Chronicles of a Shared Wife

The old man and the woods or, Eric the bananaman.

Author's note.

I've given this chapter a rather odd subtitle, the reasons for which will soon become apparent. Also, keen eyed lovers of wild camping may be able to spot a reference within the story to my hubby's favourite YouTuber, a certain canadian gentleman by the name of Steve.

In the wake of Rita's departure there followed a strong sense of adventure between myself and John. For several months we had been under a lot of pressure, trying to make our friend see sense about cruel hubby Carl and eventually overcome her fears to be able to leave him for good.

Once she was safely away living up in scotland with her family a great sense of relief was felt, and with it something else.

Once free from the fog of stress, our focus settled upon an old familiar desire. We hadn't experienced 'male company' in a long time, Ted being our last and that over half a year ago.

Yes, we still enjoy being intimate with Rita, albeit much less frequently these days, it's a bloody long way to aberdeen, expensive on the train...and a tiring drive.

We've been up to visit her three times so far, once that first weekend after her departure and then settling into a once a month arrangement. Rita's flat is small but nice and cosy and in a good location. It only has one bedroom, so when we wish to get serious one of us must remain in the tiny living room while John takes care of the other in the bedroom.

Although, being much closer to the action brings its own reward, I can even hear the...wet.

Despite this special time for us three, there has been a growing desire experienced between myself and hubby...for that one...special thing.

I won't bore the reader by describing our usual modus operandi when it comes to the delicate issue of finding a 'mate'.

Suffice to say, the usual net was cast on email pal sites...with the usual results. Some interesting guys leading to time wasting dead ends, some weirdos, desperate men all talk and too much keyboard confidence...it's a long list...you get the idea.

In the meantime, I'd come to the conclusion that I needed to lose some weight. During our Rita trauma time I put on a lot, going up a dress size. It's my habit to eat a lot and drink heavily when going through a stressful time, the weight being distributed to my thighs, bum and boobs, I was wearing a 40E bra...much to John's delight, he just smiled lasciviously and said, 'there's more of you to love'.

Despite my hubby's positive attitude I still wanted to shed a little, so while we waited patiently for Mr right I'd begun to accompany John on his weekend wild camping trips.

Initially we didn't go far, John suggesting somewhere local while I got used to it. I'd joined him in the past but it had been quite a while and I was woefully unfit.

So, the first couple of times we chose some wooded areas several miles walk from our house. These initial camp outs were tough on me, it does take time to get used to walking with a backpack some distance. But with determination and practice I was soon going further, Dave being recruited to drive us out to more remote areas and then pick us up from a prearranged point the next day.

And now, mid may of 2018, with the camping season in full swing, we decided on somewhere a little more adventurous.

The north yorkshire moors national park in the north east of england is a large area encompassing forests, coastal regions to the east, and to the west open moorland, a beautiful part of our country and a mecca for wild campers.

It would be my first attempt at something so 'wild' and I was feeling a little apprehensive as John explained the plan. Having both booked the coming friday off work, Dave would then drive us up to the park on the morning and drop us off with our packs, then collect us from an agreed upon pick up point sunday evening...if all went well.

John, noticing my anxious expression glancing from google maps to him and back again, reassured me that he wouldn't be making plans for such a trip if he didn't think I was ready.

And so, on that positive note, we made preparations for my most adventurous wild camp yet...little realising at the time that this trip would lead to probably the most bizarre chance encounter of our journey so far.

**

It's a weird feeling, watching your ride and connection with 'normal' life slowly disappear around a distant bend in the road. Dave, our good friend and my former lover has just dropped us off at our destination of dalby forest.

I stand for a moment to briefly survey the scene before me, we are on a narrow lane with tall spruce trees lining both sides making me feel so small, dark shades of green surround us, a fresh zesty smell prevails in the air. As I take in this beautiful wilderness a shrill and haunting noise from above distracts my attention, looking up into the bright azure of a may morning I see a buzzard being mobbed by two crows...a fleeting glance within the tiny sliver of sky available.

Try as I might I'm unable to see more, the drama being gone in an instant, during my distraction I'm gently nudged by an excited and impatient John, "Come on then...off we go...plenty of time to birdwatch while we walk."

And with a warm smile he turns and begins striding off down the lane, I follow, keeping in to the side as a large van goes past in a rush of noise and wind.

Catching up with him we fall into an easy pace, John slowing down for my benefit then beginning an exciting conversation about Dave, my hubby noticing how our friend looked at me...and I him...the old flame still smouldering despite his devotion to wife Becky.

We both agree that it would be unwise to pursue any potential activity with our old friend, as such interference would surely lead to heartache on all sides.

I know Dave loves his wife and Becky is a lovely lady so I bite down hard on my libido lip.

On that first day we continue down the narrow lane about a mile then head off along a recognised tourist trail into the forest, stopping to have our lunch at a picnic bench before continuing along the plotted route.

Along the way I'm treated to spectacular views across the wooded park area and distant moorland via observation points where the trail meanders to the edge of the treeline.

Seeing just how wild this place is fills me with a sense of both awe and trepidation, for I know that I will be spending the night here.

May is a very nice month to be outdoors like this in nature, I'm soaking up the sights and sounds and cursing my timid side for almost backing out of this trip. These initial hours of our weekend away are bliss, I feel so alive and thankful for being able to experience nature at its best.

However, by late afternoon and several more hours of walking with a heavy pack...I'm in need of rest and wishing I had my own bed to sleep in tonight.

By the time it's late evening I feel exhausted and ask a still confidently striding John to slow down, also enquiring about making camp for the night as it will be getting dark soon.

He assures me that is where we are headed, just another half hour of hiking. Shortly after this information is given I follow my hubby as he veers off the main path and onto a smaller track leading away into dense woodland.

And this, is where things take a turn for the worse, at least from my perspective. We head deeper and deeper, the pleasant atmosphere beginning to change.

I'm reminded of so many cartoons where the main characters have strayed off the beaten track, away from happy peaceful surroundings with butterflies and birdsong...into that dark and foreboding place that they really shouldn't go.

Two things become very noticeable as we penetrate deeper, the dense woodland produces a strange purple hue effect all around us, more obvious when trying to look further away. On pointing it out John tells me it's something to do with the type of trees we are in amongst.

His explanation is not reassuring me in the slightest. The other thing, the one I find particularly disturbing is the lack of sound. I've never been in a place outdoors that was so utterly devoid of noise, I can't even hear my own footfalls as below us there is a thick carpet of fallen spruce needles, no birdsong or animal activity disturbs this absolute silence...it is unnerving.

As the light continues to fail we arrive at the small clearing John has spoken of on the way, unbelievably he's been here before a couple of times on his own.

I honestly don't know how he does it, to me this place brings a new definition of creepy and I remark to my hubby this fact.

"I thought you liked it quiet...that's why I chose this place." He says defensively, it's true that I can be badly affected by loud noises but this...this is the polar opposite.

"I know but...I can't hear anything at all." Looking around nervously there is only closely packed trees and encroaching gloom, "Do we have to camp here?" My question is met with an irritated look from John and a flippant remark about losing light and needing to stay here, which he quickly regrets in response to my hurt expression.

John sighs resignedly, shakes his head then replies with a warm smile, "Don't worry ok?...the most scary thing about tonight will be when I take these boots off after walking all day."

I smile back, then John adds something that makes me chuckle, lightening the mood. "You'll be alright I'll look after you...me tarzan you Jane."

For the latter part of his sentence John flashes his eyes and gives me a knowing look...I know what he's after.

But first, it's time to set up camp for the night. After clearing a small area for our fire, John sets up the hammocks, arranging them so we lay close together with a tarp overhead in case it rains.

Once our campsite is prepared, my hubby grins cheekily while reaching into his pack, "Well that's step one completed...now it's time for a well earned step number two."

He says this while withdrawing a litre plastic pop bottle from his pack, full of decanted scotch whisky, this done to save weight.

John pours us both a good slug into our plastic cups, hardly regal but it does the job, then we tuck in to our adventure food pouches, sipping the good stuff in between mouthfuls of rehydrated crap.

It may be crap but after a long day walking it certainly tastes good, and what with the whisky to wash it down...truly a satisfying part of the day.

After our meal and a couple more drinks I'm beginning to feel a little more relaxed and just as I suspected John is in the mood, not that I'm complaining of course, but despite the soothing effects of alcohol I'm still on edge. This place gives me the creeps and now darkness surrounds us a strong sense of being watched by something very unpleasant prevails.

When he comes to me I instinctively kiss my hubby back but John detects there's a problem immediately, pulling away he asks, "Your still worried aren't you?"

Nodding, I manage an apologetic smile before drawing John's attention to the black silent void that surrounds us, "I'm sorry love I just can't relax here...I'm not comfortable...I'll do something nice for you but...I can't get in the mood here it's too weird."

John, always the gentleman declines my offer, preferring an experience that we can both enjoy together. It is to be a prophetic response, for just twenty four hours from now we will be enjoying an incredible shared experience with another man...a stranger who becomes an intimate friend.

With the fire dying and the cold slipping easily into us, we decide to retire for the night and seek comfort within our sleeping bags.

After having a pee and carefully mounting the hammock, it's a tricky business, I fall into a welcome conversation with John laid next to me, so very happy to hear his voice keeping that awful silence at bay.

During our previous wild camps together it has become routine at bedtime for John to tell me a story, usually a spooky one. My hubby has a great talent for making stories up out of the ether, ghosts, aliens, cryptid encounters you name it.

But tonight obviously I don't want this and plead with him to not freak me out anymore than I already am.

John understands immediately, being sensitive to my fears, so instead of something spooky he tells me a true story to do with where we are now...dalby forest.

There are no ghosts or monsters in this tale, only facts about a man, a fugitive who's name most folk have probably never heard of, but at one time was the focus of Britain's largest armed manhunt.

The fugitives name is Barry prudom and as John begins relating the story some of the details sound vaguely familiar from distant childhood memories, I recall as a very young girl back in the early eighties seeing his picture in the papers and on the TV, a wild looking man with expressionless eyes who became known as the phantom of the forest.

I won't go into much detail about the hunt for Barry, anyone wanting to know more can easily look the case up online.

His crime spree began with the killing of a policeman, shot in the head at close range as he tried to question Barry about a poaching incident. He then went on the run for eighteen days, during which time he killed another two people and attempted to kill two more.

Two of the dead being police officers painted a very large bullseye on Barry, and a huge manhunt was unleashed upon him. Despite over a thousand police, many of them armed, dog handlers, helicopters etc...no trace of the fugitive could be found.

Barry, a civilian who had received training in survival and escape/evasion techniques, had simply disappeared into the surrounding countryside which included this very forest we now called our home for the night.

While the police grew ever more frustrated at Barry's disappearing act, ex paratrooper and former sas soldier Eddie mcgee offered his expert tracking skills to help with the hunt. In a bizarre twist, Barry had actually attended some of Eddie's survival courses.

With the addition of an expert tracker and the net closing in...time was running out for the fugitive.

As I lay there in my hammock listening to the welcome sounds of my hubby's soft voice and the occasional crackle of our dying fire, I tried to imagine what it would have been like for Barry...out here on his own...waiting and listening in the dark.

He had committed some terrible crimes and deserved to be punished, and perhaps part of his punishment was knowing that all these armed men were looking for him, dogs, helicopters, and now elite soldiers...he must have known it was over.

I tried to imagine but couldn't, or perhaps didn't want to.

In the end when they did finally catch up with him, Barry chose suicide rather than a lifetime in prison, turning the pistol on himself in one final act of defiance.

After John finished telling me the story we kept on chatting for a while, my hubby's voice had become the only sound and as a result keeping me keen for conversation! Selfish I know, considering we were both shattered after a long day walking.

But eventually, as the chatter became quieter, slowing down, intermittent...exhaustion combined with alcohol defeated my fears and whisked me away to a deep, dreamless sleep.

**

Saturday.

"You're sure this is a good idea?...I've never done this before."

My anxious question is directed at John while I walk along a grassy verge following hubby, stopping at the entrance to a lay-by off the main road, John turns to face the oncoming traffic...holding his hand out...thumb up.

Now midday on saturday, we'd got an early start from our spooky sleepover spot that morning and had made good progress away from the forested area and were now preparing to hitch-hike to another part of the park.

Hitching a ride is something I'd been warned about from an early age, my parents drilling it into me never to accept lifts from strangers. I'd heard some awful stories about what happened to young ladies who did.

But, today I'm not alone and I'm certainly not young anymore. So, I put my trust in John and the knowledge he knows what he's doing and that we'll be alright.

As the time goes by I'm beginning to feel a little self conscious, all these vehicles passing closely by us one after another...everyone within staring at us albeit briefly...judging our appearance etc. Here's me worrying about getting in a car with a weirdo but what are the people passing thinking about us?...it works both ways I suppose.

Fortunately, I don't have to feel awkward for long, as suddenly a large pick-up truck pulls into the lay-by and slows to a stop, as it goes past there are several dogs in the open rear of the vehicle some of which begin to bark as we approach.

I don't know much about cars but even I know that this one is different from what we normally see on our roads, and as we draw near I realise the mature female driver is seated on the left hand side.

The drivers window is down and on approaching the older lady greets us with a cheery, 'Hi' and motions for us to get in. Going around the bonnet John opens the passenger door for me and I get in first, noting as I do so that there are more dogs in the cabin, three of them, all eager to greet me.

There are two in the large passenger footwell and one seated next to the driver, a short chubby woman looking around seventy, "Come on Molly budge up to me that's a good girl...Shane...Shane!...leave her alone...let em get in for fucks sake."

To hear the woman swear so easily is a little surprising seen as she doesn't know us but we are soon to get used to it as it's practically every other word, it appears this lady thinks the 'f' word is not actually swearing but part of everyday vocabulary.

The truck is indeed huge with three seats up front and a spacious cabin allowing us all to sit comfortably together, including the dogs, all of them I note being sheepdogs.

As soon as we're seated with packs stowed at our feet we are off out the lay-by and down the road on a short half hour journey that ends up leaving a ringing in my ears, as our lady driver certainly can gab!

Myself and John hardly get a word in while 'Sue' tells us everything about herself, and I mean everything. She has a curious way of speaking to us, as if we are good friends and have known each other for years...very down to earth.

After the initial introductions and Sue's enquiry of our destination, John asks about the truck, which he knows is american, being a big fan of american cars. "You like this?" Sue asks with a hint of Incredulity, "If it were up to me you could have it...it's his...I borrowed this coz mine is in the garage and I had to pick Molly here up...I hate it...way too big and takes a gallon of petrol just to start the fucking thing."

By 'his' we assume she means her husband, which is soon confirmed by Sue with a long gripe about what 'he' has done or has not done that week.

It soon becomes clear that Sue is the type of woman who hates most things, except for her beloved dogs of course.

We learn that together with her hubby she provides a home for neglected sheepdogs, they currently have seventeen including this mornings addition of the adorable Molly, who takes a shine to me and lays across my lap unjoying a good fuss. I note she only has one ear and upon enquiry I'm told an upsetting story about how she was treated by her previous owner, suffice to say, there are some bloody cruel folk in this world.

Sue tells me that whenever she's going to pick up a new dog she gathers the others together and asks them who wants to come, some stay and some follow her to the car, hence all the dogs in back and the ones up front with us.

Sue certainly can yak, being very open with us and revealing some extremely personal information about herself. By the time we've arrived at our destination I know a great deal about border collies, but I also know that sue has had a hysterectomy several years ago, she's had three affairs, two of which her hubby doesn't know about, and the last time she 'played away' almost ten years ago it was with a young guy of twenty who gave her chlamydia...oh and she currently has an infected boil on her bottom that leaks green puss...