" Michael, it's eleven o'clock. We have been driving all damn day. It's fucking cold. I don't want to stop at some hot springs. Let's get to the lodge..." No, you gotta see them. They are fantastic." Oh shit, go ahead then. Do what you want. You always do. I don't care."A few minutes later, I pull the car into the deserted parking lot. The smell of sulfur fills the air. Ahead of us is a wooden walk bridge leading to the springs. There is thick fog coming off the waters, with one lamp on a pole. But first, let me tellyou what my job entails. I am a meteorologist. I've always loved theweather. I knew I always wanted to be an on-air weather forecaster. Ialso dreamed about being a severe weather hunter, like Jim Cantore, onthe Weather Channel. Little did I know that I would be more likeStephanie Abrams than Jim Cantore.Because we are a small station, I double as a features reporter. So, Iget to do all the crazy, stupid stunts that a TV station puts on to filltime and maintain. Their hands explored each other’s bodies. Their breathing became ragged. When he reached under her skirt, she put her thumbs into the hem of her pantyhose and shoved them to her thighs. He pushed her onto the desk and whisked them down and off. Then he pulled her panties off.She leaned back and smiled as he stared at her snatch. He grinned at the hairy entrance and then he pushed his face into it.Sarah grunted and fell back as he expertly tweaked her pussy and clitoris.‘He really does know how. The girls looking nervous, and definitely intimidated by the matter, and, quietly muttered “ok, we’ll come. Great, see you ladies around ten at the Castaway, shouted one guy as they walked away. The girls grabbed their things, and quickly scurried off.We stayed just a little longer to finish our drinks, gathered our things, and began walking back to our cabin. On our walk, we talked about all the activities that were available, trying to pick what we were wanted to do this evening. After.