Hikers 1

My wife Anne and I are regular hikers, less regular but no less enthusiastic campers, and live about 2 hours from the heart of the Smoky Mountains (yep, that's how it's spelled) in classic American suburbia. We're empty nesters in our early 50s, with adult kids well launched, in comfortable financial means, and each holding down jobs that we like and that let us get away when we want to, to detox in Nature.

So it was that a month ago we were camping in TN, hiking up near the NC border. It was a Thursday, in-season but off-holiday time. We'd pitched our tent Wednesday evening after the drive to the mountains, enjoyed a camp supper with our usual wine after (no alcoholic beverages allowed signage be damned), and reveled in the number of stars we could see after dark. As was our habit and somewhat in recognition of our ages (ok, my age), we were deferring lovemaking until we were well acclimated, so had gotten up Thursday morning, and without ado, had a light breakfast, and set out driving to the trailhead of a loop hike we'd read about but never done.

The trail was well maintained, part of the National Park system, being in the Smokies proper. It was rated moderate on one map, strenuous in a book we had, and we were finding it not particularly rough, but unrelentingly up! OK, I hike a little faster, but not much by any stretch, and then only on the uphills, so I was happy to let her lead, which she did without permission. Her fear of snakes was something we always dealt with, but on that day, she seemed impervious and just pushed on. Huffing and puffing, we hiked for a good two hours at a good clip, both sweating steadily in the summer heat, even up at the moderate Smokies elevations, and being thankful the bugs were about nonexistent. Anne's hiking shirt was soaked, as was mine. Hers however, was showing off the lovely contours of her breasts as we went, that inimitable rhythm of them reminding me with the occasional glimpse I got (I was behind her, remember?) of just how fortunate I was to be married to, if not a health nut, at least a health fan, as well as an all-woman female. She was still wearing a tank top underneath the shirt, but that was soaked, too, so the effect was almost braless.

While we'd had an adventurous fantasy life of sorts, and had tried the usual light kinks, we always came back to basic skin-to-skin, enthusiastic oral-genital and genital-genital sex, with lots of orgasms on her part and sufficient ones on mine, when it came to the bedroom. Ropes and mild pain and costuming and such just didn't do it for us. A bit of exhibitionism was nice on occasion, and we both enjoyed, again on occasion, watching quality erotica, rare as it is, but we'd never swapped, never cheated on each other that I knew of, never really gotten off on anal - pretty vanilla all around, I'd say.

So, there we were, sweating and hiking and enjoying getting the heart rates up, and pausing momentarily when there was a view, which was rare due to the season, and sometimes chatting but mostly just pushing on, upwards, each calculating the calories being burnt, the dinner we were going to justify having - or that's what I was thinking about, anyway, between parts where the path would widen and I could catch up and get another reminder of those great breasts, and on we went. OK, I'll admit, I was also apprehensive about bears and was keeping a sharp eye and ear out for them, replanning what to do if we encountered cubs, a mother, a sole male, etc. Not sure my plans would ever come to any benefit for us, but at least I'd thought it through, right?

As we went, my mind wandered, but not far from Anne. Finally, at a water stop she initiated, I convinced her to take off her shirt. "Hey, hon, you know it would be fine with me if you went topless, but at least take off the shirt - it's keeping you hotter than you need to be, and we haven't seen a single other hiker on this trail in two hours. You'd feel better, and I'd be able to forget about the strain of hiking by having you displaying as we went." Convincing argument, I thought.

To my surprise, she went along with it, taking off the shirt and tying around her waist (along with the water bottle belt). "OK, buster - now off with yours too," she countered, smiling.

I knew my light backpack straps would chafe if I did that, so I convinced her to keep her shirt off and for me to just unbutton mine and with its tails untucked anyway, give me some ventilation as well. Thus attired, we set off again, our hiking sticks making a dull click-clack along the path as upwards we trekked.

Finally, we reached what we hoped like hell was the top of the trail. Not much, no sign, but a bend around the side of a mountain, with a crude bench and a widening of the path right there, and a slight downslope following it. "Maybe another teaser," I said, since there had already been several short downhills that just turned back into the uphill trek. If it had been winter we'd have had great views of the Smokies, but with everything greened in, we were pretty much just in the forest with the trail falling off precipitously on one side as we went.

"Teaser number 5, I think," Anne said, and kept going. I followed.

Another couple hundred yards passed, and it became clear we were finally on the real downslope finally, back to the start and our car and that cooler in the back of it with the cans of lemonade and air conditioning and all those other civilized accoutrements.

The tough part over, both our spirits had risen, clearly, and we were chatting again, discussing whether we should grocery shop for camp supper or just go to one of the restaurants within close driving range (if you've figured out where we were, you'll know there are several good ones besides the usual all-you-can-eat fare). Just as we were enjoying the gentle slope downward, we came around a bend and encountered the Rankins (or so we were later to find out).

It was at a sharp bend, so we didn't see each other until we were almost within touch. At first, it seemed all typical - couple, married no doubt, of our age, just out for a hike, he shirtless, she in what I took for a black running bra type top. She had short hair and was brunette, attractive without being show-stopping. They didn't have hiking sticks as we did, so they were no doubt working even harder than we were, assuming the halves of the trail were twins, each leading up and up, until the bend we'd recently passed, rewarding with a gentle down and down back to the parking lot trailhead.

As hikers do, we said a cheery "Hi," and they reciprocated. We both stopped, and they asked how far to the apex. We replied it was only another ten minutes or so up, and commiserated with them that it was indeed a tough hike upwards without respite. Somewhere in all that, I registered (sorry, I was pretty tired, ok?) that she was wearing, not a sports bra or an athletic top, but a real, black lace, see-through bra! 'Not sure if I said anything for the next 30 seconds or so after my epiphany, but during that time, I managed to refocus and realize a number of things. They were about our age, maybe a couple of years younger, and fit. They were as hot and tired as we, so they'd shed their tops - he was topless, blond and body-hairless, with what I calculated was pretty good from a woman's point of view - good pecs, nice shoulders, only a bit of a gut which was understandable given the ages, wearing shorts and carrying a light backpack that probably held their tops. She was more voluptuous than Anne - probably a 36C at least, maybe D, from the way her breasts were trying to overwhelm the confines of the bra, spilling over a bit while forming a very nice valley as well, and reconfirming it was a demi-bra, not something hikers would wear. Otherwise, she was also in good shape, with an abdomen that she'd worked to keep, as had Anne, good legs, I guessed maybe 5'7" and a bit heavier than Anne per inch, but that meant softer curves - sort of a Sophia Loren to my Anne's Brigitte Bardot, to take us all back.

All that registered, I fast-forwarded to the present, hauled my eyes from looking at her breasts that were showing her nipples trying to meet my gaze, up to her eyes that may have been laughing, enjoying my catching up to all this, I supposed. Meanwhile, the conversation had continued. She was Sandy, he was John, they were occasional hikers and occasional visitors to the Smokies. I figured they weren't as serious in their hiking as we were, hence the lack of sticks and hence her not being in a sports bra capable of confining her generous breasts. They admitted to having been surprised at how hot and how hard the trail had turned out to be, as had we. During all this, I was trying like hell not to stare at Sandy's breasts, dark nipples visible through the lace, and noticed when not visually glued to them, that John was similarly enjoying the sight of Anne's chest, soaked and practically transparent as her top had become.

Seeing they appeared not to have brought water, we offered them some, and they took us up on it gladly, pretty much draining more than a pint between them. Fortunately, we were well stocked and as well as being on the easy half of the trail, still having plenty to see us through the several miles yet to go. They were effusive in their thanks, and we were as effusive in being glad to be able to help out that way.

We wished them well, they us, and we parted, continuing. As we hiked pretty much in silence, I reflected on how gorgeous Sandy was, those curves, those dark nipples trying to call to me through the lace, those curves.

Eventually, I asked Anne about them, suggested she must have enjoyed the cheesecake he presented. She said she didn't notice, didn't think he was particularly hot. I sensed she was dissing him to disguise her attraction, but that was a guess. Pressing, she admitted she thought Sandy was pretty out there, hiking in that get-up (a bit of green eye emerging?). I told Anne she could shed her top anytime she pleased as far as I was concerned, and that I was pretty sure John had appreciated her form as well, thanks to the sweat-soaked thin material of it. Anne seemed surprised by that, looked down, and realized how exposed she'd been. "You should have told me!" she cried, as I laughed.

"I thought you knew - after all, they're your breasts, can't you control their behavior?" I laughed. Blushing and trying to dismiss it, she said he probably had other things on his mind, that I was a dirty old man, the usual. I thought I'd caught her red-handed, metaphorically.

Anyway, we continued the hike, got back to the car with her well re-shirted well before we got there. No sign of the Rankins. I didn't really expect the timing to work, but did mildly regret missing another look at Sandy in all her see-through glory. We downed prepositioned sodas from our cooler enroute back to the campground, showered, much refreshed, had a cold beer, and considered the evening.

An hour later, we were at the only "foodie" place nearby, Miss Nellie's. Seated at a table, each in casual tops, shorts and sandals, we were perusing the menu when John Rankin interrupted us.

"Hey, fellow hikers," he started. "You were right, only up a bit farther, and then a nice easy trek back to the car. We were about to get discouraged in the heat, so thanks for the information on the trail, and for the water!"

"No problem," I said, seeing Sandy joining beside him. "That was a tougher trail than we'd expected ourselves. Care to join us?"

"Sure," John said, and we shared a light supper, talking about mountains and favorite places and food. It turned out they lived about 2 hours from us, had very different backgrounds but we had similar lives with no kids at home, comfortable economically, loved the mountains, and so forth.

The meal over, we'd settled up - John tried to nab the check, but I beat him to it and we compromised on splitting it, not that it appeared either of us would be sorely taxed by the modest amount. As we stood to go, John said, "Well, the least you can do is come back to our place for a drink. We at least owe you a drink, and I'm not talking water this time. I've got some pretty decent bourbon, and the wine rack is well stocked as well. We've rented this all-inclusive place, so if we don't use the stuff, it just goes to waste."

Looking at Anne for corroboration and getting it, I accepted and we agreed to split up, Sandy riding with me and Anne with John, since their place was a rented cabin not immediately obvious due to the roads' lack of signs and such.

We left the restaurant, the sky still light, and headed up the mountain. Sandy looked fine in a jersey wraparound dress that tied at the waist. I'd always wondered about those dresses - was it just wrap, as in if you pulled the tie, did the whole thing come open? She filled it out and then some, lovely cleavage not revealing whether it was bra-supported or not - tantalizing but not overt. She was a pleasant riding companion, and between glances to take in her legs and imagine the entire package, I couldn't resist getting in my thoughts.

"Sandy, I've got to tell you, you were a magnificent sight out there on the trail today. You looked physically exercised, but the view was, um, gratifying."

"Oh, that!" she laughed. "Sorry about that - we hadn't seen anyone else on the trail. We were so hot, and hadn't really planned to hike anyway when we left, just wanted to drive a bit and maybe take a wade in the stream down by the trailhead. Once there, though, we got sucked into the idea of hiking it, the distance didn't seem too far, and our map said moderate, so we headed out. It wasn't until we'd been at it for hours that we knew we'd made a mistake, but typical us, we were willing to see it through rather than turn back. I'd shed that top maybe 20 minutes earlier, after John had offed his. He said I was just showing off for the bears, but I really didn't expect to be showing off for anyone else. We were so surprised to run into you, there wasn't time for me to put the shirt back on without making things even more obvious, so I stuck it out. John, of course, was enjoying it the whole time and teased me about flashing you all the way down the trail. I did note and he did readily admit, by the way, that he was enjoying looking at Anne as much as he was guessing you were at me. Frankly, I suspect both Anne and I were checking out you two as well, I know I was.

"Oh? Well, sorry to have disappointed by being dressed - if I'd only known, I'd have stripped down too!" I laughed, as did she, and she said something about a raincheck on that. We were immediately relaxed with each other, and as we went, I entertained all manner of salacious thoughts about Sandy, and a bit about John and Anne. Maybe . . .

After about 20 minutes, we got to their cabin, a secluded spot but one of those modern log cabin things that looks more like a half million dollars or so went into it. The front door was fine, but the wraparound back porch deck was stunning. After a short tour of the house and the great view of mountains in the distance, I followed Sandy inside. John and Anne weren't there yet. Sandy's ass looked fine in the soft clingy material dress, her taut legs leading the way. She showed me into the big, and I mean big, open kitchen/living room area and grabbed a glass and a bottle of white wine out of the fridge for herself.

"Please don't stand on ceremony, Steve. The bar's over there, there's beer in the fridge, and you're welcome to some of this or we've got various reds if you prefer."

"Thanks, I think I'll wait on John anyway. If he's going to get into the bourbon, I'll keep him company, but I'm sure not going to invade his bar, regardless of your kind invitation."

"Up to you," she said, and set about assembling a plate of fruit, cheeses and crackers and such.

John and Anne arrived about 10 minutes later, no real explanation given or asked, but with Anne seeming a bit distracted. Naturally, I began to wonder, and realized it was an enticing delay I was imagining, not fraught with jealousy but with eroticism.

John did indeed offer to hit the bourbon, so while Anne got some of whatever Sandy was having, I followed John's lead in accepting a healthy hit of Jefferson's with drops of branch - fine stuff if you're not familiar - with ice water sides. Settling in next to our spouses on the facing couches that flanked the big fireplace (no fires there tonight - it was still warm for the mountains but by then had cooled to the comfortable low 70s or so), we all felt quite ok with the world.

As we sampled the snacks, we traded stories and backgrounds - nothing extraordinary, similar enough to have a bit of sympatico, different enough to be individuals. We all enjoyed the mountains, and we all enjoyed enjoying about whatever came our way within the bounds of keeping out of real trouble and being kind to fellow humans. Somewhere along the line, John produced a joint, and we passed it around. It wasn't a major stone, but I know I felt pretty damned mellow after a bit.

Sandy finally broke into the topic we'd all probably been hoping would come up yet were reticent to raise ourselves, saying, "So, I think maybe I scandalized you two with my attire this afternoon."

"Oh no!" Anne chirped, "We're not quite that easy to scandalize."

"I think we aren't either - all of us have been about long enough not to let that put is off, I suppose. But, since you say so, what's the most scandalous thing you've ever done?"

"Uh, this is trading scandals, right? We tell, then you tell?"

"Oh, absolutely," Sandy agreed, and snuggled closer to John, laying her hand on his thigh just above the knee, a nice wifely thing not entirely devoid of sensuality, as we all registered, I guessed.

"Take it away, Anne," I smiled, not knowing just how she was going to react to this or which of the ever so mild scandalous things she might pick, either as the most or as the most she was willing to reveal at the moment.

"Oh, thanks a lot, Galahad," she shot back, but I could tell she wasn't really miffed. "Well, I guess it was when we went skinny dipping in a neighbor's pool. We thought they were out of town, and they'd always said we were welcome to come over for a swim anytime, so we put on suits, strolled through the gate separating our yards, and were enjoying just swimming in the dark - it was about 10, I think. Galahad here figured we were overdressed, so he talked me out of my bikini, and he tossed his trunks along with my suit onto the diving board, which was just high enough to be out of my reach. We were just coasting, floating on our backs or paddling around, talking quietly about which constellations we could find in the sky, when all of a sudden, the underwater pool lights came on!

"I about jumped out of my skin, then realized I was naked and someone had turned on the lights, and between sputtering out a lungful of water I took in at the surprise, was thrashing about, heading for the diving board, as if I could reach it. Galahad here was about to drown, too, as I recall, but not from surprise or embarrassment, rather just from laughing at me! Meanwhile, the supposed out-of-towners appeared, fully clothed, on the deck, and turned on all the patio lights to boot. I was scandalized and I'd have to say, pretty pissed off!"

"So, then what?" laughed Sandy and John. The three of us were cracked up hearing Anne's rendition. "C'mon, you can't not finish!"

"I can tell I'm getting lots of sympathy with you guys!" Anne fake-complained. "Well, while I treaded water and wondered just how visible I was, Steve here just blithely got out of the pool, stark ass naked, and full frontally, casual as all hell about it, called out to them across the pool, 'Sorry, we thought you guys were out of town and decided to take you up on that standing offer,' or something like that, while he put on his trunks. Then, rather than tossing my suit to me, he leaned over and offered me a hand, and idiot me, not thinking clearly enough not to take it, got hoisted out of the water and scrambled to get my bikini back on. The couple were clearly enjoying the sights, and invited us in, but I wasn't going there, so we managed to say our goodbyes and get out of there."