o trees. That was critical.

Well, at least, no big ones.

OK, nothing big enough to make me have to climb eight stories of spikey branches in my altogether. That was for certain.

And not blazing hot or much below room temperature for most of the year.

And not many people there. OK, maybe some, just to make it sporting.

Good scenery would be nice during the runs. Quiet. Open.

Grass – grass would be nice, too.

That’s a lot to ask for, I know. It took me a long time to find it. Where, you ask? Nope, find your own. Suffice it to say that the Bureau of Land Management has like megacres of prime real estate under its thumb. Once you know your way around the database, it’s amazing what you can uncover.

Doing the necessary cross-checking into weather records, aerial photographs, topographical maps and so forth — well, it took time.

But, hey, I found the place I needed.

By some miracle, it wasn’t even on the far side of the country. Open, surrounded by mountains in the far, far distance, it had a few major piles of rocks and a lot of streams and creeks. It was, I thought, ideal for my purpose.


Back up.

I never was much of a girly girl. My tomboy nature was Momma’s despair at times.

Heaven knows that I’m pretty enough. I like boys and I’ve had boyfriends. I’m no blushing virgin – I certainly enjoy sex. Let’s just say that, at this particular point of my life, I preferred my own company to trying to cope with half-drunk louts in bars.

There’d been too many of those.

And too many limp-wristed mama’s boys. Since when had ‘masculine’ become something to be ashamed of? If I wanted feminine, I’d have been walking the other side of the street.

And, while we’re at it, let’s get one more thing straight. I am darned well not going to apologize for being an engineer. Lady engineers are not all nerds, you know.

OK, that’s not quite true, I admit. All engineers are nerds, almost by definition. But, looking in the mirror, this was one lass who didn’t look it. Not until she put her white helmet on, anyway.


To cut to the chase, I’d been doing the public nudity thing for a couple of years. No, not flashing. ‘Audacious unobserved bareness’, maybe? That would be a better way to put it. I’d been on a couple of Nude Day bicycle rides and the idea of free-hiking was something that turned me on. But generally, it was a private gig.

I had, on a couple of occasions, stripped off and left my clothes under a bush in a public park before timidly walking around in the darkness for a while. The first time, it was just a few minutes before I freaked out and scrambled for my knickers. I got bolder with more experience, but it was always at night when nobody could possibly see and I never strayed too far from my clothes.

I’d gotten really ambitious once and locked my clothes in my car six blocks away from my apartment in the wee hours of the morning, leaving me with just my house key and the pressing need to get home without being caught. I made it, just barely ahead of a slow-moving police car. I don’t think they saw me; they certainly didn’t speed up to catch me.

I’d been scared out of my mind until the door lock clicked solidly behind me, then I racked up about six orgasms.

It was the excitement, the daring that mattered to me, I suppose.

It had all been fun, some more so than others. But it was also a bit dangerous — more than just the danger of getting caught. Even in my peaceful, dinky town, parks and late-night streets were frequented by both cops and criminals, neither of which would be good company for my, um… experiments.

And I really didn’t want to upset anybody. Or get my naked tush splashed on the social media for Momma’s bitchy friends to see. Or — shudder – my über-straight department manager at work. The thought of what that Monday morning would be like had kept me awake once or twice after some especially risky episode. Not that it ever stopped me, but I knew that there had to be a better way. And I was an engineer — a problem-solver, right?



Then one day I’d seen a weather balloon being launched and had been inspired. As I watched it soar upwards, my libido had followed. With that in mind, I started my search for the right wilderness spot.

In between looking for a suitable location, I also starting searching for the technical stuff. The Net gave me a source for balloons – biodegradable ones at that. More research found me a source for cheap, lightweight time-delay relays. And battery-powered electromagnets, lightweight but strong enough to hold a payload until the relay cut the power.

It didn’t take an engineering degree to figure out. Any high school dumbass with a soldering iron could have done it. But this was me.

Well, me and my supercharged, just-slightly-bent sex drive.

Along the way, I discovered that a couple of federal agencies had regulations about balloons, but I figured I could stay under their radar if I kept mine under six feet in diameter. With helium, that would give me just about seven pounds of lift to cover the weight of the balloon, the parachute and the release mechanism – as well as my clothes. (See where this is going?) Actually, the regulations said I wasn’t allowed to drop anything from a high-altitude balloon, but I figured I could work around that because I wasn’t intending to send anything very high at all.

Then there was the regulation giving a hard limit of six pounds max for the payload. That limit I figured I could tap-dance around if I kept close to it.

The bottom line was, I decided, that what I was planning wasn’t too illegal, nothing too likely to get Momma’s little girl into trouble – provided that I built it right and kept everything on the QT.

But six pounds… Weighing an outfit at home, I decided that wasn’t very much, considering that it had to cover clothes, a parachute and everything else.

So, unless somebody official-looking was likely to be around, both ‘six feet’ and ‘six pounds’ became moving targets, so to speak.

And it turned out that helium wasn’t cheap, either. Once I got some prices from suppliers, I was surprised to discover that it would cost me about $100 per launch. OK, in one sense that was a lot. On the other hand, what would getting ready for a night on the town cost me, with a visit to the stylist, maybe a new dress and maybe, eventually, really crappy sex? I figured $100 was no worse than that. In any case, this was something catering to my fantasies, not somebody else’s. It was worth trying, at least once.

Getting more and more excited, I experimented in my garage as the bits and pieces arrived in the mail.

An electronic time-delay release would control a one-inch electromagnet holding on to a simple iron washer fastened to the balloon. I was confident of getting a virtually certain release of my package, with timing accurate to a tenth of a second.

Together, the wiggly-amps parts, including the battery, would all weigh less than half a pound and cost maybe $50 on top of what the helium would set me back. If things went as planned, I would be able to reuse just about everything but the balloon itself. If not, well, that would be the cost of doing business, so to speak.

And I could make my own parachute. The commercially-available ones used Kevlar cord and ripstop nylon. I did some number-crunching and figured a trimmed-down industrial-strength orange garbage bag and some 20 lb fishing line would do just fine. After all, if it failed, there would only be non-breakable stuff falling, right?

I started doing dummy runs in my garage.

I covered the window first, of course. I wanted to make a point of being naked when working on the project. It was the principle of the thing, right? But years of household nudity had me very aware of potential neighbourly sensibilities. Oh, and very real neighbourly snoopiness, too – what is it with some people?

Laying out the pieces, I assembled them and hung them from the beams. Everything worked per spec in my garage, everything but inflating the balloon and I couldn’t try that inside. I was ready for real-world trials.

I headed out to the area and did a dry run with a dummy load. It worked. The balloon soared away with amazing strength and speed as it drifted to the east. I watched it go, my heart beating.

Two minutes later by my watch, precisely on time, I saw the balloon jerk and shoot steeply upwards as the payload cut loose.

The simple home-made parachute opened very nicely, thank you, and I had no trouble following the descent of the bright orange canopy. It floated down out of sight several hundred yards away.

The winds were light and while the heaven-bound balloon was soon out of sight, the parachute and its attached bundle hadn’t gone very far; it only took me maybe 15 minutes to get to where it had landed.

Looking around, triumphant, as horny as I’d ever been, I thought of rubbing one off right there. In the end, I decided not to ruin the opportunity for a perfect first time — the real thing, without clothes. I waited until I’d got off Bureau land before I pulled over.

As a bonus – time spent in research never being wasted – I’d also found a good camping spot.

I was ready.


The weekend after that was solid rain and I was frustrated beyond belief. I decided to keep my fingers off myself and left Big Bob, my battery-operated boyfriend, sulking and neglected in my drawer for the weekend.

But it rained the weekend after that, too, and I almost lost my mind.

The forecast for the third weekend looked perfect — sunny, reasonable temperatures. I had the car loaded on Thursday night and was able to leave right after work. It was a long drive, but I was in a hastily-pitched camp before 10.

I didn’t sleep well, to be honest. Opening night nerves, I guess.

I’d checked the Bureau website the night before and was fairly certain I would be the only one out here, but after having had breakfast and stowing my camping gear, I got on top of the Jeep with a pair of binoculars to make sure. There was nobody in sight, leaving me relieved, but also just a little disappointed. I’d been wondering what I would do…

The sun was well up and the nighttime coolness was fading rapidly. It would be a hot day.

I’d decided not to move the launch site away from my camp. I was as far out in the middle of nowhere as you could get and there was no reason to carry the gear any further than necessary.

I unloaded the big Rubbermaid tub and laid it all out on the ground: the empty balloon, a hose to connect it to the helium tank in the Jeep, the parachute, the electronic release rig, its battery and finally a light bag to hold my clothes. Some paracord, a knife and a handheld anemometer completed the array.

I looked in my side mirror for reassurance and smiled nervously at my twin. I actually took a few minutes to put on some light makeup and brush my hair. I was going to be ready – the spirit of adventure, right?

I looked around again. The winding road into the area was visible for miles; absent photographic satellites, I was as alone as one girl could get.

There was no time like the present.

I stripped off my clothes and, this being no time for a sunburn, slathered myself with sunblock.

I fastened the time release and parachute below the balloon and set the timer for five minutes.

The always-strange-always-welcome feeling of the morning breeze on my bare skin was both reassuring and exciting.

I folded my clothes and tucked them all into the bag, together with a valet key and a ‘reward package’ for myself when I found it. I carefully hooked the bag under the parachute, double-checking the knots. All that was left for me to wear were sunglasses, a ball cap, shoes and socks. (Sure, barefoot looks great in videos, but there were sharp rocks, critters and cacti out there. Crippled isn’t sexy.)

I was left staring at the last item — my keys. Those I put down carefully on the hood of the Jeep.

Returning to the uninflated balloon and the payload assembly, I cut a length of cord and fastened them to the spare tire mount on my Jeep. Giving both ends a tug to ensure they’d hold, I checked the weather conditions.

The winds were calm, about 5 knots. Fair enough. The sky was clear and I was happy about that.

Taking a deep breath, I pulled the end of the helium hose over to the balloon and hooked it up.

It took a surprising amount of time to fill the thing. The limp bag on the ground slowly started to take form, wrinkles snaking across the fabric and the center slowly trying to lift itself. In time, it hauled itself off the ground and, more quickly now, started tugging at the cord.

Another minute had the whole assembly fighting for release from my Jeep, the balloon dodging back and forth in the light wind. Below it hung the parachute, timers and, finally, the all-important bag with my clothes.

I made one final check of the access road — clear.

I put my keys in the car ash tray before locking the doors. If things went seriously south, I could break a window with a rock to get in. The prospective cost of that repair would keep me from giving up too soon – or so went the plan.

A bit of a breeze had come up, enough to make the cords shudder a little. On reflection, I decided the sound was exciting. I liked it. I was shuddering a little, too.

The moment of truth…

Refusing to acknowledge my nervousness by again checking the access road, I gave the car door handle a tug to verify it was locked.

I slid the switch to start the release timer and stood back from the now-quivering cord. Picking up the knife, I took a deep breath and gave the straining rope a swift slash.

The balloon took off like a homesick angel. I watched it carry away my clothes and car key with it, leaving me stark-naked on the ground below.

Watching it soar away, I felt liberated, I felt abandoned. I felt amazingly sexy, I felt totally vulnerable. I’m still not sure what all I felt, to be honest, but it was everything I had dreamed of.

It was perfect.

I was super turned-on. My abdomen was tight. My nipples were hard as the pebbles under my feet and, checking, I found a trickle of ladydew on my thighs.

I had never felt so free.

Skyclad indeed!

I started following the dot in the sky, jogging slowly on the open ground. My boobs bounced as I ran, not hard enough to be uncomfortable, but hard enough to remind me why I was here. I even found the swaying of my ponytail behind me to be a turn-on. The warm breeze on my bare skin was as gentle a caress as that of any possible lover.

Getting more and more excited, I whooped in my exultation. I felt as free as the balloon. It wasn’t just my clothes soaring away from me up there. With them were fleeing my inhibitions, society’s restrictions and any shame. It was such a load falling off me that I felt I could fly!

I hooted as I ran, jumped and twisted in mid-air in my happiness.

This was how I was meant to be!

I suddenly realized that I had forgot to trip the stopwatch on my wrist when I cut the balloon free. At least I hadn’t forgotten to trip the timers on the electromagnets. Wouldn’t that have been a pain! I realized that I needed to build in a fail-safe process for that the next time.

After a while chasing the still-rising sphere, I started getting a little worried. Hadn’t it been more than five minutes already? Had something gone wrong? What if…

Without fanfare, the balloon lurched upward as its load cut away; the orange hemisphere of the parachute blossomed in the morning air.

I shrieked again and dashed to where I thought it would land. I watched it all the way down.

With no more trouble than that, I found it. The parachute was draped nicely over a bush and the bundle beside it on a patch of soft leaves.

It had worked!

I suddenly realized that I hadn’t been checking for other people. I took a frantic look around and was relieved by the absence of rangers, boy scouts or Marines on survival exercises. Another lesson learned…

I pulled open the bundle. Everything was safe — and Little Bob was waiting for our date. Big Bob would have been too heavy, but this little guy was no bigger than a finger. And, let’s face it, what girl doesn’t get turned on by knowing she has a date with an aviator?

I looked around. There was a patch of grass in a nearby patch of shade which had a good view of the access road. I made an improvised pillow of my clothes and lay down.

This was like a dream come true! My primo sexual fantasy had just played out precisely as I had dreamed it. My nipples were like bullets and I was as wet as I had ever been. Little Bob was, in other words, not going to have a hard time getting me off.

Sometimes I might close my eyes when Big Bob and I were alone, but today was special; I wanted to be able to take in the scenery, the stage on which my play had been performed. I deliberately kept my eyes open, watching the clouds drift by, the birds overhead, the rolling countryside which had proved such a wonderful stage for this play.

I relaxed my body as much as I could, allowing it to adjust to the soft grass. I ran a hand slowly down from my neck to my stomach, lingering briefly over one breast, then the other.

Bending my legs, both hands ran over the smooth skin of my thighs, skimmed across the outside of my bum cheeks and then slid up to my stomach again. I deliberately dodged the one obvious spot screaming for attention.

Moving up from my tummy, my hands cupped my boobs, pulled on my nipples. Such was my excitement that I found myself already close to cumming, just from that. I slowed down, wanting to drag it out, especially on this exceptional morning.

But I wouldn’t allow myself to stop entirely. One hand gently played with one nipple after the other. The other hand slid down to my pussy. With one finger, I stroked slowly up the crease between labia slick with my juices.

Wetting both forefingers, I brought them up to lube my nipples and spent an endless, hours-long few minutes slowly stimulating them — rubbing, twisting, pulling.

I began to switch hands, with one middle finger circling and toying my clitoris and the other keeping my breasts amused.

I began to pant and moan in my arousal. Damn! This is precisely what I’d been dreaming of all this time! I so wanted — needed – this!

I slid a long finger inside my pussy, drew it across my G-spot, out and across my clit. And again. And again.

God, but I was so turned on, so ready!

I made myself relax, stopped all stimulation but a very slow circling of my clit. I lay back and watched the scenery, allowing myself all day for this. There was no hurry and, as the saying goes, getting there was definitely going to be half the fun.

Putting my almost-orgasm on hold, I fumbled for Little Bob. Nothing sophisticated, he was just a rigid plastic cylinder with a variable speed control. Holding him in my right hand, I gave his tip a little kiss and smiled at the imagery.

I turned his control to half-way, felt the vibration start. I ran his tip lightly up and down my torso, between my breasts, over one inner thigh and then the other, up across my mound and back to between my boobs.

I held him first against one nipple, then the other.

My arousal boomed back up.

Reaching down, I pressed his tip against my clit and felt my back arch in response. I could hear myself moaning in pleasure.

I slid the tip just inside my opening, moving it in and out. Waves of pleasure swept over me.

Continuing Little Bob’s seduction of my pussy with my right hand, I brought my left hand back to squeeze and play with my boobs.