This old man might still have a little bit left in the tank.
Many years ago Mrs. Ned and I discovered that, like many people, we are passionately in love with hiking in America’s national parks. For us, there is just nothing finer than getting into the outdoors and enjoying the spectacular scenery and adventure that our nation’s backcountry offers. Over the years, we have visited most of the parks, and while most of them are great in every way, some stand out above the others. Way up on the list is Grand Teton in Wyoming, and we visit as often as we can find time.
During one such visit, we did a long hike to Lake Solitude, a blue snow-fed gem nestled in the heart of a high mountain amphitheater. The hike to Solitude is difficult, rocky, and exposed to the blazing hot sun for the duration of its relentless climb. The lake itself is icy cold and deep, with a rocky outcrop that juts into its deeper waters. For those few willing to brave the frigid temperatures, it makes a tempting swimming hole. As hot as we were when we finally arrived, Mrs. Ned and I just weren’t feeling it. We would have had to enjoy the swim alone; nobody else had dared to enter the water. In addition, what we were wearing really didn’t lend itself to swimming, so like everyone else we contented ourselves with Cliff bars and scenery.
It was a quiet, serenely beautiful moment that was obliterated the second the two hot college-aged girls a few feet away stripped off their clothes and jumped in.
The wife’s wide-eyed, slack-jawed stare was all the permission I needed to do a little ogling of my own, although the whipped dog in me had the good sense to pretend to look at cliffs and stuff. The ice-cold lake was instantly sizzling, and suddenly its waters seemed a whole lot more inviting. Wisely, I knew better than to jump in at that exact moment. Instead, I made a mental note that, even though the babes would be long gone, I too would someday, somehow get my chance at taking a plunge in those crystal blue waters.
That was a couple of years ago.
A couple of weeks ago three of my friends and I were going to meet in Jackson, Wyoming for our annual climbing trip. Our target this year was to summit Grand Teton with a hired guide service. We didn’t realize it at the time, but it was not meant to be. The moment I stepped off the plane, I got a text from my wife: “An accident has happened. You need to call the guide service immediately.” Tragically, while we were in the air, a guide with the service unclipped his safety line, slipped, and fell 2400 feet while his horrified clients watched. As a result, our climb had been cancelled and we found ourselves needing to fill a whole week of newfound free time. Since I’m the one who organizes these trips, I already had several “B” plans in my head in case something like this happened. As I cycled through my memories for hikes that a bunch of outdoorsy guys would enjoy, alluring memories kept bringing me back to one hike in particular: Lake Solitude.
Just like a few years prior, the dusty hike to Solitude was scorching. Swarms of biting flies created misery in the midst of awesome beauty. To lighten everyone's mood, somewhere along the way I had told the guys the story about the naked co-eds. The promise of cool water plus the slightest possibility of a repeat performance of any kind drove our feet ever forwards. When we finally got to the large rock outcrop in the lake, my buddies kindly never voiced any disappointment over the fact that there was not a single naked female anywhere in sight, which realistically is what we expected anyway. Instead, they just sat and resigned themselves to a meal of jerky and trail bars. Personally, I felt like I had broiled in an oven for a few hours, so I stripped down to my boxer-briefs and jumped right in, keeping the promise I had made to myself years earlier.
The water was so frigid that when I hit, the shock caused me to suck in water and choke. When I surfaced, I realized my loud coughing had attracted the attention of two college-aged girls on the shore.
While I swam against the cold to move towards the relative warmth of the rock, the girls started quizzing me about how cold the water was. I chattered out an answer to them, and made some sort of deeply philosophical comment about living only once and not knowing when I would ever be there again. Apparently it resonated with them.
They stripped off their clothes and jumped in the water.
In disbelief I choked some more. THIS. WAS. ACTUALLY. HAPPENING. AGAIN. Still befuddled about what just transpired, I realized that with just a few simple words I had accomplished something that had eluded me my entire high school and college careers: I had talked two girls out of their clothes. I tried my best to be my polite Southern gentleman self, but let’s face it: I would hardly be able to call myself a man if I didn’t sneak a peek or two. Heck, I owed it to myself. Sweet Holy Mother of all that’s Nipply, I had promised my buddies naked co-eds, and somehow I had managed to deliver! I made that happen! Free beer would be flowing my way for the rest of the trip.
Then an intriguing idea dawned on me: perhaps in the course of becoming a middle-aged man, I had somehow developed powers of persuasion over women! A lifetime of complete bewilderment concerning sex and women had finally become as clear as the waters around me. What I was never able to do in my youth was now firmly in my grasp – I had reached some special form of weird enlightenment. One thought logically lead to another, and before long I had reached what could be the only possible course of action: I would use my newfound powers on Mrs. Ned. A lusty warm feeling grew inside as I realized that from now on, I would be a permanent resident of an all I could eat buffet of sexual escapades with the woman I love.
Soon after I got home, I eagerly decided to give it a shot. “Hey honey, I want you to get on the kitchen counter.”
“Huh? Ok.” Maybe it was just my imagination, but it seemed like she had a strange, trancelike look in her eyes. The fact that she was agreeable with my request made me cautiously optimistic that it was working.
“Then I want you to take off your clothes…”
“Wow. Ok, whatever you want.” She started to disrobe. I actually couldn’t believe it. Maybe I should pinch myself? This was too good to be true. She was completely under my power, submitting herself to my every whim. The Day of Ned had at long last arrived.
“…and put on nothing but this climbing harness.” I handed her the harness. Ok, so it’s a weird unfulfilled fantasy I’ve had ever since I first started climbing. For whatever reason, she’s always been resistant to it. I’ve always figured if she would agree to do it, I would put an anchor in the ceiling above the bed so I could do some top-roping, if you know what I mean. Technically, this request was a bit of an overreach on my part, but since I was obviously in complete control I figured there was no reason to not swing for the fence.
“…Huh? Wha??? What the heck are you talking about??!??”
The glazed look left her eyes. The magic moment was gone. I realized it. She realized it. My powers had left me at the worst possible instant. I clumsily scrambled to salvage anything from the flaming wreckage: “I said, I want you to get on the kitchen counter.” The weakness in my voice was apparent. I was no longer in command, if I ever had been. Right before storming out of the room, she promptly gave me helpful suggestions about where and how deep I could shove the kitchen counter.
Maybe my technique needs a little more honing. It looks like I'll get to practice it on myself for a while.
***UPDATE 20160822***
My "Grand and Glorious Climbing Harness Fantasy" remains unfulfilled no longer. Feedback from the post-activity survey indicates that Mrs Ned kind of dug it... and all the gear loops have an extremely practical application (i.e. they work super good as handles)
Many years ago Mrs. Ned and I discovered that, like many people, we are passionately in love with hiking in America’s national parks. For us, there is just nothing finer than getting into the outdoors and enjoying the spectacular scenery and adventure that our nation’s backcountry offers. Over the years, we have visited most of the parks, and while most of them are great in every way, some stand out above the others. Way up on the list is Grand Teton in Wyoming, and we visit as often as we can find time.
During one such visit, we did a long hike to Lake Solitude, a blue snow-fed gem nestled in the heart of a high mountain amphitheater. The hike to Solitude is difficult, rocky, and exposed to the blazing hot sun for the duration of its relentless climb. The lake itself is icy cold and deep, with a rocky outcrop that juts into its deeper waters. For those few willing to brave the frigid temperatures, it makes a tempting swimming hole. As hot as we were when we finally arrived, Mrs. Ned and I just weren’t feeling it. We would have had to enjoy the swim alone; nobody else had dared to enter the water. In addition, what we were wearing really didn’t lend itself to swimming, so like everyone else we contented ourselves with Cliff bars and scenery.
It was a quiet, serenely beautiful moment that was obliterated the second the two hot college-aged girls a few feet away stripped off their clothes and jumped in.
The wife’s wide-eyed, slack-jawed stare was all the permission I needed to do a little ogling of my own, although the whipped dog in me had the good sense to pretend to look at cliffs and stuff. The ice-cold lake was instantly sizzling, and suddenly its waters seemed a whole lot more inviting. Wisely, I knew better than to jump in at that exact moment. Instead, I made a mental note that, even though the babes would be long gone, I too would someday, somehow get my chance at taking a plunge in those crystal blue waters.
That was a couple of years ago.
A couple of weeks ago three of my friends and I were going to meet in Jackson, Wyoming for our annual climbing trip. Our target this year was to summit Grand Teton with a hired guide service. We didn’t realize it at the time, but it was not meant to be. The moment I stepped off the plane, I got a text from my wife: “An accident has happened. You need to call the guide service immediately.” Tragically, while we were in the air, a guide with the service unclipped his safety line, slipped, and fell 2400 feet while his horrified clients watched. As a result, our climb had been cancelled and we found ourselves needing to fill a whole week of newfound free time. Since I’m the one who organizes these trips, I already had several “B” plans in my head in case something like this happened. As I cycled through my memories for hikes that a bunch of outdoorsy guys would enjoy, alluring memories kept bringing me back to one hike in particular: Lake Solitude.
Just like a few years prior, the dusty hike to Solitude was scorching. Swarms of biting flies created misery in the midst of awesome beauty. To lighten everyone's mood, somewhere along the way I had told the guys the story about the naked co-eds. The promise of cool water plus the slightest possibility of a repeat performance of any kind drove our feet ever forwards. When we finally got to the large rock outcrop in the lake, my buddies kindly never voiced any disappointment over the fact that there was not a single naked female anywhere in sight, which realistically is what we expected anyway. Instead, they just sat and resigned themselves to a meal of jerky and trail bars. Personally, I felt like I had broiled in an oven for a few hours, so I stripped down to my boxer-briefs and jumped right in, keeping the promise I had made to myself years earlier.
The water was so frigid that when I hit, the shock caused me to suck in water and choke. When I surfaced, I realized my loud coughing had attracted the attention of two college-aged girls on the shore.
While I swam against the cold to move towards the relative warmth of the rock, the girls started quizzing me about how cold the water was. I chattered out an answer to them, and made some sort of deeply philosophical comment about living only once and not knowing when I would ever be there again. Apparently it resonated with them.
They stripped off their clothes and jumped in the water.
In disbelief I choked some more. THIS. WAS. ACTUALLY. HAPPENING. AGAIN. Still befuddled about what just transpired, I realized that with just a few simple words I had accomplished something that had eluded me my entire high school and college careers: I had talked two girls out of their clothes. I tried my best to be my polite Southern gentleman self, but let’s face it: I would hardly be able to call myself a man if I didn’t sneak a peek or two. Heck, I owed it to myself. Sweet Holy Mother of all that’s Nipply, I had promised my buddies naked co-eds, and somehow I had managed to deliver! I made that happen! Free beer would be flowing my way for the rest of the trip.
Then an intriguing idea dawned on me: perhaps in the course of becoming a middle-aged man, I had somehow developed powers of persuasion over women! A lifetime of complete bewilderment concerning sex and women had finally become as clear as the waters around me. What I was never able to do in my youth was now firmly in my grasp – I had reached some special form of weird enlightenment. One thought logically lead to another, and before long I had reached what could be the only possible course of action: I would use my newfound powers on Mrs. Ned. A lusty warm feeling grew inside as I realized that from now on, I would be a permanent resident of an all I could eat buffet of sexual escapades with the woman I love.
Soon after I got home, I eagerly decided to give it a shot. “Hey honey, I want you to get on the kitchen counter.”
“Huh? Ok.” Maybe it was just my imagination, but it seemed like she had a strange, trancelike look in her eyes. The fact that she was agreeable with my request made me cautiously optimistic that it was working.
“Then I want you to take off your clothes…”
“Wow. Ok, whatever you want.” She started to disrobe. I actually couldn’t believe it. Maybe I should pinch myself? This was too good to be true. She was completely under my power, submitting herself to my every whim. The Day of Ned had at long last arrived.
“…and put on nothing but this climbing harness.” I handed her the harness. Ok, so it’s a weird unfulfilled fantasy I’ve had ever since I first started climbing. For whatever reason, she’s always been resistant to it. I’ve always figured if she would agree to do it, I would put an anchor in the ceiling above the bed so I could do some top-roping, if you know what I mean. Technically, this request was a bit of an overreach on my part, but since I was obviously in complete control I figured there was no reason to not swing for the fence.
“…Huh? Wha??? What the heck are you talking about??!??”
The glazed look left her eyes. The magic moment was gone. I realized it. She realized it. My powers had left me at the worst possible instant. I clumsily scrambled to salvage anything from the flaming wreckage: “I said, I want you to get on the kitchen counter.” The weakness in my voice was apparent. I was no longer in command, if I ever had been. Right before storming out of the room, she promptly gave me helpful suggestions about where and how deep I could shove the kitchen counter.
Maybe my technique needs a little more honing. It looks like I'll get to practice it on myself for a while.
***UPDATE 20160822***
My "Grand and Glorious Climbing Harness Fantasy" remains unfulfilled no longer. Feedback from the post-activity survey indicates that Mrs Ned kind of dug it... and all the gear loops have an extremely practical application (i.e. they work super good as handles)
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