My favorite trail to walk and lose myself in my thoughts leads to the top of a hill overlooking the small town where I reside. I often find myself alone on the wooded slope which is fine with me. Hiking the 5 percent grade (my rough estimate) presents a challenge that I'll accept any time.
It's a warm Saturday morning in November here at the confluence of the Shenandoah and Patomic Rivers. I'm wearing a super cute pink-floral off-the-shoulder tie-front flutter-sleeve top and light-blue cutoffs with hiking shoes. I'd rather dress like this than wear a heavy sweater in Boston.
The long arduous hike is therapeutic, as well as a refreshing change from sitting at my desk at an office in Alexandria.
At 30 years old, I'm just out of a bad relationship, one that feels as though the last 4 years have been waisted. I mean I could've picked a better guy or walked away sooner than I did. I should move on, stop living in the past.
I reached the top of Loudon heights just before noon and stared in amazement at the low wall of stones that used to be a Civil War fort. How were those soldiers able to haul those heavy cannon up that slope?
Right at that moment the nutty notion to sit naked on the mountain top popped into my head. Throughout my lifetime modesty had always kept me from undressing in public. Suddenly the temptation to take it all off outdoors grew stronger with each passing second until I could no longer resist.
Standing 5 6 and weighing 125 pounds, I have a gently curving waist and a big curve in the hips. My breasts are size C. My hair is blond and my eyes grey.
Time to show off my body. With that thought I pulled off my flutter-sleeve garment, dropped it then unhooked the strapless bra letting it slide to the ground.
This feels good. At last my boobs are not constricted.
I hesitated for several seconds before taking off my cutoffs and panties.
With nudity came thoughts of Chelsea Hayse. I met the 24 year old a week ago when she took the job as a legal secretary. I couldn't help noticing the short fingernails, a sign that she's probably a lesbian. Even so, I enjoyed chatting with her.
At the same time I found myself curious. What would it feel like to kiss her? For that matter, what would cut fingernails rubbing my clit and penetrating my vagina feel like? At thirty years of age these questions were coming to mind, or maybe they were there at a deep subconscious level since puberty.
I would spend several minutes sitting on the low stone wall taking a breather before heading back down the slope. In the meantime I smoothed out my clothes and planned to carry them home.
I heard a male and female voice. Within a few seconds the couple came into view near the summit and approached to within six feet.
"Hi there," said a youthful brunette female.
"Hi," I replied.
"It's a nice secluded place up here. Do you hike here often?"
I said, "yes I do."
"We're from Boston."
