The Wilderness

As women, we spend a lifetime demanding respect for our person, bemoaning men's sexualization of our bodies as mere tools for their selfish pleasure. Nonetheless, I had heard many female friends describe occasionally succumbing to the raw eroticism of animalistic and anonymous sex, debasing themselves in ways they could never have imagined for the sexual excitement of the experience alone. Usually done in secret, it was a decision they justified by having made the choice themselves. A conscious and intentional exploration of their sexual boundaries, instead of being raped or assaulted against their will. Nonetheless, it remained one of their most closely guarded and guilty secrets, too ashamed for anyone to know what they'd done.

The lore was that every woman does it at least once in her life.

Walking down the beach to reflect, I wondered at my behavior. Once past the initial shock and shame, I considered Why and What I'd gotten out of it. Was I trying every sexual escape once, to get it out of my system? Was I trying to prove something to myself about being the mistress of my own destiny, willing to make the most difficult and humiliating choices? Or was I trying to fully free my sexual Being of any remaining constraints or social limitations as to what is 'right' or 'proper' for a Good Girl? Did I just want to 'try it' once in my life?

The Sex and Lovemaking of the previous days I could understand. My sexual assault on my lovers of last night, which had started out so tenderly, I could not explain.

Returning to our site an hour later, the guys had broken down camp and loaded up everything but the duffle bag containing my clothes. Again, for reasons unexplained, they were both mostly clothed, but this time I didn't react. Instead, I copied them, donning my bikini, shorts and shirt over my painful, unwashed and reeking body.

Attempting some form of normality, I held out a tube of sunscreen toward Davey. With clear relief in his face, he smiled and explained we were only an hour's paddle from the next base camp, where we expected to meet the girls that afternoon. With the over-cast skies, he didn't feel he needed any sunscreen.....which also explained the sudden propriety of shorts and shirt.

All conversation uncomfortably petering out, I climbed into the bow of the canoe, staring out at the far end of the lake. There was nothing left to say.

I guess they knew I was on a personal journey, perhaps on the verge of a crisis. Trying to intervene was not welcome at this time. Instead, they took at face value my comments from days prior about working this out on my own. They decided to act as normal as possible, allowing me to find my own way to acceptance and salvation. They assumed I would tell them when I needed help.

Despite the Bowman being the traditional navigator position, I spent the next hour blindly paddling, lost in thought. Looking back, it was highly unfair of me. It was one thing to be catatonic dead-weight to them from the middle of the canoe. Wholly another to take on a position of responsibility and not hold up my end of the bargain. In fact, had I been more aware, I would have noticed them counter-paddling and over-steering to correct our course to the required river inlet connecting the lakes. I had been leading us in the wrong direction.

Recounting it today, I am doubly ashamed of both my own behavior, but also my disrespect for my friends, who clearly recognized my troubled state and went out of their way to correct for my continuing irrational behavior.

Eventually, we pulled up onto a wide beach that was to be our meeting spot for the group. Silently we went about our familiar routine of setting up the camp kitchen, conspicuously not setting up the 'guys tent' should someone notice the absence of my smaller tent. We'd pitch our tent once nightfall and dinner had distracted our guests.

Our arrival early and task list relatively short, we found ourselves with little to do. I sat down on the sand to look out over the lake, as the guys quietly joined me in silent solidarity. After almost an hour unmoving and quiet, I noticed a small black blotch on the lake grow into an obvious group of canoes heading out way.

Standing, I wiped sand off my backside, announcing,

"Well, here they come."

Turning to them, I reached out and grabbed both guys affectionately by their arms and smiled.

"Thank You. You have no idea what your......friendship...... means to me. I love you....both", aware of the weight of my words.

With clear relief on their faces, we turned to watch the arriving flotilla and waved, as sounds of excited female voices carried across the lake.

CHAPTER 10

Jumping ashore, the once timid and giggly girls of two weeks ago had been replaced with confident and skilled young women. Without instruction or hesitation, they unloaded their canoes and stacked them with well-rehearsed routine, their casual conversations continuing as they went about their tasks.

Looking at them I noticed their once well-coifed uniform "look" of affluent teenagers had strayed into an odd assortment of vagabond fashion, personal equipment, and grooming as each girl in this now ragtag group had adopted her own identity and style over the course of the week. Some barefoot, while others sported ripped sneakers 'repaired' with duct tape, or sandals, some with mismatched socks. Bathing suits were mixed with now ripped blouses. Capri pants matched to filthy t-shirts. In one case I noticed two friends sharing the same distinctive bikini; One wear the bottoms, while the other wore the top. Despite the summer heat, some girls had piled their hair under knit caps. Scabbed-over cuts, sunburns and an over-all level of filth prevailed. In general, it looked like a bus from skid-row had disgorged an army of vagrants. The only thing common to all of them was their joyous smiles that warmed my heart. It had obviously been a transformative adventure.

Linda trudged wearily up the beach with a barely contained grin, followed by the straggling and exhausted mothers.

"I need to talk to you in a few minutes", Linda muttered upon passing us, dumping her bags and paddle against a log.

Following closely behind her were a group of girls who approached me.

"Miss Wilson. We are STARVING! We had to cook everything ourselves, which was a disaster at first. But we got better and didn't starve to death. I know its early, but can we go ahead and get started on dinner? We'll handle the whole thing. You just sit back and relax."

Looking at the guys, who could barely contain their snorting laughter, and noticing a smirk from Linda, I replied in awe.

"Uh, sure! Go for it. Everything is basically set up. The menu is in that notebook, and you'll find the food boxes laid out in the red and blue plastic bins. Be sure to wash your hands first. One the guys will help light the stove when you're ready", looking over to Bo and Davey who nodded their agreement.              

Over the next hour I sat and watched amazed as the girls organized themselves and looked to be preparing a reasonably edible meal. The guys hovered nearby, only occasionally helping or making minor suggestions. Not surprisingly, the girls seemed happy to accept their 'help' with more grace than had I or one of the other women tried to intervene. Whispered giggles to one another each time the guy's backs were turned, were the only signs these were still young girls at heart. Boys were still a happy mystery to them.

I was humbled and embarrassed to realize that in my narcissism of the last couple weeks over my own problems, I'd forgotten the true purpose of this trip. I was happy to realize that, in some small way, I was part of this transformation in their lives. Looking at two of my students, I didn't recognize the shy, timid girls who'd sat in my class all year. They were now Women. I felt emotional considering that maybe someday my own daughter might be making this journey.

"Pretty amazing isn't it", said Linda, who'd sat down next to me unnoticed.

"Yeah. I'm actually sorry I missed some of it over the last few days."

"No, you don't!", said Linda with a dramatic groan. "What you are seeing now is the result of constant drama and chaos....and tears. LOTS of tears. I now understand you American's fascination with guns. I was sorely tempted to use one several times this week Initially on them. And then on myself! But that motley crew survived and I'm proud of them. Now the mothers, I don't know........... ", as she looked over with a scowl at the five women struggling to set up their tents, despite almost two weeks practice. Looking back my way, she added.

"Hey, listen. I just learned a couple nights ago that they have some sort of secret ritual toward the end of the trip. I'm unclear exactly what's involved, but supposedly the women who've been on this trip before, either as students or adults, initiate the new girls with some private ceremony. Personally, its sounds a little weird to me, but I guess I get it."

Linda continued. "I don't know what's exactly involved. If they dance around a bon-fire, giving each other charcoal tattoos, swearing blood oaths with cut fingers, or some other creepy sorority hazing like lighting tampon earrings or swallowing a tadpole. But its secret and they've made it clear that they'd appreciate it if I fucked off tonight. So, do you mind if I crash with you guys tonight?"

As her stare bored into me, I felt sudden panic at the implications of her request. How would I explain my sleeping arrangements? Did our tent and blankets still reek of sex? I THINK she had seen me exit the guy's tent early that morning a week ago, but I wasn't sure.

Over our last few encounters, I noticed that Linda and I increasingly got along. About the same age and status, we'd quickly respected each other as experienced Outdoors Women, but we hadn't lost ourselves in female chatter about our personal lives.

As the 'School Representative' on this trip, I knew enough about her to be supremely confident that Linda would safely return the girls to the Base Camp on time and unscathed. Hence my decision to travel onward with the guys, a little defensive that I still took my legal and ethical responsibilities toward the girls seriously, despite my personal conduct over the last week or so.

But..........yeah? What to do about my "special situation" with the guys?

Our 'behavior' had not negatively impacted the trip or the group. We'd been discrete. To the best of my knowledge, no one knew, or suspected. I hadn't noticed any pointed looks from the other moms. Moreover, I consoled myself that what we did as adults in private was no one else's business.

Nonetheless, technicalities aside, how do you explain a married, middle-aged woman, in a position of authority, getting fucked almost every night by her TWO male subordinates? No matter how you tried to dress up that pig, it still stunk. I was unsure what to do. Suddenly the consequences of what would happen if this got out into the real world terrified me.

What would the school say?

Would I lose my job? Almost certainly.

What about my husband?

The thought made me quake. All of a sudden, being a 'free and liberated woman' seemed a little-less liberating. On a personal level, I still didn't regret my actions because of how it made me feel about myself. But, back out in Real World...........??

Seeing the alarm in my eyes, she raised a knowing eyebrow and rescued me from spiraling panic.

"I noticed a nice beach about a half-kilometer away. Since you've not yet set up your tent..... ", she emphasizing the singular form of the noun, "....... I suggest we paddle down after dinner and leave these girls to their ceremonial bloodletting. Is that OK?"

I knew my eyes were wide in confusion, but I felt I could only silently nod slowly in agreement.

"Great! I'll get my gear and dump it in your canoe. I'm sure you will want to tell the guys........" looking at me with another hard look full of hidden meaning.

Unlike me, whose initial response was terror at being exposed, the guys stood stunned for a moment before both breaking out into stifled laughter.

"Taylor. Relax. It will be alright. We can explain about the storm and your tent. We'll tell Linda that we didn't want to explain the situation last week in front of all the girls and moms, because....well, because of how it might look. Believe it or not, Bo and I CAN control ourselves. We will be on our best behavior, promise. We are all adults and professionals. It's just a tent to sleep in...but if you are concerned, you can probably sleep with Linda in her tent."

It seemed like the best choice from a bunch of not-great options.

After dinner, one of the mother's took charge and started to order the girls around to prepare a large bon-fire. That was our queue to leave.

Pushing our now mostly empty freight canoe into the water, we took up staggered paddle positions around a small pile of personal bags.

"Gentlemen, there is a small inlet and beach on the North shore of the lake, about one klick, along this side. I gave Stacey Winston the FRS radio and flares just in case there is a problem and we need to get back quickly. I told them to have at it. Dance around the bon fire naked, howl at the moon. Pierce each other's nipples. Whatever. We'll be back by 0800 hours tomorrow morning. They better have our breakfast ready for us!"

A little shocked at her candid vulgarity, I looked at the guys chuckling as we started to paddle, the small load and four experienced paddlers causing the canoe to almost leap across the water. Arriving at the beach she'd described, we stacked our small load in a natural grassy clearing.

"You guys set up your shelter. Ms. Wilson and I will secure the canoe and collect some firewood", as she stomped back down toward the beach. Looking at each other with comical surprise, the guys shrugged and got to setting up the tent, while I hurried to catch up to Linda.

Linda and I chatted amiably for 20 minutes while we heaved the canoe higher on the beach, flipping and securing it with a rope to a nearby tree. Returning to the now erected tent with arms full of dried branches, the guys were just finishing lighting our own campfire as dusk was settling in.

Standing around uncomfortably wondering what to do next, Linda grabbed her canvas backpack and threw it into the dark of the open tent.

"I hope you don't mind. I figured your tent was large enough for one more, so I left my mine at the other camp. I don't know about you, but I feel slimy and gross after a long day. I'm going to jump in the lake before bed."

With that, Linda proceeded to kick-off her canvas shoes, unbuttoned her shirt, and pushed down her cut-off jean shorts. Turning to face the lake, she pulled off her sports bras and stepped out of her modest purple hipster panties, throwing them onto the pile of clothes at her feet before marching with complete nonchalance down to the shore, her naked fleshy bottom jiggling with each step as I watched in astonishment. Looking at the guys, they again shrugged and disrobed, following Linda into the water, disoriented by this surreal situation as their firm buttocks marched in unison to the water.

Now, more embarrassed by my prudishness than any apprehension over our nudity, I also shed my clothes and followed them into the lake, their dark forms quietly swimming around in the twilight.

Other than a few sighs and groans at the refreshingly cool water, we didn't say much. Still feeling a little unsettled despite the guys and Linda's casual demeanor, I left the water first and entered the tent, feeling somewhat panicked that I needed to set up some defined sleeping areas and don some modest sleepwear. Hearing them coming up the beach sooner that I'd expected, I scrambled comically, accomplishing neither task before they entered, dripping wet, balled-up clothes in hand.

"Well, isn't this a little Shangri La! I really like it guys. Old School. I sometimes forget how comfy traditional canvas wall tents are. Modern light-weight synthetic tents are convenient, but if you can afford the space and weight, these sure feel like home."

As Linda looked around in admiration, I couldn't help but notice her full dark bush of pubic hair, wide hips and thick thighs. I'd spotted her hairy armpits and hairy legs before, but I confess her thick and untamed crotch surprised me. More surprising, despite her 'solid' frame, she had very small breasts. Basically flat-chested, save for two modest pointed mounds, they were capped with small areolas and unusually long, jutting nipples, now erect from the cool evening air. They looked like dark crayons snapped in half.

Embarrassed by my overt appraisal of this nude woman, I forced myself to look around to find everyone else doing the same. We were all gawking at each other.

"Hey! Is that smell what I think it is?!?", exclaimed Linda, as I flushed with embarrassment at what I feared was the residual scent of our sexual marathon of the last few nights.

"That smells like weed! Is that even legal here? It is at home, for recreational use only. But I haven't toked up in almost a month. I was worried there might be a piss-test by the school."

Looking at Linda with open admiration, Davey was finally able to tear his gaze away from her naked body and dove into his bag to emerge with his birthday box, which he dramatically opened for Linda to inspect. Looking into his open duffel, Linda exclaimed.

"Holy Crap! Is THAT what I think it is?!", as she reached in to pull out the half-full bottle of Whiskey.

"Oh My God! I LOVE this stuff. I know it's terribly forward and rude of me, but can I have a small dram? Like most Canadians, I'm mostly Scottish ancestry. I remember my grandfather giving me my first taste when I was a little girl. I can't afford it very often now, but a good Single Malt Scotch brings back happy memories for me".

For the first time I noticed a crack in Linda's hardn and professional demeanor, a hint of warm emotion as she recalled a little girl and her beloved grandfather.

Ever the perfect host, Bo jumped in immediately. "But of course. That's a brilliant idea! Double-D, roll the ladies a joint, whilst I get some glasses."

I confess to being a little blind-sided at this turn of events. My worry about an uncomfortable explanation for my mixed-gender cohabitation had changed in moments to unashamed candor at our illicit contraband.

Far away from our young charges, doing God-knows-what down the lake, we were breaking out the alcohol and marijuana, both a big No-No by school policy. Suddenly at ease, I almost burst out laughing at the site of Bo crouching down, his large black testicles hanging heavily below his clenched ass as he dug around his bag. It was just all so surreal.

Looking toward Linda, she'd sat down, now lounging against a box, one knee drawn up, the other leg stretched out. It was a very typical male pose, relaxed and uncaring that her female genitalia were now fully on display. Despite her thick mound of pubic hair, her spread legs framed her maroon-colored pussy lips and prominent clitoris poking out from her slit. Despite having been an OB/GYN nurse, this was the first time I'd seen another woman's genitals up close outside of a sterile medical setting. I marveled at the comfort in which Linda made no effort to hide or disguise her personality or her private parts.

"Oh my God, you have no idea how much I've looked forward to just cutting loose and relaxing. I know what my job is on this trip, but its 24/7 of setting a good example and leading. If it was just the girls, it would be OK. I already know a couple of them snuck some beer and a couple joints in their bags. But the mothers are making me crazy. Hypocritical bitches! One minute bragging about all the extramarital dick they are getting. The next, giving the girls crap for sneaking a couple sips of beer with their friends in the safe privacy of their tents."