The Fieldtrip

Maggie, 37, had gotten her full professorship a few years back - and with it came an immense level of leverage. She had made a name for herself studying the life cycles of fauna in controlled forests. It attracted a lot of funding from logging companies and exposed her to many wood-be brawny executives, over whom she often enjoyed delicately exerting her intellect.

She was establishing her research group in Montreal now, and had found an enthusiastic young student to aid her in tracking the progress of an elusive species of salamander in northern New York State.

Mark had graduated early, so he was a bit young for a researcher at 21. Maggie found him intriguing. He was shy, but hard to keep quiet once he got on a subject he found interesting. Lately it was his newest hobby - cultivating an elaborate orchid garden.

He was wiry, a bit effeminate. She didn't think he could grow a beard.

Maggie would often sit on the bleachers at the track smoking cigarettes, watching the young athletes move. It was a good respite from negotiating with the loggers. It was there that she first saw him. Standing there, he didn't look like much. But he had an incredibly fluid gait when he ran.

"You know those are bad for you, right?" He said. She uncrossed her legs, turned her head to the side, which opened her white blouse a bit, and re-crossed her legs as she blew out the smoke - acknowledging him with her indifference. This was a typical tactic for her when initially dealing with men.

A few weeks later he showed up at her office. She liked that he had spoken very highly of her research in his plea to join her group, so she decided to give him a shot. She liked that he hadn't looked down her blouse once - despite her unbuttoning it at the top just prior to his arrival. Over the next six months, he turned out to be one of her more productive students.

It was 3:30 in the morning when she pulled up to his apartment. Barely awake, he got into her car, and immediately fell asleep.

He woke up when she opened the passenger door - he nearly fell out. "Mornin', sunshine", she joked. He tried to wring the sleep from his eyes as he stumbled out. They gathered their things and set off into the woods in search of the red-backed salamander they were tracking. The sun was due to rise in maybe 30 minutes.

Navigating in the murky dawn was not entirely easy, as they soon had to get off trail to make their way to the habitat. Mark held his tongue, and Maggie had learned to exude confidence at all costs. The sun did come up, but the forest was dense, and covered in a thick mist. Going from a dark haze to a lighter haze was not much improvement.

Her phone was no use - the canopy too thick for GPS. Without a clear view of the sun, there was no real way to orient oneself.

"I feel like I've seen this tree before," he said, pointing at one with a hunting camera strapped to it. She felt she had, too. She was starting to get annoyed with herself. She had no idea where they were, and it wasn't really clear which way led back to the trail.

"I think we should head this way," He said, pointing...somewhere.

"Mark, we're going to make it just fine, I just need a minute."

"OK", he said. He knew better than to argue with her. He sat down against a tree, after clearing a spot of any dew soaked leaves, and pulled out a small sketchbook and started scribbling.

Maggie set her pack down and leaned against a tree across from him. With a big sigh, she raised her arms to run fingers through her long, blonde hair. Her breasts, pushed down by her sports bra, followed her shoulders. They crested beautifully at the sleeves of her tank top. She lit a cigarette, holding her elbow in her hand, and calmed herself as she watched Mark draw in his book.

"What are you drawing?" she asked, carelessly tossing the butt aside.

"Oh, just doodling."

"Let me see," she said as she squatted down in front of him.

"Uh no!" He rushed to put the book behind his back, but not before she snatched it from him.

"Come on now, Mark, I just want to see." She flipped through his book and it sent chills down her spine.

It was all vulvae. Various shapes, shades, age, levels of pubic hair growth... all drawn meticulously from the same point of view, as if it were a catalog of species. Below each one, a latin-like phrase - "Puritas Tara", "Sucus ex Mars", "Tumidam Laura", ... and "Glabber Maggie"

She looked up; his hands covered his face. "Hey," she said, "is this me?"

"No," he said, uncovering his face as if to wipe the shame off it. "I met that Maggie on Saturday."

She liked that he was so calm about it. "So these are vulvae you've seen?"

"I love women," he explained. "I go out to bars, or with friends, and I find one that I feel could use a compliment. Then I go talk to them, and get to know them a bit, and tell them that I think they're beautiful. I find some feature about them that is unique and I talk about it like it's the best thing that I've ever seen. And it really feels like it is."

"Huh." she said, surprised that he would say so much. "It seems like you've been dying to talk about this, Mark." She snickered.

"People don't get it," he said as he snatched back his book.

"No, I'm interested! Tell me more." She looked down for a bit before she sat in front of him, her chin on her knees.

"Well, like Maggie, for example. She was really tall - taller than me. Kind of moved awkwardly, but I thought it was adorable. She had prominent freckles and those kinds of glasses that are really thick and make your eyes look huge."

"I told her I liked her freckles, and we got to chatting, and yada, yada, yada..."

"Yada yada?" Maggie scoffed, "Come on Mark, we're going to be here for a while," she said, shifting to a more comfortable position.

"Well, when we kissed," he continued, "This was maybe two hours in, mind you. It seemed kind of ... violent. Like she was trying to get it over with. So I told her to kiss me like she's always wanted to be kissed. And then she slowly stuck her tongue in my mouth. All of it. It was fuckin' huge." He giggled a bit at the familiarity in his tone. Maggie smiled.

"She lived nearby so we went to her place. I gave her a massage for about an hour, so I could really look at her. I was so pleased to find the freckles were all over her body. Sometimes they're just a reaction to the sun, you know? So you don't see them all over. She was pretty beefy, with thick muscles in places I wouldn't expect."

Maggie loved thinking about her counterpart being painted over with Mark's large, and evidently articulate, hands.

"I could have massaged her for hours. I think I spent about 45 minutes on her back side. Gripping her skin, watching my hands glide over her body... Every muscle, every fold, every little hair missed during the last shaving. Bodies can be fascinating in that state. They're not the shape you're used to seeing, because they're horizontal, and then the pressure you exert changes the shape even more. Maggie's body was a joy to touch."

"Then I asked her to flip over. It's always an interesting transition."

"How's that?" Maggie asked. She shifted her body slightly so as to readjust her pants. Something she was sitting on was pushing on her anus in just the right way for the thrilling thoughts she was letting herself have.

"Well," he continued, "there's a significant change in privacy, right? I mean now she has the choice to watch me as I touch her. Also, there's not so much hard pushing you can do - maybe just the legs, but you can't put your whole body weight on a rib cage; there's no point. So you have to be delicate."

Delicate indeed, Maggie thought. Images of a finger pulling out from between a wet pair of labia running through her head. She was absolutely enthralled by his level of detail - both in his affection for her counterpart and his recounting of the story.

"But the advantage, of course, is that you get to see the vulva from the other side. Which is fascinating - that's the side that's often just one layer of fabric separated from the world."

"Her vulva was magnificent," he recounted, his eyes closed. He paused for a breath. "Her outer labia were broad and rounded. They protruded quite a bit, and would show wrinkles only when her body was in certain positions. Her pubic hair seemed to stop naturally before covering them completely. At the very top," he paused, articulating with his hands, "a bulbous clit. Her inner labia came down from there along her slit like an undulating stream."

"Right as I went down to kiss it, she shifted, and my nose just plunged in and got covered in her wetness."

"Hmmm," Maggie said - before she caught herself.

"She tasted really lemony. I found that I could suck on her clit - it was like an erect nipple - and basically take her as close to orgasm as I wanted. She gave really good feedback. It felt like an hour that I spent going down on her. Sucking on it until she almost came, then easing back, licking right next to it, kissing her thighs, kneeding her body like it would become the most important loaf in history. It was probably only 10 minutes," he joked.

Maggie started running a finger along the inside of her thigh. She didn't think he could see - not that it looked like anything.

"I think the most pleasant surprise - aside from all the physical peculiarities I found so beautiful - is that she seemed shy and awkward when I met her, but once she got comfortable with me, she was very much OK asking for what she wanted, and she loved sex. She asked me to give her my coc-"

"Penis, you mean?" Maggie interrupted with a sly smile. The momentary break in attention allowed her to rub herself a bit on that rock under the guise of shifting herself into a more comfortable position. She was just patronizing him at this point - she most definitely was into his language.

"Yea, ha, she asked me to give it to her. And that was the best head I've ever gotten. It was...it was like she used her entire face, not just her mouth."

"Show some other ones," Maggie asked, as she shifted again, so she could touch herself more directly without being too conspicuous.

As he flipped through his book, Maggie got lost in his stories. How the one with the crooked nose was the first time he experienced a woman ejaculating. The rather large one that was afraid his penis was too big for her. The nervous waif with the prominent G-spot. The opinionated rabbi who wanted to spend the whole night doing things to him. These women were of all ages and all walks of life.

As she touched herself, she included herself in his stories, getting increasingly aroused. She sat in a hot bubble within the cold mist of the early morning. The sun had made no hint of peeking through, and the last thing she wanted was a reason to end this.

They continued to talk. She looked down and noticed she had soaked a bit through her pants.

"What would mine be called?" She said, halfway through his eating Roberta's ass.

"Uh... what?" He asked, turning red.

Maggie stood up, pulled her pants and thong off, and sat before him, posed as in one of his drawings. She adjusted her blonde pubic hairs a bit - some of which were clumped together from the wetness. She stared right at him - he refused to break eye contact.

"It's OK Mark. I want you to draw it."

"OK but I usually draw them as I remember our encounter together..."

"Well, this time, you're going to have to draw it before the encounter," she said, with a smirk - hoping that he'd get what she was insinuating. God, she sure hoped she could trust this kid.

He scanned furiously through his book, looking for an empty page.

"Take your time. I want you to give it justice," she commanded. She spread her lips as she pulled back, exposing the head of her clit. She started to drip down her ass cheek, making a puddle on a leaf. She released it so as to give him his standard vulva view.

He depicted it beautifully. The pubic hair, which thinned on either side. Her darkened outer lips. The thin, prominent petals of her inner lips - one of which always preferred to fold out, the other which seemed to extend to her anus. The way her hood draped over her clit, with its two tiny wings at the bottom. He took his time. It was 30 minutes before he sat back to look at his work. Half an hour of fantasies in her head about where his penis would go. Her upper chest was red, her crack completely soaked; the fantasy of his being as meticulous with her body as he was in his depiction had burned off the mist around her.

"Mark," she explained, "I don't ever do this. I need you to understand that you're a special case. There's something about you that is very special. But I need you to understand that none of this means you will get special treatment, or that you're going to get off easier on your exams next month."

"Professor," he started, in a much more authoritative tone, staring right into Maggie's eyes, "If you wanted my consent, you should have asked before you showed me your soaking wet pussy. I have declared very directly that I love women, and I think you're magnificent. I love that your left breast is smaller than your right."

He was good. Maggie had never liked that, when her nipples got hard, they looked to be in a totally different place on each breast. She saw right through his formula.

"And my biggest worry," he continued, "is that you think this is some sort of formula. That I know that you don't like your asymmetric breasts so I'll tell you the opposite of what you think men think just so I can dunk my cock in your honey bucket."

She couldn't help but laugh at that.

"But it's not. I think your uniqueness is what helps make you stand out. The way you sat there, at the track, flaunting them. The way you showed them to me in our first meeting. I loved it. I wanted it."

She looked to the side, blushing a bit.

"The only thing I didn't know is whether or not you were game. I didn't want to cross that line. And now I'm really glad you did."

"How old are you again?" she asked, her head tilted to one side, her hand over her vulva.

"It doesn't matter, does it?" He said, as he leaned forward. He took her hand and replaced it with his, resting his large, warm palm over her genitals as he approached for a kiss.

The start was...confusing. She grabbed his wrist to keep his hand where she wanted it, applying pressure over her clit. His other hand cupped her skull, gently brushing her hair off her shoulder. They tilted heads, crossed faces, and clashed teeth. She paused.

He tried again, running his tongue over her lower lip, tugging slightly at the hair on the back of her head. She grabbed his, and pushed his other hand harder onto her body, shifting her hips forward. Their tongues met. She tugged on his lower lip as the kiss broke.

"I'm hot," she explained. "I need you to take my bra off."

He kneeled, and prepared himself. He licked his palm clean so as to not smear her juices onto her clothes. She put her arms straight up, framing her chiseled face, and he proceeded to peel her sports bra off.

Her breasts emerged as he lifted the tight fabric. As he cleared the nipple on the right breast, the sun finally broke through the mist, igniting her blonde hair aglow. A moment later the left nipple was exposed, long, erect, casting a perfect shadow in the fresh spotlight of the sun. Once the bra was completely off, he sat back to admire the image of this woman: accomplished, intelligent, powerful, and yet somehow skiddish that her left nipple sat about two inches higher than her right. The left one erect, the right one spread wide, only exacerbated the beautiful difference. He kissed it, caressed it, and it transformed into its twin.

She guided his head down and watched him wrap her nipple in his lips. She took his hand again and placed it on her vulva, but this time, his middle finger went right into her slit, and teased her introitus. She gasped. He held it there.

As the kissing grew more passionate, his fingertip explored her vagina. He circled around it, then probed into it. He was checking for her reaction to his touch, like a scientist performing an experiment.

She held onto his hair as he took more of her breast into her mouth. She shifted her hips forward again, to guide him. His finger shifted. She gasped, held her breath for a second, and then exhaled slowly as she nibbled on his earlobe. His finger was one phalange in, running along the left side of her G spot. Waves of heat started to travel down her legs. She swiveled her hips tiny amounts so as to grind the ball of his hand against her engorged clit.

She wanted to see his penis. She wanted to see if he had soaked through his pants yet. She moved sideways a bit to get a look. But he came up to kiss her, leaning over her as he carefully laid her down on her back. He held her face in his hands and admired her chiseled features. She could smell herself in his right hand. The ground felt cold for only an instant, as the thrill made her radiate like a furnace. She thought for an moment about all the bug bites she'd have, but relished in the rawness of laying naked on the forest floor.

She felt around his legs. Something that felt like keys. A multitool. Their tongues danced in her mouth. And then she found it. She ran a finger along its length, trying to discern its features through his pants. She rubbed the tip with her ring finger, awkwardly. She tried to switch fingers, but couldn't reach. She wanted to smell her finger. Was it wet?

His large hand wrapped her face; each finger's touch igniting a new fire. She rubbed herself on his thigh as he struggled to undo his belt. She was certainly not taking the care with his clothes that he took with hers.

She focused. Belt was off. Button undone. Fly unzipped. She held his head and stuck her tongue in his mouth. She wrapped her legs around his waist and used them to bring his pants down to his ankles. As she did so, his cock sprung out and landed right between her lips. She brought her legs back up to the ideal angle, and he immediately understood. Two beats in and they had established a rhythm by which his shaft slithered along her wet slit. On the down stroke, she could swivel her hips so as to run her clit along his cock. The first few sent chills down her spine.

Her face was red and blotchy. His nostrils flared. He though she looked magnificent, and mapped her face with new kisses as he tugged on her breast. She closed her eyes to imagine his penis sandwiched between her lips. She reached down to touch herself, scooping juices that she was oozing back onto his penis. She held the head against her body, letting it slide between her pussy and her freshly wet fingers.

She brought that hand up from between their bodies and presented it to him. He thoroughly cleaned each finger with a sultry lick as she reached down to guide his cock into her.

A stripe of clean sunlight emerged over her breasts as he entered her. He did it so slowly, so tenderly. The novelty of the pressure she felt as his penis expanded her was simply magnificent. She threw her head back, mouth agape, breath held, gripping his shoulders, waiting for more.

A little at a time, he gave it to her. And when she had just enough, he pulled it out. He was teasing her, only as deep as her G spot. He pulled at the skin on her hips as he did so, tugging on her clit slightly, exposing it to new sensations.

She begged him with his eyes. He stroked her hair as he lifted her by the ass and gave her more. And more. And more.

Each new bit of length struck a new chord in the music running through her mind. When he finally filled her she clenched around him; squeezing his cock with her pussy was a distraction she used to try not to come. She wanted this to continue all morning. Any slight movement inside her amplified the texture of his touches.