Angie Eveready was not given to long bouts of contemplation. She was a firm adherent of the "if it feels good, do it" school of social behavior. But in the wake of her third, less-than-perfect experience with making love in the great outdoors, she felt the situation required a good, old-fashioned think.
The perfect place for such deep introspection was stretched out on something like a massage table, while a sweet Italian chiropractor named Dr. Ari A. Fresca did all sorts of delicious things to her bare back, and shoulders, and thighs, and bottom.
Her first taste of sylvan sex, a romp in the woods with Ernie, had been a total blast, at first. But it ended in failure when his dog, Buford the Beagle, nosed into the act, so to speak, in a very up-close and personal way.
Then came her near-drowning experience while skinny-dipping. How was she supposed to know that Bruce, the wildlife biology grad student she was giving an underwater blow-job, would become so mesmerized by the sight to two damn coons he wouldn't think to let her surface?
Those unsatisfactory experiences lead to some second thoughts, not to mention, insect bites, a crick in her neck, muscle strains in her back, a minor concussion, and one helluva cold. The back and neck were mending nicely, thanks in no small part to the dedicated work of Dr. Fresca.
It was in the midst of this discontent that Ralph showed up. Like most members of the small student body at Wodehouse College, he was a friend of a friend. They met at an Earth Day planning session.
Ralph was a sharp dresser and fast talker. Many otherwise charitable observers considered him a low-life, slime-ball. Others insisted he was more like a case of persistent jock itch. But he had these soft, puppy-like eyes that, for no discernable reason, gave certain females the mistaken impression they could safely confide in him.
It wasn't long before Angie joined that number, confessing her love of the wilderness and her long-held fantasy of communing with nature by making love in the great out-of-doors. After her third post-planning session beer at Ralph's apartment, she even admitted to her two recent failures in this regard. She then granted Ralph a sample of what would be in-store should she ever achieve the long-sought natural nirvana.
All this fired Ralph with an even greater zeal to help Angie fulfill her fantasy. The term "even greater" is appropriate, for when it came to face and figure, mother nature had been very kind to Angie. She possessed the type of body the late Aldous Huxley would no doubt have described as, "pneumatic." While her long legs, shapely bottom and generous bosom diverted the attention of most men, those who managed to lift their gaze would behold an exquisite, Madonna-like face that featured dark brown eyes, full lips, and a smile that was both beatific and seductive.
It was an accepted truth around campus that whatever Ralph might lack in looks, smarts, and class, he more than made up for with a line of solid-gold bullshit. Using this skill, he convinced Angie her problem with outdoor sex wasn't the fantasy or setting, but her male partners. She needed a guy who wouldn't bring a dog along or get fixated by two raccoons, someone who had access to a mountain cabin near a waterfall, and who knew everything anyone needed to know about the wilderness. In other words, she needed a fellow nature-lover like Ralph.
By Ralph's somewhat loose standards, he wasn't lying, not really. He did know enough not to bring a dog and wouldn't know a raccoon from a rhino. He also thought that, with a little luck, he might be able to wangle a remote cabin he spent a miserable night in many years ago. To consider his claim that he knew everything anyone needed to know about the wilderness as valid, however, one would need to accept his contention that all any sane person needed to know about the wilderness was to stay the hell out of the place.
Though Angie was just a WC freshman, she possessed a remarkably inclusive attitude towards men. Still, guys with beady eyes, a face strikingly similar to that of a ferret, a scrawny body built by years of easy living, and the personality of a two-faced rat, were not her favorite type. But those soft eyes and the promise of a mountain cabin near a waterfall proved too much to resist. She agreed.
Angie's cousin, roommate and best friend, Etta Toups, greeted the news with something less than wholehearted support. It was Etta's considered opinion that going from Bruce the grad student to Ralph the lifetime undergrad was a case of trading in a joke for a jerk.
Etta kept trying to talk Angie into giving Ernie, the first of her failed outdoor partners, another chance. There was no denying Ernie had a lot going for him. He was sweet and sort of cute, easy to coax into doing whatever she wanted, and had great stamina. The fact he was hung like a Clydesdale contributed in no small way, so to speak, to his appeal. But he also had that damn beagle. Thanks to Dr. Fresca's magic fingers her body, once a mass of pain and agony, was healing quickly. The bump on her head was gone, so were the headaches the concussion caused. But the memory of that day in the pines, when she was on top of Ernie, blissfully communing with nature and his super schlong, and what happened when Buford's cold nose made contact with a very personal spot, well, it was still painfully fresh and more than enough to outweigh everything else.
So Angie headed off to spend the weekend with Ralph in a mountain cabin near a waterfall.
The cabin in question was the seldom used property of a friend of the second wife of one of Ralph's cousins. He told Angie it belonged to his uncle. The location played a large role in its limited use. Reaching it required an extended hike up, and up, and up a long, narrow, overgrown trail. Even well-conditioned day-trippers found the feat a challenge. For those who were out-of-shape, and toting a backpack loaded with enough supplies for a weekend, it was crushing.
Being a gentleman, and a man whose idea of exercise was popping the top on another beer, Ralph let Angie lead the way. This gesture accomplished two things. It kept her from seeing him sweating and straining while giving him a highly motivating, low-angle view of her ample bottom in motion. This most inspiring view managed to keep him climbing that long, long trail even as he felt a growing kinship with those who endured the Bataan Death March.
No doubt spurred on by the vision undulating before him, Ralph managed to reach the cabin without collapsing or throwing up. They both gratefully dropped their overloaded packs. While Angie admired the tall hardwood trees surrounding the cabin, Ralph tried to unlatch the door. This proved a time consuming process. Due to a combination of lust of exhaustion, his fingers refused to stop shaking.
Unoccupied, rustic cabins often acquire a memorable, earthy aroma. This is most evident when first entering the structure. Consider for a moment; Grandma's attic. Now add in mold, mildew, animal droppings and the funky aroma of socks left months ago by some poorly-groomed hunters, and you begin to get the idea.
It was Ralph's plan to get Angie inside, spread out the sleeping bags, and begin the first of what he hoped would be many boisterous bounces in the cabin. The strong, unique aroma that wafted out of the cabin door, along with the sound of that waterfall, cancelled that plan.
When he tried to get her inside, she gave him a big kiss, giggled and slipped away. Her idea was to leave the door open so the cabin could air out while they went to find the waterfall. This didn't seem like a very good idea to Ralph who was both horny and still exhausted from the climb.
Those who have read, WC 102 Outdoor Angie, may recall her amazing ability to coax men into doing virtually anything she wanted. On this arboreal occasion, the quick removal of her t-shirt did the trick.
In justice to Ralph, it must be reported that few men, living or dead, could resist the sight of her bountiful bosom. Angie's breasts were large and shapely with the springy tautness of youth. To the slack-jawed Ralph, their large, erect nipples seemed to be pointing right at him. When Angie turned and headed for the falls, he followed like some dumb ox after a carrot being dangled just inches in front of him.
Though not very large, the waterfall was so impressive it got Ralph's mind off Angie's breasts for a good ten seconds. To him, the place looked like a jungle scene from some Tarzan movie. A thin stream of water seemed to appear by magic high in the forest, then it plunged down an almost vertical cliff face onto the rocks at the edge of a small, tree-lined pool.
The sight of Angie, sitting on a rock and taking off her hiking boots, diverted Ralph's attention and raised his hopes, among other things. To his disappointment, she didn't remove her shorts. Instead, she moved to the edge of the pool, found another rock to sit on, and began splashing her feet in the water.
This was better than nothing he decided, and quickly joined her. The water was colder than the proverbial well digger's ass in Idaho, but it felt good on his hot, sweaty feet. Something told him not to rush Angie, that his time would come, soon. In a rare display of patience, he put an arm around her shoulders and they just sat, savoring the spectacle.
But they were young and healthy. Ralph was also very horny. As for Angie, little was ever required to stir her primal instincts. Now she was falling under the romantic spell of the waterfall. So when Ralph took one of her breasts in his free hand and nuzzled her neck, she responded.
Passion is one thing; practicality another. In this case, their passion to copulate ran into the reality that there was no way in hell they could do so on that rock.
Ralph's very practical suggestion that they return to the cabin met with passionate resistance from Angie. She didn't agree to spend the weekend with a guy like Ralph, then hike all the way up here, just to screw in some dirty, stuffy cabin when they could be making love beside such a beautiful wonder of nature.
This attitude initiated a search, best described as frantic, by the hyper-horny Ralph. While Angie sat on her rock, contemplating the waterfall, he moved furiously around the edge of the pond, looking for a flat surface. Tucked away near the spot where the pool ended and the stream recommenced its downhill journy, he found that for which he sought.
It was a secluded nook, just up from a little strip of sand. Having once scored on the beach, he was glad there was a fern-like ground covering to keep the sand and dirt out of their asses. Not that he really cared. That would be Angie's problem. But he wanted to keep her happy, horny, and humping. With a yelp of triumph, he rushed back around the pool to claim his prize.
Angie thought the spot was great. She turned and gave the beaming Ralph a big kiss while pulling off his shirt. It fell to the ground and she rubbed her breasts against his pale chest, letting her hard nipples slip through the sparse chest hairs. With a cry of outdoor joy, she hugged him close, letting him start working on her shorts while she gazed over his shoulder at the waterfall.
