Wet Currents

"I do very much want to hear about it, but if it starts to become too much can I ask you to stop?"

"Of course", you replied.

This is a good example of where our communication had improved. I told you what I wanted, by saying that I wanted to listen to you recount your experience, but in the same sentence I threw in a conditional caveat (stop if it becomes too much). The emotional protectionism of our early days would have meant interpreting this not at face value (I want to hear it but...), rather ignoring the first part of the statement and taking the "but" as a negative - as a sign that instead I did not want to hear it. Thank God those tip-toeing days were behind us. It did however mean that I would have to be honest with my limits.

You raised a cracker to your mouth, but hesitated and setting it aside you began.

"You know, it's funny. Last night I had a dream that Brad and I were together as a couple. I found it really unsettling. It felt wrong. Throughout the dream there was this profound sense of loss, like I'd betrayed you somehow and you were never coming back".

I was listening with interest. I understood that while dreams were often nonsense, they sometimes too behaved as portents for things to come - little windows into a person's psyche, with the power to reflect shards of truth as the dreamer understood it. I was also listening because Sarah typically thought sharing dreams was pointless and boring. This one certainly wasn't.

"I was looking for you, but Brad and I were in an airport or something, and he kept pulling me along, so we didn't miss our flight. I didn't want to go."

"Did you find me?" I asked.

"When I woke up. I reached a hand over behind me and felt you lying there. It felt so good to know you were my real partner and that everything was right in the world".

I smiled, although I must have been too sleepy to notice when it happened. This was very reassuring indeed. I ventured boldly, wanting to hear more about what you experienced with the real Brad,

"And so how did you feel in his tent this morning?"

Now it was your turn to smile.

"That also felt really good", you said. "But good in a different way obviously. I felt powerless and powerful all at the same time, if that makes any sense?"

"I think I get it." I really wanted to hear more so I left it at that.

You continued, "I knew that you were outside, and probably hearing everything that was happening but that didn't bother me much. It was as if I had no mental space to be affected by it. Brad was flooding me with all kinds of stimulation, it was all I could focus on. He was also a bit rough. I feel...stretched."

This hurt. In a good way. I was getting so turned on.

"That's the power of dominance and submission", I said excitedly. "It removes you from your world temporarily (I was careful not to specify "real world"), and transports you to the visceral, the immediate, and the vastly freeing. It opens so many possibilities for imagination to take hold and steer the mind where it wants to go. It's erotically enhancing...necessary even, for good sex". I felt myself taking over the conversation and rambling on a tangent, so I stopped abruptly to let you go on.

"When I got in the tent, I got naked right away. I'm guessing you saw the underwear I threw outside. Too much flair, or ok?"

"It was a nice touch", I said.

"I was unbelievably wet. Waiting for him to follow me in was really exciting. I had no idea what he was going to do, but I really wanted to find out."

"Yea, anticipation is a crazy thing eh? I sometimes get more excitement from the build-up to and teasing during sex, than from the sex itself" I offered glibly, trying to relate and keep the conversation going.

"That's good", you said. "Because next time I'm really going to tease you and rub your nose in it". You won't be allowed to participate unless Brad says so, and you can spend the rest of the week wondering if you'll be allowed to orgasm and when and how you'll be made to serve us."

I was a bit shocked by this. Outrageously turned on, but shocked nonetheless. You had never been one to exert yourself in any kind of dominance talk before. I think we'd both found it a little bit awkward because it required elements of acting. I raised a quizzical eyebrow to show my surprise without trying to discourage you from continuing.

"It's a lot easier to talk this way now that we're this far in", you said. "Turns out it's kind of fun too".

It was a little surreal to see the change that had come over you now that you had broken the ice with another man. The confidence you had somehow gained in playing this game was unexpected, but quite attractive.

"Serve you, eh?" I prodded suggestively.

"Yep. If I have to do as Brad says, you have to do what we both say. This was your perverted little idea. Wouldn't be fair otherwise".

"Sounds good", I said for lack of anything cleverer, wondering what exactly that might entail. You popped the last of the cucumber sandwiches in your mouth and grabbed your paddle. As you swung back to face the bow, I realized that the ride was only just beginning. I also realized with some concern, that you had eaten every sandwich you made.

Part 14

After a long day of paddling, the river was beginning to narrow and pick up speed. We had planned to camp at a spot on the downstream end of a gorge through which passed a challenging 500m stretch of whitewater. As the banks rose on our flanks, Brad and Mike spotted the pull-out on the right and signaled us to join them in scouting the rapid. We were all tired as we clamored out on a densely vegetated trailhead and tied up the canoes. Ascending a steep hill in relative silence, the four of us swatted bugs as we attempted to assess the water and pick a line. It was agreed that we should run the rapid when we rounded a corner and saw the trail disappear into a rocky outcrop that would require some difficult climbing and maneuvering with our heavy royalex boats.

"We'll go first", offered Mike. "That way when you guys tip, you'll have someone to throw you a line at the bottom".

I knew he was joking, but we readily accepted, as the prospect of some help with rescue in that eventuality was welcomed.

As we got back to the pull-out after psyching ourselves up for the run, something seemed amiss. Where at first there were two boats tied in the shallow grass, there was now only one! It was quickly apparent that one boat (Brad's and Mike's) had dislodged from shore and drifted free of its mooring. We were just in time to catch the flash of yellow as it disappeared from sight and began an unguided haphazard decent of the canyon. We all bolted up the trail, hoping to retrieve whatever might survive the journey on the other end. At one point we caught sight of the craft spinning free in a strong eddy boil midway down. It was still right side up! It was a strangely sickening sight, which would have been humorous did it not contain the precious supplies we needed for the coming week.

Somehow, I was the first who managed to scramble over the outcrop and down the trail on the other side of the portage. Getting caught in that eddy had bought us some time and I actually reached the shoreline in time to nab a few items as they went by. Jumping into the freezing water I was able to retrieve two drybags, a barrel of food, and Brad's goofy looking sun hat. By the time the others joined me floundering in the river, there wasn't much left to find except an overturned canoe with a few miscellaneous items lashed to its thwarts. Unfortunately, the boat had tipped over somewhere between that big eddy and the bottom. The current had managed to rip out one of the poorly lashed flotation bags, and the drybag containing all of Brad's and Mike's sleeping gear - including their tent. All things considered, they were lucky to have an intact boat left.

Despite the seriousness of the situation, I had to admit a certain smug sense of redemption. Now it was someone else's turn to feel sheepish. It turns out it was Brad who had tied the "knot" keeping their boat ashore.

He was clearly embarrassed and kept apologizing to the group. I was soaking wet and freezing - but boy, did it feel good to hear that. Mike let him have it, in that way that only a close friend can - with utterly ruthless words attenuated by humor and camaraderie. Once the jokes had been had, and a slightly modified and delayed plan hatched for making camp, Sarah was quick on the draw to assure our guests they would not have to sleep without shelter - offering to cram them in with us.

As Brad and Mike began the depressing task of inventorying their remaining gear, and hanging it to dry, Sarah and I made our way back to the top of the rapids to bring our boat through with marginally more grace and control.

"You know, it's not supposed to rain tonight", I said. I wanted Sarah to know that I was annoyed at having to share our sleeping accommodations. A 3-man tent is barely big enough for two and I needed a lot of room to roll around if I were going to get a good night's sleep. My indirectness sparked irritation however, as we'd both been working on communicating our desires better - this was an obvious step backward.

"What was I supposed to do?" You sounded defensive and annoyed by my callousness. "If we'd been the ones to lose our tent, how would you feel?" These arguments from compassion I found particularly provoking. I'm fairly sensitive when people criticize my intentions and polarize my character into seeming cold and heartless. The sensitivity to the criticism and the way I respond is probably the real character flaw.

"I'm not saying that we shouldn't have offered, just that it would have been nice to be consulted first...so that I know you're considering my feelings too." I should have left it at that, but I foolishly added, "you're always offering people things at my expense". I could see you bristle with indignation and knew I had pushed you too far.

"That's because I'm more generous than you, and I feel like if I don't offer, that you won't. We're supposed to be a team and share everything, so I guess I just feel it's appropriate to offer our stuff to people, and frankly I'm annoyed that you don't see it that way."

You had a fair point, but I was struggling to admit it since the context of this argument was tinged with the jealousy I felt over your submission to Brad. It was complicated, and while we had been getting better at communicating lately, the sun would soon be setting and now was not the time. We had a rapid to run.

We looked at each other in frustrated exasperation and both agreed to shrug this one off and do what needed to be done. The entrance to a technically challenging set of whitewater was not the place for a communication breakdown or hard feelings.

All bitterness we had shared at the top of the run however was quickly dispelled as we absolutely crushed it on the decent. We talked our way down, using all the techniques we had recently practiced in a weekend paddling course. Ducking into eddies, back ferrying blind corners and picking all the right lines; we swerved gracefully up to shore, dry as a bone, where Brad and Mike looked like they were hosting a yard sale. Gear was strewn everywhere. Sarah and I jumped out of our boat with a congratulatory high five and a hug. We may have laid it on a bit thick with the light-hearted gloating, but we were both just so stoked that all our many hours of practicing together had amounted to this level of proficiency. I felt myself basking in competent pride and a sense of unity with my partner, and I knew she felt it too.

It was with this feeling of togetherness that we then set up (an albeit slightly diminished) camp, filled up on soggy bread sandwiches scavenged from Mike's day bag and settled in with some of Brad's apology scotch to watch the fire.

Part 15

Attempting to sleep four in a three person tent is really something that should only be attempted when survival is at stake. I knew right off the bat that it was not going to work. So, when sleeping gear started to be laid down and only 3 mats were able to squeeze between the walls, I was not in the least surprised.

There was no point in my issuing an "I told you so". Sarah had already told me so. Numerous times in fact, over the course of the last couple of days - that my wishes on this trip were irrelevant if either she or Brad thought otherwise. I knew this applied to my sense of jealousy, but apparently it also extended to my physical comfort as well. A fourth sleeping pad was left deflated and draped over some large tree roots next to the tent. Mine. It appeared indistinguishable from the mess of drying gear spread haphazardly around the site, casually disregarded until morning. I did my best to balance the dread of a mosquito-filled night, with the excitement of what was implied for this evening's sexual (mis)adventures.

Bedtime ensued early and coincided almost precisely with the last of the scotch. The three tent-dwellers were in good spirits as they brushed their teeth and disappeared one by one behind the privacy and shelter of nylon. It may not sound like much, but both provide a sense of security beyond their measure.

Being left outside, I felt a bit like the gear; casually disregarded until morning - exposed and humiliated. I wondered how much Brad and Mike knew of our sex life, and whether they cared. Did they pity me? Did they believe I was truly as powerless as the rules of the game suggested? Surely Sarah must have explained to Brad during her time in the canoe with him yesterday that I got a kick out of this sort of thing...but what if she hadn't? Brad seemed like the kind of douche who might not care either way, but I couldn't believe Mike was so heartless as to idly stand by while his friend moved in on Sarah right in front of me. Not knowing somehow made it hotter and even more embarrassing.

I had chosen a relatively flat spot to lay out my bag roughly 10 feet from the tent. Well within earshot of all but the softest whispers. It was there within my relative isolation that I settled in for a night of listening and longing. Oddly enough, as the meager conversation and good-natured chuckles grew sparse and soft behind the wall, I realized that despite feeling physically alone, I didn't feel distant from Sarah. Quite the opposite. I began to realize that mastering my jealousy was growing easier with each new trial.

As dusk fell that evening, it dawned on me that Sarah was taking a risk, and that that risk involved not knowing for sure whether I would be alright. She had my repeated assurances, but words can only take you so far. Sarah had taken a sort of leap of faith and been able to trust that I meant what I said. That leap could not have been taken at the beginning of our relationship. It required trust and growth. Knowing she must trust me a great deal, and that she was willing to strain and exercise that trust for the sake of pursuing our mutual sexual interests made me feel closer to her than ever.

Part 16

As predicted, I did not have long to wait until things in the tent began to heat up. It began with the gentle sounds of kissing. I assumed it was Brad doing the kissing, but I couldn't tell for sure. Light feminine moaning and sighing came soon after. It was hard to imagine Mike just lying there while all this went on right beside him, and I began to think that he was probably getting in on some of the action as well. It quickly shifted my initial perception of him from concerned confidante to participatory jackal. I would like to say I was disappointed in him, but I really cannot blame him one bit. He owed me nothing, and Sarah can be damn near impossible to resist when she wants to be.

Lying there on the outside, one hand gripping my erection while listening to the soft sounds of pleasure emanating from behind the tent wall; I was reminded of a pillow-talk conversation we'd had shortly after getting together. I asked if you had ever been with two men at the same time before, and whether you might enjoy such a thing. You said you had not, but that the prospect of it didn't seem all that objectionable. This was before you'd gone away on a 10-day canoe trip with a couple of platonic male friends. I was fairly sure nothing had happened (because you told me so explicitly), but a small part of me was always left wondering. Now though, it was actually happening. Not exactly how I'd imagined it happening on that prior trip without me, but far more in my face and up front.

The reality of it was sinking in, and I found myself feeling happy for you that you were getting to experience something new and novel sexually that most people only dream of. As it turned out, "in my face" was about to become more than a figuratively descriptive idiom.

"One minute", I heard you whisper.

A zipper began to open, and I quickly removed my hand from its new home in my pants and pretended to be sleeping. You knew better and did not buy it for a second. Emerging bottomless with a loose-fitting tank top from the tent, you spotted where I lay and strode quickly over. Giving me a firm nudge with your foot, I looked up and saw you standing above me with a grin. I loved the way this angle from below accentuated the curves in your body. It showed the definition of legs, buttocks, stomach, and breasts in a narrow frame of taught imposing splendour.

I knew what you wanted, but you issued the one-word command anyway: "Clean!". And dropping down you squatted over my waiting mouth, resting your hands on my chest.

I immediately felt how wet you were - no doubt a consequence of the attention you were receiving from our sexually charged paddling companions. It had been quite some time since I had been able to evoke such a physiological response from you. The wetness of the moment was mingled with the mildly funky scent of days passed - urine and sweat. Although I took pleasure in receiving this acrid bouquet, I assumed it was more about your own practical needs and showing me my place rather than generosity on your part. Brad and Mike must not share my sense of taste, and you wanted to give them your best.

As I plunged my tongue as deeply as I could into your vagina, my nose pressed firmly against your asshole, I wondered when the last time you'd cleaned yourself was. I couldn't remember seeing you in the water at all that day. This disturbing thought was quickly replaced by another: If you hadn't washed all day, was I licking up more than just your wetness? My mind flashed back to this morning, and the drops of what looked like cum on your inner thigh. You still hadn't told me whether you'd allowed Brad to finish inside you or not. The humiliation of this potentiality made my dick throb uncontrollably. You noticed the moving bulge under my sleeping bag and reached inside to grab it. I almost came at the touch, and you lifted up your hips slightly. "Open", you whispered.

My heart raced as I began to understand what you intended. Your lips were parted, and I opened my own, slowly, and reluctantly, anticipating the worst.

It came. At first, little more than a trickle wetting my lips and chin - the taste mild and dilute; it soon became a single jet stream, filling my mouth entirely and overflowing both sides of my cheeks and neck.

"Swallow it!" You hissed sharply, bringing a fist firmly down upon my ribcage. I did as I was told, it took several gulps to achieve, while forcibly restraining an urge to gag. I heard a shout of incredulity "No way?!", followed by snickering coming from the tent, and felt a hot wave of humiliation wash over me. As the stream died down and the last few drips landed in my eye, you let go of my throbbing penis.

You stood up and I thought it was over, but instead you turned around to face me and squatting once more, brought your wet thighs down, clamping my head between them. "Lick", you commanded.