Camping 115

I've got to say, camping in the wilderness just does it for me. There's something about the outdoors, stars overhead, fresh air, a huge dose of un-civilization, that is good for my soul and that has drawn me to locations from Hawaii to Minnesota to Florida. For me, it doesn't get much better than being alone next to a fire I've built, near a hammock or tent I'll sleep in, after a meal of grilled steak and fresh vegetables, with a flask of good bourbon and a hemisphere full of stars to bring me into harmony with the universe.

That's what I was after, but that's not what I got, just recently, here in Virginia where I live now. I recognize what category this is, but it's not my wife I'll be telling about - I haven't presently got one (and that's a whole other story for this site, but not now). On the other hand, I think I've got it categorized correctly, and will let you decide.

I'm Tom, in my 40s these days, keep in shape, of acceptable appearance without being a George Clooney by any means, maybe more of a Kris Kristofferson (minus a number of his current years) - with my share of good fortune with the opposite sex over the years, and with comfortable financial resources, yet hardly a 1 percenter. More details may follow.

Anyway, I needed a dose of nature and had been feeling cooped up by my job and the big city-ness of the Washington DC area, so decided to clear a weekend and just head out to a place in the mountains I'd camped at a number of times over the past several years. I'd gotten to know the proprietors of the small campsite that abutted a state park but was on private land. They were nice folks, Jim and Sandy - quiet, maybe even a bit hippie - but welcoming, a little younger than I am - both probably upper 30s - I gotta admit attractive in their way, and they remembered me, maybe aided by my bringing them goodies from time to time such as fresh produce, some craft beer, or some honey I'd come across at a market, as well as helping out from time to time if there were heavy lifting to do around the camp that I could help Jim out with.

I don't know just how they came to either own or just manage those acres of mountain land, but they did. Not being state-administered, they managed to keep a low profile, advertising modestly on a couple of serious hiker/camper websites, signs prohibiting alcohol that were never enforced or even mentioned. They controlled visitors with reservations required for first-timers, and some turned away with no vacancy excuses despite apparently empty sites. They banned pets, which basically allowed them to let in the occasional well-behaved lab or golden as an "exception," while keeping out the pit bulls and shepherds and yappy Chihuahuas and such. Clean bath houses, ample hot water, tent sites, a few RV pads, and a central lodge where they lived were about it. With easily followed paths to the state park's extensive hiking trails, it was perfect for my wants. I'd never seen the park full, so even though it was April and the weather had gotten suddenly warm, I was confident they'd have space open. And it was about as close to wilderness as I could practically get without launching a major logistics project.

I typically picked the most remote site (and all their tent sites seemed remoter than they really were), usually secluded but within a hundred yards of where I could park, and with water faucet, fire ring and picnic table as well as smoothed tent pad. I kept to myself, and just luxuriated. Jim and Sandy came to recognize my need to get away and never intruded. We did have something of a routine in that after dinner I'd frequently end up sitting on their porch at the big log cabin lodge, sipping wine or bourbon and chatting with them before making my way back to my campsite in the dark. Our conversations ranged with our moods, from life stories to reflections on the universe, to one night when I'd had more than a few sips and they got me to vent about my divorce, a good, cathartic, amateur's self-analysis, complete with frustration that my ex had lost her appetite for the adventures of sex, and that while that wasn't the cause of the breakup, it did probably help it along. I shared that a very wise lady had told me once that it takes a year to get over a marriage, so one should take a year off from romance after a divorce was final. I'd taken her seriously, and hadn't dated or pursued anyone since the break-up. I'd also shared that night just how frustrated that left me (despite the outlet of "self-abuse") and how much I was looking forward to my self-imposed year of celibacy ending. I was embarrassed the next day, recalling how much I'd blurted out, but they registered nothing other than casual friendliness when I saw them again.

I was really, really disappointed to pull up to the gate and see a sign saying the park was closed for trail maintenance, due to the previous week's wind storm. Damn! While I like to hike, I couldn't figure why their doing trail maintenance would mean they needed to close the whole park, and since I knew them, I just unlooped the chain that held that sign, drove through, and replaced it behind my SUV, driving up to the office where I'd always dealt with either Jim or Sandy in person to arrange my campsite and pay my fee. I expected to find them, talk them into letting me stay, and then to find that solitude I sought and I knew they had.

Nobody was around, and since I'd worn some loose knit gym shorts (going for comfort there, so no liner, and that day, commando - who was going to see, anyway?), light hiking boots, and a camp shirt, so I went searching, and before long found them, clearing brush and laughing with another couple, also of their age and appearance range. Jim seemed a bit miffed at first, understandably so, that I'd passed by their closed sign, and I apologized as an opener and quickly explained my plan to stay alone, adding that I'd certainly leave if they preferred that. Jim started to say no, but Sandy intervened and said she couldn't see why not, that they knew me, and that maybe I could even help them out. I read into that a thinly veiled quid pro quo - if I'd help clear brush, they'd let me stay. Not exactly what I had in mind, but then she added that with my help, they could wrap up everything in a couple of hours (it was only about noon then), and if I liked, we could all share dinner before turning in for the night. Besides, she said, they'd planned on it taking longer, and would probably keep the park closed the next day, so I could have the run of the place along with them, no other families or disturbances.

I was trapped, but I didn't mind. A couple of hours of physical workout in the woods would be just fine with me, would make dinner taste even better, and would help wash away the urban whatever it was that did need washing away. I quickly agreed.

Jim suggested we split up, with John, Anne (that other couple) and him taking the power saw along the northern trail, where he knew there were some trees fallen over the path, while Sandy and I headed for the southern one, which had sparser growth and needed work and at least a guy's strength at times, but nothing with the big saw.

That was fine with me, and soon Sandy and I had hand saws, shovels, clippers and such hefted on our shoulders and hiked south. Sandy preceded me on the trail, and I got to take a good look at her, being more and more interested as we walked. She wore hiking boots and socks, short camping shorts, and a white tank top that showed no bra line. She's about 5'5, I'd guess, shoulder length strawberry blonde hair kept out of her face with a bandana hair band, freckled a bit and pale complected, with a great ass to follow on a hike - no skinny boy buns, but a firm woman's ass that her camping shorts could not disguise. The backpack she wore just framed her - I'm guessing here - 36Bs, maybe Cs, which are jiggly enough to know they're not fake, and firm enough to rouse the dead, I'd say.

We'd hiked about a mile when we came upon a small tree across the trail, and Sandy said that it was the worst obstacle we really needed to get cleared, that she and Jim had reconnoitered the areas beforehand. So, we set about it, chopping off the branches so we could get to sawing the thinner part of the trunk, then hauling the main trunk off the trail into the woods heave by heave, leaving the pathway clear. It took us about 45 minutes, and was hot work, and we tackled it determinedly, finally resting only when the job was done.

It was then, as we swapped her half gallon jug of water back and forth between us to cool off, that I could see much more of Sandy, thanks to the perspiration that had soaked much of her tank top and still glistened on her face, arms and legs. The result was that the tank top was pretty transparent, and her breasts were on display, the nipples clearly visible, their points indenting the damp material and drawing my eyes magnetically. I don't think my gaze was lost on Sandy. As we drank, I looked back up to her face and saw her smiling, watching me.

"Oops - busted, I guess," I said with a grin.

"Well, it's not like I'm able to do much about how I look right now. I think I'm flattered that you'd be staring in what seems to be appreciation when I'm such a sweaty mess."

"You're hardly a mess, I assure you," I answered, glad she wasn't angry or something. In fact, her hair was tousled, held by a bandana. As I took a moment to look, I ran my eyes over her imperfect features (nose not quite straight, no classic cheekbones, nothing wrong, just not replicating our conventional ideas of beauty). Yet the package worked nicely, made her look attractive, like a woman who was genuinely nice, had a good sense of humor, who might or might not be sexually focused, but who you hoped, realistically or not, was.

"Well, thanks. How's that year of abstinence thing going with you anyway?"

"Ah, that. You remembered my inebriated confessionals. The date was just up a couple of weeks ago, as a matter of fact; but I still haven't done anything, since work has been crazy the past month or so. Now, fortunately, that seems to be taking a break - couple of contracts wrapped up and all that. So here I am, detoxing - I'll get back to socializing after this - or at least I hope I will." Easy enough to talk to, I remember noting - here I was, not having seen her in months, and only occasionally ever, telling her about my sex life. Hmmm.

She laughed, "Well, I guess if you're back in the game, there are some ladies about to get lucky out there." She said this, still standing in front of me, with me trying like hell not to drop my gaze for more than an occasional glance, since those breasts were so lovely.

"You're very kind," I said, gulping some more water while trying to think of something more astute to say.

"Not at all, but a girl knows, you know."

"Knows what?"

"When a man is going to be good in bed," she stated simply, smiling at me.

"Well, you're uh, very, very kind," I stammered, stupidly I'm sure, and in looking down instinctively to the compliment, my gaze was halted by the vision of her nipples, again, which I could have sworn had gotten a bit more defined from just a moment before.

"Hmm..." she said, as she stepped just a bit closer to me than required to take back the canteen. She drank a bit, letting some of it (accidentally?), actually a good bit, cascade down her chin, then from there down her throat, and from there joining the perspiration on her chest and dampening the tank top some more.

"Oops," she laughed, and wiped her front, slowly, with her free hand, further spreading the transparency rather than curing anything. Looking down, we could both see not only the nipples, but the complete shapes of her breasts, clearly visible thanks to her wiping. "Now I'm really on view, aren't I?"

"Well, yes, so you are! And lovely you are indeed." I smiled at her, knowing that my dick, deprived all this time, was far from asleep and seemed eager to join in. Then I remembered my own lack of underwear and realized I'd be tenting if anyone were looking.

And naturally, she decided to be looking. "Goodness, am I having an effect on you?"

"Well, it's not the trees, I can assure you, although there may be a wood component. Sorry if I'm offending." I offered.

"No, no offense. I'm flattered. I guess you really have been on a long dry spell!"

"I have been that, but I think that's not the main reason. You're just a very, very beautiful woman, Sandy." Was that too much of a bullshit sounding line, I worried.

"Well, if that's your story, I'm certainly buying it - but we'd better get back, now that the trail is cleared, so to speak." Then, "'Very beautiful woman' - that has a nice ring - Jim will probably love that."

"Uh, he will? That might be something you choose not to share. I didn't mean to be coming on," I said, more stupid even than before, I sounded.

"Oh, yeah, I'll bet he'll love it - and not be mad - hey, don't worry!"

Meanwhile, I was reviewing: 'trail is cleared, so to speak?' I thought to myself. Was that a come-on, a promise of more in the works, or was the combination of her nearly naked tits and my horniness and all this fresh air making me think in a get-back-to-nature sort of way that wasn't suggested? More research was clearly in order.

We gathered up the tools and followed the rest of the trail back to the camp, making sure nothing new was blocking it. Arriving there in about another half hour, her shirt had dried, my tent had deflated, and I figured I'd just set up camp and that would be that.

So I did - hauling off my tent and pack, spending the next hour or so making it all work, including setting up the fire pit - tinder, twigs, branches and bigger pieces all set up - sleeping bag and gear secured inside the pitched tent, foodstuffs high up in the bear bag, and so forth. Finally, I'd traded boots for sandals, grabbed my camp towel, shaving kit, a clean set of camp shorts and shirt, and set off for the showers, which were only maybe another hundred yards off down the trail, but not visible from my campsite, nor was the main lodge which in turn was another half click from the showers.

At the bath house, I stripped down and attended to digestive processes, wondering if shutting down the camp was going to mean no hot water. Thankfully it didn't, and I took my time, knowing I wouldn't be exhausting their supply with only five people anywhere around. Other than the toilet facilities and sinks, there were individual stalls with wooden doors as well as a communal gang shower area with six showers in one larger area, no doors. I figured I didn't need to get their wooden doors wet and maybe restart mildew or something, so used one in the gang area. Standing there in the warm water, lathering up, my thoughts didn't get far from that bit of flirtation with Sandy - was that an invitation for more, or was she just enjoying my discomfort and playing with my head a bit? And if it were an invitation, was I such a cad as to go behind Jim's back, who'd been a gracious host for some years? I decided that no, I was letting my dick override my brain and that I'd get back to my original plan - away from the city, solo time to detox. As I nobly came to that, I knew my cock was not in agreement. In fact, it had made that known as I soaped up, rising about half way without going any further, but receding only reluctantly. I briefly considered stroking to climax right there, but then decided not to. Nothing like a bit of horniness to put an edge on the dinner for me, I knew.

Exiting the shower, I dried off and, no longer enlarged at all, slung the towel over my shoulder, and headed toward the sink area to brush my teeth. I was naked except for the sandals and knew there would be no other campers necessitating my covering up. As I rounded the corner to the lavatory area, there was Sandy, still dressed in that top and shorts, holding a towel and a bag and some other clothes, and smiling like the Cheshire Cat at my nakedness.

"Oh, didn't I mention? The water's turned off on the women's side for repairs, so we use only this side right now," she grinned. Then, "You look squeaky clean - no, no, don't cover up - I like the view from here."

What could I do? Covering up seemed wimpy, but here was practically in her husband's home, and with her flirting, my dick wasn't listening to me at all, but was stretching itself in some proud return greeting.

"And there you go again, flattering me," she said. "It appears you want to flatter me a lot, and you can flatter me all you like that way," clearly meaning my growing erection, as that's where her gaze was steadily fixated.

"Sandy," I started, unsure of just how to play this, "I don't know about this - if this is the communal shower what about John and Anne, not to mention Jim - I've got a strict personal rule about messing around with other guys' wives, and you're testing that rule mightily."

"Is that the problem!" she exclaimed, rather than asking. "It so turns out John and Anne got a call and had to drive back home, so it will be just the three of us for dinner. As for Jim, as I've hinted, we have talked about this sort of thing, although we've never quite gone through with it. Since John and Anne had to go, it will be especially nice to have you around. And it won't be behind his back - I tell him about everything. If he gets all macho and jealous about it, then I'll take full responsibility and apologize and you'll probably have to pack up and go. He's certainly not the violent type, so I wouldn't worry about that. And if I'm right, he'll want to watch for sure, and join in before it's all done, or at least the next time. It really, really turns him on for me to be turned on, and that itself really turns me on, so it's a win-win all around!"

"Mind if I get some corroboration of that?"

"Oh, no, not at all. But for now, I'm going to shower, and I'd really appreciate it if you'd at least scrub my back - it's so hard to reach some of those areas, you know. C'mon - nothing will happen until you get your corroboration, except I'll get my back scrubbed, and maybe we can find a few areas you haven't reached on yourself as well, if you like." And with that, she tugged off her top and strolled topless past me toward the showers. I turned to watch as she stopped, bent over, tugged down her shorts, stepped out of them and her flip flops, pulled some soap and shampoo out of her bag, and tossed clothes and bag onto the nearby bench, displaying both nice dexterity and a wonderfully shaped derriere. I couldn't tell from the glimpse just what the pubic hair situation was, but it was little or none, and I wondered if she'd shaved her pussy. She turned the water on full and as she stood under it, the water drenching her hair and the rest, called, "Well, are you going to help me out or not?"

"Well, fuck," I thought. "What the hell," my personal integrity, rules and morality all overruled by a burst of carpe diem.

I stepped back into the shower area. Sandy immediately backed into me, my growing dick fitting right between her cheeks, and waggled her tail, which felt pretty terrific to me, and elicited another growth spurt.

"Mmm, nice," she said, and handed the soap and a sponge over her shoulder to me. I backed off far enough to soap her back, scrubbing with the sponge from neck to that glorious area where a woman's waist flares into her hips.

"Lower," she said, and I complied, sponging her ass, each globe, then between and under, finding her pussy with the sponge. She put her hands on the wall, spread her legs, arched her back, and said, "Oh yeah, more, but lose the sponge!"

And so I did, using both hands to lightly massage her soapy back, the suds making it a slip sliding, not a rubbing, then following my sponged trail, kneading her buns and finally reaching down under to rim her anus with my right hand as my left reached around and cupped her left breast. Finally, reaching further, I dipped into her pussy - yes, it was trimmed but not shaved, with wonderfully soft, comparatively sparse, blondish hair - before finding her clitoris with my fingers and playing its quickening tune. Soon, she was shaking and then gasped, "Oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah!!" I kept the pressure on her clit as I snaked my thumb into her pussy and searched for her G spot along the front wall. Apparently that was a good thing to do, as she came, crying softly, almost in a whisper, "Coming now!" I wrapped my left arm under her waist as her legs buckled, and held her up while I played further, faster, being rewarded by another orgasm right on the first's heels. She bucked as I held her fast, and whimpered as it passed through her. Finally, I pulled her to me, she put her arms around my neck, I had just time to adjust my cock to between her legs, as her crotch bent its stiffness downward. She reached up and kissed me, her tongue seeking out mine, and we embraced.