The Wilderness

Joining them I was welcomed, as one of the more vivacious mothers extracted a box of chardonnay wine from her tent, much to the muffled excitement of the other women. As the twilight settled over us, plastic cups were passed around as some of the mothers guiltily looked around to assure that there were no underaged witnesses to the Mom's Happy Hour.

Being tired, sunburned, and stinky can be a great equalizer and I found myself enjoying both the wine and the company. Over the next few hours, and a second box of wine (how many did she bring?), conversations gradually drifted from careers, kids, family, and city politics to women's favorite topic; Men.

While initially a bitch-fest about husbands, which I'm ashamed I joined in on, as the wine flowed the conversation drifted toward more direct and explicit whispered conversations about relationships and sex. Two of women had been recently divorced and were clearly enjoying the freedom they found in their new social lives, while another had just married husband # 2, this time a younger guy with money, as she went into vulgar detail about the frequency and vigor of their lovemaking.

While I considered myself a Woman of the World, I confess to some blushes and girlish giggles at their acrobatic escapades. But, as my alcohol-induced buzz deepened, I began to consider my own life and husband with increasing frustration. Even as some of the women complained about "only getting 'it' a couple times a week", I lamented the fact that my husband and I could count on one hand the number of times we'd had sex in the last year, let alone anything as emotionally satisfying as Making Love.

Feeling the warm and humid night closing in around me, I noticed myself getting agitated as the less bashful ladies continued their tales of multiple orgasms and the various sexual positions they preferred.

Excusing myself under the guise of using the toilet area, I stumbled toward the dark shoreline needing to calm down and catch my breath. As I stood knee deep in the refreshing water, I unbuttoned my now-soaked and pungent shirt to shake some cooling breeze over my sweating torso, watching the moonlight peek out from between the moving clouds. I was feeling morose and sad at my life.

A torrent of thoughts and emotions swirled in my head. A disorganized jumble of memories; From my childhood and adolescence. To snapshots scenes of the beauty and struggles of the last few days. And thoughts of home, my husband, and the family I ached to have.

I'm not sure, but I must have stood there for 20 minutes, unmoving and unaware of my surroundings other than the endless skyline that stretched out over me, the last glimmer of the Sun's light dipping below the distant horizon.

Without conscious awareness, I looked over to my left to some quiet sounds of disturbed water down the Lake. As the clouds skittered across the sky, shafts of moonlight briefly illuminated the water, momentarily revealing a figure standing thigh-high in the water, bent over, plunging something repeatedly into the lake. Obviously one of the guys doing laundry, something I had still failed to do.

However, as the moonlight danced around the dark, I was struck by the imagery of this primitive scene. Out in this great wilderness, the human figure was naked. Obviously male, his broad shoulders and strong legs meeting at firm narrow buttocks. I held my breath as I stared mesmerized at this hypnotic picture, my skin tingling and a warmth growing in the pit of my churning stomach.

I knew that I was intruding on a private moment, aware and ashamed that I was not demonstrating the same respect I would expect from my friends had the situation been reversed. I told myself I should turn away. But I didn't.

As the figure turned, he began to quietly high-step back toward the shore, wringing the water out of the ball of clothing he held before him. Uncontrollably, I strained to peer into the moonlight, trying to soak up every fleeting detail of his strong chest and flat stomach. Further down to his groin, the vague outline of his flopping genitals faintly visible from my vantage.

While he appeared wholly unaware of my presence, I turned in panic and rushed back into my little tent. Laying in my dark and stifling cocoon, I felt nauseas. Angry, ashamed, and confused, I was overwhelmed by guilt...... and arousal. I tried to focus on my husband and home, but it was this nameless form that came back to haunt me as my hands slowly snaked down into my shorts and under my shirt to caress the secret spots that had been too long ignored. Soon gasping and shaking, I tried to silence my cries as waves of pleasure quickly washed over me.

Collapsing after my release, I fell into a deep sleep not knowing or caring who may have heard me.

The next morning, I awoke, quickly remembering....and then repressing.... the events of the night before. Instead, immersing myself mentally in the details of the new day, I dressed and walked toward the guys already hard at work at the kitchen. With only a brief morning greeting, I avoided conversation as I attended to setting the serving table, disturbed by the realization that, given the dark of last night and the mystery man's skin tone, it was Davey I'd seen, both in the lake, and later in my imagination of my tent. Thankfully, the pack of voracious campers descended on us, requiring my full attention, allowing me to ignore and bury my guilty secret within me.

As breakfast concluded, Linda announced that, given the rest and rejuvenation of the night before, that they would attempt their first 2-day self-supported trip. After some discussion, it was decided that the guys and I would proceed to the next planned camp site tonight, while the group would take a more circuitous route around a chain of lakes. If their effort failed, they could always meet us at the campsite, otherwise they would continue onward and meet us the following day at the next campsite 15 miles distant.

From our perspective this would make for a ridiculously easy and short day, but would require our first portage of the large canoe and all its gear. The guys didn't appear too concerned, but I was. Moving 2,000 pounds of boat, people, and stuff over a quarter mile of dense forest. The only option was a long detour, essentially following the group.....and what was the point of that? The portage would allow us to arrive at the next camp by early afternoon. And I desperately needed those hours to get my person ....and mind.... back on track.

Decision made, while Bo and I packed, thankfully Davey went off to organize the food they would need, sparing me continued blushes in his presence.

Watching the group finally paddle off into the morning sun, I breathed a sigh of relief as the guys exchanged foolish grins, clearly sharing my realization that we'd be free from our duties and the drama for a couple days. It was now just us.

My relief, though, was short lived. Suddenly nagging at the back of my mind was a growing worry. What would Paul think about all this? Me, alone with these two men?

While Paul knew that arrangements had been made to have "two boys" on the trip to help me with my expected triple duties, we'd both assumed they'd be part of the larger group of girls and women traveling together. In fact, Paul had made some joke about these "boys" amongst a throng of teenage girls, was like the fox guarding the henhouse. He'd assumed I would have my hands full keeping THEM under control!

Now I found myself alone, deep in the wilderness ...... with two young men. In fairness, I felt perfectly comfortable with the situation. They had always been perfect gentlemen from day one. But I knew that Paul, had he known, would NOT be happy! Especially since it appeared to be ME having a problem 'keeping in control' !

Finding my stress level quickly rising, I took a deep breath and shook it off. Since there was NOTHING I could do about this.........and nothing would 'happen'....... there was no reason to waste any energy worrying about it. What Paul didn't know, wouldn't hurt him.

Pushing myself to shed these disturbing thoughts, I forced myself to make chitchat, the careless joking of the guys quickly getting me back to normal, laughing at their stories.

But, as it came time to push-off, I couldn't help noticing my heightened sense of awareness as I stripped down to my bikini again, ignoring the guys as they similarly disrobed. I felt like something had changed in our team dynamic from the day before. I realized that something was me.

As the morning paddle proceeded uneventfully, the boy's banter lulled me back into my own thoughts. I tried to rationalize my feelings and actions, today more keenly aware of their exposed bodies and mine.

Snapping out my reverie, I noticed an increasingly forceful voice calling out to me.

"Taylor? Hello! Taylor are you OK?", questioned Bo with concern.

"What? Huh? Yeah, sure. Sorry. I'm fine. Just thinking about things", I finally mustered the clarity to reply.

"You know, the whole point of trips like this is NOT to think about the outside world. Just go with the flow and let the beauty of nature happen! We'll all be back to the real world soon enough. Now is the time to free ourselves from all that", offered Davey sagely, once again arousing my suspicions that somehow my most private thoughts were tattooed on my forehead.

Bo interjected, "Ok, Double-D, that's all fine and what, but as we are now coming up on the portage, how exactly is Master Yoda The 3^rd planning to move this load across almost 250 meters of, what is increasingly apparent, will be marsh and bog!?"

"Hmmm? Consider it well, we must", replied Davey reflexively in his best gravely Yoda-voice, chuckling to himself at his own whit.

Directing our attention now to the swampy land we'd been skirting, I realized my expectations that this portage would be a nice, flat, dry, and defined pathway, were dashed. Recalling the planning discussions of that morning, I knew it was the only practical option. The two others were to follow the group through the chain of lakes, or try another portage almost 10 miles away, but also a couple miles overland. I couldn't imagine moving this load across a few hundred feet, let alone a few miles. Without discussion it was clear we'd try this route.

As Davey continued his Yoda-aphorisms quietly to himself, Bo called out to me.

"I hope The Force is strong with you, Princess Taylor. This is going to be a Bugger!"

As we beached at the mouth of a small creek feeding our river highway, Bo volunteered to go reconnoiter the trail, while Davey and I unpacked the canoe. As we worked, I forced myself not to look at him.

Returning thirty minutes later, Bo reported that most of the trail was actually not bad. "Fair-to-middling" were his words, if a little overgrown. But a middle section of about 50 meters was deep bog and mud. It was possible to skirt on foot, but too narrow to carry packs, let alone a canoe. We would need to forge the boggy land with our load. But there WAS a bright side. On the far end of the portage was a beautiful little inlet and area to camp. Since this short-cut would save us 75% of tomorrow's planned paddle, we'd be able to relax and recover for almost 24 carefree hours.

We started by relaying packs back and forth to stage them at the beginning of the bog. Within minutes we were all drenched with sweat as we passed one-another along the trail, often the person with empty hands squeezing around the person carrying the load. Chagrined that I could only carry half the load of the boys, our work was completed within an hour. The canoe came next.

Since my stature didn't provide for any meaningful help carrying the canoe, the boys heaved it onto their shoulders, my job to guide them from the front since they were effectively blind on the narrow and winding path. Obviously struggling under the heavy canoe, I couldn't imagine how they would cross the bog.

Eventually reaching the swamp, the guys set the canoe down, clearly out of breath and spent. Despite the smelly and buggy environs, we took a 10-minute drink and snack break, after which Davey volunteered to investigate the depth and consistency of the swamp. Sinking quickly up above his waist, he was pleased to report that, while foul smelling, the swamp itself was not thick mud or quicksand. Instead, just a dirty water slurry making our fears of trudging through a sucking bog less of a concern. But it was freezing cold, obviously fed from some mountain stream somewhere. Climbing back out of the swamp, Davey was covered with mud, pitch black from his ribcage down to his feet.

"Hey! You look like me. Black and Beautiful! " quipped Bo, as we all roared with laughter, more out of relief at the less frightening task before us than the merits of the joke.

Deciding to tackle the hardest job, the guys planned to carry the canoe across first. Following Bo's lead, who had shed his shorts to find him wearing a small pair of royal blue European-style Speedos, Davey likewise slid off his shorts to boxer-briefs underneath. Seeing the wisdom of this, and with no clean clothes to spare, I also shucked by shorts and shirt, back to my bikini and rafting sandals.

As before, the guys heaved the canoe up above them and I led the way, balancing a pack on my head. When I entered the frigid water, I shrieked at both the shocking cold, but also the slimy muddy water now up to my chest, infiltrating my bikini, and splashing my hair and face in grossness. I didn't even want to think about what might be swimming around in there, or possibly in my nether-regions!

Ironically, struggling through the soupy concoction with each trip, I found upon climbing out the other side that my bikini, both top and bottoms were often dislodged, flashing a boob or digging out a wedgy from what were already "cheeky" cut bottoms. Not that anyone would have noticed, as like Bo and Davey, I was also covered head-to-toe in opaque black gunk.

I must admit the next two hours were a nightmare, but finally dumping the last load of packs onto the ground on the far side, we cheered and embraced at our triumph as we jumped up and down and clung to each other's slimy bodies in celebration. Turning toward the pristine beach and the clear inviting water beyond, we ran to the shore, diving headfirst into the river to rinse ourselves clean.

While we excitedly discussed what kind of celebratory dinner we should make that night, in the midst of scrubbing ourselves I absentmindedly lifted my bikini top up and over my breasts and began to bob up and down in the water to rinse my chest off, lifting each of my sizable boobs to clean from under them. Looking back, I can't believe I did that in full view of the guys! Hell, I didn't even have the presence of mind to turn my back to them. But, at the time, I didn't notice or care! I was giddy with happiness at our accomplishment and teamwork, not thinking about or ashamed of being a woman.

Eventually moving the top back and shifting my breasts into place, I copied the guys who had obviously taken off their bottoms below the water line, vigorously rubbing themselves clean, while rinsing out their suits on the surface. After hesitating a moment, I decided that my 'nooks and crannies' were a lot more susceptible to God-knows-what was in that swamp, than the guy's privates were, so thoroughly cleaning myself out was a priority.

Therefore, after a deep breath I sunk down deeper into the water and pushed down my bottoms, stepping out of them, allowing them to float on the surface beside me. Feeling mud, sand, and other detritus in my womanly folds, I urgently rubbed, fanned water, and scraped myself clean, shivering as any woman would at the thought of something crawling 'up there'. Losing my balance, I ended up rolling over under the water, surfacing again, bikini top still intact, but bottoms nowhere to be seen.

"Looking for these?"

Turning I saw Bo holding my bottoms daintily by one of the string ties, the garment looking miniscule in his large hands. Realizing that it was now clear that I was naked down below, I playfully snatched the bikini from him with a coy, "Why thank you, good Sir".

Distracted for a few moments on getting back into my bottoms and everything back in its proper place, I turned back toward the shore.

When I froze.

Shocked, I saw that Davey was now lying fully nude, face down on the sandy beach, the water dripping off him, the bottom I'd admired the night before now on full display in the warm sun. Likewise, Bo was just now exiting the water unsteadily in a similar state of undress, his broad shoulders, powerful legs, and chiseled buttocks flexing as he walked up and lay down next to Davey.

Momentarily panicking, I didn't know what to do.

What was the meaning of this sudden nudity, after a week of exceptional gallantry and decorum? Was this just the absentmindedness of exhaustion in the company of friends? There certainly didn't seem to be any overt sexual element to the situation. Based on what I witnessed last night, I assumed that this was the normal blasé approach to their own nudity that most men take.

Cautioning myself against another over-reaction, I asked myself if I was really as 'worldly' and 'I've seen it all' as I pretended? Determined to conquer my own inhibitions, I checked my bathing suit one last time for proper coverage and walked determinedly out of the water, my eyes fixed firmly on the tree line ahead as I laid down on my back next to Bo.

After a while my mind drifted from the awkward situation I found myself in, to the sun beating down on me and the snoring I now heard beside me. Leaning up on my elbows to admire the river view, out of the corner of my eye I could see the calm rising and falling of Bo's back as he slept and, to my renewed surprise, noticed that Davey had turned over onto his back, his face, arms, chest, stomach, and legs covered in sand. Somehow, I managed to avoid gawking at his penis and testicles, just innocently glancing once at his sandy groin.

From his relaxed facial expression, I surmised that he, too, was asleep and the full-frontal nudity an innocent happenstance. However, I now found my serene state of just moments ago was again replaced with the confusion and anxiety of last night. I needed to extricate myself from this situation to regain control of my frayed senses, deciding now would be a good time to attend to personal matters while the guys were napping.

Finding my bag, I grabbed my dirty clothes, toiletries, a couple towels and walked down to another small inlet 500-feet away, mostly shielded from view from the guys. Assuming their nap would assure my privacy, I quickly slipped out of my bikini and set about washing my clothes and myself, as the tiny minnows attacked each drop of soap that fell on the water.

Musing about the fact that my husband probably would not want his razor back after what I'd been doing with it, I looked around me and I felt a sense of pride in myself. Here I was, in the middle of nowhere, naked as the day I was born, soaking in the nature around me, feeling content and without shame. I didn't feel vulnerable or fearful. For the first time in many years, I felt free. Free from society. Free from my community. Free from friends and family and husband. Free from my own insecurities and judgments.

Emerging from my private bathing pool refreshed, I collected my things to return to the campsite, wrapping myself and my hair unhurriedly in towels as I walked. While I felt like a new woman, I wasn't quite ready to completely abandon my feminine modesty, nor did I want to confuse the guys with this change in the unspoken social rules.

Returning to our camp, seeing Davey still sleeping on his back caused a momentary panic in me again, to which I reminded myself of the liberating vow I'd just made to myself. Instead, I walked up to his sleeping form and boldly looked his body up and down, including a long look at his genitals. Not out of some prurient sexual interest, but instead to prove to myself that the collegial relationship between us was real. Here lay Davey, my friend. Not a penis with a naked man attached to it. There, you've got it out of your system, I told myself.