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                 K R I S T E N' S    C O L L E C T I O N
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The Camper
by Lyndon Brown (indysheets@hotmail.com)

***

It was kind of exciting at first, watching my wife 
flirting with those young college students. But at some 
point things got quite out of hand and our relationship 
would change forever. (M+/F, wife-cheat, cuck?)

***

Author Note: This story grabbed me by the throat this 
morning, and made me write it, almost in one sitting. As 
always, comments and advice would be appreciated.

***

The camper was supposed to bring us closer. Our marriage 
counselor felt that after fifteen years together, we 
needed an activity that we could share. She said we 
needed to find places, free from stress and distraction, 
to be alone. She knows we have problems communicating, 
and wanted us to be isolated and practicing the 
exercises she gave us. She thought we needed to complete 
some sort of project together, something moderately 
difficult, that required both of us, working together, 
to accomplish.

We had camped before, when the kids were younger, before 
our careers took over our lives. We had outfitted a 
Chevy van with a center seat that folded into a bunk for 
the kids, with a pedestal platform behind holding a 
mattress for us. Both of us still held fond memories of 
driving in the dark, holding hands, exploring the 
possibilities of the future while searching for a 
campsite for the night, with our kids tucked in, asleep 
behind us.

So we settled on a camping vacation. Our project was a 
family calendar, something the counselor said had been 
productive for other couples. We would travel to take a 
series of pictures that would represent the landscape 
and landmarks of our lives. We would edit the pictures, 
identify the significant dates, birthdays, anniversaries 
and family triumphs, and publish the results as 
Christmas presents.

Preparations went quickly. I had months of unused 
vacation time accumulated. Joanna team-taught, so a 
month sabbatical was only a coordination problem for 
her. The grandparents were moved in, to see that the 
kids were fed, cleaned, and found their way onto the 
school bus.

I had purchased a pop-up camper that was small enough to 
tow with my Lexus. We made some weekend trips, and then 
I had some modifications made to fine-tune it for our 
needs. The camper started with the typical floor plan, 
with bunks at both ends, cabinets and a dining table 
that converted to a bed in the center. I had half of the 
center cushions removed, added lights, storage, and a 
sturdy work surface, creating a cozy eating and working 
area for two. I kept both end mattresses, but placed a 
hinged drafting table under one for map study and 
calendar layout. I discarded the ice chest, and built in 
a small refrigerator and microwave. We added a roll-up 
canopy over the door. I had extra gas fittings, 
electrical outlets, and brackets for the range and a 
worktop installed, to allow cooking at the side in camp 
or at the rear when connected for towing.

I already had a laptop and digital camera for work, but 
I purchased a photo-quality printer. Our counselor 
helped us find and learn the calendar software. We were 
ready. We selected October for our departure. Autumn 
seemed to fit the nostalgic nature of our quest. We had 
a final session with the therapist, then ceremonially 
turned over our cell-phones, beepers, and the modem from 
my laptop to be placed in her safe. Alone, together, we 
left the city to try to recreate our relationship.

We laid out an ambitious course to visit and photograph 
our children's childhood homes: First Dallas, then to 
Saint Louis to Madison Wisconsin to Bloomington Indiana 
to Nashville, then home. The map was covered with color-
coded pins indicating spots we had always been going to 
revisit, or which held significant memories. It was 
going to be difficult to cover everything, but that was 
part of the process. Working in harness together, at a 
tough but worthy task, was supposed to re-forge our 
bonds.

There were conflicts, of course. I had awoken at 5:30 
every morning for the last twenty years, to be at work 
at seven. Joanna's first class wasn't usually before 
ten; her evening classes weren't over before nine. I was 
asleep by ten, while she graded papers till midnight. 
Old habits prevailed. She left the covers to read for a 
few hours each night. I took two-hour hikes before 
awakening her in the morning.

Sex was a new delight. At first. Each night she would 
join me when I bunked down, then ride me to exhaustion, 
holding me until I fell asleep afterwards. Mornings, 
after my hikes, I would slip back into warm sheets and 
gently wake her into long slow lovemaking. Mid-day 
brought nostalgic couplings, recreating moments from our 
youth: A pond in Texas where we had learned to make love 
in the water, unnoticed by the kids or the other 
swimmers, oral sex in a fire tower, anal sex in a hot 
tub at a resort inn in Illinois. I could barely keep up! 
I was inspired by her boundless hunger. I thought it was 
for me.

Our destination cities were college towns. We revisited 
places we had been when she was a struggling grad 
student or untenured instructor. The waiters and 
attraction staff were generally part-time college guys, 
like her students at home. I began to notice how she 
interacted with them.

She enjoyed looking at them, flirting with them. When 
they stole glances down at her breasts, her nipples 
hardened. When a handsome youth was our server, she 
found reasons to leave the table, to press against him 
while whispering in his ear, seeking directions to the 
phone, or the washroom, or asking for assistance with a 
map. 

Often when she returned she would stand at my shoulder 
and slip her panties into my pocket, or crack open her 
bag to reveal her bra within. Waiters would conceal 
themselves from me with a menu or a tray, then, perhaps 
inadvertently, press their crotch against her elbow or 
shoulder as they refilled her tea, or removed a plate. 
Her cleavage was on display when they leaned over the 
maps, pointing out local landmarks, or gossiping about 
other teachers.

Two weeks ago Tuesday, we found a student at his serving 
station, cramming from the textbook she co-authored. 
While he worked our table, they shared conversation, 
flirting like co-eds. Her bra was in her bag, her blouse 
undone an extra button. She told him that if he gave her 
good service, she would autograph his text. He asked if 
she could come, back to the office, to explain a couple 
of paragraphs he couldn't quite grasp. She glanced to me 
before agreeing. I didn't object. When she returned, her 
lipstick was gone and there was a split in her lip. I 
pretended not to notice. I forced my mind not to 
speculate.

Our journey came to a fork at a campsite in Missouri 
last week. I can pull the trailer anywhere, through 
anything, but I can't back up worth a damn. Joanna can't 
give direction. So our routine is for me to get out, 
move behind the trailer, and direct her as she backs 
into the site. This time she ignored me, as I waved my 
arms and banged on the trailer trying to get her to move 
back. She was in a trance, staring off onto the next 
site.

The object of her attention was a well-built kid in a 
park ranger uniform, coaching an equally well-built 
blonde in a bikini as she laid kindling in the fire-pit. 
From a distance, now, it's almost amusing. Joanna was 
absolutely entranced by him, he as much so with the 
young woman's cleavage, while all were oblivious to the 
others' attention. I was just mad enough to ask Joanna 
if she was going to go "Gaga" over every hunky young 
male she saw on the trip. "Would you rather be here with 
me, or across the street with him?" I demanded, forever 
altering our life together.

"Young men," she said, "my relationships with kids, 
particularly my students, mean a lot to me. So does 
ours. Don't make me choose between them."

Our relationship changed then. I saw the same things, 
but now they were unfamiliar, in a different light, like 
the change produced by slipping a polarizing filter on a 
camera. I timed her trips to the phone or restroom, and 
tried to keep track of the staff. What I had seen as 
flirtation, now seemed seduction. 

That casual touch could now be a caress. Her erect 
nipples might not be the result of the air conditioning. 
Her lean across the table to return a menu now might be 
an opportunity for her to reveal her breasts. The 
inadvertent contact with a server now perhaps was an 
occasion to confirm the fullness of her breasts, or to 
evaluate the length and hardness of an erection. And 
there were erections. She made an impression on quite a 
few, and I found myself contrasting their eager young 
hardness with my middle-aged spread.

My sexual performance suffered. On a scenic overlook on 
a trail above the Illinois River, she knelt on a rustic 
bench, flipping up her skirt to reveal her naked rump, 
just as she had fifteen years earlier. This time, I 
couldn't produce an erection. I found myself thinking 
about her with others, and was unable to perform, to 
compete.

During foreplay, I would inevitably compare my cock with 
the younger larger more-ready ones of her admirers, and 
my erection would disappear. I would imagine her, on her 
knees before a young stud with a massive cock. He would 
be thrusting between her breasts, or full-length into 
her welcoming mouth and throat, long enough to erase her 
lipstick, hard enough to bruise her breasts, or split 
her lip. I would lose myself in the images of others 
fulfilling her desires, and ejaculate before satisfying 
her. I mourned my lost days of rampant virility and 
boundless energy. The images of her with younger men 
both aroused and unmanned me.

We stopped early one night at a state park in Wisconsin. 
We've gotten pretty efficient at setting up camp, good 
enough to look down upon our noses at those who have to 
struggle to level their rig, to pop up their trailer or 
to erect their tent. They guy in the next site was 
easily ten years younger than we were, and in the latter 
category.

He was camping out of the trunk of an older BMW coupe. 
Gear was strewn about in cardboard boxes, and he seemed 
to be missing pieces of the tent. The tent was one of 
those intended to fasten onto a Suburban, or a pickup 
with a shell, to add on an extra room. He was struggling 
to hold everything together and losing the battle. We 
watched for a while, amused, before Joanna took pity on 
him, and left to offer her help.

I stayed behind to review the day's crop of pictures. 
Something was messed up, big time. Every image had an 
awful orange tint. I worked for quite some time, before 
lucking into a way to salvage them. When I finally 
raised my head and looked around, it was nearly dark. 
The tent was up, they had given up on trying to fit it 
to the BMW. They were messing around with an air 
mattress on the picnic table.

The guy had worked up a sweat, and had stripped down to 
a pair of gym shorts. He was built like a weightlifter, 
and I noticed Joanna's approving glances when his 
attention was elsewhere. She took every opportunity to 
touch him, to place her hand on him to make a point in 
conversation or to steady herself when she shifted 
position. They were laughing and talking like old 
friends. When I saw her stroke his chest, moving her 
hands from the center of his muscular chest out to grasp 
his biceps, I stirred myself to intervene.

They had their heads together, tying to figure out the 
instructions for attaching mantles to a Coleman lamp. 
She had her arm around his waist, his hand was on her 
butt. I walked up and introduced myself. He tried to 
move away from her, but she maintained her grasp on him. 
Her expression was almost defiant.

I removed the mess they had made in the lantern, tied on 
new mantles, burned them to ash, and then repositioned 
the globe. The lamp lit with the first match, as the 
light spread, they stepped apart. I looked at my watch. 
"Shit," I said, "We're nearly late for dinner. We really 
need to hustle."

Dinner was a small success, visiting with friends I'd 
worked with on my first job out of school. Joanna was 
nearly silent all evening, but after drinks started to 
entertain us with stories about her new friend's 
misadventures. I learned that the guy's name was Don. He 
was a high school teacher, on sabbatical, trying to 
research his thesis and vacation on a shoestring. The 
tent and equipment were all borrowed, and he was 
completely lost in the woods.

When I returned from my hike in the morning, I visited 
the bathhouse, then stopped to check out the items on 
the bulletin board. I glanced up and saw my wife in her 
bathrobe, leaving our camper and heading toward me. Our 
neighbor called to her, detouring her onto his site. I 
realized that in my position, behind the bulletin board, 
in the shadows of the roof overhang, I was invisible to 
them.

I watched them, silently. Mr. BMW wore sweatpants and a 
T-shirt in the morning drizzle. Don was trying to cook 
over a smoky mass of damp firewood in the fire pit, 
using one of those worthless aluminum pans they sell to 
gullible Boy Scouts. His eggs and bacon ended up on the 
ground when the flimsy handle collapsed. He gave up, and 
led my wife toward the tent, discussing gear and 
equipment.

She showed him our rig in turn. I watched him stand 
behind her, as she bent over to demonstrate how the 
leveling jacks at the rear of the trailer operated. I 
watched him grin as the hem of her short robe rose to 
reveal the lower curves of the cheeks of her ass. When 
she leaned forward to show him where the crank fit to 
raise the top, even I got a long glimpse of her full 
breasts. Her nipples were like marbles. His cock was 
stuffed down the leg of his sweatpants, outlined by the 
damp fabric, twice as thick, and half again as long as 
mine, inches from her nose.

I heard him ask something about the weight of the 
trailer, then they moved to the opposite side, where the 
data plate is mounted. I shifted position, to where I 
could continue to watch.

She knelt, and rubbed on the embossed plate, reading the 
numbers aloud. He leaned over her, possibly to read 
also, but more likely, to enjoy the view down her robe 
as it sagged open. When she straightened, the back of 
her head pressed against his cock. She didn't speak, but 
moved her head a bit, up and down, then side to side. He 
asked something, probably about the BMW, because Joanna 
moved over to it.

She sat on the outside edge of the driver's seat, and 
leaned down, her head twisted to the rear to read his 
data plate on the doorframe. His cock had risen against 
the confining cloth, to about a forty-five degree angle. 
He stepped forward and rubbed it against the back of her 
neck, inserting himself under the collar of her robe.

Other campers were approaching, so I again had to move. 
I slipped quietly into our camper. I sat on the edge of 
the nearer bunk. I could hear parts of their 
conversation, something about an air mattress and roots 
poking in the wrong places. I thought she saw me, but 
they approached our rig. They were talking about how the 
interior was arranged.

The door opened. Joanna stepped into the dark interior 
first. The young man paused to adjust his hard-on, 
before climbing the steps. Joanna acted surprised to see 
me, but her friend was absolutely shocked. He stammered 
something, and turned to leave. I told him to stay and 
look around. My reaction astonished us all.

Joanna stepped all the way in, turning between my legs 
to face her guest. She pointed out our modifications to 
the interior, while her free hand reached between us, 
concealed behind her back, to grasp the head of my erect 
cock, and tuck it back into my shorts. She turned her 
head to grin and wink over her shoulder.

He left soon after. We had an appointment with the folks 
who bought our house in Madison, for lunch and the 
opportunity to take some interior photographs, so we had 
to hustle. We knocked down the rig, and packed with our 
usual efficiency. Mr. BMW returned, to talk to my wife. 
He tried to draw her away for some private conversation, 
but Joanna didn't make him any time.

We were on the road in minutes, silent for the first two 
hours. I was the first to speak. "What was that all 
about?" I asked.

"This is his first time camping, and he was curious 
about our rig."

"I was talking about the salami tucked into his 
waistband," I joked.

"I don't know about that," she said, "but I do remember 
finding a tent peg in your shorts!"

"This is going to be hard for me to say. We've been 
avoiding this conversation for months, but it's time I 
just spit it out. I think our problem has been that 
we've changed sexually, physically, but our relationship 
hasn't evolved to suit. I've heard that every guy thinks 
he is twenty-five until he's fifty, then overnight he's 
an old man."

"What does that mean," she asked.

"It means I'm not a kid any more. It means I can't get 
an erection at the drop of a hat, or go four times a 
night any longer. It means that I realize I've been on a 
downhill slide for the last fifteen years, while you're 
just now reaching your peak. We used to joke about you 
needing an assistant, now it's time for you to find a 
helper for me."

"I have only ever been with you, Bob. I love you. I 
don't want anyone else."

"I've loved you now for half my lifetime. I only want to 
see you happy, and satisfied. I want you to experience 
someone who can keep up with you, who can wear you out 
for a change."

"Do you mean that? Could you really step back and let 
that happen?

"If it was something you needed. If the circumstances 
were right. Hell, if we had spent another night at that 
last campground, I might have volunteered to sleep on 
the air mattress."

"Do you actually mean that? Could I really have had the 
camper and a night with Don?" she asked, with more 
enthusiasm in her voice than I would have wanted.

"I think so. It's not like he was going to use something 
up, or wear it out. But, then, only if it wouldn't take 
anything away from us."

"It wouldn't. I love you. But are you sure," she 
whispered, "think before you commit yourself. Be very 
sure."

It was a few minutes before I could answer. "Yes. If the 
right circumstance arose again, yes."

She chuckled. "You might have spoken too soon. Don is an 
IU graduate also. He has homecoming tickets just like 
us. We'll be in the same campground Friday night."

So this is how I found myself in another man's tent, 
listening to the rain striking the canvas. I was sitting 
in someone else's sleeping bag, typing on the laptop on 
my knees, pouring my thoughts out onto the screen. 
Putting them out where I could see them, examine them, 
and determine exactly how I felt.

Joanna has an oil lamp that she lights when we make 
love. I know now that she lights it when she has sex, 
too. I was never outside the camper before when it was 
burning, I was surprised by how sharp and graphic the 
shadows were. I stood in the rain and watched. They had 
the radio on, softly, but I could still hear the 
occasional word.

They started standing in the center. They kissed, long 
and passionately. He removed his shirt first. She seemed 
fascinated with his chest, stroking his rippling 
muscles. She dropped to her knees to lower his shorts. 
"Oh Don," she said, It's so big. It's just as long as 
ever.

"As ever?" What the Hell had I heard? What was going on?

He put his hands in her hair, and guided his massive 
cock into her mouth.

I know too well just how good she is, her tricks, how 
she tilts her head up to accept my cock into her throat, 
how her eyes watch my reactions in my face, extending 
ecstasy into long sweet torture. Even after all these 
years I can't last too long in her sucking mouth, 
looking down into those beautiful eyes, watching my 
shaft move between her lips, watching her cheeks hollow 
as she sucks the explosion of sperm from deep within me.

He lasted longer than I believed possible. She was 
whining around his massive cock, frantic with need long 
before he came. Her nipples were etched in impossibly 
sharp silhouette against the canvas, full and ripe, 
swollen nearly to the point of bursting. Her hands 
worked frantically between her thighs, her climax came 
with his last thrust and spurt within her throat. He 
withdrew, and ejaculated upon her face, shadow gobs of 
cum painting a shadow face.

His moans as he climaxed brought attention. Flashlight 
beams found me. I had to walk away.

When I returned, he was taking her doggy-style on the 
couch. It's the only place in the camper with sufficient 
headroom for the position. Joanna loves it when I do her 
this way, as it allows me efficient access to her clit 
and nipples, allowing me to drive her to orgasm, over 
and over. Dan didn't need any crutches. His hands were 
firmly placed on her hips, holding her as he pounded 
into her mercilessly. His over-sized cock dragged her 
clit inward with every stroke. Her moans and screams of 
orgasmic ecstasy were nearly drowned out by the meaty 
slaps of his pelvis against her ass cheeks. They paused. 
Her cries rose in pitch when his cock began to press 
against the rosebud of her anus.

Headlights swept over me where I stood. I had to move 
again, and stay away until the new arrival finished 
setting up.

When I returned, he was lying on his back on an end 
bunk, the shadow of his massive erection distorted on 
the canvas. She straddled him, grasping that massive 
prong and guiding it into her tiny cunt. It seemed 
impossible for her to take it all, but she worked at it 
until she sat, fully down onto his hipbones. She rode 
him as she often rode me, leaning forward, dragging her 
hips back to maximize the pull on her clit, as she 
bucked up and down.

It seemed like it went on forever. When she collapsed 
upon him, either in exhaustion, or orgasm, he took over. 
He held her under the ass-cheeks, lifting her high, then 
lowering her. He stroked himself with her body, impaling 
her on that massive prong until she recovered enough to 
resume her movements toward orgasm. The cycle repeated 
itself twice as I watched.

The ranger came through then, using his spotlight to 
read the registration tickets clipped on the posts. The 
light found me, and held me until I returned to the 
tent.

***

I awoke near dawn, cold and alone. I returned to the 
camper. The light was out, but the main bunk was 
creaking softly on its supports. I imagined them lying 
together, spoon fashion, as he gently reamed her from 
behind. In the darkness I crept all the way up under the 
camper to listen.

"This is fantastic," he said, "How did you ever arrange 
this? Does he know?"

"That fool? He actually thinks this was his idea!"

"Is he as good in bed as me, baby? Is he a good father 
for my kids?"

"You arrogant prick," she laughed, "You know you're the 
best I've ever had. My best student yet. Everyone else 
is only in the race for second place!"

Conformation. Desolation. 

She had set me up, lied to me, betrayed me on the most 
basic and deepest possible levels. His kids! Second 
place!

I have competed all my life, in business, sports, 
racing. I'd always thought that if I did my best, gave 
all I had, realized my potential, I was a winner, 
regardless of where I placed. I could never understand 
the guys who said, "Second place is first loser."

I do now! God do I!

END

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with
others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't
okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than
a trusted partner. 4-million people around the world 
contract HIV every year. You only have one body per 
lifetime, so take good care of it!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Kristen's collection - Directory 70