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Attached are parts/Chapter 4 

Camping Delights  Chapter 4  (MF, Nc, Husbands) By Meiraj@aol.com

Chapter 4. Johnny's journal for Saturday

When the alarm on my wrist watch went beep, beep, my mind instantly
shifted into full activity. Bill and I had planned on going to the
lake very early  in the morning which is the best time to go fishing.
That is why I had set the alarum for daybreak.  The birds were
chirping and faint first light was peeking into the tent from the two
tiny windows. As soon as I woke up, I had instant recall of all that
had gone on at night. I glanced at my sleeping partner for yet another
and final confirmation. She was facing the tent wall and I could not
see her face.  But what little of the hair I could make out in the dim
light was enough to tell me that she was not Jill but Jill's friend
Bonny. Yes, Bill's Bonny. However much I had wished for the night to
have been only a nightmare, it had not been so. What had happened was
real. Bill had slept with Jill, and I, well, had slept next to Bonny. 

I quickly and cautiously  let myself out of the tent. As I was doing
so I heard another alarm beep from the  tent next door. In a few
seconds as I was carefully zipping the tent entrance back from the
outside so the cool morning draft did not bother Bonny,  Bill emerged
out of his tent - rather my tent, (well, at this point the  tents
should really be referred to as Bonny's or  Jill's.) I did not look at
him directly and I don't think he looked at me straight either.

He said a meek and muffled 'good morning' which I barely acknowledged.
We set off to the washrooms in silence. The chirping of the birds had
gotten quite noisy, the people in other tents at the campsite were
still sleeping. So we had all the excuses not to break the silence.
Not wishing to make the trip back together, I rushed and got back to
our campsite before Bill did. I readies my fishing gear and was
pretending to look at something interesting behind some trees, Bill
returned and got his gear ready. We both set off and since we had to
pass through the area where people were camping and still not up for
the morning, we maintained silence. We were both embarrassed  by our
errors of the night.

Not until reaching the lake did we make any conversation. He would say
a sentence or so on the natural beauty we were taking in, and I would
mumble an acknowledging "Uh Huh." A long time of silence would follow
and I would break it and make a trivial silence breaker comment, and
he would acknowledge with an  "Uh Huh." It was obvious both of us were
feeling extremely uncomfortable. When we reached the lake we took our
time to find  a good place to sit  and cast our fishing hooks. From
time to time monosyllables escaped  from us. Yes, monosyllables  so as
not to scare off the fish.  I guess we were looking for ways to bring
up the previous night. Both were very controlled, trying to be very
modern and very civilized about it.

Finally Bill said, " Johnny, I am sorry for the mix-up last night. By
the time I realized, it was too late. Will you forgive me, please!"
There was genuine regret in his voice.

"Oh, was there a mix-up Bill? What kind?" I said sarcastically. My
anger was finding a vent at last.

"You know what kind Johnny; We entered the wrong tents. We are both
equally guilty." Bill said.

" Speak for yourself  Bill, don't just assume we are both equally
guilty. When I entered the tent, the lady was fast asleep, and I just
lied down next to her. Didn't realize she was not who I thought she
was until I heard and wondered about the racket  coming from your tent
- or rather my tent, or should I say Jill's tent. I took a while for
  me to realize we - you and me,  had entered the wrong tents. Unlike
you, I didn't touch your woman." 

I wasn't going to admit to him I had done anything close to what he
had done. My fingering Bonny's lower-level lips, grasping and feeling
her breasts and tits, touching her lips lightly with mine, and such
other things I had done did not amount to what he had done. And I
hadn't even gotten a full hard on when I did those things, to feel
guilty about. Besides, what I did was investigative work, and  because
that was the only way in that pitch black darkness, to put an end to
the doubts and suspicions that had sprung up in my mind after I had
heard the love sounds from Bill's - I mean, Jill's tent.  Bonny was
the one, who in her sleep, had thrust her thigh between my thighs.
What was I supposed to do?  She is the one who had curled herself into
my arms and molded to me. I couldn't just push her away and risk
waking her. So I had given her the comfort and security that a woman
seeks at night. I was entirely blameless.

Bill looked at me for a few seconds while weighing my response, and
spoke, "I believe you Johnny." Then he went into a confession, "When I
entered  the tent thinking it was my tent,  all was quiet and I lied
down next to who I thought was Bonny. Suddenly I heard a growl and I
was startled. Before I could say Jack Rabbit,  she was all over me.  I
was getting gagged by her, I couldn't get a word out,, and then
likely-split, she was jigging on my you know what."

I was listening to him carefully and also observed his non-verbals. He
continued, "It was so sudden, I couldn't believe how quickly  I was in
deep waters, and past the point of no return. I don't think she
realized it was not you. And at that point I felt it was best for her
to think so.  Telling her during or after the fact would have
embarrassed her unbearably.  I was also afraid that she might think
that you and I had swapped. I was hoping you would come out of your
tent, I mean my tent, I mean Bonny's tent, and make some noises, and I
could use that excuse to come out to see why you had come out, giving
us a chance to correct our errors, even belatedly. Anyway, I don't
think your wife realized anything was amiss."

I didn't answer Bill other than acknowledge him with a "Unhh huhh."
His brief description had matched the scenario I had imagined. I don't
know why, but listening to it was giving me a hard on. I didn't quite
understand why I was getting turned on by hearing and picturing what
Bill had done with Jill, or rather what Jill had done with Bill.

"You sure Bonny didn't suspect anything? Notice anything different?"
Bill asked. I can't blame him for wanting assurance that his Bonny was
intact and undiminished, that I had only slept next to her as I had
declared earlier.

"How could she? She was fast asleep when I went in and was still
sleeping when I got out. All she may have felt is my body heat from
inches away. I swear I didn't touch her." I was lying through my
teeth, and I didn't like that. But what else could I do?  I didn't
want to risk damage the relationship between them. I didn't want to do
anything that could hurt Bonny. 

Time ticked away. He, immersed in his thoughts, playing and replaying
his mental tapes, and I assessing things in my own mind. I did not
detect the contented smirk of a conquest in his face. I couldn't help
but feel he was a victim of circumstances. Yes, he buried his bone in
my wife. But it was probably, as he said, more like a cave swallowing
him. Yet I also felt angry at him and angry at Jill. 'Why was she so
horny last night. Yes, she pulls that tigress act sometimes. I should
never revealed to her that I liked it. I think she got that idea when
we watched a Peter Sellers' movie, where his Chinese man-friday
launches sudden karate attacks on the master. The fact that I had
heard Jill's moans of ecstasy was telling me she had a very
pleasurable experience.  I had always felt happy when she had felt
happy. In our social life, whoever  she had felt comfortable with, I
too had felt comfortable. That is probably why I hadn't flown off the
handle at Bill now, although what had taken place was more than mere
social intercourse. Also there was the fact that he was the victim, a
rapee, not a raper. My thoughts went on and on.

Neither of us caught any fish. After about two hours of no results we
headed back to camp. On the way back Bill broke the silence. Well, he
had done all the damage, and he knew he had to try to mend it.
"Johnny," he said, "I think our friendship is going to dissipate, if
it hasn't slided already. Bonny and I both like being friends with you
and Jill.  But I know you are going to hold this thing against me.
Believe me, you will hate me more than you are hating me right now.
This is going to become cancerous on our friendship. If Bonny ever
finds out that her fried Jill slept with me, she is going to walk out
on me; unless she has reasons of her own not to.  We got to do some
damage control. We have to even the score, and do so before we leave
this camp site." He looked at me inquiringly and pleadingly.

I looked at him non-plussed although I had a feeling about what he was
driving at. Silence on my part would have told him I had grasped his
meaning. I wanted to be sure.  I said, "What do you mean? What do you
mean even the score?  What is done is done, it wasn't your fault,
let's drop it." 

Bill wouldn't give up. He continued, "Thank you Johnny, it is very
kind of you. You are a good and kind man and I want to stay friends
with you. Anybody else would have stuck a knife into me by now."

He became more explicit and spoke fast and in an insistent tone, "But,
Johnny, you have got to even the score and give me a tit for tat.
Believe me it will otherwise grow in your mind like a brain tumor. I
want  you to go into my tent to-night and have Bonny." 

Obviously little did he realize I had sort of touched two tits for his
tat. That was in no way evening of the score as he put it. And
whatever I had done was done in an investigative mode, and quite
superficially too. I very quickly terminated this reminiscing in order
to respond to his proposal. It did have a reasonable ring to it.  But
I did not want to accept it flippantly. I did not want it to be a
'satisficing' solution.  I wanted a 'rational and optimal' resolution. 

I said, "Two wrongs don't make it right! Don't be silly! What is done,
is done!" I put emphasis in my voice. But deep in my heart and below
the belt line, there was a rebellion against my brain and my big
mouth. But being inhibited and squeamish, I had to say what I had
said. I also had the reputation of being a Mr. Right, a Mr. Straight.
Privately though, I prayed for justice to prevail. 

"Think it over Johnny, we have all day! I hope you feel differently
later in the day," he said. We were almost within ear shot of our
wives now and our conversation quickly came to an end. 

Jill was very solicitous of me, serving breakfast, and all through the
morning attending to me with overflowing love and affection, the way
she does the morning after she has had a good and hard satisfying
night. She was touching me, holding me, hugging me, and complimenting
me every chance she got. She couldn't wait until we had a private
moment to tell me how fantastic I was the previous night. She said the
camping had been a good change for me, that I seemed to have relaxed
and let go, and loosened out."

Obviously she had not realized the switch that had occurred. 'I had
let go and loosened out' is how she had explained to herself the
difference in the manhood she had taken in last night. My penis is
short and stubby - little more than four inches in its tumescent most,
but fatter than average. So much so, getting it into her used to be a
bit painful to her in the beginning. Then over the years I she had
stretched a bit, learned to relax, and also use plenty of K-Y on her
croissant. 

I had not expected what she said right after her comment about my
having relaxed and loosened out,  "Oh, Johnny, I am looking forward to
the night." A snake ran up my spine, and a frog jumped deep inside,
just where I hung out. My heart went into sudden death only to kick
start itself at ten times the normal rate.  

When I recovered, all I could think was "Mama Mia! Holy Moly!! Son of
a Gun!!!.... Jill had liked the "loosened-out"  bit. Only, it must not
have been a bit. A byte may be? A giga byte? "

I couldn't help drawing obvious conclusions. Jill had had a
peace-of-a-cake-time, putting the hot dog in the bun. She had had a
crackerjack of a cock in place of the regular mini fat-cigar.
According to the definitive survey of salami's on the internet, what I
have tends to be towards the minimum recorded. From what she said, it
looked like Jill had enjoyed sliding up and down the "loosened-out"
(elongated) shaft, and its long rubbings against her clit. And she was
looking forward to the elongated one again.

I couldn't help looking at the pictures that were coming up in my
mind. She, Jill, astride him, flopped forward against his chest, her
face nuzzled against his face. Her hips moving up and down, riding him
gently at first, then faster and faster. Then pushing herself upright
like a jockey riding a stallion, pumping up and down the full length
of the 'elongated' cock, alternately thrusting it to full depth, then
withdrawing until it was in only by its foreskin. The whispering of
her moist skin against his skin. And he the 'elongated,' sensing,
feeling the big breasts jiggling, hanging heavy, and undulating. ....
The finally at long last, she shuddering, moaning, slowing gradually,
and  moaning and quivering. their sweat mingling and merging
together.... and finally the cuddle of blissful exhaustion. ... The
pictures in my mind were swirling and repeating. And,  damn it, I was
hard again, from the moving pictures in my mind. The camping had
definitely let loose the pervert in me.

Jill is a one man woman, and I, a one woman man. She is the only woman
I've ever ...., and I am the only man she has ever....... I admit I am
however given to look.  A guy can't help the urge to look. It is the
testosterone in him that does it. Some people call that as mental
fucking. But I've never cheated on her. How could I when she is so
well endowed and so alluring, with her D size cups, hazel eyes, cute
face, inviting lips, firm tummy, shapely legs, well proportioned
corn-fed body, sexy voice, nice laughter, and an intelligent mind that
understands current events as well as football. And her eyes don't
wander. But me? I can't help it.  It is just looking and not anything
beyond.  It is a guy thing. It doesn't mean anything.

Bonny is equally charming lass. Younger, with a body frame (and cup
size) a bit smaller than Jill's. She has a cute butt, real cute.  Her
skin is peachy smooth without any blemishes. The light and twinkle in
her deep blue eyes give her radiance and gorgeousness. When she smiles
she looks absolutely angelic. She would have no problem at all to get
into shows like Bay Watch, full of life and estrogen! She is witty and
extroverted. Yet there is something about her that said she is
fragile, needed protection, needed comfort, needed joy, and needed to
feel like a woman. 

In my process of checking my doubts and hypotheses last night, if I
had pressed her thigh, and if I had run my hand on her bare back, if I
had pulled and held her close to me, if I had wiped the sweat on her
breasts and gently released the tension in her nipples, and if I had
protectively shielded  her luscious labia lips with my hand, I had
done so with the protective, nurturing instinct. Touching my lips to
her lips was a way of communicating to her that she had my protection,
that I could offer whatever she needed.  My intentions had been
pure!!! There was no carnal thought. No! I hadn't even become fully
tumescent when she had molded herself to me, and I to her. And
certainly not as  hard as I did from the chirpings of the love bird in
the next tent, stuck with a hard bit in her wet slit. 

My mind went back to the suggestion that Bill had made: that the
'scores' should be evened. What right did Bill have to treat Bonny as
his chattel. Yes, husbands have that right in some Eskimos tribes
where a husband's friend/guest is offered food, water, shelter, and
the wife as a belly warmer. But here in our civilized society, that is
a no, no.  Bonny is a person in her own right. Only she has the right
to give herself.   I thought of reporting Bill to the local  feminist
group. They would skin him alive, and may even bobbit him. 

I didn't like the idea of sneaking up on sweet Bonny, like a thief in
the night.  Boy, what if she comes to know that her husband had slept
with his best friend's wife,  and then to even the score,  sent in his
friend to sleep with her.  "No, Bonny she is too sensitive and
delicate, like a flower. She must be protected",  I resolved.

The rest of the day, I tried my best to appear normal in my
interactions with Jill, Bonny and Bill. But by lunch time Jill had
detected I was moody and distraught. After lunch, she pulled me out to
go for a hike on the trail that meandered through the woods. When we
sat down for a rest, she came to the point.

"What is the matter Johnny, you seem to have become quiet and
withdrawn. Don't you like camping anymore. You were fully relaxed and
a joyous mood last evening. Was I too much of a bother last night? Did
I suck you dry?"

"No, it is not you Jill, it is me," I was half right.  I continued on
to spin a story and  seek her counsel. Jill has a very pragmatic mind.
She cuts through chaff quickly. 

I went on with the following story. " Well, yes, I guess I am a bit of
a thinking mood. I ran into an old buddy of mine in the washroom this
morning. He is in a great big dilemma, and asked my opinion. It is a
very personal, delicate and potentially explosive situation. So I have
been thinking about it." I had manufactured a white lie.  I had to be
circuitous in order to get her advice on  Bill's suggestion that
morning to balance out the score. 

"You want to tell me about it," She asked solicitously.

"Well, it is kind of very personal. He confided in me only because way
back he used to come and talk to me about his most personal problems.
He used to feel that I point him in the right direction. Now that I am
thinking about it, he hasn't  given me much to go on. So, I am
analyzing a fuzzy problem and feeling frustrated. He wants my advice
to-day as he is leaving the camp late this evening."

" Still, a woman's perspective may help. Why don't you tell me about
it?" Jill insisted.

"Well, O.K. From what I understand of the problem, it would appear
that my buddy's wife has been made love to by his best friend, quite
by accident, mind you. The wife thought it was her own husband. The
lights had gone out, or something to that effect, in the hotel they
were staying. I think it was a convention or something they were
attending, I don't know exactly. The husbands had gone to sleep while
the girls were in the lounge and chatting away, catching up, you know,
and there was an electricity failure. And in the darkness the girls
went into wrong rooms and crawled into wrong beds." I said introducing
a lot of vagueness without leaving out the crucial parts.

"Your buddy and his wife and this other couple accidentally switched
partners, and each of the guys made love to the other's wife, is that
what you are telling me?" Jill asked to clarify for herself.

"No, no! Sexual activity occurred only among one of the switched
couples. In the other case, the two slept like logs next to each
other. My buddy's wife is the one who had sexual activity. But she has
not realized she was with the wrong man."

"So what is the problem. What is the dilemma your buddy wants your
advice on?" Jill asked. 

"Jill, it is quite, quite delicate. The two guys know what happened.
My buddy's friend feels very bad and very sorry about the mix up. He
does not want to lose my buddy as a friend. He has suggested that my
buddy should balance out the mishap so they can continue to be
friends. He is afraid my buddy will hate him and not stay friends with
him."

"You mean he wants your buddy to make love to his wife, so the score
is even?" Jill asked, astonished.

"Yes, basically that is it!"

"How does your buddy feel about it? Obviously, as you said, he is in a
dilemma. How do the wives feel?" Jill probed.

"He does not feel right. Since it was a freak accident and he feels
responsible to some degree for the accident, mind you I don't know all
the details, he feels there is no need to 'balance out the score'.
And as for the girls, my buddy's wife seems to be oblivious to what
happened. She seems to have detected no difference between the man she
slept with and her regular partner, her husband.  As for the other
woman, she also does not seem to be aware that she slept next to the
wrong man. She must have slept like a log."

"I see, Humm........," Jill turned over the problem in her mind. She
thought for a long time. We must have walked in silence for five
minutes. Then she thought aloud, " The two guys want to keep their
friendship; One of the guys has fucked the other's wife, and now wants
the other guy to fuck his wife to even things out, otherwise he thinks
he will never be forgiven." She went silent again. It didn't take her
long to come back with her pronouncement.

"I think your buddy should fuck his friend's wife, and be done with
it, if he wants to keep their friendship, and if the friendship were
to fizzle out in the future, he will at least have the satisfaction of
having evened things out. You know as well as I do, even forgiven
wrongs, healed wounds, begin to hurt deeply when psychic distance
develops between the parties. Then , wars begin in the mind first and
move on to blood and bones next." Wise words from my Jill. She should
have been a judge.

"I see your point. Let me think about it. I hope I will have something
right to tell my buddy later before he leaves camp".  I  started
talking about something else and soon we were back in the campsite. 

Although I tried to go about the day as normally as possible, my mind
was turning things over even after I had seen the validity of Jill's
wise advice. What she had opinioned did give some comfort, that if I
took the offer that Bill had placed before me, it wouldn't be
tantamount to being unfaithful to my wife. At least she wouldn't hold
it against me, because it would be her advice rendered for my buddy,
and you can't have one for the goose and one for the gander!

As the afternoon was giving way to the evening I couldn't help
wondering if Jill was really unaware of what had happened, what she
had done the previous night. If she was unaware then her judgement in
the case of my manufactured buddy could be considered objective.  But
if she was aware, and she is a pretty smart cookie, then her advice
would not be neutral and objective.  She had said in the morning that
she was looking forward to the night, obviously for a repeat of the
pleasures of the night before. If so, was she hinting that I should
get lost again in the same manner, that I should loose my way? The
thought was giving me a bulge in my pants.

My thoughts kept going in an unending stream. Jill is a full blooded
buxom lass raised on meat, potatoes and corn, and enjoys life and sex.
And all I had offered her was a mini-cigar, not a real phallus. She
deserved more than a short stubby piece of meat that never reached her
depths. What little ingress it made had hurt her in the beginning
until she had stretched and stretched. And it still was a tight fit,
and needed lots of slippery stuff.  If it was not for her being
oversexed a bit, she would probably excused herself with a headache or
something every time.  Yes, she deserved better. 

I felt a debt of gratitude towards Bill for his having done Jill. He
had probably penetrated into her depths  more than the one other man
in her life. Whether he had gone as far as the great barrier, only
Jill would know. I felt my relationship with Bill had deepened,
because of the depth he had probed. Now he wanted me to explore the
cave that was his monopoly. 

I went for a long long walk again to think things through and to clear
my head which was repeatedly going fuzzy.  I felt bad for Bonny. I
couldn't clear my mind of the thought she deserved more. I had been
looking at her intermittently throughout the day. I appreciated her
and admired her. My sixth sense told me that Bill had not been
treating her right, selfishly taken his puck through her goal posts,
taken his old log to her beaver, cooked his cucumber in her hot stove,
and may have even put his salami over her veal, but he certainly
hadn't given her enough love, enough physical assurance, enough
satisfaction. I could hear my heart beating for her. I could feel my
balls burning to empower her. I could feel the swelling in my loins to
sooth her. I could feel the quiver in my lips to comfort her. I felt
very empathic towards her.

As these thoughts were floating across the wide blue skies in my mind,
I was at the same time self critical. I was self critical that my
thoughts were not decent in some sense, that I was not living up to my
Mr. Clean image. I could not help suspect that perhaps there was a
lewd vortex of a turbulence somewhere nearby that was responsible for
some of my thoughts. Yes, that was it. The electrons in the turbulent
air were responsible for the seismographic activity in my perineum
region. Was the vortex my own repressed lasciviously intense desire
for having Jill experience ecstatic pleasure through the medium of
Bill's flute, the euphony of which I would partake through my
Eustachian tubes?

My analysis was giving me a paralysis. Who can tell what is real, what
is true, what is correct, what is good, what is bad? The view depends
upon the angle! It is said that the mind has several layers - five
according to some, and seven according to some others. There are
agendas and hidden agendas operating at each of these levels. I gave
up, and went to the campsite store and bought a slurpee to cool my
overheated neurons. 

After dinner we played Frisbee. What started as a four-way throw some
how ended up as two teams, Bill and Jill as one team and Bonny and me
as their opposite team. We were beating them pants down, when Bonny
got on Bill's shoulder to play double-decker style. So I carried Bonny
atop my neck and shoulders. Bonny and Jill were throwing and catching
the Frisbee from their elevated double-decked position, and Bill and I
were carrying them and running around to facilitate their catching the
incoming Frisbee. Bonny was wearing a mini tennis skirt with a skimpy
halter top. She sat on my shoulders with her thighs tightly clasped
around my neck and tucked her feet behind my back. We had all been
perspiring from the game, I could feel Bonny's perspiration around my
neck. I felt it on the skin of her lower thighs where I had to hold
her tightly so she didn't fall off. I liked the smell of her
perspiration.  Partway through the double-decker game, I could feel
the wetness increase at the back of my neck where her rose was
perched. Was it just the perspiration? I could hear my own heartbeat.

One thing that had most troubled me with Bill's proposal was the
thievery it called for on my part. I just didn't like the idea of
sneaking in on her, under the cover of darkness, under false pretense,
incognito. I examined if there was a different way 'to even things
out', as Bill put it.  Forcing myself to wear my creative hat, I was
able to find a different angle. 'What if I thought of myself not as a
thief, but as a anonymous donor, a gift wrapped in darkness? Then it
would be up to Bonny to unwrap me and utilize me however she wanted.
If she didn't want to use the gift, then that is fine too.'  The idea
appealed to me. The idea was similar to Santa Anonymous, who comes at
night and leaves anonymous gifts. If the gift brings joy and smiles to
the recipient, that is the most important thing. Also, playing the
Frisbee game had helped me lower my stress level, and with lowered
stress, my mind had resolved an important dilemma. 

The Frisbee game had helped me in two ways. Jill's climbing up on
Bill's shoulder I took as a signal she was giving me as to which way
she wanted to go. For her and me. That is, assuming that she was aware
of what had taken place the previous night. But all her behavioral
indications were that she was not. But then what if she was being a
character in Mopasant's short stories?  Secondly, the wetness I felt
in the back of my neck made me wonder if Bill had confessed to his
wife Jill.  Had she produced anticipatory secretions, I wondered.
Yes, now that  I thought about it, it was too much of a risk for him
to keep her totally in the dark about what might go on when daylight
would give way to darkness.  On the other hand, I am sure she would
have given him hell  for what he had done and what he was suggesting.
Especially him knowing me as he did, would think that I would not take
up his offer, and so he would feel it safe to let sleeping dogs sleep.
(What a terrible expression! She certainly is no dog).

Much hesitancy and unwillingness remained in my mind even when Bill
and I had started walking back to our tents from our before-bedtime
shower. Bill who hadn't said anything on this since we were on our way
to fishing said, "Johnny, I know how you feel, but I would feel we are
quits if you go into my tent to-night, even for a little while. I will
sit out and watch the stars or go for a stroll."  Then, casually he
added, "And by the way, Bonny likes to 69."  He looked at me, and I
looked at him. His eyes said I WAS going to take his offer. My eyes
said I was NOT going to take his offer.  But what he said last made me
remember  african saying that, 'Tonguenikaa naa nikaa'.  It seemed
possible to climb down from the horns of the dilemma I was in and at
the same time relieve the horniness I was feeling deep down.  

I was still thinking about it when we neared our tents. And Bill said
loudly, "OK Johnny you want to sit out a bit and absorb the stillness
of the night and watch the stars, But I am going in". Then he nudged
me towards his tent. His loudness was obviously meant for the girls -
for Bonny to think that Bill was coming in, and for Jill to think I
was on a star gazing walk outside.  He was providing a cover for me to
go do his wife Bonny and come out, while he sat outside, and then we
would return to our own tents. 

His pushing me towards his tent was the last straw. The die had been
cast for me. I had to go in do the needful for the sake of retaining
our friendship. I also had to abide by the advice that my wife had
given, for my buddy presumably, but fit my situation to a T.  So, half
reluctantly, and with a throbbing heart and other body parts and
tools,  I entered Bill's (Bonny's ) tent and pulled the zipper down,
the tent zipper I mean. 

---------------------------------------------- Continued in Camping
Delights  Chapter 5. Jill's Diary for Saturday.  By Meiraj@aol.com




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