During our 16 years of marriage, my soon-to-be ex-husband and I went to many different middle-class campsites, but we never had sex at any of them.
We didn’t want to run up our three kids’ future therapy bills, and the other stores were too close. If we could hear little Oliver’s snack requests from our air mattresses, they could hear whatever we were doing, too.
I was hoping things would be different when my future boyfriend Eliot suggested we spend a weekend camping in Wiltshire, just the two of us.
I still didn’t feel like I knew him that well; we had been seeing each other for less than six months and not very frequently due to his work commitments and my family life.
But the forecast was good. I imagined myself relaxing with a glass of rosé and watching Eliot set up the tent, hopefully shirtless, instead of the usual situation: me carrying everything, including the kitchen sink, between the tent and the car, followed by the kids.
The campsite was promising, beautiful and remote; the pitches were situated miles apart. The week before, I had a steady stream of hints about large tent poles in my WhatsApp exchanges with Eliot.
Annabel and Eliot worked together in anxious silence until the tent was up, but sadly it was the only thing that was erected that night.
I wanted this trip to be different to my family camping trips, so I refused to take on the role of administrative “mum”. But Eliot was not up to the task, which meant that when we arrived at the campsite late on Friday, we had to rush to the pub for fish and chips.
By the time we got back, it was already getting dark and Eliot was panicking over which rod to insert where. I was tempted to shout “Oh, midwife!” but Eliot, at 27, wouldn’t have understood the reference.
Instead, we worked together in anxious silence until the tent was up and, sadly, it was the only thing erected that night. We drank a glass of wine from tin jugs in the gloomy interior before falling chastely asleep.
Annabel Bond (not her real name) couldn’t go crazy, but she still found it extremely satisfying… relaxing even.
The next morning my face was swollen, sweaty and red; I was more concerned with perfecting my makeup than my seduction technique.
The problem with dating a younger man is the pressure I put on myself to look my best, even in the middle of the countryside. The tent was cramped and full of flies, and as beautiful as Eliot looked lying there in his boxers, his forearm resting on his forehead like a fallen god, getting outside for some fresh air was a more appealing option.
We spent the day relaxing at the campsite and visiting the local village festival, all very adult.
I had time to reflect on how much better Eliot’s legs looked in shorts than any other man’s, and that night we snuggled up by the campfire.
But since neither of us had planned our trip properly, we had nothing to eat, not even marshmallows. And the bars had already stopped serving food by the time we realized how late it was.
The outdoor romance made Annabel, for once, not miss her children.
But it didn’t matter, it was time to settle under the tarp, Eliot on his back, me on my side, my hand running down his toned stomach. As my hand came down, he turned to me. “What? Here?” he said.
“Oh,” I said, helplessly. “Why not here?”
“Isn’t it a little… dirty?” Eliot looked anxiously at the congregation of insects under the tent roof. He had spent the afternoon zipping up our bags tightly to protect them from insects.
“That’s the point, right?”
“I guess,” Eliot said. He closed his eyes and kissed me, not too passionately. His mattress was higher than mine; I felt like I was pleading with a prince.
After a while, he got on top of me and I felt the ground pressing against my back.
‘Are you sure?’ I said.
“I’m interested,” he said quite diligently.
But even in the missionary position, even with the mattress giving off a sexual signal to any other campers who happened to walk by, it was hot. I’d spent the entire day admiring Eliot, and now he was mine. And there’s something about having sex in the open air that, for me (if not for him), connected me to my primal side.
I didn’t go crazy (I couldn’t go crazy), but it was still extremely satisfying. Relaxing even. Without making faces or straining myself, I was simply in harmony with nature.
Afterwards, Eliot decided to risk taking a shower at the campsite. Across the field, I could hear a group of children being yelled at by their parents to go to sleep.
For once, it wasn’t me. I managed to have real sex in a real tent. Just for that one night, I didn’t miss my kids at all.
*Annabel Bond is a pseudonym. Names have been changed.
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