The Wilderness

"Wake Up Birthday Boy!!!", earning him a sleepy groan from our friend, now officially one year older.

"Go Away, you crazy Brit....or Nigerian....or whatever the fuck you are!"

Rolling over I faced Davey, drawing in closer to him and kissed him gently on the lips.

"Happy Birthday, David Dwayne Thompson, the 3^rd!" I whispered. Opening his sparkling eyes, he smiled at me, quickly giving me a peck on the lips back and then lifted his head said saying,

"See! Now that is how to say Happy Birthday. Hell, I'd happily grow a year older every morning if it meant waking up to that", said Davey as I blushed at the unintended romantic implication of my action.

"I'm sorry Double D. I'll happily jump on a landmine for you, give you all the money in my wallet, or let you eat my last watercress and Stilton cheese sandwich. But you won't find me snogging with you any time soon. Besides, I've got to use the loo", at which Bo jumped up out of our nest. Davey following suit, the source of the recent poking appendage into my stomach obvious as he stood. As my husband would have said, both boys were "sporting morning wood"!

Feeling a similar urge in me, and not yet having sought out a private place in this new camp, I followed the guys into a stand of trees 100 feet away, hoping my assumptions about our newly rediscovered openness were not unfounded. They stood side-by-side, hands on their waist, releasing a long arcing yellow stream into the surrounding grass, oscillating from side to side like a sprinkler. Boys will be boys!

Clear their bladders were still not empty after a gushing 30 seconds, I sidled up beside them and squatted, releasing a torrent of my own pent-up relief, my loud groan causing them to laugh, their aim getting dangerously reckless as laughing belly muscles took over their aim.

Ending about the same time, I asked, "Did either of you bring any toilet paper?" in mock expectation.

Looking at me with a Are-You-Serious look, Davey offered a "Nope! You'll have to shake", as they both proceeded to grab themselves, giving their multi-function equipment three or four firm wags.

"Some gentlemen you are", I said, reaching over to grab an innocuous looking leaf, giving myself a quick wipe and, like women from the beginning of time, looking down to see what surprise might have discharged from my body. I was expecting my period in about a week and suspicious of all the swimming and open-air exposure my female bits had had over the last few days. I didn't want a surprise.

"You might want to be careful about what you use for that", cautioned Davey. "You won't like what the treatment is for poison ivy on your, what did you call it, your Coochie?!"

Bo winced, "Bloody Hell! Shut up, I don't want to even think of it".

Laughing as we walked back to camp, I felt a calm happiness at my relief that our comradery was strong and genuine.

I knew that despite men's fascination with women's vaginas, they were often squeamish when it came to the care and feeding of one. They didn't mind sticking their dick in one, but anything to do before or after a few minutes of grunting and thrusting, and they weren't interested. Mention of a period, pregnancy or yeast infection was enough to send most guys screaming for the hills. The thought that their sweet innocent little women might actually piss or have to shit, was a reality they avoided like the Plague.

Since we would likely be camped here for 72 hours, we took care to plan an effective camp layout while loosely organizing a chore and recreation schedule. I was dying to see the waterfall but hoped I might have some time alone to cobble together some kind of token birthday gift. Unlike Bo, I'd been unaware and unprepared.

With the first order of business our shelter, I was amazed at the flexible design of the four walled tent. With half screens toward the top, we left them open to ventilate the expected heat of the day, while the guys graciously set up half the floor space for me to use, leaving them the other half. Just because one of the Three Amigos was a girl, why should she get special treatment? When I objected at the inequity of this, Davey's offhandedly replied,

"Don't worry. We'll be sharing."

Despite his innocuous reply, I confess I was caught off guard at what exactly he'd meant by that in our renewed spirit of complete candor. I could have asked, but I didn't know if I was ready for an answer.

Over the course of the day, "just a few quick chores" grew to a longer list of organizing, repairing, and repacking. Finally acknowledging that there was no rush to get to the waterfall today, we set about a more relaxing day of projects and personal tasks. Deciding to clear some of the overgrowth along our latrine path and dragging rotting tree limbs from the stream that fed our freshwater drinking and "bathing pool", we donned gloves, protective pants, and long-sleeved shirts. When I pointed out the incongruity of this, given their seemingly refusal to wear clothing, the guys defensively explained that they didn't want to be scratched, cut, or poked in delicate places, any more than I did. Moreover, they were "clothes free" for comforts sake, not for some prurient motive. Clothes were fine when the situation warranted.

I reflected on this logical answer to what I'd intended to be a joke, reminding myself not to read too much into their ...and our... nudity. Its wasn't their fault that society had trained women to attribute greater meaning and judgement to our nakedness. For them, nudity it was a personal Choice. For me, it was a public Statement.

Mid-afternoon Bo snuck up on me and whispered he needed help making Double D's birthday dinner. Of course! Why was I not surprised. Bo had planned this birthday meal weeks ago. Dutch-Oven lasagna, Caprese salad, culminating in a sweet Bannock cake with maple icing, topped off with an intentionally girly-pink Sweet 16 birthday candle and plastic princess-on-a-pony figurine. Later, Davey's masculinity seemingly unoffended, after licking the icing off the figurine with obscene exaggeration, he handed it to me. "For you, my Princess!".

Having finished dinner and planning our excursion to the waterfall the following day, we relaxed around the campfire again nursing the beers Bo had produced. While he said there was more whiskey, for obvious reasons I demurred, explaining that I'd better take a break from the hard stuff for a few days. So, we drank a few more beers and discussed the next day's schedule, our little secluded camp taking on a Fantasy Island air about it.

Later that evening, the biting bugs were getting bad and, after a refreshing dip in the lake, we retreated into the tent and closed ourselves within.

Despite the fall from the daytime high temperate, the night was still uncomfortably warm and humid, the screens a trade-off between sweating to death and being eaten alive. Since the humidity prevented quick air-drying of our bodies, each of us wrapped ourselves in a towel; the boys using the smaller towels around their waists, gallantly handing me the marginally larger towel to wrap around my torso. After multiple attempts I was able to get is positioned to provide maximum coverage, earning me ridicule from the guys who pointed out that I'd been "B. A. N." (Bare-Assed Naked) for much of the week. Blushing, I acknowledged this. But feminine modesty demanded different standards when working hard out in the sun versus just hanging around in 'mixed company'. Prompting mocking laughs, I shushed them with "It's a Girl Thing. Fuck off!"

Swiping at a few buzzing insects that had followed us into the tent, I declared.

"What we need is a smudge", referring to the ancient Indian practice of burning a smokey fire of green branches to create a wall of dense smoke to drive the bugs away. The trick was to move around and stay out of the choking smoke as it shifted.

"Wellllllllll! It just so happens that I have 'smoke' ", announced a mischievous Bo, a Cheshire Cat grin on his face.

Catching on, Davey perked up from his sweaty lethargy and questioned, "No?!?!?!".

"Yessssssssss!!!", came Bo's gleeful reply as he dug around in his bag-of-many-wonders. Pulling out a small, wrapped box, he handed it to Davey with a "Happy Birthday, Mate!".

Ripping off the wrapper, Davey opened the box, burying his nose and taking a long , deep smell, followed by an exaggerated, "Aaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!".

Looking over at my confusion, Davey leaned across to place the box under my nose, a pungent earthy smell assaulting my senses.

"Do you partake? The best Jamaican herb blend available from Amsterdam", inquired Bo, me finally realizing they were talking about marijuana.

"Yah Mon!", giggled Davey as he busied himself with rolling a joint.

In truth, I was not opposed to weed in general, having watched my peers get high many times. But never tried it myself, my circle in friends in school were too Goodie-Two-Shoes, and my husband certainly didn't consider it proper. I hadn't even smoked cigarettes, but in the present circumstances, I was willing to give it a try. This trip was turning out to be a bonanza of Firsts for me!

Lighting up, Davey handed it over to me with a "Ladies first!". Boldly, I took the odd shaped roll and placed it to my lips. Inhaling deeply, I resisted coughing, holding it into my lungs for a few moments before a long dramatic exhale I thought would make me look cool. The guys looked surprised and impressed, reaching for the roach and taking their own hits.

I'm not sure what I expected. An instant buzz? Other than the odd taste in my mouth and throat, I felt fine. I tried to recall what the timing and effects of marijuana was from my medical training, but quickly got caught up in Bo's increasingly hysterical story about how he came about buying it during a recent trip back to London.....via a planned overnight layover at the Amsterdam airport.

The guys proceeded to take turns telling riotously funny stories, as the joint was passed around. Most of them were about the antics of young men; some involving the never-ending quest for girls, while most were just tales of foolish pranks gone wrong, they thinking themselves funny for feats of bravery and daring, while I marveled at the simple idiocy of boys sometimes.

The jokes and stories seemed endless. Eventually my gut was aching from my non-stop laughing, forcing to re-tie my slipping towel a number of times. As Davey and Bo paused periodically to roll another joint, they'd implore me to tell them a story of my own. But, like good jokes, I could never remember them when needed, or was a horrible story teller, forgetting the punchline or telling the story out of sequence .....which earned me hysterical laughter for my poor delivery, rather than the creativity of the tale.

Over time my failed "funny life stories" about myself turned into more of a question-and-answer session. Since I seemed unable to tell a cohesive story, they started asking clarifying questions, which eventually turned into rather probing personal queries. Initially benign and embarrassing, more than intrusive and crude, we drifted into typical "what do girls want" questions.

Actually, I found it cute. Like most men, these seemingly confident and extroverted guys secretly harbored insecurities and questions about women and what we wanted from men. As the only representative of womankind within 50 miles, I took seriously my responsibility to answer and educate them. I figured some woman would thank me in the future.

For the first time all night, I did the majority of the talking, the topics increasingly shifting from broad philosophical discussions about love and relationships, to increasing detailed explanations of female arousal and the mechanics of the feminine sexual experience. Finding another beer in my hand and noticing myself handing off the latest joint after a deep hit, I considered the latest question posed to me, suddenly realizing that the topics had shifted from women in general, to me, specifically. I suspect that I might not have even noticed, had it not occurred to me that, in many cases, I didn't know the answer.

How would I know what multiple orgasms felt like? I'm not sure I'd ever had an orgasm from sexual intercourse. Just by masturbation. Let alone more than one! How would I know what was more important to me; A man's length or girth? Except for one disappointing experience with a boy in high school, my only sexual intercourse had been with my husband.....and we know how that had been going, I told myself churlishly. I'd assumed most guys were of average size, but I couldn't claim much actual first-hand knowledge. Did I like to swallow? I wouldn't know. Again, except for a few awkward attempts in school, the only relationship I'd had where my blow-job technique and experiences could have been perfected, was with a husband that didn't approve of that kind of "recreational" bedroom play. In the past I'd joked with some girlfriends about being married to the only man that didn't like blowjobs.

Over time, our increasingly deep and personal conversations shifted from abstract 3^rd person musings to speculative 1^st person propositions. Had I been clear-headed I would have steered the conversation to other topics, but stoned and buzzed I felt free to consider with solemnity various "what if" questions about certain acts I might like to have performed on me or would be willing to perform on others? As I'd seen many times before around stoned people, the most silly and improbable questions were being taking with life-and-death seriousness.

Despite the foggy out-of-body atmosphere of our refuge, a moment of clarity pierced my consciousness. Our verbal sparring was taking on a more overt sexual exchange.

As we sat in our respective corners of the tent, modestly covered in towels, I noticed the level of excitement building in me. My breathing was quickening, a lump growing in the pit of my stomach. My legs were becoming restless, my pulse pounding at my temples. I realized I was I holding my breath for the next question, eager to expose my most personal thoughts and actions.

What was happening to me? Again?

Around us, the atmosphere was growing darker and closing in on us. The old-fashioned oil lantern we'd unpacked for our extended stay started to flicker and gradually dim, clearly running out of oil. With only one candle lamp remaining to provide dim light, Bo unhooked the oil lantern from its ceiling hook, placing on the ground and reached for the can of oil.

Feeling the need to be helpful as the lantern looked about to tip over on the uneven floor, I leaned forward, kneeling on my haunches and grasped the lantern base with two hands. As I moved, my towel loosened again and fell, slipping down and draping about my waist.

Bo carefully poured oil into the lantern, the process slow due to the small tank opening and his uncoordinated stoned condition. I concentrated on my task, trying to ignore my naked breasts dangling below me. As I held my position, I found myself staring at Bo's waist, as he sat cross-legged. I could see up his towel a bit. The proverbial "up skirt" shot women loathed. Daydreaming, I became aware of my own curious disappointment that his dark skin and the dim light prevented me from seeing him fully under his towel.

This realization of my naughtiness started me giggling, which became contagious as both guys started to snort and choke as well for no obvious reason. Reproaching myself for my voyeuristic wickedness, I felt Bo spilling oil over my hands onto the canvas flooring below. As I yelped, Davey noticed and quickly leaned over me to the grab paper towels from the box next to me, the towel around his waist having already fallen to the ground, his groin now inches from my face.

Glancing over I could see his swelling penis and smell his sweaty male scent, which started me giggling again at the irony of it. "Be careful what you wish for", I muttered to myself. In the blink of an eye (literally), I'd gone from wanting to get a quick peek, to having a semi-hard dick at eye level.

As Davey patted the area dry, he repeatedly reached over me to grab more paper towels, his obviously growing organ capturing my attention as I watched it heavily sway with his body movements. Impulsively, I contrived to jerk my head sideways, my cheek brushing up against the tip of what was now, clearly, a full erection.

"Oh, Gosh! Sorry Taylor. I wasn't paying attention. Sorry", he stammered breathlessly.

Feeling guilty at my deceit, I replied, "It's OK. Really. Not a big deal........ well, maybe it's getting to be a BIGGER deal now!" I deadpanned as, after a moment of disbelief, everyone erupted in a roar of stoned laughter.

"Cheeky Girl !! ", Bo announced, as Davey blushed at my acknowledgement of his condition.

While our good-natured teasing of the evening had initially felt like the typical bawdy banter amongst friends, it was clear to me now that our recent explicit discussions, combined with my proximity to essentially nude companions, had raised the sexual tension in the air. I was seeing the physical signs both in my companions and myself. I felt my body begin to crackle and overheat, as my attention shifted from concern about my own nakedness, to openly appreciating theirs.

The refilling now complete, I intentionally looked away as Davey stood to hang and relight the lantern in an effort to redirect the conversation, while Bo grabbed more towels to clean off his hands and then reached across to tenderly clean mine. Apparently fascinated, Bo knelt in front of me carefully wiping each finger, palm, wrist, and forearm. I was stunned at the sensuousness of this. While I had sat back cross-legged, my body fully exposed again, Bo didn't appear to notice the womanly charms on display, instead focusing his caresses on my hands and arms with such intensity that I felt a warm glow reawakening in me.

I don't know how long Bo and I sat there. My hands clean now, he didn't appear in any hurry to stop his sensuous touches, nor did I want him to stop. I stared at his large, strong hands enveloping my comparatively small wrists and forearms, the dark tone of his skin contrasting against mine. Fearful of what I might see in his eyes and wishing to ignore the guilty reminder of the sparkling wedding ring on my finger, I stared down at my own body, taking in my unmistakable physical reactions to his touches.

My breathing had become shallow and rapid, my chest was flushed, my nipples hard pebbles. Down in between my legs, my clitoris was prominently sticking out, my labia dark and swollen, glistening, and smelling of my arousal.

Still breathless in my longing to see him, my gaze drifting back to Bo's lap, his towel was now visibly tented from his own excitement. Frustrated, I forced my gaze up his tight stomach and muscular chest, his own panting breaths matching mine. Further up my gaze drifted, stopping at his face, strong jaw and cheekbones, his full sensuous lips, and the brilliant whites of his shining eyes against his ebony skin.

Watching me with a similar look of longing, he saw me looking at his lips again. Taking it as a sign, he leaned in slowly and joined his lips to mine.

Despite my hunger for him, this intensely personal act unsettled me, and it took me a moment to respond. Sensing a sudden hesitancy and fear from him, I snapped out of my indecision and kissed him back passionately, my arms wrapping around his neck as my tongue rushed to invade his mouth.

In that moment I felt a shattering jolt of desire and passion overwhelm me, the likes of which I realized I had never felt before. At that moment, I wasn't thinking about anything else. Just my yearning to absorb his being into mine.

How long our embrace lasted, I have no idea. Eventually I think we both felt the need to come up for air, as I fell backward onto my back in disbelief. Crossing my arms over my head, I tried to control my panting breath, feeling tingling bolts of lightning pulsing to my extremities. Leaning back up onto my elbows, I looked over at Bo, he still kneeling, a look of bewilderment on his face.