White Night
Take control immediately!
A loud beep came from the car speakers, demanding attention to the screen message. Morgen's attention jerked from a road reverie, his hands tightened on the wheel and his eyes jumped to the highway ahead, scanning for danger. The car slowed. Bridge ahead, a white lump in the breakdown lane. A bag of trash? Maybe an animal, doubtless deceased. A bird ... big ... a swan? goose? Past it, not sure. Odd. But why the warning -- a bridge shadow? What neural network nervousness saw danger in a shadow? He glanced over at his wife; Stevie's face showed surprise.
"What was that?" She turned around. "It looked like ... can't see it anymore."
"Probably Elon fucking with us again," he said, shaking his head and pressing the accelerator to resume highway speed.
"No, that white thing. Poor creature!"
"Just some trash, I think. People do litter." His thoughts returned to the road, reminded that driving a Tesla was an exercise in relinquishing and regaining control, sometimes at short notice. Elon boasted of FSD: Full Self Driving -- or Frequently Shitty Driving. Morgen was not tempted even to try the full FSD package, though the speed and lane control features were useful.
The landscape became less civilized as the Model 3 drove north through New Hampshire's White Mountains, headed for Vermont. Hills grew into mountains; trees displaced houses and stores. The couple had cleared their schedules for a week of camping.
Camping: the act of staying and sleeping in an outside area for one or more days and nights, usually in a tent.
Actually more of a process than an act, though acting may be required. Stevie and Morgen came to it with divergent approaches. Over the years they had jostled, debated, tolerated and converged to an amiable compromise.
A die-hard minimalist, Morgen considered camping an opportunity to practice selective privation. In younger years his gear was limited by bicycle and backpack constraints. Every pound hauled uphill under his own power weighed heavy. So, check and update the list of tested, high-quality equipment. Choose multipurpose tools, some redundancy. Consult the weather oracles. Evaluate a site carefully to take advantage of its features: sun, wind, trees, ground slope and condition ... Field of fire, cover and escape routes? Perhaps not the last few, though Morgen's outdoor experience was informed by a brief military stint. He made the most of what he found, creating temporary but secure shelter.
By contrast, Stevie camped with comfort as a priority. The absence of solid roof and walls imposed challenges that could be met with appropriate equipment carried inside or on the roof of a car. A spacious tent, folding chairs & table, several large tarps, a broad selection of cooking tools, a large cooler, variety of clothing -- all to make a campsite more homelike.
One of the clearest distinctions between camping approaches was the matter of overnight cushioning. As a hardy youth camping solo, Morgen did without a pad (local vegetation might substitute), but he had advanced to using a thin sleeping pad. Stevie originally liked a pump-inflated mattress half a foot thick. At bedtime it entertained as a moon bounce but by morning usually had lost much mojo and its sleepers were near grounded. Their preferences had converged on Thermarest pads more substantial than those of Morgen's earlier practice. They slept well together.
Sustenance was another matter of difference. Morgen's habit had been to keep it simple, often eating sandwiches and cooking infrequently. Stevie preferred more elaborate meals prepared from a cooler full of fresh ingredients and a variety of condiments. Morgen usually did cleanup.
But enough about divergences -- both Morgen and Stevie greatly enjoyed camping. In early afternoon they reached the Crystal Spring Lake State Park campground, checked in and wound their way to site F-39. Though work obligations prevented her joining, Stevie's daughter Mona had made the reservation after careful study and evaluation; she had a gift for selecting prime sites. As did the others, F-39 offered a picnic table, fire pit and parking for two cars. In addition there was a solid log lean-to -- not big enough for tents, but shelter against September rain. Most attractive, the site boasted several hundred feet of shoreline on Crystal Spring Lake.
They parked the Tesla and unloaded. Well-practiced, they set up and provisioned the tent in short order. Morgen made a trip back to the welcome station, returning with a bundle of firewood. Can one call it camping without fire? Stevie organized the food and lit the stove, then prepared macaroni & cheese as darkness fell. Pinot Grigio further relaxed them. Embers glowed in the fire pit.
"Marshmallows? S'mores?" asked Morgen.
"I'm sleepy. How about tomorrow?" Stevie yawned and touched his shoulder. "I'm off to the restroom."
"So you're privy to the restroom?" he murmured. "Don't get ahead of yourself." She repressed a groan and ruffled his hair.
"Terrible ... coming with me?" she asked.
"Not yet. I'll take advantage of my male privilege -- water this here pine tree. Looks a bit dry." Morgen had the gall to empty his bladder al fresco then listened to the night noises. Numerous birds sounded unusually worked up; their calls were loud and urgent. Wish I understood Bird. What stories, messages, warnings were being exchanged?
Stevie's headlamp bobbed as she returned and unzipped the tent door.
"Right or left?" Morgen asked. Either side's okay for my midnight exit."
"Left, as usual," she responded. "You're the damn libertarian right winger."
They maneuvered through the tent flap and arranged for bedtime. Headlamp, phone, watch, handkerchief, Glock 9 mm ... No, firearms should hardly be necessary to dissuade a curious critter. They slid into the sleeping bags -- two zipped together -- Stevie in a flannel nightgown, Morgen sans vêtements.
"Shall we do a puzzle or read? asked Stevie. The sleeping bags rustled.
"I want to read your puzzle," he answered. More rustling.
"Yow, cold!" Stevie squealed.
"Sorry, sorry ..."
He withdrew his hand from her breast and put it between his own thighs, then squirmed closer. He removed and switched off her headlamp. It was dark but other senses came into play. Their mouths found each other; the kiss was soft. She pulled her nightgown up over her shoulders; his hands held her arms while he kissed her again through the cloth. He lowered his hips. He'd recently had surgery for a long-term pained back. Recovery had been rapid and now he was able to move with only occasional discomfort. Actually, he was still working with a physical trainer, with specialized exercises to ...
[tangent warning -- take control immediately!]
... lowered his hips. His penis brushed her thighs. She sighed, then felt for him with her knees, but he had moved up; his erect organ brushing through her pubic hair, his testes nestled into her crotch.
"I got some purple stuff," she whispered. He released her arms and she fumbled for the tube. In a moment she brought her hand to his erection and began smearing the gel. He jerked back as he felt the cold but soon he welcomed his wife's warm hand as she stroked and teased. Time takes its toll but a pill promotes the penis, she thought, squeezing his hardness.
"Daddy's little helper?" she whispered.
