Why would I write about a hair restoration product?
I wouldn't.
There was a sport called "rogaine" or "rogaining" forty one years before the prescription drug came on the market in 1988.
To paraphrase Wikipedia, "rogaining" is an orienteering sport of long distance cross-country navigation, involving both route planning and navigation between checkpoints using maps, or for neophytes GPS. In a rogaine, teams of 2-5 people choose which checkpoints to visit within a time limit with the intent of maximizing their score. Teamwork, endurance, competition, and an appreciation for the natural environment are features of the sport. Championship rogaines can be 24 hours long, or even over several days, but rogaines for neophytes can be as short as two hours.
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When I met my future husband Bob Carleton we were both sophomores at Carleton College (no Bob's family didn't found it, nor did he get a discount on tuition) in Northfield, Minnesota. Northfield has as a claim to historical fame that in 1876 the notorious outlaw Jesse James was denied his attempt to rob the Northfield Bank, and four members of his gang were killed in a gunfight with townspeople.
Carleton College puts a premium on independent thinking, physical fitness (all students have to pass a swimming test to graduate - no joke), and respect for the environment, all of which attracted both Bob and myself to the school. Bob started a rogaine club his freshmen year and I joined my sophomore year.
Bob and I clicked right from the start. Some of my happiest memories from college are of him fucking my brains out in some secluded cabin, or even under a star-filled sky, in preparation for, after, or sometimes even during, a rogaine.
After college we got married and both got jobs in fields we were interested in in Minneapolis. I kept my maiden name of Amy Brattle, which worked to our advantage in the business world since - in all modesty - Bob and I are better than average looking, and exceptionally fit, and it didn't hurt to have potential clients or customers fawning over us. We never wore our wedding rings except when out together, or at parties where we knew the other revelers. That did not indicate, however, that we had an open marriage, were swingers, or anything of the sort. In fact, both Bob and I considered fidelity the number one quality for a successful marriage and I never strayed, and I doubt that he did either.
Bob is an exceptional husband and lover; he loves me with all of his heart, could not possibly treat me better, and usually is kind, considerate, and charitable to everyone. The only two qualities that he has that I have even the slightest complaint about are jealousy and an intense reaction if wronged (by someone outside the family; inside he doesn't even seem to be bothered).
You would think - based upon our description of how and when we wore our wedding rings - that jealousy wouldn't be an issue. However, it is. Whenever we are together he winces whenever he sees me talking to a guy he doesn't know, and on three occasions he came to blows with guys; one was just, one not (in my opinion), and the third marginal. Fortunately none of the three guys - and one of the guy's buddies who intervened - that he kicked the shit out of pressed charges primarily because it was too embarrassing to them how easily they got their clocks cleaned by Bob.
As far as his reaction when wronged, he quit one job because of it, stopped doing business at three different establishments, and had another episode of shit-kicking a guy (again without repercussions).
We continue serious rogaining, and have every intention of doing so at least until we have kids. The first four years of our marriage we participated in at least two dozen rogaines at all times of year, some of which either Bob or I organized - but in such a way that we never got an advantage. We had all different numbers and types of teammates. Perhaps the three most common arrangements were just Bob and me; three other guys, Bob, and me; and another women, another guy, Bob and me. We knew all of our normal standard teammates well and got along despite that fact that often during an event there would be heated differences of opinion about subtle aspects of our strategy.
Not to brag, but Bob and I are good at rogaining. In fact in a national couple's event at the start of the third year that we were married we won the national title, and at the start of our fourth year of marriage we came in third in an international couple's event in New Zealand.
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The most grueling rogaine we participated in was a couple of months before our fifth wedding anniversary. It was in Canada with three other guys on our team, all of whom had been teammates in other events, although not all of us on the same team before. Bob and the other three guys are all Alpha males and I vowed before the competition to just let them fight out any differences and not interject my two cents.
This particular rogaine had an unusual format. It was a three day event. Over really harsh wilderness terrain you would go as far as you could for twelve hours, or until you reached an assigned cabin that was part of the orienteering, and then start up again the next day. As usual there were points for time, distance, and locations.
All five of us were beat after the first day, but we were quite certain that we were in either first or second place when we reached the first night's cabin. We ate heartily and then virtually passed out. During less intense events Bob and I loved to fuck - and we always slept together - but that night we could barely move.
The second night, after the most physically taxing twelve hours of my life (we went about forty three miles on foot through almost impossible terrain and canoed about three miles upstream), we were even more tired when we reached the desired cabin than we had been the first night. This cabin was the nicest we had ever used in a rogaine - most of the time, if there was a cabin at all, it was primitive. This cabin actually had three bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a living area as well as a small kitchen. The five of us ate a big, but quick, dinner, I showered, and as exhausted as I ever had been in my life started making my way to Bob and my bedroom. Bob was sitting on a padded chair in the living area with his eyes glassed over. I poked him in the ribs; "Get a shower and get to bed doofus; we can win tomorrow," I chuckled.
"I will; I'm just going to stay here a few more minutes," he groggily replied
Two of the other guys, Jake and Stanton, were also in the living room in somewhat better shape than Bob; Brendon was apparently already in bed in a room with bunk beds.
"Make sure that he gets up in a few minutes," I scolded Jake and Stanton.
They grunted, which I interpreted as agreement.
Since it was summer and we had our own room I took the opportunity to sleep in the buff; while the cabin was otherwise comfortable, it was hot. I do believe that I passed out, more than fell asleep, within one minute flat.
I have no idea how much later it was, but I felt Bob come to bed. To my surprise as I lay on my side he started playing with my pussy.
"God, I'm way too tired to fuck, Bob; don't act like an animal," I think that I groaned, although I was way too wiped out to be sure. The way that I left him in the padded chair I was surprised that he had the energy to even finger me, let alone fuck me.
Despite my protest he continued fingering me. Since he was dead on both my clit and G-spot apparently with fingers from both hands, despite my fatigue I started to get aroused. After a couple of minutes I seemed to go into a zone where my fatigue was actually an aphrodisiac, and I not only offered no resistance when he put me on my hands and knees, but participated to the extent that I could.
After obviously tonguing my pussy from behind and playing with my rosebud - both things that I love - I felt his phallus enter my now wet and expectant cunt. I let out a low groan. My groan seemed to be like a starter's pistol going off to Bob since he started pounding my pussy with alacrity. I finally got going enough to - despite my weariness - start banging back. In fact spurred on by his obvious enthusiasm I started pulsing my pc muscles (I do Kegel exercises daily), something that Bob really enjoys. I think he enjoyed it even more than normal since he started moaning and groaning like an old pickup going up Mt. Washington. He was so inspired that he reamed my asshole with one thumb and pinched a nipple with his other hand while continuing to pump like a porn star - a trifecta he rarely had used before, let alone when he had to be as wiped out as I was.
Our climaxes were virtually simultaneous, and epic - with a capital "E"; no, on second thought, EPIC with all caps. It may have been one of the five best orgasms of our lives, and we have always pleased each other so that's saying something. I don't know if my fatigue played a part in it, but whatever it was, I was in heaven.
I don't know how long it was before I passed out again, but I was still basking in classic post-coital bliss when I did, only momentarily revived when Bob pulled his depleted cock out of my steaming vagina.
I had the most peaceful sleep, my mind full of endorphins; then another surprise.
While Bob and I often had sex at night and then around seven o'clock the next morning, he normally wasn't up for two in one night. I have no idea how much time had passed from our first fuck when as I lay on my stomach I felt Bob playing with my asshole. Even though I don't like anal sex nearly as much as vaginal, I'm not averse to it, and even have had mild orgasms from it a few times.
As I moaned something - I don't remember what - trying to dissuade Bob, something had re-energized him because there was no doubt that he was really into it, even licking my rosebud a couple of times, something that he rarely did. I was too tired to get on my knees or help him in any other way, but that didn't dissuade him. After lubricating me with something - I suspect that it was petroleum jelly - he slowly but surely inserted his cock into my anus. After a few seconds of pain - not enough to snap me out of my stupor - I adjusted.
It actually felt good when he stroked in and out with a good deal of enthusiasm, undeterred by my lack of participation. I was surprised when he ejaculated into me that I had a rare mild orgasm. I think that it was a result of the fatigue combined with the endorphins left over from the excellent vaginal fuck I had received some time earlier. He left his cock in me, once in a while seemingly even sputtering in a few more drops, until he went flaccid and withdrew, and then lay next to me with his right hand on my ass.
I sighed, and immediately nodded off again.
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When I woke up the next morning Bob was in a spoon position with his cock in a "morning wood" state and sticking out of a pair of boxers (which he must have put on in the middle of the night) touching my ass. "How in the fuck does he have morning wood after last night?" caromed through my brain.
