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Cactus, Nails, Britney and Oranges

Written in 2002. Tami enjoying herself.


2:12 a.m. Somewhere east of Tucson, Arizona, two miles north of the interstate. A wide plain faintly lit by the nearly full moon. Largely a desert, though dotted with low shrubs. Temperature, 57 degrees F.

A small dot on the plain, a bit taller than the shrubs, somewhat lighter in color. Zooming in, one sees that this is naked 19-year-old Caucasian female. Zooming in further, she is standing, hands on hips, looking downward as she contemplates a barrel cactus.

The barrel cactus, a real prize. Very sweet and so full of water that it would practically pour out, or so she had learned. She is very thirsty, not having had anything to drink since she surreptitiously opened the faucet behind a service station the night before. She is a bit cold, her wanderings off the interstate tonight having served to keep her warm. It would have been more quenching to drink from this cactus when she was hot and sweaty, but standing around in the daytime would have been too risky. This naked female is a wild creature of the night who stalks the wilderness for food and drink at night. She drinks water whenever she finds it.

Tami’s brow furrowed. The problem was how to cut the cactus open. It was covered with needles. She needed a knife, but she had no knife, no tools, no clothes, just her bare body and her brain. She looked down at her bare feet and flexed her toes. Tough as her soles were, they were no match for these needles.

Fortunately she had time to think. Though she was getting cold again, and kept warm by running in place. Then, jogging out and around the cactus in a circle of maybe a hundred yards radius, the moon throwing a ghostly running shadow against the sand, Tami revolved like a naked planet around the focus of her attention. After two Tami-years she got her idea and headed in for the cactus. Finding two little flat rocks, she clutched them together in her left hand and tried to pull out one of the needles. It came out after a little effort. Sitting cross-legged on the rough sand, the naked girl slowly and diligently pulled out spine after spine until there was a clear area big enough for her foot to rest against. Standing up, anchoring on the other foot, she spread her legs wide and pressed her foot against the cactus. The muscles in her concave tummy flexed and she grunted as she exerted more and more pressure. Finally the cactus toppled over, exposing the soft underside, which the girl had no trouble scooping out with her hands. The water, which she drank again and again from her cupped hands, was delicious and strangely sweet, just like they said.

. . . .

2:45 p.m. Somewhere west of Las Cruces, New Mexico, three miles south of the interstate. Temperature, 93 degrees. Sandstone country, ridges, big rocks. Her tanned brown skin looked nice against the redness, had there been a photographer to take advantage of it.

The teenage girl sat on the warm rock, crouched in the painting-toenails position familiar to all teenage girls, her head resting on her knee, calmly and contentedly finishing the last toe, the little toe of her left foot. Not that she was painting, there being no toenail polish in her world. Nor any clothes, or shelter. But though forced to go without clothes, she was no weirdo, just at heart a normal teenage girl who liked to get pretty. She had found, just as she was sneaking off from the truck stop, a little sheet rock nail on the ground which triggered this inspiration, to engrave designs on her nails.

While walking out to this sandstone formation she had thought about the design. Her first idea, hearts, she decided against; on a naked girl it might give people the wrong idea. She decided finally on little suns, much in keeping with what she was doing now, also a favorite pastime of teenage girls, namely catching rays. Having been attracted to this rocky formation from afar, she selected this nice flat rock and went to work.

The first task was to get her nails clean and even. With a sandy stone she filed them down, all twenty of them, a task that took some time, but time was something she had plenty of. She cleaned her nails with a needle from a nearby cactus. She worked very carefully, engraving very lightly, putting suns on each fingernail, a little ball with eight rays. Being left-handed, doing the left hand was awkward, but with painstaking care the suns on that hand ended up looking the same as the ones on the right.

Finally, the little left toe was finished. A real, real tiny sun on that one. Putting the sheet rock nail aside, the naked girl looked down on her outspread fingers and toes, twenty little suns wiggling in the sunshine, a fine and professional-looking job that she was proud of.

. . . .

“Oops, I did it again . . . I play with your heart -- unhh!”

The naked girl grunted and twirled, dancing on the flat sand next to the rock. This was her favorite Britney song, she had seen it on MTV a number of times, and had memorized the moves. Though Britney would not have done it stark naked as she was. Jerking her hips, doing high kicks, in such good physical shape that she was not even winded as she sang out the lyrics, nice and loud into the hot desert air, Tami Smithers was proud, for once, to think that Britney would be envious of her body as well. Maybe her voice too. She could really belt out here in the wilderness, and discovered something she never thought about before, that she had a pretty nice voice.

When both bare feet landed flat on the sand with the last chord, her head down and hair covering her face, the naked singer stood motionless for a few seconds to accept the loud cheers. Then she started the song all over again.

After three renditions, the naked Britney brushed her hair back and headed to that little barrel cactus next to the flat rock. Ten minutes later, her thirst quenched, her tummy full of saguaro fruit, she lay back on the rock, stretched out into an “X”, feeling the sun caress her all over and inside too. She lazily glanced at the sheet rock nail, which reminded her of putting up the ceiling at Jeremiah’s house in the Vermont winter, holding the sheet rock up while Rod hammered it in, looking every two seconds at her hard nipples poking out at him in the chill basement air.

She brought her legs up and her hand went to her pussy. “Oh . . . Rod . . .” The naked girl reached orgasm two minutes later, eyes shut, smiling into the sun. Then rolled over into the shade of the tall rock next to her, and dozed off.

. . . .

This was heaven, she told herself, walking along the row of orange trees in the late afternoon sun. The hired help had knocked off an hour ago; she had watched from her hidden perch in the last tree as they talked to each other in Spanish and piled into their pickup truck.

Oranges, oranges. . . Even the air smelled like orange rinds. She had to have one. With practiced moves she climbed the next tree, not minding the bark scraping her thighs and arms and butt cheeks. She pulled an orange off and discovered something she never knew about freshly picked oranges: it was so heavy and full of juice that she could not bite into the rind to peel it off. It was too squishy. She was stumped only for a few moments; it turned out one could pierce the rind with the pointy end of a branch. She tore off a little piece of the rind, but then found that a full fresh orange was still too squishy even to section.

The naked girl happily hung upside down from the branch, looking down the orchard, straggly hair hanging down, tight breasts with nipples pointing slightly downward, and squeezed the orange, and drinking the most delicious juice she had ever tasted through the little hole, wiggling her toes and wishing only that she had her man with her to share this paradise.


A few minutes of this and she realized that it was actually kind of hard to drink while you’re upside down. She uprighted and found a steady perch, steadying herself by putting a heel on each of two splayed branches, her back against the trunk. She drank one orange dry, then drank another, then another. All the time thinking about Rod and getting horny. There was only one thing to do. Turning her feet outward to prop herself up against each branch, wrapping one arm around the trunk behind her, she pleasured herself, thinking of Rod. A fleeting memory occurred to her of the last time she had been splayed thus in a tree, and of Henry Ross and the Dean interrupting her sweaty grounds crew labors to stare up at her gaping sex and deliver the crushing news that had ruined her initial plan for a summer job. Now, as she crested and came down again, then started on the way to her second orgasm, she felt the soft breeze and savored the delicious orange juice and her memory of Rod and had another fleeting thought, namely that right now she was having a better time than either of those mean old men and this was a kind of sweet revenge.

A sigh and a deep breath and she was feeling sleepy. She looked at the grass below, wonderfully lush and green. Hopping down, confident no one was around, she began to lay down on the soft bed God had prepared for his naked child.

“Eeek!”

The cold water shot right up into her still gaping pussy and she jumped. An underground sprinkler system was something new to her, certainly the last thing she expected. And the water was cold! Clutching her arms around her breasts, she danced backward --

“Eeek!”

Another shot of cold water from a sprinkler behind her, this one right at her butthole. She danced forward, only to suffer another shot to the pussy. Jumping to the side, attacked by another sprinkler. They were all around, shooting at her no matter where she jumped. After the initial surprise, the easygoing, post-orgasmic girl giggled and quickly knew that the only thing to do was enjoy the situation. Why not, there was no escape; the sprinklers ran the length of the grass along this row of trees.

It was a shower, something she hadn’t had in days. Though this was the first time the water had come from below. She rubbed the water all over herself, spreading her arms to get at the armpits, bending over to get her face and hair, even squatting right on top of one to clean inside her pussy. She used her trick of opening her pussy and then her butthole to get washed up inside, though feeling the cold water in there chilled her to the bone. She squirted the water out, front and back, and ran down the length of the row, then back. Finally pretending she was in a softball game, she slid head first along the slick grass, feeling it rubbing her nipples and her pussy.

After five minutes the sprinklers stopped. The naked wet girl, bits of grass all over her, was lying full length on her tummy, head resting on folded arms, watching the setting sun and feeling its warmth drying the droplets on her tanned butt cheeks.

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