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I know these hills like the back of my hand. I grew up not too far away, and every summer my Dad and I would go up there, into the national forest, by ourselves. I was eleven when we first went up there. He had given me my first hunting bow the Christmas before, and taken me hunting in those woods every summer since then. We’d spend weeks together hunting, without ever seeing another soul. We’d lay out trails and blaze them, far from the tracks that most of the other hunters and hikers used. In a little valley so far off the beaten track that we doubted that any white man had ever been there, we built a small cabin, with two big beds and a small kitchen, although in fair weather we did most of our cooking on an open fire outside. There was a natural spring there, so we only needed to pack in the food and clothing we needed. During the evenings, we’d build up the fire and talk about the day’s hunting, and about my schooling, and about his own job as a state trooper. We were as close as a father and son ever were.
I still remember the day he died. Two days after my eighteenth birthday, I was called into the principal’s office. When I got there, she regarded me gravely, dialed a number, spoke a few words, and handed me the phone. The trooper at the other end told me that my dad had gone after another car in a high-speed pursuit, and lost control of his prowler on a rain-slicked road. It didn’t matter to me that the driver of the other car had gone off the road and died, too. He deserved it. My dad didn’t.
It turned out that Dad had taken out a lot of insurance on us, so that my sister and I could go to college. Considering the line of work he was in, the premiums must have been steep. As for Mom, my Dad’s pension, plus the income from her own job with the county, kept her comfortable.
After Dad’s death, I went into the woods by myself. Nobody could replace my father, so I never even bothered to ask anybody else to join me. I hunted alone, camped alone, for weeks at a time. I rolled up his sleeping bag and stored it in the closet, but I could never bring myself to pack it out; I wanted something of him in the cabin still.
I started doing something else, too, something that he would probably never have done with me. I started going practically nude when I was in the woods. As soon as I arrived at my secret campsite, I’d take off my clothes, retaining only my hiking sandals, and I’d put on a breechclout. I was confident that nobody would ever see me. I reveled in the sensation of the warm sun on my skin. Only when the sun went down and the air turned cold would I put on a thick robe.
The years went by. I graduated from high school, went to study at a local college, where I took law enforcement classes. I, too, would be a policeman. I always felt that my father had left his job unfinished, and I as his son would take up the baton and keep running with it, carrying on his spirit.
And every summer I’d go up into the hills and bow-hunt, taking only enough food to sustain me. My family became used to my habits, and thought nothing of it. Of course, they didn’t know that I would be hunting in the nude, with only the breechclout to contain my cock and balls. I hunted mostly small game that was in season all year round, like rabbits and foxes and birds. I’d skin the mammals and save their pelts, which brought a good price. If the bird was large enough, I’d save the wings. I also hunted coyotes, since there was a bounty on them. But even if there weren’t, I’d hunt them anyway because they preyed on the deer that the other hunters were sure to want when deer season opened in the fall.
I’d also gotten into another habit that my father would not have approved of. I was horny just about all the time, and at least twice during the day I’d pull the breechclout aside and let my cock and balls hang free. I’d give myself a fast and furious rubbing, and let my cum spit out of my cock, arcing high into the brush. Sometimes, if I was near the lake, I’d strip off my breechclout and go swimming, masturbating right into the water. Standing in the water up to my waist, I’d watch in awe as my cum shot out of my cock and just hovered in the clear water, like a little pearly cloud, before the currents washed it away. Then I’d crawl out and let the hot sun dry me. The feeling of the sun on my skin would often arouse me to the point where I had another hard-on, and I’d jack off into the lake water. And then I’d resume the hunt.
I went on like that for two summers. That fall, I was in my junior year and was thinking about changing majors from law enforcement to forestry, because I loved my private woods so much.
I found somebody else who loved them, too. The discovery came on the day that the local community center hosted an exhibition for local photographers. One photographer had filled a wall with pictures she’d taken of woodland scenes. She was an amazingly talented wildlife photographer who caught a variety of seldom-seen animals in their natural settings. Even I, who spent as much time in the woods as anybody, hadn’t seen nearly as many as this woman had. As I examined the photographs, I realized with a shock that they were taken in the parts of the woods that I knew best, the parts fatih escort where I thought that nobody had gone into but me. The capper was a photograph of the cabin that Dad and I built, a cabin nobody but me was supposed to know about. I stared at it for a long time, wondering if she’d ever seen me there.
The photographer herself was standing in a corner, drinking wine and talking with six or seven other people. She was a short woman, a little on the chubby side, with long, straight black hair. I smiled and nodded at her, as if to say “Good work!” and she smiled back and nodded in thanks, but we never exchanged words. I remembered her name: Gretchen Kurtz.
I continued my habits of hunting nude the next summer, but now I was more careful than ever not to be seen. I usually dispensed with the breechclout now, letting my cock hang free and usually semi-erect. That’s how I was when I saw Gretchen again, in the forest.
I’d been tracking a fox. The trail led to a little valley that I seldom visited, and I was actually able to get a glimpse of him now and then, a flash of red in the shadows. I quietly moved down the slope toward a clearing that I knew would be ringed with small boulders behind which I could find cover. As I moved toward the clearing, I saw her.
She was laying face down on a blanket, looking into her camera, which was fitted with a telephoto lens and a small tripod. I could just barely see what she was aiming at: a fawn, still with its spots, in a shadowy glen about a tenth of a mile away. She was as naked as I was. Her nude back had a deep, even tan without the slightest trace of tan lines.
I watched her, my cock hardening, as she snapped picture after picture. At some point, she must have become aware of me, but it didn’t break her concentration. At last she had the shots she needed, and when the fawn strayed off, she rolled over and looked at me. She had plump, soft breasts with areolas the size of half dollars, standing out in cones and capped with grape-sized nipples. I was wrong about her being chubby. Her hips were wide, but she had a well-defined waist. Her crotch was covered with dark curly hair, so profuse that I couldn’t make out her slit. As she raised her arm to shade her face from the sun, I noticed that her armpits were also unshaven. She must have seen my erect cock, but gave it the merest of glances. She wore no jewelry, no make-up, no fingernail polish. Utterly self-confident in her nudity, she looked like a total creature of nature, a creature of the woods, just like me.
“I’m glad you didn’t ruin the shot,” she said. “I waited all day for that.”
“You’re the photographer… Gretchen.”
“And you’re Bigfoot.”
She laughed. “That’s what I’ve been calling you. I didn’t recognize you at first, but kept spotting you briefly all last summer. This summer, too. I call you Bigfoot because you’re so elusive, and hard to shoot.”
“What? You know me? You’ve taken pictures of me?”
“I sure have. Come and see.” She pulled a small laptop computer from her camera bag, and we moved into the shade.
She clicked on a folder labeled “Bigfoot.” “These are pictures I took of you over the last year,” she said as the slides flashed by on the screen. As I saw picture after picture of me, my face started to burn. There I was moving through the woods, bow drawn. And again, basking in the sun by the lake, my cock hard. And then another one, showing me in profile, standing on the lakeshore, jerking off into the water, the arc of my cum glistening in the light.
“I like that last one best,” she said. “It’s so hot, I put it on my screen when I’m wanking.”
She nodded. “Oh, yeah. If you weren’t here, I’d be wanking right now. Is that wrong? Do you mind?”
“Actually, I’m flattered. How did you find me?”
“I first saw you last summer. Just a glimpse. So I started tracking you, and that’s when I found your cabin. And I also tracked you to the lake, and saw you jerking off. I watched you do that for days, and figured out the best place to be when you did it, so I could get that wonderful shot. In a way, tracking you was pretty much like tracking any other big, shy animal. Now do you see why I call you Bigfoot?”
You can still call me that, but my name’s Gavin.”
“I knew that. We went to high school together, but not in the same class. You played football, right? I’m pleased to meet you, Gavin. You’ve been a real inspiration to me.”
“I have? How?”
“You can see how. I used to wear clothes when I did my field work. But when I saw you in the woods naked, I wanted to go naked, too. It all made so much sense, all of a sudden. I wanted to feel the sun on my naked skin, feel the breezes. I wanted to feel my tits swing. That’s real freedom. I get horny a lot, and like to wank myself right there on the spot, the way you do it, without having to fumble with clothes. That’s what I wanted to be, a creature of the forest, like you.”
“That’s exactly what I thought when I saw you. I thought you were some sort of wood nymph. A wood nymph with a camera.”
“How did you come across me?” she asked.
“I was tracking a fox.”
“Oh, I saw escort istanbul him. He passed in front of me … I have some pictures … and then he went up the hill, past where the deer was. You know, you should be shooting things with this…” she picked up her camera… “and not that… ” gesturing toward my bow.
“Well, the pelts bring in a lot of money.”
“Hell, my photos bring in a lot of money. I’ll bet I can sell that one fawn picture for … well, more money than you’ve made for all the pelts you’ve ever sold.”
“If I had your talent, maybe. But I also hunt coyotes. If I didn’t do that, little Bambi over there might be dead now.”
“Well, maybe. I can’t argue that point. Anyway, I’m done here. Why don’t we go for a swim?” She got up, put her camera into a bag, picked up the blanket, and slipped on a pair of sandals. She took the lead, and my cock stayed hard as I watched her ass … big, but muscular and utterly feminine. I was amazed that she took the way I would take, even though it went through some of the densest parts of the woods. She seemed to be able to read the blazes I’d made as easily as I could, or maybe she just knew about this trail anyway. I followed her to the lake to my not-so-secret spot, and she knew the tracks as well as I did. When we got there, spread the blanket out. Then she went into the water up to her waist and faced me, holding her breasts up.
“I have a favor to ask you. Remember that picture of you standing on the shore and cumming? Would you do that on my tits? Just stand there on the bank like you did before, and I’ll stand here and catch it.” She smiled. “Can you make my fantasy come true?”
Wow, talk about a fantasy come true! I was rock-hard in a flash, and it took only fifteen or sixteen strokes before my cum gushed from my cock and flew through the air. I aimed poorly, and the stream of cum shot out too far to her left, but she nimbly moved sideways and caught the cum on her left breast. Then she giggled and rubbed it into her breasts as I watched her, panting. Finally, she slipped into the water and washed it off her.
I slipped into the water, still half hard, and hugged her. She melted in my arms and we embraced for what seemed like minutes. Once, long ago, I came across a stunned bird and held it in my hand, felt its warmth and its heartbeat, and it seemed like the most precious thing in the world to me. That’s how I felt when I embraced Gretchen for the first time.
Then she slipped out of my arms with a giggle and began swimming across the lake. She was a better swimmer than I was, but as soon as she realized that, she slowed down for me, just out of reach. She led me in a long circle back to the beach. As I reached the shore, she was already sprawled out on the blanket, her legs open, masturbating.
I surprised her by moving her hands aside and putting my mouth to her pussy. She tensed, but she didn’t close her legs, and I took it as a sign that she was at least willing to let me try to give her oral. I separated her outer labia and there, underneath the hair, were the most gorgeous inner lips I had ever seen, folded like petals. I unfolded them and sucked them gently into my mouth. The tip of my tongue stroked them, then teased the bottom of her clit as it came out of its hood.
“Don’t stop,” she breathed. “Keep going. Put your finger in.” I obeyed, slipping my middle finger into her vagina, palm up. I searched for her G-spot, and knew I’d found it when I felt her body twitch slightly. “Yeah,” she said. “Right there.” Her hands were on her breasts, pinching them and pulling on them, twisting them roughly. I then thrust two fingers into her, then three, pushing hard. That’s when she came, with a sharp cry and a gush of fluid. Her legs pressed together, crushing my hand between them. She bucked, and my fingers slipped out. “No!” she gasped. “Back in!” But she was writhing too much, and by now I was far too agitated myself. I had to put my rock-hard cock inside her, right now.
So I lay on top of her and forced myself between her legs. She caught on immediately and reached for my cock, guiding it into her hairy cunt. Her arms were around me, crushing her tits into my chest, and her tongue was in my mouth. I smelled her pussy on my mouth, and her sweat.
I’m usually a polite lover, the kind who makes sure that my partner has some protection before he proceeds. Not this time. My cock felt like it was on fire as I plunged in and out of her. It was pure lust. I want her, all of her, now and forever. I wanted to put my seed into her, plant a baby in her, a baby she would feed from her beautiful breasts, a baby we would raise together. I wanted her, heart, body and soul, as I had just given her mine. We were swept away in our passion, moaning and gasping, feeling nothing but our slippery bodies and the fire of our coupling. I can’t remember whether she came first, or I came first, but when I finally spat my semen into her, pulse upon pulse, I felt those pulses echoing in the spasming of her own vagina, milking me as she screamed her passion. There was none of the elegant dance I’d had with other lovers, where we were teasing and responding to each other. It was all lust, pure lust, maslak escort nothing but lust.
We stared wildly into each other’s eyes, astonished by the storm of our mating. Our panting gradually subsided, and we held each other and kissed tenderly. I licked the sweat off her neck as I felt my cock slip out of her sheath.
“I was right,” I finally said. “You are a wood nymph.”
“And you’re an animal. I watched some bears mating last year. It was impressive, but nothing like what we did just now! Oh, Gavin! That was great, I wanted it so much, I wanted it all. I want it again and again. I thought I’d had sex before, but not like this!”
“Me, too. You are amazing! No woman has ever given me a screwing like that. You were just wild. Gretchen, I could never get enough of you.”
She smiled at me dreamily, and we held each other for a while longer. Finally, her mind turned to practical things.
“Let’s make some dinner. Come to my place, it’ll be more comfortable.” She got up, and then, to my surprise, she went a little way into the lake, squatted and, without a shred of modesty, she peed right into the water. Then she rinsed her vulva, washing away the stray drops of pee and the cum — my cum — that was welling from her cunt. She did this as naturally as a wild animal might, with no trace of self-consciousness or embarrassment. I followed suit, my own pee streaming onto the ground, as she regarded me with interest.
“Should I wash myself, too?” I asked.
“No, I want to smell my pussy on your cock. My pussy smell has always made me horny. Does the smell of your cum affect you the same way?”
“Come to think of it, yeah. I like the smell of my sleeping bag after I cum in it. Sort of musty and sweetish.”
“I’d like to smell it. One thing about running naked through the woods … all my senses seem to sharpen. I notice new smells, I look for them. I even love the smell of the hair in my armpits. Why use perfume when I smell like that just the way I am?”
“God, woman! Everything you say makes me love you more!”
We picked up our things and I followed her to her camp. It was just outside the forest, on some private land that the owners had forgotten even existed. She had parked a small Winnebago there and covered it with camouflage netting. It was so well done that I didn’t even see it until we’d gotten within fifty yards or so of it.
She had some canned food and some wine, and made us dinner. We talked about high school. I remembered her only as the first violinist of the high school orchestra, who could tear your heart out when she played Bach. She remembered me more clearly, recalling that I was on the football team, playing cornerback during my junior and senior years. I wasn’t really big enough to be good at it, although I was generally fast enough to keep up with the receivers and smart enough to figure out how to be where they wanted to be, so I did all right. My moment of glory came when a wild pass fell into my hands, and I returned it for the one and only touchdown of my high-school career. It turned out that she was at that game, and remembered that play. She got a crush on me then, but I was one of those unattainable upperclassmen, so I never learned about it. She also told me that she had seen me at that photo exhibition and recognized me as “Bigfoot.” She wanted to talk to me, but I was gone before she had shaken free of her admirers.
She told me about her own interests, the primary one being photography although she was also musically inclined, as I’ve said. Even though she wasn’t yet twenty, her camera work was getting around, and her photographs had been on the covers of a couple of prominent hunting and wildlife magazines. She’d dropped out of college to devote her full time to photography, and was already earning a comfortable living. Except for her cameras and her violin and her Winnebago, she owned nothing of value, and needed nothing.
As darkness fell, it started to get chilly, so I persuaded her to take a robe with her and come to my camp, where I could build a fire. This time it was her following me, the two of us padding naked through the forest. We arrived after a fifteen-minute hike, and I got the campfire going. I went into the cabin to put on my own robe and get some lamps lit. She was singing softly as she stoked the fire, and the sound lifted my heart beyond words. I found my Dad’s sleeping bag, identical to mine, and zipped them together to form a double-size sleeping bag. Then I uncorked a bottle of wine. When I got back outside, she had slipped her own robe on and was sitting by the fire, which was now blazing merrily. “Here’s some wine. I don’t have any glasses. Would you mind drinking it straight from the bottle?” She laughed, grabbed the bottle and took a swig, and handed it back to me. We stayed in front of the fire for a while, kissing and fondling each other and passing the bottle back and forth. I ran my fingers through the lush hair at her crotch, and savored the smell of her hairy armpits. I sucked at her nipples as she stroked my cock into hardness. Then her hands left my crotch and went to her own, and she masturbated herself to a climax in my arms as we kissed, my hand reaching around her to cradle and lift her right breast. What a woman she was, so in touch with her body that she could play it like her violin! By this time, the fire in front of us was feeble compared to the one blazing in my loins. I had to have her again, and I said so.
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