All summer long she had wanted to go wildflower picking. As a young girl, she had often gathered wildflowers with her Mom on weekends. Dad generally worked as many time-and-a-half and double-time hours as he could at the mill, leaving his family to their own devices. Her significantly older sister had all the pressing engagements of a teenager and failed to appreciate the weedy fascination shared by her Mother and little sister. So after early chores, Mom and her youngest daughter would wander the nearby woods and meadows collecting as many different flowers as they could. Once they had a suitable bouquet, they would sit and attempt to identify each flower while sorting them over and over for the best effect. When Mum didn't know the proper name for a flower, she would encourage her daughter to make one up. Little Miss took the task very seriously. Sometimes she needed nearly the whole morning to come up with a name. Because she and her mother would forever thereafter use the chosen moniker, she had to be certain it was just right. To this day, there are those known to her only as Bellywings, Insideouts and Pinkadillys.

This morning at breakfast, when he off-handedly suggested they take the bike out into the woods to do some flower hunting, he had no idea how much it meant to her.

"Yeah, sure?" she said cautiously thinking he might be just toying.

"What, now you don't want to go?" he mumbled between chewing his crepe and slurping coffee.

"No, no! I mean yes, yes I'd like to," she quickly corrected. "It's just that this is the first day in weeks we're both off. I'm a little surprised you'd want to go flower hunting, of all things."

She looked down into her mug supposing he might have a second thought.

"Skeptical, huh," he said with a smirk. "OK, let me frame it in a way that might be more familiar. You hunt the flowers, and I'll hunt you."

"You don't have to be an asshole about it!" she said while lightly backhanding the front of his shoulder and trying to hold back a smile.

"According to you, I'm unable to think of anything else," he squeezed out while stretching his arms and arching his back. "Would you like to further complicate this, or do we pull it together and go?"

The late August sky was cloudless and the cool morning air promised not to get too hot. They had been riding dirt road for a few miles when he turned the bike off onto a footpath shrouded by bushes. There was barely enough room for the bike to get through. She did her best to dodge the leaves and needles brushing them from both sides.

"Where the hell are you going," she protested, wrapping her legs up around his waist and ducking her head down behind his shoulders.

He made no reply as he continued plowing along the path through the brush. Shortly they emerged into a sizeable clearing of grass flanked on the left by a wide shallow stream. There were flowers galore among the grass and along the banks of the flowing water.

"How'd you find this," she blurted with a hint of excitement in her voice.

"Just out exploring one day," he replied matter-of-factly.

Truth was he had been introduced to the meadow by a former girlfriend, but at that moment he figured it might be best omitted.

"This is storybook," she gushed.

For most of an hour, she sorted through every flower in sight, selecting those with which she was most familiar in one hand, while in the other holding several that seemed to be new finds or at least not remembered. During her search, he occupied himself making drive chain and front and rear break adjustments to the motorcycle. With both hands full of flowers, she sat down beside him and launched into an amateur botany lecture. At first, he feigned interest, but her absorption became infectious and he began to admire both the flowers and her knowledge about them. Upon finishing her tutorial, she chose a number of the blooms and arranged them into a bouquet which she laid beside the motorcycle. Next, she took off her shoes and socks and walked over to the edge of the stream. There she sat down and rolled the legs of her jeans up over her calves. She did this with great deliberation, making certain each fold was of equal width.

"Fastidious," he thought to himself. "Yeah, fastidious," pleased he had crystallized one of the traits that so attracted him.

She stood up and stepped into the stream. The polish on her toenails shone especially red in the rippling water. Only ankle deep, she giggled as she crossed gingerly over the submerged rocks. Tracing the perfectly contoured taper of her calves with his eyes, he immediately realized a sensation of arousal. It made him smile to himself at how easily he could be affected by this woman. She brought together into one body nearly every attribute that he most favored; flawless skin, red highlighted hair, long fingers, tight waist, etcetera. Adverse to large breasts, hers were exactly to his liking, only modestly lifting the cloth of her blouse. Anything more than a palm-full he considered a waste. For him the bigger the boobs the more udder-like and unappealing they became. Instead, she had the size where it counted, in the glutes. Rounded, doming and firm, he could hardly restrain himself from constantly sampling her ass. He was also particularly partial to her diminutive size. As feisty in demeanor as she could be, she was physically delicate. Not much more than a few pounds over a hundred, he relished the fact that he was able to carnally possess her. He could lift, hold and essentially apply her to himself.

Near the middle of the stream rested a very large flat-topped granite rock left there by some ancient glacier. On this day, it rose above the gurgle of the tributary by a few feet. Obviously, it had at times been submerged since the surface was worn smooth. When she reached the rock she laid down on it. The shading leaves of the overhanging treetops immediately painted her from head to toe with leopard-like spots. Staring into the sky, she lay there for several minutes while he fed on her image. She then surprisingly unbuttoned her jeans and wiggled them off along with her panties. The panties were stuffed into a pocket after which she folded up the jeans and stuck them behind her head as a makeshift pillow.

Bottomless she closed her eyes and calmly said, "You earned it."

The words were scarcely out of her mouth before his belt was unbuckled. With boots and socks flying, he almost face-planted in the rush to remove his pants. Making an athletic recovery he got to the rock in one splashing stride-and-a-half.