I’m 43 and newly single. The stage when men buy red convertibles and have affairs with young blondes. So when my 24 year old tent mate hinted at her availability I was majorly flattered but only mildly tempted. Looking back I’m a bit shocked. Being outdoors in the spring most definitely raises my…well, everything! Certainly wasn’t feeling noble or virtuous. Hmmmmm. Maybe my mid-life mess looks a little different than the norm. Or my conservative upbringing continues to fuck me over. Or the thought of two-days-on-the-trail-tent-sex just didn’t do it for me. Whatever it was, I stayed in my bag.
I sleep really well outdoors. When I get into a stretch of stressed unsleep I pitch a tent in the backyard. Beats the hell out of benzodiazepines. But the bladder bugs me at least once a night. This night I lay there…not wanting to move but needing to. As I stirred, my tent mate spoke. “Mark, are you going to pee?”
Having camped in bear country with a woman for nearly 18 years, I have a pretty good idea what that question means. “Yep…you want me to go with you?”
“Um, no,” she replied with a nervous giggle. “I want you to go first.”
And that, my friends, is what you get when you sleep with a 24 yr old.