This whole thing started back in college. Me and a few other guys would spend a week each year camping in some remote location. We'd show up, set up the tents and spend the week hiking, fishing, singing campfire songs and just doing whatever seemed like the most fun activity in the moment. There were no real limits, though one of us would always stay sober to keep the rest from really going overboard.
After graduation, we tried our best to keep the trips up. It worked out well for the first few years, but things changed after Braiden's motorcycle accident.
It wasn't the most unexpected thing, we all knew he was a risk taker, but it was still crazy to think that one of us could be dead so young. We had a trip that year in his memory, but the group kind of fell apart after that. Some of the guys got married, some took jobs that became their whole life, and over the next 3 years the group dwindled to just three.
Then, it became one.
It was the summer I turned 30, and I was hoping to get at least one more trip in with the boys before having to move on with life and accept that things had changed. I was ready to go, only a couple hours from jumping in the car when John called me to let me know something came up and he couldn't make it. Sam made a similar call a few minutes later and that was that.
But I wasn't about to just leave it be. I'd been looking forward to that trip for months, and with just a little bit of spite I jumped in the car and headed for Colorado.
The open road and the solitude made me feel really alive for the first time in ages. I'd been the one guy in our friend group that never really found a career I was happy with, and love had alluded me through so many blind dates and meetups that I'd lost count. I decided then and there that would be the best trip I'd ever taken.
If only will power was stronger than mother nature.
The rain started on the second day and continued into the night. It would have been alright, except for the leak in the tent. By morning, I was soaked and on the verge of leaving.
The sunshine and warm, fresh air were the only things that kept me motivated as I worked to restart my fire. The flame breathed new life into me and I decided to work on drying things out and make the best of the remaining days. The tent would dry on its own, but I needed to hang every piece of clothing I'd brought on a make-shift line. I wasn't entirely sure about what to do with the clothes I was wearing though.
Now, the spot I was in was pretty remote, but that didn't make me feel much better about the idea of being completely naked in the woods. Letting them dry while on me wasn't a very good option though, as I was starting to feel my skin get clammy from the moisture. After a long internal debate, I decided it wouldn't take that long for them to dry and stripped down.
At first, I was nervous but a little giddy. It almost felt like I was doing something I wasn't supposed to be doing. The thrill of possibly being caught just enhanced the feeling, and before long the excitement was showing in the form of an unexpected boner.
It had been a while since I'd been with anyone at all, and I did have a rather high sex drive, but it was still surprising how horny the situation was making me. Without even thinking about it, I started rubbing my cock.
Normally, I had to watch porn or actually be with a woman to even come close to an orgasm, but in that instance I found myself so turned on that neither of those things were necessary. As I rubbed, I felt the warm sunshine hitting every part of me for the first time and it only took a few minutes for the feeling to build in my groin. The internal pressure mounted and I knew it was only a matter of seconds before I came.
Completely forgetting where I was, I leaned against a tree and felt the sweet release as cum sprayed all over the ground at my feet. Spurt after spurt, I could feel the throb in my hand as weeks of buildup shot through the morning air.
As I came down from the high, I realized how intoxicating the whole thing was. Part of me felt guilty for some reason, but that feeling quickly subsided and I knew the next few days were going to be great.
I didn't wear a stitch of clothing for the remainder of that trip, and I decided then and there I needed a trip like that every year moving forward.
The next few years saw me becoming more and more comfortable being a nudist in various parks around the country. I even took a couple of trips to actual nudist resorts, but those weren't nearly as exciting as I imagined.
So that brings us to my most recent trip.
I decided to go back to the Smoky Mountains, a place I'd been once with my friend group but never alone. I researched some of the best spots for solo camping, focusing on places where you could be secluded enough to not have to worry about intruders, and settled on a spot in Northeastern Tennessee.
The drive went about as smooth as it could have and before long I was hiking on a beautiful, but remote, trail. When I was confident there wouldn't be any other travelers, I took a few minutes to strip down before finishing the hike in the nude. Even after so many trips, the excitement was still enough to get me hard and my boner was swaying in front of me as I went, as if pointing the way to a magical place.
By mid-afternoon, my tent was set up and I was relaxing next to a raging fire. Some of the initial feeling had worn off, but I was still semi-erect as I cooked my lunch and I thought about just jerking off into the fire to help relax.
Before I could get started, I thought I heard a noise coming from somewhere nearby. It sounded almost like someone was walking through the brush and I stood up, covering my dick with my hands as I looked around for the source.
Feeling confident it was just an animal, probably a deer or racoon, I sat back down and turned my attention to eating. I barely made it through my burger before giving into the primal need to cum, giving myself a break from my erection, at least for a little while.
