When I opened my eyes, I rolled over to find Jim was up already and I could hear him lighting the stove outside. He was whistling my least favorite whistling song, the kind of song as catchy as the Brady Bunch Theme, only more so ... The Colonel Bogey March... if you don't know it go listen to it, it's redundant and will burrow into your brain for weeks until it is displaced by something equally as zany or your brain decides in a fit of self-preservation to kill off those synapses.
I sat up to a warm damp morning and found myself covered in his dried cum. I pulled on my pants and sweater and rolled out of the tent to find Jim standing there in his boxers and his plaid shirt cooking pancakes or some kind of too thick Bisquick looking batter. He was sort of dancing as well as he can dance, more like advanced swaying as he whistled.
"Ga Morning," he said.
"Good Morning, you're awfully bright and cheery this morning, how'd your sleep?"
"Pretty good."
I had spent a considerable amount of time reading about anal sex and it's almost a joke that the 'morning after' has a walk associated with it. I was familiar with the walk, but Jim seemed to be doing exceedingly well, rocking his hips to his whistle while he worked. Then I saw him walk away and bend down to get a log and throw on the fire. He was walking like my dick was still in there. I laughed my ass off, he knew exactly what I was watching and thinking. He said,
"It's not funny, my ass is killing me, I can't put my knees together, I feel like I rode a Belgian 20 miles last night."
I could not stop laughing, he was mimicking riding a draft horse with a back way too wide to be ridden in a giddy-up fashion complete with lasso overhead.
He went right back to cooking and I headed off to the edge of the woods still giggling and took a leak realizing my dick was in his ass last night and needed some cleaning. I went into the tent and grabbed some baby wipes, offered them to Jim, but he has already cleaned himself up, so I took a whore's bath over the fire. The rain had stopped but it felt like it was moments from raining again. I hate damp balls, so I flopped them out of my pants and was air drying the goods by the fire when Jim hollered and pointed with his spatula,
"There's the culprit! Popeye my ass! His new name is Ouchie!"
I told him, "You've got two choices today, go for a hike or let me fuck you again."
He said, "I'll crawl across broken glass before that thing goes in my ass again!"
We laughed and we decided that maybe today would be a good day drinking and reading day as the rain started to come down again pretty heavy.
There was no wind or bugs, so it was pretty pleasant just sitting under the edge of the lean-to roof while we lounged on the sleeping pads we drug out of the tent and read and drank. I has slipped a little weed in my pack, so we smoked that around 11 and by 11:02 we were looking for lunch, so I broke out some GORP and cheese and crackers that we devoured and washed it down with the moonshine and Kool-Aid I brought. I needed a nap, so I said so and Jim agreed, so we stuffed our pads back in the tent and climbed in there, he covered me up and cuddled right up to me and we fell asleep.
A few hours later I woke up and Jim was outside lighting our untended fire again. He asked me if I thought I was a bottom or a top. I said,
