I'm Greta, a biologist by profession, and although I find the science of biology deeply interesting and rewarding in its own right, I would admit that it isn't ordinarily considered a glamorous field. There was one time though that I was assigned a job that was pretty entertaining, and maybe even a wee bit glamorous. Dr. Howard Barlow, a zoologist and I were sent by our government lab to investigate a large man-eating saltwater crocodile in a small fresh water lake in the Everglades. Our investigation was being led my Paul Kerov of Florida Fish and Game.
It was Fish and Game's mission to discover why a salt-water croc would migrate, primarily over land to this particular backwater lake. Which is a little silly of course, gators and crocs wander around anywhere in mating season, generally heading in the direction of lunch and just hoping for some sex, too. It was all political baloney of course brought on by pressure from environmental groups. We had an escort of four police to "protect" us in our research. At least that's how the story would be presented to the press to keep the environmental groups off our backs.
The real story went like this: On one corner of the lake was a budding tourist community and six people over the last year had died or disappeared. Of the two that died, they were definitely killed by a large croc. The locals called the monster Ol' Granddaddy. Basically, Howie and I were sent to find the future assortment of luggage, and the cops were here to kill it. Howie and I suspected that the four people that had disappeared had left for reasons of their own, but I suppose it is possible that the croc ate them.
Howie is a shallow lecherous jerk for whom I hold no degree of attraction or even a tad of patience. I would never have consented to accompany this expedition really except I had a serious crush on Paul Kerov, the Fish and Game guy, and had been trying to capture his attention for over a year. Despite the presence of a luxury hotel at the tourist resort, we were camped two miles of shoreline away nearer the swampier area of the lake, allegedly the home of Ol' Granddaddy.
We were quartered in tents, admittedly fairly large comfortable tents if anything in the Florida heat could be called comfortable besides air-conditioning, and as the only two women in the expedition, my roommate was Daisy Wilson, one of the police. Daisy had dark hair she wore straight and was pretty without being dazzling, a little taller than me, and something of an athlete. She had a azure color in her eyes that I really liked. She was friendly and we got along well, especially since there was nothing to do at night but sit in our tents and talk.
The first night we were there, Daisy and I were unpacking and organizing the tent by the light of an electric rechargeable lantern. It was a pretty neat device with a spare battery, both batteries capable of being on six hours each, so if we were idiots, it was possible to have light all night. Daisy finished her organizing first since she didn't have any of the scientific equipment that I had been burdened with. I was still stacking and sorting that stuff. To my surprise, Daisy stripped down to her bra and panties and sat otherwise naked on her cot to watch me work.
"Well, aren't you casual," I remarked over my shoulder. I'm as 'hetero' as women come, but I had to admire her muscular but still feminine legs. Even her breasts were a little larger than mine, and though taller than me, her graceful waist and wide, rounded hips, made her look more feminine than I did. I felt like a tomboy around her. Her straight black hair fell down to the base of her neck. My hair is even shorter than hers but a silky, sandy strawberry blond color. Where I had lightly tanned skin with a few freckles, she had a milky white complexion. Another glance over my shoulder caught sight of the dark vee of her delta, visible through her panties and I thought her degree of nudity was lewd, bordering on obscene.
"Hey, that dark-colored cop uniform I wear is just too hot," she said with a lazy drawl, "and now I'm hardly sweating at all." She paused and then added in the same lazy voice, "I can see sweat on the armpits of your shirt, on your back and even a little in your crotch, so don't look down on me for having more sense than you, Miss Paragon of Science who sweats like a pig."
I was wearing a khaki shirt and matching shorts and a brief self examination revealed her words to be the truth, and although there had been no rancor in her voice, I spoke a bit stiffly, "I may be a little warm but it seems little enough sacrifice not to appear lewd."
"Lewd," she chuckled, "The prude sees lewd. Hey that Dr. Barlow of yours is a lewd man. What did you call him earlier – Howie the trouser snake? He's already asked me to give him a blowjob – said I had a sexy mouth. An hour later, he was telling me my round ass begged for a fucking." She paused and went on, "I guess it depends on what you mean by lewd. Some would say that your round bottom and sexy legs looked pretty lewd with that patch of wetness in the crotch. Maybe you been daydreamin' of Howie the trouser snake and your sweet little cunt is just drippin' with passion for him?"
That remark was a little pointed since I was actually bending over in front of her at the time, so she was certainly getting an eye-full. Trying to keep the giggle I felt out of my voice, I replied tartly, "You southerners, you sound like you want to bend me over a stump and sodomize me."
"It's not an unattractive idea," she admitted equably, "but I don't have the plumbing for it. You want me to pass a note from you to Howie? 'Cause, I'll be honest, if we have to spend a week out here with nothing to do at night, I might be the one bending over the stump telling Howie to bring it on. Probably doesn't have enough prick so's I'd notice though, and there I'd be, just bent over that stump, wishin' an' hopin'."
I couldn't hide my chuckle from that notion not to mention her imitation of hick-talk. Daisy did have a genuine drawl but only affected the hick part for humor's sake. I couldn't hold back and went ahead and chuckled, "I'd have sex with Ol' Granddaddy before I would let Howie touch me. As for you, if you so much as winked at him, he'd come in his pants. Daisy, the more I'm around you, the more I like you," I straightened and rubbed my lower back. "I had planned to stay stupid for the sake of stubbornness, but I am so hot! I will directly join you in your lewd state of undress."
"That would have been pretty damn stubborn all right," as she watched me unbutton my shirt. "If your crotch got much more drippy, I'd bring Howie in for a peek just to watch him spurt across the tent."
"Well," I confessed, "There were other benefits besides stubbornness. I was enjoying calling you lewd, and I had great plans for calling you a harlot and a slut." I pulled down my shorts and ruefully noted that my panties were transparent with sweat. "And now I look like I've creamed in my own pants. Maybe you'll still give me an excuse to call you a harlot and a slut?"
"Careful with that sexy talk," she drawled, "it gets powerful boring out here at night, and it is possible to improvise plumbing," she wiggled her fingers then stuck out a surprisingly long tongue and made a suggestive curling gesture with it, "And there are plenty of stumps in this swamp." Her eyes dropped suggestively to my wet crotch. "And I love the color of your snatch."
I laughed out loud at her act, and then glanced back down to my crotch with chagrin; I could clearly see the color of my sandy red/blond pubic hair through the damp, nearly transparent rayon. "Do you think we could risk a quick dash to the lake and a quick rinse in the water?"
Daisy shook her head seriously, "Aside from Ol' Granddaddy, there's other gators out there and they're all pretty unpredictable in mating season. The odds are we'd get in and out safe enough, but the odds aren't as long as I'd like and the consequences just too severe." She looked over my sweaty body and gave me a grin. Her grin brought out dimples I hadn't expected and made her look very pretty in the lamplight. "But we have four buckets in here that we could fill with water, and then pour 'em over each other with pretty much the same effect. Are you game?"
I wiped damp strands of hair out of my eyes and felt a drop of sweat fall from the tip of my nose, I could also feel two different drops of sweat rolling down my tummy towards my already soaked panties. "Hell yeah, Daisy. Let's do it!" We put on flip-flops and hurried out of the tent, each of us carrying two buckets. After filling them at the lake, I whispered, "Where?" We were too much in the open at the beach, and any of the men could come out of their tents at any moment. Seeing us like this would put them in a sexual frenzy for a week. With a jerk of her head, she indicated I should follow. She led me to a small moonlit clearing just a couple of dozen yards from the back of our tent.
"You must have planned this," I whispered.
I could see the gleam of moonlight on her teeth as she grinned, "Not my first time being stuck out here on one fool errand or another." She whispered back. We sat our buckets down, except one that Daisy held out to me, "Pour about a third of it over my head."
I held the bucket high over her head and tipped it. She turned her face upward as I poured and ran her fingers through her hair as if shampooing. I stopped pouring as I calculated a third had gone. She gasped softly at the coolness and whispered, "Oh sugar, right now that felt even better than sex." She grasped the tops of her bra and pulled it outward, stretching it to make room for water. "A little more in here." I poured until she sighed, "Enough." Then she stretched out the front of her panties and, "Just pour the rest in here, honey." I poured and her panties bulged with water and slowly subsided it as it ran out the bottoms over her legs. "Now get another bucket."
