized hills; the control point should be behind the larger, northern one. I looked up, smiled as my eyes found them dead ahead of me. It would be obvious to just head between them, yet it seemed too simple somehow. There was no river, creek, pond or marsh showing on the map, but just the way the ground was shaped had me concerned. The ground between such hills is often wet and I really didn't want to go bog-bashing if I didn't have to, especially this early in a long day. Looking at the map again, I decided to head north a bit, then follow around the bottom of the northern hill. It would maybe take longer, but I doubted there would be a swamp there. I stretched and took a sip of water. The sun was well up and I decided to get moving. I took a bearing from the map, set the compass and plunged -" in a careful, deliberate manner -" into the dense trees. Given the sun and the shape of the ground, I was confident I wouldn't get too lost. Another road was shown on the map just beyond the hills. If I kept going west, I was certain to run into it. The map showed a bit of a bend in the road which would confirm my location once I did. The going was easy enough. The trees were dense, but not particularly scratchy and there was no undergrowth to either slow me down or hide icky stuff like poison ivy. In due course, I hit the expected road. I looked around, saw the bend and walked to it. The grid reference on the contact sheet indicated my first contact point should be just over... there. The map showed a small creek crossing the road. All I had to do was follow that north for about 200 meters and I'd be on first base. I smiled, stepped off. Half an hour later, I sat on a rock by the side of the road. I looked around me, frustrated beyond belief. I'd followed that creek a lot further than 200 meters. Twice. There was no sign of any marker. I looked at the map again, took a calming breath. Start again, Kat. I'd been careless, overconfident. The creek was there, easy to find - once I'd gone 75 meters past the one I'd been following. There were two of them and only one was shown on the map. Maybe something had happened upstream since the map was printed, maybe the aerial survey had been done in a dry season. It happens. I, of course, had been following the wrong stream. Ten minutes later, I was in a clearing, looking down at a post driven into the ground. Nailed to it was an orange and white plate with the number '12' written in large numerals. Grinning happily, I took out my pencil and carefully wrote '12' on one corner of the map. I needed to remember it. ***** "You put all your clothes in a box on the bus," Erin had said, "fastened with a combination lock. Each of your control points has one of the numbers to open the lock. You could cut straight to the finish line if you had to or wanted to, but you couldn't open the lock." She giggled. "And they probably wouldn't give you your clothes until everybody else arrives." ***** I was feeling pretty good now. Yes, it had been a silly mistake, but I'd figured it out. That was in fact one of the main reasons I enjoyed this sort of thing. Not only was it good exercise out in fresh air, but it also made me think. Not entirely to my surprise, I also found my libido was returning. The frustration of thrashing up and down the wrong creek had locked it away in its own ammo can, but, lying there in a clearing full of wildflowers, I felt that old tingle returning. I looked around - nothing, nobody, nada. I smiled, ran my hands over my tummy, higher, cupped my breasts. I caught my nipples between forefingers and thumbs, rolled them softly, pulled them for a second before releasing them, felt them swell and harden. I covered them with my palms, listened to my heart beating. I looked around at the trees, took a deep breath. No, not the time for this, Kat. Not yet... I stood up, shook myself a little to loosen up, bounced on my toes a couple of times. The sun was well up now and the day was indeed becoming warmer. I looked at my shoulders and saw a little redness. I push down hard with a fingertip, lifted and watched the white mark fade. Oops! I had forgotten another basic. I dug through the sack, found the sunblock and began smearing it over my body, head to foot. I had some problems between my shoulder blades, but thought I'd got myself properly covered. The second control point was only a kilometer away as the crow flies. My problem was the long, skinny lake between me and it. I oriented the map, laid it down on the ground and examined it carefully. I had three choices, none of them particularly good. I'm not a great swimmer, so scratch the direct route. Going around the south side of the lake would take me through what looked like pretty rugged forest and it would be easy to get lost. Circling to the north seemed a better idea, but the ground was wide open, a field in fact, at least a kilometer across. Once across it, the map showed another track leading almost directly to a small pond, on the shore of which would be my second control point. But crossing the field would mean I'd be completely exposed... Think this through, Kat. Yes, I'll admit that I was turned on by the riskiness of the whole affair, but as soon as I stepped out into that field, I'd be out of the trees, without cover and visible to anybody in the neighbourhood. I was having to balance the risk of getting caught against the fun I could have -" would have -" taking that risk. There had been maybe twenty or thirty other participants on the bus. How did I feel about being seen by one of them? I wasn't entirely sure, frankly. Yes, right now, they were all as bare as I was. And, like me, it wasn't likely that they would be here were they not just slightly bent. Birds of a feather, so put them aside. I might be seen by the event organizers. I crossed that off my fret list. They posed no threat, not even of embarrassment. They were staging the event and could hardly mock or sneer. Then my mind turned the gravel roads and rutted dirt tracks criss-crossing the area. They'd been made to be used, driven on by people with legitimate business - lumber trucks, surveyors, other hikers, naturalists, picnickers. Normal people, in other words. Whether or not they reported me, they were likely to have cameras or cell phones. The thought of my bare tush being posted on Facebook had very little appeal. Worst of all, I might be seen by wardens, rangers or cops and that would spell very bad news for Mom's little girl. OK, I'd admit it. Standing there in the buff, the struggle between thrill and risk was turning me on still more. I idly pulled on one nipple, then the other, ran my hand through my hair. I closed my eyes, concentrated on... silence. The breeze had died down and about the only sound was a raven flying over me. I listened to the low flapping of its wings until it was out of hearing and silence returned. I peered down the road, examined the edges of the field, looking for parked vehicles, people, dust. Nothing. I decided to take the open way rather than flog around through the bush. Yeah. And, come to think of it, hell yeah! I wasn't going to sprint across the field. Yes, I'd done a lot of sprinting while orienteering, but this was different. Out here, by myself, breaking an ankle or something would be a serious problem. Pain aside, if I had to trip the beacon. Rescue would find me... yeah, starkers. No joy, no thrill, just pain and embarrassment. Tingle or no tingle, a certain amount of caution was advisable. I began a slow dog-trot, my attention flipping back and forth between the ground and the other side of the field. My boobs swayed in the sunlight and I smiled at the feeling, smiled again at the warmth of a fine day. Even without my being slightly twisted, sun on bare skin is always a good reason for being outside. My confidence back, I grinned to myself, completely content in every way. 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. "No." He had a really nice - smile, I thought. Those teeth of his were gleaming, shiny white. "No, I guess not." Having said that, I wasn't sure what to say or do next. How to deal with a super-hot guy you've just met and who's just made you horny as a basket of mink? And knows it. Especially when you're in the middle of nowhere and both dressed in no more than a pair of sunglasses? "They're very nice," he said. My nipples got even harder as he lowered his gaze to them again. I thought I could feel - his eyes, like gentle fingers on my boobs. "It's OK, Dale," I whispered. I was speaking as much to reassure myself as him. OK, in for a dime, in for a dollar. I let my own eyes roam a bit, glanced down at his lap, noticed that his legs were pressed together. Tightly together. The conclusion was pretty obvious, I thought. I let myself giggle. "What?" he said. "Open your legs, Dale." There was a long silence. His eyes moved up, locked on mine. We played stare-me for a long five-count, then his knees moved apart. We laughed together as his cock popped up from where he'd been keeping it locked between his thighs. It was stiff enough that it actually bounced a bit, solid and dark red, its head swollen. I took a risk, shuffled a handbreadth towards him on the log, leaned over, rested my head on his shoulder, put my army around his waist. "Talk about bad timing," I whispered. He chuckled. His hand caught my hand resting on his waist and squeezed. Right then, that was more erotic than if he'd squeezed a boob. My mind swirling, I took a deep, deep breath. It had been a long day... Without even thinking, bad timing or not, my other hand reached out, caught him halfway up his shaft, stroked it with goose-down touches. I heard him sigh, heard myself echo him when his hand reached out, a fingertip lightly touching one of my aroused nipples, twirled gently around it . I raised my head to his and our eyes met. I licked my lips slowly. His head came down, his hand swallowed my breast. I leaned up, never so willing, never so ready. "Down!" he hissed suddenly, his arm pulling me off the log we'd been sitting on. I landed on my hands and knees beside him in the dirt. "What?" I gasped. "The truck," he whispered. Oh, right. The truck. Dammit! I could see it through the bushes when it passed us a minute later, an official-looking crew-cab driven by a red-faced, embarrassed-looking young man in some sort of vague uniform. Erect in the back seat behind him, wrapped in a grey blanket, sat an ancient, grey-haired, birdlike woman with a look of seething indignation on her thin face. She might have seen me as I waved a little. The truck carried on in any case. I broke into giggles. "What?" Dale 's voice sounded puzzled. "Didn't you see her?" "Who? I was actually on the ground, trying to not get arrested." "They arrested the old lady." "The one from the bus?" "Yes." Our laughter was open now. The poor old girl! But, I thought to myself, she looked like she could handle herself and there was nothing I could do for her in any case. I ran my hand through the hair on Dale's chest. It felt good; it made me feel tingly all over again. But... Dale obviously had the same thought. "Kat?" "Mmm?" "I liked that. I mean, I liked that a lot. But we should get going. Somebody else..." I was already getting to my feet and he didn't bother finishing. I was about to scramble up onto the road when Dales' hand caught my arm. He eased past me and I could see him looking in both directions. "Gone," he said. I nodded silently, shivered inwardly. Yup, I could just visualize myself in the back seat, wrapped in another blanket. "Thanks." "I know, right?" Those long legs scrambled in the loose gravel, then he was on the road, a hand reaching down for mine. I was standing beside him a second later. We started at a slow trot along the causeway. I tried to speed up, but had to put my arms under my boobs again, which was kind of humiliating. I stopped thinking about that when a quick side glance showed Dale's hardness swinging and bouncing in the same way. He wasn't holding himself, though. I grinned at the sight. He looked at me, puffed a little, grinned back. "Nice sports bra, Kat!" "Looks like somebody else could do with some help, mister!" He glanced down, laughed, ran his hand over his length. It bounced a little. I let him get a step or two ahead of me, admired him as he ran. Those long, muscular legs pounding into the gravel, firm buttocks leading up to a narrow waist and broad shoulders. This was what men should look like! I half-stumbled at the sight, almost stopped moving to be able to watch better. Dale looked back and I sped up, hoping my face hadn't looked like my body felt. Running out in the open like that was the longest six or seven minutes in my life and I kept looking over my shoulder the whole time. Half-way across, totally open, at the worst possible place if somebody had come, I was for some reason suddenly more frightened than excited and was having real doubts about the whole thing. What had I been thinking? My worries vanished as Dale's hand found mine and squeezed for just a moment. I looked up at him, saw the comfort and confidence in his eyes and the worries just fell away. I giggled when I noticed his erection had half-faded, that his balls had lowered. Everything was swinging more, swaying with each step he took. I wondered how inconvenient it must be to have to deal with that all the time, remembered my arm still wrapped under my boobs. I slowed down a little and dropped my arm, letting the Girls swing freely as I moved. I suspect Dale would have liked to run the whole way, but he fell in beside me. His eyes weren't entirely on the road. "I think we're home-free," I said. Indeed, the trees on far end were only another minute away. "Almost." I sensed him turn his head, looked up at him. He was openly admiring my boobs now, watching them shift and swing with every step. His eyes moved to mine and he smiled. "I won't apologize this time, Kat." I flushed, feeling a mixed rush of emotions at that. I knew I should make at least a token objection. Men shouldn't openly stare at women's bodies. It's rude, right? I shrugged mentally; just being part of this event put me two stares and a gawp outside of normal societal rules and expectations. It was a given that I would be stared at if I was discovered. Besides, I'd just been admiring his wobbly bits. I blushed deeper as my body made the decision for me. We slowed as the causeway entered a patch of deciduous trees. I was covered in a sheen of perspiration and it was nice being in the cooler shade. I stopped and fished inside my sack for some water before looking at Dale. He, too, was covered in sweat. And his eyes were not on the Girls anymore; his eyes had moved to my waist level, then a bit lower. He wasn't half-hard anymore. His manhood was fully up, hard and promising. I shivered inside, shook my head and reached out with my hand, touched the side of his head. "Dale... I'm... We need to get that fourth number." He lifted his gaze up to meet my eyes. "I know, Kat. I know. But you're too lovely to simply ignore." I dropped my eyes to his erection, snickered. "So are you." I looked up at him. "But we do need to go." The map showed that we were close, maybe 500 meters away. Presuming that there weren't any recently-formed lakes between there and where we were, it looked like a quick leg. And it was. Fifteen easy minutes on a compass bearing -" no cliffs, no swamps, no wide open spaces -" and we broke out of the trees, with the small lake we'd been looking for right in front of us. I could see the stake with its orange and white tag from where I stood. Five minutes later and we'd each copied that final number. "That trail," Dale said then, pointing. "That one should lead us to the finish point. It's not far." I looked up at the sun. I didn't have a watch, of course, but it looked like early-to-mid-afternoon. We'd been some of the first ones off the bus. "Dale," I said. "We've made it, almost. Are we in a hurry now?" "I guess not." He lay down, face to the sky, and spread his arms and legs for a moment before tucking his hands under his head. His eyes examined me again as he lay there. "Good, 'cause I'm hot and the water's right there." I took off my shoes and socks, tossed my hat on top of my sack and waded in. It was cool, delightful. "So," I said, wiggling my toes in the water, "is this your kink, Dale?" Still lying on his back, a slight smile on his face, he turned his head towards me. "Mmm?" "I said, is this your normal kink? Running through the forest stark naked? Dodging park rangers? Hiding in bushes? Ogling passing redheads?" He sat up. "There are worse," he smiled. "There's some pretty spectacular scenery out here, if a guy knows where to look." His eyes caught mine, then dropped, quite deliberately, to the Girls. They lingered there for a slow five-count, then rose to my eyes again. I laughed, waded in, slipped under the water and swam for a bit. The water was only up to Dale's knees when I surfaced. "C'mon, you sissy!" I shouted and broke into a brisk crawl to reach him. I stopped just short, ran my hands over my eyes to clear the water. I gave a slight screech as he launched himself, landing with a massive splash just beside me. He surfaced, shaking his head like a dog. And everything I'd been feeling all day, everything beginning and building and growing, it all crystalized in an instant. I grabbed his head, pulled him towards me, corked his bray of laughter with my lips on his. His body stiffened for a split second, then those strong arms came around me, pulled me in as his lips ground into mine. My tongue swept along them and they opened, his tongue dancing with mine. I ran my hands up and down his back, gave a small gasp of pleasure as one of his hands swept down, caught my bum and squeezed gently. I felt a shimmer up and down my body, felt my arousal burst into full flame. I pulled my head away, looked around. There was a patch of what looked like soft grass near the shore, a couple of steps from where we had left our shoes. My hands dropped from Dale's back. I looked up to him, smiling brightly. Second later, giggling like schoolchildren, we were splashing our way through the shallows. I laughed as Dale slapped my bottom. Less than hard, more than gentle, it felt good for some reason. Reassuring, maybe? I was still ankle-deep when Dale bent, scooped my up in his arms without missing a step. I liked that, too. I'm an independent, grown-up woman and I found was delighted to be carried by a big, strong man, if only for a few steps. It too was comforting, supportive. It was almost a promise of sorts. Dale stopped, ankle-deep in soft grass and let me down. My feet warm in the sun-blessed grass, I leaned up, kissed him, felt my heart skip a beat when he ran his hand softly over my cheek. I saw no need for any kind of social fencing. I dropped to the grass, rolled onto my back and spread my arms and legs in welcome. Dale knelt between my legs, bent forward and surprised me by planting a series of fairy kisses along my inner thigh, then repeated it on my other leg before sliding up, trailing kisses on my stomach, ribs, between my breasts, on my collarbone and neck until, finally, finally, he was lying full-length on me. His weight felt wonderful, welcome; his kisses were even better. I wrapped my hands around his head, felt my nipples and labia swell as his tongue explored, wove around mine. He pulled back, sowing more soft kisses on my breasts and tummy as he sank between my legs. My head fell back, my eyes closed and I gave a small cry as his tongue tip began to make its way along my delighted sex, rapid flicks, up and down, over and over. His beard tickled a little as he moved; I couldn't resist a small giggle, but the feeling of his tongue on my ladybits was almost electric. I couldn't believe how arousing each tiny touch made me, pushing me higher and ever higher. I felt my breasts wobble as I squirmed in pleasure. I began to gasp, moaning softly. He rose slightly, dragging his tongue up onto my abdomen, swirling around my belly, rose to my breasts. He caught one of them in a hand, squeezed softly, mounding it, sweeping its softness under his hard, loving hand. Now the other one. Now back. My nipples were swollen, hard, expectant. His mouth found one, kissed it gently and I could feel his lips all the way down to my applauding pussy. His tongue swirled around and around, flicked it and I hissed with pleasure as he nipped it gently, pulled it between careful white teeth, releasing it only to find its twin on my other boob. My hands clasped his head to me, swept his back. I wanted to rise, please him, but right then I simply hadn't the energy. His mouth lifted off my nipple with a soft pop! - before his head returned to my sex, his lips finding my pearl, drawing it out, sucking it in to where his amazing tongue could swirl, tease and torment. Perfectly. My hips rose and fell against his mouth, my clit clamouring to be pushed just a little further. I felt his hand stroking my hip; my hand swept down, caught his, tangled fingers with his. He squeezed gently, continued his oral worship and I gave another cry, louder this time, deeper. Then his hands caught my bum, lifted my sex higher into his face and he was sucking and kissing and nibbling and probing and licking, feeding a half-mad primal beast deep within me and he shifted his hand, his thumb entering me and my cries became louder, more ragged as his loving hand and tongue and lips uncaged the beast, sent it charging through me, reds and golds and screams of ecstasy filling the woodland as I rocked beneath his mouth, endless, endless, endless... I woke next to him, my head on his shoulder. I opened my eyes to the sun, utterly contented, utterly pleased I had accepted Erin's offer. Dale's hand gently stroked my hip. "How's the prettiest sun-chaser?" he said softly. "Oh my god, Dale!" I whispered. "You have no idea." He laughed, gave me a soft hug. "You're welcome." From the position of the sun over us, I hadn't slept very long. I looked down, saw his organ, still hard, purple. I watched it sway slightly as he breathed, wondered at the magic of it. I stretched my hand out, ran a fingertip along it. It bounced a little under my touch and I laughed. Closing my fingers around it, I rose to my knees. I began pumping it softly, velvet skin flowing over a core of iron as I bent my lips to his, hoping he could sense the happiness, the pleasure within me, the joy of his making. I rose, straddled his legs, lowered myself, lightly dragged my breasts over his taut sac. I saw him take a deep breath, hold it. I smiled at him as I slowly brushed my soft boobs along the length of his rod before moving back, dropping my mouth to his cock. I opened my mouth, put my tongue half out, brushed the underside of his crown against it, then again. His aroma filled my nostrils, musk and desire. I felt it resonate deep within me. I closed my lips, sucked in slightly and began to move along his length, slowly now, my hand on his shaft pumping to match my head. I heard his breath above me, smiled inside at the touch of his fingers in my hair. I pulled off him, gave a series of broad tongue-strokes from top to bottom. My eyes locked on to his; I could see him watching me, fascinated, delighted. I pulled back, gave him a bright smile, began running my hand up and down his wet shaft. I took him deeper into my mouth, sucking hard now, my tongue running along the underside of his cock and I bobbed up and down over him, as quickly as I could, my hand rolling and caressing the tender contents of his sac. His eyes were closed now. I could see the tension in his abs, heard his breath catch, felt a sudden quivering in his thighs. Dale gave a slight moan of disappointment when I released him. I knelt beside him, bent down for a kiss. His lips were gentle now, but I could sense how much I had pleased him, how much he wanted more. I bent, nipped his flat nipple with my teeth. "C'mon, lazy-bones," I giggled. Without saying more, I turned away from him, resting on hands and knees with my bum facing him. I spread my legs, waved my bottom from side to side. I could feel a soft breeze on the wetness of my swollen sex, then he was behind me, one hand on my hip, the other guiding himself into me. His crown probed once, adjusted, entered. I almost purred at the always-amazing feeling of being happily filled by a strong, loving man. I could feel the stiff rim of his cock distending my slippery walls. He entered slowly, considerately, but as he moved deeper and deeper into my welcoming sex, I began to worry just a little. I like doggie-style, but it's one of the deeper positions, Dale wasn't short and poked ovaries hurt. Then he was in all the way; I could feel the brushing of his sac against my bottom. It felt heavenly. Without moving inside me, he ran those delicious big hands over my bottom and back. "How're you doing?" he asked. I clenched with my inner muscles. "Very, very good!" I whispered. He gave my bottom another slap, much softer, loving this time, then his hands seized my hips and he slowly began to withdraw. Every fraction of movement launched a chorus of approval from every nerve in my pussy and boobs -- just about everywhere, come to think of it. The joyous feeling soared up and up as that delicious, capable cock slid back into me. Faster now, his length began to drive in and out of me, thrilling and delighting my body, tingles of pleasure turning to ripples of joy turning to waves of excitement. I tried to reciprocate, wiggle my bum, but his hands held me pretty well in place. I was gasping for breath now, but tried backing into him to meet his thrusts. He relaxed his grip a bit and I shoved backwards, smiled to hear my bum slap against his belly, then again. Harder now, faster, my arousal growing with each thrust. I felt my boobs swaying and swinging beneath me, shivered as those long, hard nipples swept over the soft grass beneath me. I started to drop my head, felt Dale catch my hair in one hand, pull me back against him. He leaned in, his body bent over mine, still deep within me. The angle made the brief kiss awkward, but I treasured it even as he released my hair and redoubled his pounding strokes. The heat built within me with every thrust, with every quiver of every part of my body, with every touch and sound and I came in a loud cry, sunlight and bliss and glory. My head fell to the grass; my body would have joined it had he not held me up. I could hear him panting behind me as he lunged, felt his fingers sinking into the softness of my hips. With a great roar, he stopped; I could feel him pulsing and throbbing, jetting his joy into my depths. He took a few pleasure strokes, bent over me, wrapped his arms around my waist. Together we fell gently to one side, lay spooning, still joined. I felt the fading orgasmic echoes dying out, laughed softly at the feel of his occasional twitch within me. Oh, yes. Oh, very yes, Erin. I found myself wondering if she had had this much enjoyment on her runs. Dale's hand ran over my face, love and comfort in his fingertips. A few moments later, I could feel his arm grow heavier, felt him relax, heard a soft snore. I smiled softly. And joined him. ***** We walked down the trail, no more than a minute from the finish point. His hand felt good in mine. "Any idea what the time is?" I asked. He looked up at the sun. "Maybe 4:30?" he guessed. "Oh." We'd been dropped off around 9:00. The implications of that hit me. I put my shoulders back. It didn't matter anymore. Hand in hand, clothed in Eden, we rounded the corner and saw a crowd waiting for us, the last ones to finish. I took some comfort in most of them still being bare. The banner over the crowd read, "Sun-Chasers Nude Day Special Run!" A cork popped and flew off into the woods. A round of applause broke out, a couple of whistles. I didn't care. Looking up at Dale beside me, I so didn't care.