The Wilderness

Looking at my companions I noticed their sweat-drenched bodies, again suddenly self-conscious of my own exposed chest covered only in a modest orange nylon bathing suit top. I chastised myself for bringing two bikinis which were obviously better suited to relaxed sunbathing on a beach, rather than the vigorous physical activity we'd been engaged in.

At the time of packing for this trip I'd rationalized the decision over one-piece bathing suits for the greater flexibility, quick washing and drying, and layering a bikini afforded. Moreover, I was expecting to be mostly in the company of women. With some chagrin I had to admit to myself that part of my choice may have been driven by my desire to 'hold my own' physically with these lithe teenage girls and their gym-queen mothers. While I felt my body was still holding up well despite my rapidly approaching middle-age, I had not fully considered the audience of my current traveling companions.

Thus far, I'd not noticed any overt attention at my hard-to-miss womanly attributes, but I also knew I was deluding myself if I honestly believed Davey and Embo had not noticed my 'bodacious boobs', as my husband would say. They had been getting in my way for most of my life....

.....or at least my vanity secretly hoped they had noticed. Otherwise, I'd be mortified if the woman I'd become didn't even merit a second look by the opposite sex. I reminded myself that there were more eye-pleasing examples of young womanhood waiting for us just a few more miles up the lake, but my self-esteem was causing conflicting feelings in me.

Wrapping up lunch, both guys wordlessly walked a few feet into the forest, clearly unbuttoning their rafting shorts to drain their bladders. Once again, I was reminded of the special challenges my gender caused me. I didn't need to pee now, but knew that I'd eventually have to attend to my own more exposed method soon.....and over the weeks to come. Maybe at the next stop, I'd 'go for a swim', ostensibly to cool off, while attending to a few matters in the privacy below water.

Despite my half-hearted offer to take a more challenging post in the canoe, the guys again insisted that they could handle the next leg. They assured me not to worry. I'd get my turn.

As another few hours of mostly silence ensued, the sun beat down harder, causing me to set my paddle athwartships while I liberally applied sunscreen all over my bare shoulders, back and chest. Resigning myself to the inevitable exposure of my private person, I bravely applied lotion to my breasts, reaching down into my top, then unbuttoning my shorts and dropping them to mid-buttocks so that I could apply lotion to my lower back and thighs. Even had they noticed, I'm sure the guys had 'seen it all before' and I was going to have to resign myself that over the course of the next few weeks, we'd probably be seeing a lot more of one another.

By mid-afternoon, we heard them before we saw them; Our group of cheerful adventurers from the happy voices and splashing echoing across the lake. Rounding the next corner, we were immediately spotted, and a roar of excitement filled the air as the "snack wagon" had arrived. Approaching their landing site, I noticed that the adults appeared equally happy to see us..... especially Linda, the hired canoe guide.

Within moments, Davey and Embo were unpacking our floating chuck-wagon and was setting up the kitchen station, unloading food and gear without uttering a word. I guess, as the only two males in this group of 19 females, they had assumed that I would handle the coordination and communications: woman to woman, adult to adult.

Since food is the magic elixir for tired and cranky people, I immediately opened the "cracker barrel" of mixed nuts, cheese, crackers, jerky, chocolate, M&M's, and dried fruit. Within a couple minutes four pounds of the snacks were gone and their now sated stomachs took on a new joyous tone.

As I surveyed the area, planning in my mind the order of setting up dinner, I noticed a couple of the mothers staring at me. Immediately conscious of my poorly-supported bosom I returned immediately to the canoe to don my now dry shirt. It became clear I'd have to watch myself, the "judgement" of these women probably a bigger concern than any boyish curiosity on the part of my male companions. Maybe, after a few days of roughing it in the great outdoors, the matrons of this expedition would eventually relax the modesty standards clearly still in effect.

Much to my surprise I was approached by Linda, the hired canoe guide, who greeted me with significantly more warmth and respect than 24 hours prior. Probably underestimating her task, and likely now aware of my capabilities and credentials, she suggested that we spend some time coordinating the next few weeks. A little tired and short-tempered, it took all my willpower not to remind her we could have, and should have, done that before we set off the day before. Nonetheless, societal expectations of feminine politeness prevailed. We chatted amiably, she clearly trying to establish a positive relationship with an ally.....and was probably not in a big hurry to get back to mingling with the other mothers, who clearly had become more surly than the day prior.

Before I knew it, almost two hours had passed. It was the wafting aroma of dinner about to be served that got my attention. Looking over to the corner of camp, the guys had set up the kitchen and had the meal essentially complete, tin plates and utensils noisily being stacked on folding table-tops. Several of the teenage girls were hovering, either checking out the "older boys" or fascinated at the gender role reversal of "men in aprons". Embo was even wearing a tall, white chef's hat, either in jest or seriousness, I wasn't sure?

Topping off the surreal postcard scene, Davey began to ring a dinner triangle, to great cheers from the assembled women. Again, I started to laugh, my long-ignored bladder reminding me I needed to find relief before I had an accident. Quickly noticing a trail of beaten down bushes, I followed it deep into the woods, finding a small clearing now strewn with clumps of toilet paper and barely covered mounds of human waste and female sanitary supplies littering the open ground. Sensitive to the fact that many of the girls were facing the biological practicalities of outdoor living for the first time, I did commit myself to speaking to Linda about this. 'Leave No Trace' practices would need to be explained to them in gory detail.

Sheepishly, I rushed over to the guys to convey my sincere apologies for abandoning them to do all the work, while I'd gossiped like a bunch of chickens.

"Guys! I am SOOOO sorry!!!. I got caught up with Linda and didn't notice the time. I can't believe it. You should have come over to get me. This is NOT what I wanted. I'm so embarrassed!"

Thankfully, both smiled, twinkles in their eyes.

"That's OK Taylor. You can owe us.....and believe me we will make you pay", Davey said teasingly.

Embo, laughing deeply, adding, "Taylor, we know you were busy! Frankly, better you than us dealing with that group. If we can limit our interaction to mealtimes, I think both Double-D and I will survive this misadventure without cracking!"

I was relieved to see that they were not angry. Nonetheless, I insisted that I lead the Clean Up Brigade, enlisting the girls to scrape, scrub and rinse, as a good life lesson and part of their outdoor experience.

After almost 90 minutes of cleaning chaos, I was dismissing the last of my young workers when Davey approached me with a bundle in his arms.

"Where do want me to set up your tent?" he asked.

"Uh? What? Where did you guys set up?", I asked, confused and a little surprised I'd not considered the matter before now. I guess propriety required that I sleep 'with the women', but in truth I just assumed the guys would be sleeping with the group.

"Usually, Bo and I use a canvas shelter near to canoes. It's very roomy and comfortable. And gives you ladies more privacy."

Looking over toward their campsite about 100 feet away from the main camp, I noticed a large square canvas tent set up, its open end facing a small bonfire Embo was tending.

"Anyway, Bo snores and...", whispering dramatically, "... I'm told that I sometimes fart in my sleep...." laughing, a naughty grin on his face. "We are better off over there. We don't want to interrupt the slumber party of frilly nightgowns, pillow fights, nail painting and practice kissing...."

"Ha. Ha. In your dreams!" I replied. Taking my tent from him, I turned to survey the female area with some trepidation. Didn't Davey know that girls also snore and fart! And here there were 19 of us!

"Taylor. You did a great job today. We know you are a Pro, but it's been a while and you got back into it with no problems. You don't know how happy we are that you are on this trip. Good night. Have a good sleep."

Feeling myself getting a little emotional over this sincere praise, but also sad at being abandoned, I watched as he turned and returned into the twilight toward his camp.

Finding a quiet corner to set up my small modern hiking tent, I joined the women around a large bonfire, listening in on stories of fashion, music, social media, and boys.

Looking over toward the guy's camp, I could see the glow from the embers of their fire, the sounds of low male laughter and splashing water coming from the unseen shoreline, the waning moon and cloud-cover keeping things dark and mysterious.

The next morning, I was frustrated to find I was not the early riser I believed myself to be. While no other women were stirring, both guys were already at the kitchen quietly starting breakfast, the water for coffee just starting to boil.

Unaccustomed to my feeling of unwashed scumminess, I noticed that the guys both appeared freshly shaved, washed and in clean shirts. What the hell! I was thanking God I didn't have a mirror handy. I almost tried to check my reflection in one of the large shiny pots but resisted. I didn't want to know how badly I looked.

As usual, the smell of coffee and cooking bacon enticed the ladies, young and old alike, to emerge from their tents, a line of women quickly forming up along the pathway into the woods. Feeling a sudden urgent need to pee myself, and ashamed I hadn't planned better before 'rush-hour', I walked well down past the guy's camp, around the next corner of the lake. Finding some tall grasses to squat in, I was able to look back toward the camp. I could see Embo checking up on me, but confident that the privacy of my morning ablutions was intact.

As agreed with Linda the night before, the flotilla would be responsible for their own lunch from the supplies we carried. The guys and I would pack-up and head to the next camping spot, setting up for dinner in a more leisurely fashion. In fact, it was Linda's desire to be true to the ethos of this trip by weaning the women off nightly room service and catered meals....."no matter how cute the kitchen staff is." I had laughed, but privately felt a little possessive of "my guys".

Depending on how things went, she had hoped to plan increasingly longer self-supported legs of two to four days where the girls would be learning to fend for themselves. We'd meet them at selected points along the way to resupply and provide a "hot meal". All of this was subject to circumstances at that time, but I confess I was feeling a bit more respect for Linda and the parents for these kids. They wanted their daughters to grow into independent young women and I shouldn't judge them so quickly, as I felt I had been judged.

And so, after another crazy group departure, the guys and I enjoyed an hour of golden calm as we packed our canoe and cleaned up the camp site. Catching up, we exchanged niceties such as "how did you sleep?" and it was clear the guys had enjoyed a more fun and restful night than I. There was no mention of any snoring or farting.

Feeling like we'd now mastered the full set-up and tear-down procedure for a 24-hour period, we climbed into our mighty ship more relaxed and happier.

Quickly adopting the judgement-free zone of outdoor fashion, the guys stripped down to swim shorts and hats. Resigning myself to pragmatism over prudishness, I hesitantly removed my shirt and shorts, stepping into the middle of the canoe in my yellow string-bikini and rafting sandals, as I pulled my hastily tied ponytail through my wide-brimmed sun hat. As before, I didn't notice any obvious gawking, but I couldn't help feeling somewhat exposed and shy. But I reminded myself that my attire was entirely appropriate, no different than any day at the beach or boating. Anyway, I had a lot of tanning to catch up on after a long and dark Northern winter.

More importantly, my limited wardrobe meant I'd need to hand-wash some items very soon if I was to continue being welcome company in close quarters. Even so, I blushed looking down at my bikini line, realizing I'd probably need to be more attentive of some personal hygiene and grooming. Hoping we'd make it to the next camp site before the group arrived this afternoon, I'd probably find a private spot to do some hand laundry and put the travel razor I'd borrowed from my husband to good use. After all, I had my standards. If the guys were able to find time to shave and bathe, then so should I. Heck, a little stubble would look rugged and handsome on them. The "stubble" I was concerned about would be just the opposite on me. Gross.

Like the day before, the weather was perfect and conversation sparing, so as to fully enjoy the majestic landscape around us. After a quick lunch and dip in the water to cool off, I adopted the guy's routine, unashamedly walking into the woods for a private pee.

Over the course of the day, I'd began to forget that I was only wearing a bikini and paid little attention to maintaining lady-like decorum. I paddled, jumped in and out of the canoe, climbed over bundles of cargo and bent over to scoop cooling lake water into a pail to dump over myself....vaguely aware of everything jiggling and presenting views normally reserved only for my husband. I'd resigned myself to the fact that I was a woman. They, and I, would have to deal with it.

But........ I admit, there we a few moments when my forced nonchalance almost crumbled that day.

Once, as we rounded a bend in the river, Embo called back to Davey in the steering position to warn of a 'deadhead', a floating log half submerged in the water, risking a dangerous collision on our present course. We didn't want this ship to suffer the same fate as the Titanic, no matter the other similarities.

Embo yelled out, "Hey Double D, we're about to get a hard poke coming your way!".

Caught daydreaming, this statement caught me off guard. I'm embarrassed to admit that I was immediately defensive, assuming this was some crude comment about my size 36 DD breasts.

Since I was already feeling a little awkward about the male/female dynamic between us, I assumed they were talking about me!

Flustered at this sudden lack of respect and inappropriate comment, I was about to firmly say, "Excuuuuuuuuuse ME?!?!?!", but by the time I'd summoned the indignation to admonish them, Davey replied immediately with a loud "Thanks Bo!!".

A bit shellshocked, Embo remained facing forward, so I turned to look back at Davey who was intently searching forward for the deadhead. Noticing me staring at him, he briefly looked at me and flashed a quick smile, immediately returning his concentration forward of our little ship. Confused I sat silent for a moment trying to gather myself, increasingly ashamed that I had reacted the way I did.

Still puzzled, I clumsily asked, "What's Double D?"

To which Davey immediately replied, "David Dwayne......as in David Dwayne Thompson, the 3^rd ", all the while continuing his focused vigil for the floating log ahead.

Of course! Taylor, you're an ass, I told myself. Upon reflection, I had heard Embo call Davey "Double D" before, but at the time I had not taken any notice of it. While I was relieved the explanation was an innocent misunderstanding on my part, I realized I was more concerned about these young men not respecting me, than I was being the target of some immature joke.

Therefore, I was doubly angry with myself later that day when, over the course of shifting some bundles around in the middle of the canoe to stretch my legs, the tie at the back of my bikini top came loose. Leaning over into the water to provide powerful paddle strokes, unbeknownst to me it must have come fully untied, my breasts suddenly free to swing around unhindered.

As my top now dangled uselessly from a strap around my neck, I had no idea how long I'd been completely bare, my boobs swaying below me like some cow's udder. I was appalled. And furious that I hadn't even noticed the loss of support (as minimal as it may have been) or the sensation of my hardening nipples out in the open air, now pointing for all the world to see.

To the best of my knowledge Bo had not turned around, and Davey......now forever Double D in my mind...... seated in the rear, could only see my upper back and shoulders over the pile of bags stacked between us.

Perhaps it was the heat of the day, poor sleep the night before, fatigue or my body reacting to these embarrassing situations, but I fumed at both the injustice of society's judgement of women's bodies, and my own hypocritical reactions. On one hand I was congratulating myself on our mature relationship, the guys being complete gentlemen and never once making me feel uncomfortable. On the other hand, I was acutely aware that I was a woman, they were men, and that my body was on display, if inadvertently. Cynically, I mused; Was I upset because they might look.....or because they hadn't?!?!

These were the type of conversations I began to have with myself as the hours of mostly silent repetitive motion lulled me into a trance-like state of self-reflection. Despite the two people working ahead and behind me, I felt isolated amongst the bundles of supplies in which I sat. Listening to the gurgling of water as the canoe pressed forward with each paddle stroke, I tasted the salty beads of sweat dripping off my forehead, my eyes squinting, the bright sun beating down on my shoulders as I stared vacantly at the passing shoreline.

As we entered a large lake a short while later, Bo called out.

"There's the Hen Party. 12 O'clock, about a kilometer."

As both 'Davey' (I remained too embarrassed to use the "Double D" innuendo out loud) and I strained our necks to see over the load in the canoe, the site of our little fleet of adventurers came into view. Within the hour we'd caught up with them mid-lake, only another mile from our destination for the night. So much for my planned couple hours of peace and privacy, I realized.

Now three days into what must have been a mental and physical challenge none had experienced before, the gay laughter and excitement of the girls and women of the preceding days had been replaced with silent concentration, everyone no doubt focused on "almost there. Just a few more paddle strokes". At least they all appeared to have mastered basic canoeing skills as all nine canoes kept an even pace, only Linda periodically calling out some command.

Reaching tonight's camp spot together, the evening was a repeat of the night before, but with all the teenagers noticeably subdued and exhausted. Due to the shape and size of our landing beach, the guys were unable to establish their little oasis of peace far away from the main group. Instead, they pitched their shelter just on the other side of the beached canoes.

Once again, while the three of us chatted amiably over dinner preparations and clean-up, I later felt rather hurt and excluded as the guys abruptly retreated once more to their tent, finding myself standing awkwardly alone, as most of the young girls had left in exhaustion to sleep and the six women settled in around a small campfire.