I read a brief news article a little while ago that really got me wondering. It was about a surge of arrests in Switzerland when groups were caught in the act of a sport I’d never even conceived of: Naked Hiking.
Naked Hiking? I thought. Seriously? What appeal could anyone possibly find in traipsing nude through poison ivy, thistles, and stinging nettles? I couldn’t imagine the itch. Well, my opinion changed last week when Tim and I headed into the woods for an invigorating ramble.
We were deep out in the forest, far from people and concerns and interruptions. The weather was warm—hot, really—and everything was green, lush, and fragrant. Somehow, we found ourselves in paradise: a perfect, spontaneous garden enclosed by ivy and trees. Soft grasses, moss, and little purple violets carpeted the incredible spot. When I looked up, a thousand shades of green glowed against a sky as blue as Tim’s eyes.
Suddenly, I felt drops against my face. Sun shower! There was something paradoxical about a sun shower. How could the sky be shimmering with sunlight as it poured with rain?
I don’t know why, but this mundanely cosmic event inspired me somehow. I started by taking off my shoes and my socks, then my shorts and tank top. There was no context for this action beyond wanting to be naked with Tim in the sunny downpour.
In my black cotton sports bra and panties, I turned to Tim. Without a word, he followed suit, stripping off his T-shirt and shorts. It made me smile that we were coordinated: he was wearing black cotton too. But not for long, as I ripped off his jockeys and he tore my bra over my head. When I’d squirmed out of my panties, we threw all our clothes in a bag and out of the rain.
The cool drops of water were so refreshing against my skin that I opened my mouth to catch them on my tongue. Tim laughed at me, but he did the same, lightly touching the wet skin of my arms. The leaves and branches overhead sagged. The rain came down harder, nourishing the earth as it revived us.
Tim and I looked at each others’ wet bodies like people who’d spend their entire lives in the desert, wanting water, wanting cool. It started to pour, and the sky turned grey. My hair was soaked and weighted. It brought me to life.
I jumped into Tim’s arms, wrapping mine around his neck and my legs around his waist. His hard cock couldn’t wait any longer, and I was wet as rain. He penetrated my pussy energetically as we kissed. Supporting me in his strong arms, he bounced my body against his. With rain pounding against us, I rode his cock in disbelief that he was still standing. Only the strongest of legs could hold up the two of us.
“Sit down,” I begged him. “Let me take over.”
He sank down to the spongy wet moss and I rode him some more while he played with my rain-soaked breasts. When my thighs got too tired to go on, I fell onto his wet chest and flipped him on top of me. He thrust inside, harder and faster as the rain pelted down. I felt like I might sink into the wet soil with Tim on top of me, pounding me into the ground. Tim has a knack for getting me off, and when we came together our orgasm attracted Mother Nature herself.
As we lay panting in each other’s ears, the rain let up and the sun came out to play. We stayed together, speechless, body on body and hand in hand. Nature showered us with white butterflies, like confetti at a wedding of souls.
“Do we have to go back?” I asked those butterflies.
Tim answered for them: “I’m afraid so.” We stared for a while at the plump leaves drying in the sun like stained glass in our very own cathedral.
When we got up to retrieve our clothing from the bag we’d hidden, Tim and I looked at each other and I could tell we were having the same idea.
“You don’t want to get dressed yet, do you?” he asked.
“Not even a little bit,” I admitted. The sensation of mild sunlight drying my rain-soaked skin was almost as incredible as the orgasm Tim and I had shared. “What would you say to a bit of naked hiking?”
About the Author: Eroticist, environmentalist and pastry enthusiast Giselle Renarde is a proud Canadian, committed volunteer, and supporter of the arts. For Giselle, a perfect day involves watching a snowstorm rage outside with a cup of tea in one hand and a chocolate truffle in the other. Ms Renarde lives across from a park with two bilingual cats who sleep on her head. Giselle Renarde is author of Cunning Little Vixens,Tangled Roots, The Birthday Gift, and Kandinsky's Shirt Button (eXcessica), Beneath the Ice and Third Rail (loveyoudivine) and short story contributor to numerous anthologies. For more information on Giselle and her work, visit her website at www.freewebs.com/gisellerenarde or her blog, Donuts & Desires, www.donutsdesires.blogspot.com