This long story is a collaboration between myself - Richard in the story - and Trish. Trish's voice, perceptions and feelings are in plain text whereas mine are in
italics
. I hope this isn't too confusing to have the different view presented this way.
I welcome comments and feedback, even criticism as long as it's constructive. However, derogatory or irrelevant comments will be deleted. Please enjoy the story for the fantasy that it is, although there are elements which are definitely rooted in the truth...
We had set off in our truck for a long road trip across Australia. After weeks on the road, we were finally beginning to unwind. The days had settled into an easy rhythm - driving for hours beneath the endless sky, setting up camp in remote spots and waking up to the sounds of the Outback.
Our travels were recorded onto Facebook, where our posts had drawn more attention than expected - especially one of me in a wet T-shirt and tiny pink bikini at a steaming hot spring along the Birdsville Track. The image had spread like wildfire and this only grew when a journalist reached out to us. They had traced our travels back to our YouTube channel and then linked our Outback adventures to our OnlyFans content. After an interview over the phone thanks to our Starlink internet connection, an article was published in "News" along with a few of the photos we had put up on Facebook, including the one with the wet T-shirt. Within days, the exposure had brought a surge of subscribers to our YouTube and my OnlyFans. Completely unexpected but very welcome.
We'd just completed the crossing of the Simpson Desert, which was one of the things to tick off our bucket list. We wanted to unwind for a few days so decided to stop at Dalhousie Springs. The track had been a bit rough and there were a few muddy sections. We set off late in the morning and had taken it easy, so it was late in the afternoon when we got to the turn off to the campground. There were some puddles around so it must have been raining there as well the night before. We drove around a bit to find a camp site as close to the springs as we could and set up camp. When we arrived, there was only one other vehicle in the whole of the Springs campground.
We pulled out our camping gear, the familiar sounds of our routine filling the space - tent poles clinking, the snap of fabric as we stretched out the awning, then the metallic hiss of the stove as John set up to make coffee. I sank into one of our fold-out chairs, sighing as I tilted my head back, closing my eyes for a moment.
With the rain and the heat, it was very humid and the air was heavy, wrapping around us like a thick blanket. I don't mind the heat and it gave me an excuse to wear as little as possible. I never wear underwear while traveling and the tiny Wicked Weasel bikini I had on wasn't just small - some would say it was practically indecent! The black mesh fabric was sheer enough that when it got wet, it would leave very little to the imagination. Even dry, the thin material clung to my skin, outlining the curve of my breasts, the barely concealing the hard peaks of my nipples. The micro-triangle cups were held together by nothing more than thin, delicate strings, showing plenty of what I understand the younger set called underboob and sideboob. My shorts were no better. The pink denim was so shredded that what little fabric remained barely held together at the seams. The frayed hem rode dangerously high on my legs, and there were a few tears, those at the back making it clear I was wearing nothing underneath. There was nothing to cover the glimpses of bare skin peeking through holes in the front either.
As I relaxed, and basked in the heat, John sat beside me and we relished the peace of the Outback after many long miles of throbbing diesel engine. The silence was broken though by the crunch of boots on gravel. I opened my eyes just as two men strolled toward us from the other vehicle.
The first had the easy confidence of someone comfortable in the Outback. He was tall, his dark hair slightly tousled, the late-afternoon light catching in the few strands of grey at his temples. His cut-off T-shirt revealed strong arms, his tanned skin stretching over well-defined muscles. He had a rugged look, the kind that suggested he'd spent a good portion of his life outdoors.
The second man was just as striking but in a different way. He was lean but powerfully built, just wearing shorts and his torso bare except for a fine sheen of sweat glistening over sculpted abs. His shorts hung low on his hips, and every movement showcased the hours he must have spent in the gym.
"Hi, I'm Richard," said the tall dark-haired guy.
"And I'm Doug," said Mr-Lean-and-Powerful.
I saw them both looking me up and down; I guess my bikini top was a bit smaller than what they were used to and the fine mesh fabric was nearly see-through in the damp atmosphere.
John stood, extending a hand. "John. And this is my wife, Trish."
I smiled, shifting slightly but remaining in my chair. "Nice to meet you."
Doug's gaze lingered on me for a second longer than necessary before he spoke. "Yeah, we recognized the truck," he said, his grin widening. "You guys are pretty famous."
I raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "Oh? And why's that?"
Richard chuckled. "That bikini pic at the hot springs? Hard to miss."
I'd seen the News article online and was impressed both by the story and the Youtube videos I'd found about Trish, John and the truck. They'd obviously put a lot of work into it and it looked very professional. The photography was of a very high standard as well and I could see that they were aiming high with what they were doing; they were clearly not your average grey nomad - in fact they were pretty young looking. From the article, they were in their 50s, but Trish had the body of a 30 year old, and John was in great shape as well. It was amazing to see the truck and them in the flesh, so to speak, especially Trish who was even more gorgeous than she looked in the photographs and videos - and she was showing a LOT of flesh in the bikini top and then there was the shorts she had on. They had a number of holes in them and it was pretty obvious she had no underwear on. The edges were frayed into rags, and the thin strip in between her legs only consisted of some very narrow frayed material. I could not help but stare, trying to see what was partially hidden behind that thin strip.
I noticed that every time I moved, Richard's gaze flickered to me - first to my bikini top, then lower, following the curve of my waist to where my shorts sat low on my hips. He tried to be discreet, but I could see the effort it took for him to keep from staring outright. He was respectful and I loved the attention though. He looked so very attractive in a rugged way and I felt myself keen to show off and tease a little.
"So," I said, stretching my arms over my head, making sure my bikini top lifted just enough to show even more. "Where have you guys come from?"
"We came from the Mt Dare side, we were parked down about 20km down the road, at the old Dalhousie ruins last night. There was a lot of rain, so we had to pack up and leave at 2:00am this morning, so we didn't get stuck out there. We headed back to Mt Dare, but the creek is flooded about 30km west of here, so we turned around and headed here." Richard explained their journey and how they'd got to Dalhousie.
"Bugger," replied John, "Are we stuck here for a while?"
