Steve and I have been together since elementary school. We grew up next door to each other and were inseparable. Toys were rare and precious, and there was no money for allowances or entertainment. We had to create our own, which included each other as we matured.
We had a few friends but never let those friendships come between us. He was and is my best friend and the love of my life. There is no doubt in my mind that he feels the same way.
As we discovered each other sexually, we learned that we were both a couple of horndogs. We love sex with each other and, when the stars align, with like-minded others.
It's not as crazy as it sounds. We have only had a few adventures, so it's not like we're pros or anything.
Life has not been kind to us money-wise. We were both poor when we married and stayed that way for some tough years. Now, ten years in, we have finally reached the middle class. Not that far into it, but far from where we came from. In all those years, the only vacations we took were tent camping. As far as vacations go, you can't get much cheaper than that.
We were at one of our favorite campsites. The campfire is at the center of the campsite and serves as the focal point for socializing. It is contained in a heavy steel ring about five feet across and fed from a nearby stack of firewood. A fair number of folks cook on the expanded metal grills welded to spots around the circumference, and we'll occasionally have a group cookout using it. We all hang around it in the evenings, drinking and having fun.
Steve and I set up our tent about fifty feet back from the fire to ensure our privacy, then set up our screened kitchen canopy between it and the bonfire. As the sun set, we set up our folding chairs and beer cooler between the canopy and a comfortable distance from the bonfire. The other campers do the same thing for the most part. The rest of the area is open to visitors.
We were invited guests camping on private land. The locals knew about the camping and partying but didn't show up without an invitation. The ones that were invited were almost always fun to be around.
We enjoyed ourselves like crazy. It wasn't sophisticated, and there was never any talk of business deals, the latest fashion trends, or politics. Most of our fellow campers were like us, making it day to day and living for time away. The last thing any of us wanted to talk about was our jobs or serious shit. We partied hard on those trips and occasionally got a bit rambunctious.
Just last year, things got really fun.
My husband, Steve, isn't the tall, dark, and handsome type that all the girls swoon over. He's much more subtle than that. He's average height at best and while he isn't movie star handsome, he has rugged good looks and a smile that makes me almost as wet as his blue eyes do. Like me, he works in a factory but dreams of being a successful singer-songwriter. I've sat around a bonfire and watched women as he played and sang. His sexy, deep voice and soul-catching lyrics draw them in every time. I see the speculation and the desire. I understand it well and don't blame them a bit. They're seeing the tip of the iceberg.
We both find jealousy confusing. Why should I be upset that my true love enjoys a bit of recreational fucking? He certainly doesn't get upset on the rare occasions that I do it. We both know where our hearts lie.
On this trip, it wasn't jealousy that led to my comments to my husband. I'm very protective of him, just as he is of me. If a woman shows interest in him, and he her, I have no problem with a bit of fun as long as she meets my criteria. No skanks are allowed near my husband. I won't tolerate disrespect for my marriage, and I can spot a potential troublemaker a mile away. When he pointed out the skank that had been hovering near him, giving him doe eyes while he sang, I huffed out in disgust. "Really? Take a look to her right, about five feet. What do you see?
"Let me tell you, my clueless love. That surly gentleman is her husband. He is obviously none too happy with her focus on you. I suspect she does this a lot, and I bet he gets pissed every time. She escalates until he loses it and picks a fight with you. When the fight is over, preferably with you bloody on the ground, they have animal makeup sex. That bitch isn't getting close to you. Even when I know you would totally kick his ass."
I gave him a moment to ponder my observations. He looked a bit chagrined. "I don't know what I would do without you, Babe."
"All is not lost, dear clueless husband. Please cast your gaze to my left at the two girls with the hot guy."
He glanced over. "The dark-haired one?"
I kissed his cheek. "Now, don't stare. Just kind of watch out of your periph." It didn't take her long. I knew she couldn't keep her eyes off of my husband. She found him attractive, and she was a total hottie. The fact that she was with another hot girl and a hunk of a guy didn't hurt her standing.
"She's been watching you for a while now. I can tell by how she's been squirming around that you turn her on something fierce. It looks like she keeps good company. What say, you and I go say hello?"
Steve was, as usual, totally clueless about the social nuances. "Well, come on. Let's go say hey."
He handed me a beer, got one for himself, and grabbed three more. I arched an eyebrow at him. "What? No tequila?"
His sarcasm detector must have been on the fritz. He seemed perfectly serious when he said, "Let's see how introductions go first."
We meandered over to the trio, speaking to folks we knew as we passed. It didn't take them long to realize that they were our destination, and they looked up at us curiously as we approached.
My hubby let his sophistication show. "What's up! I'm Steve, and this is my wife, Ginger."
I know, right? I'm a redhead, and my parents named me Ginger. My Dad was a big fan of Gilligan's Island. My dad was a bit of a horn dog for Ginger, and Mom thought that was cool for some reason. I console myself with the fact that my parents aren't Gen-X, and my name isn't Harmony Of The Proletariat or something. That helps a little.
The cute little dark-haired girl smiled at my hubby in greeting and then glanced at me. That wasn't a bad idea, considering the crowd. We are a bunch of rednecks for the most part, and some women don't take kindly to women smiling at their husbands. Some get downright violent about it. Skank is probably one of those.
Some folks embrace their ignorance and strive to become a living caricature of what people think we are. It isn't helping. Folks like us are just like everyone else. We work hard, love deeply, find fun where we can, and live life as fully as possible. We do it with a hand wrapped around a long neck instead of a pinky sticking out as we grip our martini glass.
I'm here to tell you that I don't give a shit what you drink and how you hold it. If you're an asshole, I'm gonna call you on it. If you're not, we just might become friends.
Thankfully, Steve is a lot more diplomatic than I am and has been tested more than once when my mouth got me in trouble my ass couldn't handle. I try not to do that to him, but sometimes people really piss me off. I learned early to listen to him when he told me to back off. After that one incident with three guys ending up in the hospital, I realized that my husband is a dangerous man when lines are crossed. I try not to put him in those situations anymore.
