Midlife Vices, 1: Ruth

RUTH

It’s hard to be cool when you’re 50 years old. Hell, it’s hard to be cool at any age. You either have it or not. The nice thing about being older is you don’t give a shit and don’t try, and then once in awhile you find yourself in a situation that works in your favor.

I was taking a Me weekend up at Black Pine Lake, with my camper backed into my favorite campsite. I left after work on Friday, and after arriving I set up a campfire and hit the lake with my fishing pole. Sitting out on the smooth-as-glass water, spin casting for evening bass, I warily watched the traffic jam of twenty-somethings arriving at the site near mine. Soon they were ya-hooing and blaring Deftones and Foo Fighters into the dusk.

I sighed and remembered back in the day. Testosterone and bourbon and Journey. Every once in awhile, a girlfriend. The memory of hurried fucks in the woods with pants down around our ankles had been a lot more exciting at the time. But now I didn’t envy the party developing on the shore. I was annoyed more than anything.

When it got dark I beached my skiff and set the kindling ablaze. I filleted six bass and laid them out in the ice box, keeping two thick steaks out for dinner. I sipped Jamieson and gazed into the flames, savoring the crisp taste of fresh bass fried in lemon and butter. If it wasn’t for the yammering idiots fifty yards off through the woods, I would have been in heaven. They were on a heady end-of-the-week drunk, the volume rising quickly. They might go all night. I thanked god for my camper, and called it a night.

The only bad part of being out alone in the woods is that time between climbing into the sleeping bag and falling asleep. The solitude of being in the dark with no one sharpens the libido into a roaring tornado. As I waited for sleep, vivid memories of past lovers wove seamlessly into vague fantasies of women I wanted to fuck. My cock stiffened into a rigid shaft in the quiet dark of my camper.

I stroked it distractedly, feeling its heated hardness, and fondled the loose fullness of my balls. Semen boiled like lava. I listened for awhile to the shrieks of drunken girls far away, and the bold arguments of idiot guys flexing their testosterone. My thoughts settled on Sandy, a willow-thin brunette with long straight hair down to her ass. She was the rebound after my marriage broke up, and after five years of being with the same woman it was an erotic delight hooking up with someone new. We met in motels, dodging her husband, and I was happy to go in debt on my charge card for that addiction.

Smooth, modest titties hung softly on her chest, curving outward enticingly. I was on some awful anti-depressants at the time that made it near impossible to cum, but I did get a pretty good hard-on going when we got naked. As I lay in my bunk now in the camper, remembering our torrid affair, I threw off the top of my sleeping bag and stroked more earnestly. The silhouette of my cock rose in the dark, straight and true, the distinct ridge where my head curved out from my shaft making an erotic bell shape in the night.

I was recalling one time with Sandy when we shared a joint and split a six-pack, and then spent twenty five sweaty minutes fucking, fucking, fucking. “Oh wow,” she kept murmuring, her flushed titties flying up and down on her chest. Finally, with both of us an exhausted mess, my body contorted and spasmed, and an orgasm ripped through my body like a rusty sword. My pent-up cum finally exploded, filling her tight little quim with a throbs of steamy heaven.

Then I fell to her side, panting and gasping, while she rose and went to the window for a smoke. She sat naked on a chair, one leg thrown casually over the arm, giving me a clear view of her tight little pussy adorned with short dark hair. As I watched, my pud leaked out of her and pooled on the chair. I stared at all that cum dripping out of her while she chatted distractedly about an Allman brothers concert she and her husband had gone to.

It was an epic visual memory for me, right up there with the first time I ejaculated on a girl’s tits, and the first time I watched my thick, veined cock disappear up into my ex-wife’s hairy pussy.

That put me over the edge. I gasped in the dark. Warm ribbons of cream slid down over my hand, throbbing in my shaft, slipping through my tight balls.

Then it was over. My mind and body calmed. I listened distractedly to the shouts and music in the night. Now sated, I didn’t feel as lonely. I slipped into a welcome sleep, aiming to get up with the dawn and try fishing from the shore before breakfast.

A heavy mist greeted me at 5 AM. It filtered through the trees in a mysterious silver light. The chill made me shiver as I kicked up the coals from the night before, but I soon had a roaring fire. I put on the coffee and tied on a trusty old spinner.

Hiking up the rutted road with my pole, I encountered a rusted-out Corolla tilted off into the ditch, driver door open, and a kid passed out in the grass beside his car. In the campsite, two of the tents had collapsed on the inhabitants inside. Amongst scattered beer cans and liquor bottles, the forms of passed-out kids lay twisted and lifeless in muddy jeans. Smoke rose in a wisp from the fire pit.

Down further, I found my spot and quickly had a handful of small-mouth on my stringer. The sun rose, steam lifting off the water, and it began to warm up. There was going to be some misery up in that campsite. I did not envy them.

“Hey.”

I turned, startled by the voice behind me. A bleary-eyed girl looked down at me from the bank above. A head full of dark hair fell on broad shoulders. The first thing that would strike anyone about her was her short, sturdy body. She brought to mind the compact and powerful build of the mountain dwarves of fantasy novels: Thick, wide hips and chest, with very large and full breasts filling out a loose hoody. She couldn’t be more than five foot and her face, which would never be described as pretty, radiated a friendly and content spirit.

“I see someone survived last night,” I said. The morning’s first sun sparkled on my spinner as I cast it through the mist. It landed with a plop fifty feet out.

“Catching anything?” She scrambled down the bank to join me. “I usually bring my rod but not this time.”

“Doesn’t strike me as a fishing trip for you guys.”

She chuckled. “Nah. Drinking and loud music. Guys tried to get laid.”

Her name was Ruth. She stood a few feet off, watching me, and talked about fishing trips from the past. She pointed out a good place for trout across the lake, where a small stream entered the lake.