Camping Incest
🔞 ALL INFORMATION CLICK HERE 👈🏻👈🏻👈🏻
Camping Incest
This content is created and maintained by a third party, and imported onto this page to help users provide their email addresses. You may be able to find more information about this and similar content at piano.io
Advertisement - Continue Reading Below
Easy Father's Day Crafts That Will Make His Day
What's the Real History of Halloween?
Advertisement - Continue Reading Below
See Photos of Alex and Mauricio's Trip to Europe
Send Dad a Father's Day Gift Basket Delivery
Kick Back and Relax in a Beach Chair
40 Heartfelt Gifts for Dad from His Daughter
Here's How Drummond Dogs All Help Out on the Ranch
75 Greatest Father's Day Gifts in 2022
What to Write in a Father's Day Card
Every item on this page was chosen by The Pioneer Woman team. The site may earn a commission on some products.
To get to the campsite, I had to drive down that one road for a few miles until I came to this gate.
Then I had to stop, get out of the car, open the gate and drive through it. Then I had to stop, get out of the car, and close the gate before I continued.
On a cattle ranch, you never leave a gate open unless someone right behind you is also coming through the gate. Once that’s the case, it’s that person’s responsibility to close it.
Unless someone right behind them is also coming through the gate.
I drove forever, and I mean forever. Through rocky creeks, through bumpy roads, through Purgatory.
Not really on the Purgatory part. I just like to say Purgatory every now and then.
The truth is, I had no idea where I was going. My mother-in-law organized this campout/cousin reunion and she and my father-in-law just found the spot the other day. It’s so remote, I had never, ever been there in all the years I’ve been on the ranch.
Marlboro Man had gone on to the campsite with the kids and I’d run to town to get more bottled water since the temperature was 109 degrees at 6:30 pm and in situations like that, mothers don’t know what else to do but buy more bottled water. And by the time I was at this spot, my beloved texted me.
“Where are you?” he asked. I think he was concerned I’d taken a wrong turn.
That’s when I saw them on the horizon. There they were! I saw a bunch of cars—all of Marlboro Man’s cousins who’d traveled from far and wide with their kids and their tents—and I saw all the kids running around and playing. They were a good mile-and-a-half down the road, but at least I had them in my sights. At least I was headed in the right direction.
I stopped the car and typed “I see you guys!” on my phone. I figured Marlboro Man would look down the road and see my gnarly white vehicle traveling along, leaving a trail of dust behind it.
I drove along, and a few seconds later, Marlboro Man texted back.
Huh? I thought. What does he mean? He can’t see me? How is that possible? I’m driving right toward them. I see the cars. I see the kids!
I stopped the car again. “Look down the road,” I texted back.
Then Marlboro Man responded, “There is no road.”
Huh? He’s talkin’ crazy! I told myself. I continued on, refusing to be thwarted.
By that time I was close enough to the cars and kids to see that they weren’t actually cars and kids.
“Never mind,” I cryptically texted, refusing to go into detail.
After the whole humiliating “I see you guys!” thing, I persevered.
I eventually found another gate Marlboro Man had described to me, and I went through it. After that, I was almost entirely on my own.
There were hardly any tracks anywhere, as again: my mother-in-law and father-in-law just found this spot the other day. There wasn’t a worn path forged by pioneers on chuckwagons or even modern feed trucks. There hardly any trails, period. And that is a vulnerable feeling.
But at long last, I found it! I knew I’d found it when I saw…
Marlboro Man and Tim had helped set up the campsite, including helping their cousins—all girls, by the way—haul in and set up their own tents. This was cousin Deborah’s tent, which we would affectionately nickname Taj Matent.
My blessed mother-in-law had planned this whole cousin campout back in February, when Marlboro Man’s uncle passed away. All the cousins—who share a great-grandfather—attended the funeral, and she decided they all needed to get together more frequently, just like they did when everyone was young.
Shortly after I got there, the first two kids went into the water. Something about it being 109 degrees.
Before long, a few more had joined in.
Minutes later, almost all the kids were in the creek, wading and swimming and laughing and staying in a cohesive group in order to avoid a water moccasin attack like the one in Lonesome Dove, which all the kids watched while still in the womb, and which they all know by heart.
You know what? All of these kids share a great-great grandfather.
He was Pa-Pa to my father-in-law, but Big Pa-Pa to my husband and all of his cousins.
Kate was Big Pa-Pa’s wife. The grandkids called her Dokie.
I can’t imagine how much joy Big Pa-Pa and Dokie would feel if they could see their great-great grandchildren playing in the creek together.
And I’m sure they’d be proud of these three lads, who avoided getting all wet by offering to be lifeguards.
They had a set number of heads to count. And they just sat there and counted them.
Evening finally turned to night, and 109 degrees finally turned to 90 degrees. Marlboro Man, Tim, and the rest of the men left for home while all the female cousins stuck around and caught up and laughed and told stories.
Meanwhile, the next generation—the third cousins—all got to know one other by playing games and toilet papering each others’ tents.
I didn’t know campers did things like that.
It was fun to watch them bond over camp pranks.
It was also so much fun listening to Marlboro Man’s cousins—Katie, Deborah, Jana, Lori, Blake, Kim, and Holly—tell stories about growing up together. About their parents and grandparents. About Marlboro Man and Tim. I could listen to that stuff all day long. I just love it.
We also talked about cousin relationships.
If you share a grandfather, you’re first cousins.
If you share a great-grandfather, you’re second cousins.
If you share a great-great grandfather, you’re third cousins.
Then there’s the whole once-removed thing.
If you share a grandfather, you’re first cousins. If your first cousin has a child, that child is your first cousin once-removed.
If you share a great-grandfather, you’re second cousins. If your second cousin has a child, that child is your second cousin once-removed.
So what I determined is that the kids that were running around are my third cousins once removed by marriage.
There was a boys’ tent and a girls’ tent.
But it didn’t matter. The kids were back and forth between tents all night.
Eventually, around midnight, the little girls called it quits. Initially, Missy and I had planned to leave late after everyone else had gone to bed, and go home to the comfort of our respective air conditioned bedrooms. Because of this, I hadn’t brought anything along: Not a sleeping bag, not my toothbrush, not my Tums. It’s a thing that happened during my pregnancies: I learned never to be without Tums at night. I usually don’t need it. But I can’t sleep if it’s not there, because there’s nothing worse than waking up in the middle of the night needing a Tums and not having one.
As the night wore on, though, Missy had decided that we were both going to spend the night after all. She did not consult me about this. She merely informed me that we were both staying.
“But…” I objected. “But but but but but but…”
“But I don’t have my Tums.” I said. Tums had became the symbol for all I did not bring to the campout, which was everything. But my mother-in-law had conveniently brought along two extra cots for the girls’ tent, so there was really no getting out of it.
“We’ll get through it together!” Missy responded. And with that, we both headed to the girls’ tent while the adult cousins continued catching up about the old days.
Because Tums had been in the ether all night, Missy and I laid on our cots and had a whispered conversation about the kinds of foods we eat that cause us to need Tums. For Missy, it’s pizza. Not homemade pizza, but take-out pizza. Anything with an acidic tomato sauce. For me, it’s garlic—but only after 7:00 pm. I’m fine if it’s 6:30, but if I ingest garlic after 7:00 pm, I have to have Tums. Then Missy started describing how her pizza-induced heartburn manifests itself, and how she’s learned that if she props herself up with a pillow, it’s fine. And I said that I’ve just learned not to eat garlic after 7:00.
We went on and on like this for awhile, occasionally giggling while we continued to swap war stories about heartburn.
That’s when we heard the little girls in the cabin—all of whom we though were sound asleep—begin to whisper. Then, in unison, they all burst into laughter—deep belly laughter that rang through the night sky.
Missy and I were jolted out of our whisper-fest.
“What in the WORLD?” I asked. “We thought you guys were asleep!”
Missy joined in. “What’s so funny, anyway?”
My twelve-year-old daughter let us in on it.
“We were just laughing because you and Aunt Missy are just like us,” she explained. “You came into the cabin and started whispering and giggling just like we did.”
“Aw,” Missy and I said. We felt young again. We were just like the young ‘uns!
And then my daughter lowered the boom.
“Except instead of talking about lip gloss and music…you’re talking about Tums.”
Then they all started laughing again.
Missy and I went to sleep in a huff.
Already have a WordPress.com account? Log in now.
nyfemme
Customize
Follow
Following
Sign up
Log in
Copy shortlink
Report this content
View post in Reader
Manage subscriptions
Collapse this bar
Privacy & Cookies: This site uses cookies. By continuing to use this website, you agree to their use.
To find out more, including how to control cookies, see here:
Cookie Policy
Lewellen, played by Dakota Fanning, asking her friend for a look at what’s beneath his pants in exchange for a kiss, in “Houndog.”
It’s a right of passage, one few of us forget. For some the experience haunts and scars. For others it might be a humorous memory. But I doubt any of us forgot it.
I grew up in the sixties. In a suburb of New York City. It was a place where property sizes were tiny – just enough for a house, a bit of perimeter and a small backyard. When we needed space to play, it was “around the block,” Morningside Lane, where bunches of kids came together to play kick ball or stick ball or just rode bikes up and down the same block. Going further would be foolish. We lived at the top of a hill that was the steepest you’d ever seen, and going down, would have meant having to push one’s bike or body back up that hill with great effort.
It was a time when fathers worked and almost all the mothers stayed home to cook and clean and mind the children. My own mother didn’t have much interest in minding the children. I’m sure if it was the fashion to diagnose every behavior, as it is now, she would have been found to have OCD , or obsessive compulsive disorder. The OCD was focused on cleaning. The kitchen floor was so spotless, one wouldn’t have any hesitation picking up some food item that had dropped and popping it in one’s mouth. But within minutes, o ut woudld come the bucket and mom would scrub the entire floor on her hands and knees.
Mom’s cleaning left lots of time to fill without parental supervision. Those days that were not suitable for going around the corner to play outside usually signaled the a.o.k. for the neighborhood kids to come to our house, or to go to the “Riggi’s” house. No, I didn’t make that name up. If you knew them all – the universally Italian American, with a few odd nationalities, like Armenians, thrown in – you’d laugh.
One hot summer day the kids were sparce. July, the time for families to take the car and the kids for a week or two somewhere, anywhere, though not too far away. For we were not wealthy. None of us. Hershey Pennsylvania or Virginia Beach would be a very special trip.
With nothing to do, and few kids to do it with, Judy, Claire, and myself came up with a brilliant idea. We needed a boy and the only one available was my brother.
We were 8 and 9. Judy and Claire were cousins and lived across the street from each other. My brother was a year and a half younger than me, at 6-1/2.
The plot was simple. We corralled him into the small bathroom in our basement, the one that was designated for handwashing while doing loads of wash or relieving oneself if you were in the small backyard. It had a shower, but the whole room was tiny. Floor space might have been 4′ x 21/2′ or so, but we managed to entice him in with the promise of showing him something.
Poor Jim. He was small. A tiny thing at age six and outnumbered 3 to 1.
“We want to see you pull down your shorts,” we said in unison.
Jimmy wasn’t prepared for this, but for his age was tough. “No,” he looked at us with disbelief that I can still see in my mind’s eye. “Why would I want to do that?” That was a good question and we had the answers. We were going to show him our “tops.” After he pulled down his pants we would pull up our shirts, we explained.
Now this wasn’t fair, of course, and it didn’t seem fair to him at the time, either. We should pull down our pants too he said. A fair amount of negotiation took place.
Would we pull down our pants and pull up our shirts? That didn’t seem right either. We certainly didn’t need to see what was under his shirt: that would be a two for one deal for him.
After what must have been “forever,” he finally agreed. He pulled down his pants very quickly then pulled them back up. White jockey shorts!
That wasn’t the deal, we howled! Everything had to come down! More negotiations resulted in an agreement that one of us had to lift our shirt first for that.
Why is was me, I do not know. Maybe because I was the youngest of the girls. It certainly wasn’t because I didn’t have any problems with my brother seeing my flat chested chest. I did. The modesty that begins to arise around that age was in full force.
I did it. It was a flash. My t-shirt went up and down as quickly as his trousers went down and up.
Again the standoff. He had made a deal. We instisted he stick to it. Jimmy continued to persist, enlisting the tough stubbornness he maintains today as a manager of 100+ New York City engineers and contract negotiator for the city. Judy and Claire were next. They did it, mimicking my swift action. Claire, the oldest, had small buds: a poorly timed blink would have meant missing them.
Nonetheless, there was no bargaining power left for my brother. Reluctantly and swiftly the whole business came down and we all got to catch a glimpse.
My brother, now, at 45 is – as they say – “hung.” He also has none of the modesty we all had back then when he was as a six year old. If he emerges from his bedroom of our Montauk family house wearing only underwear, as he is known to do many morning, I have to avert my eyes. A flash of the memory from that summer day hits me, with no small amount of embarrassment and shame.
Now he is no longer a skinny little kid. His torso is sculpted and he walks about as if he’s a Calvin Klein Underwear model, rubbing his abs in an Alpha male gesture to indicate hunger that should be addressed by the women of the house.
Perhaps size matters; There is no mistaking the size he carries around with him and the lack of resemblance to the tiny circumcised penis we girls got a glimpse of in 1971.
And yes. We did get “caught.” The negotiations must have run overtime, into dinner, which was always promptly at 5:00pm. No sooner had my brother revealed himself, my mother banged on the door. “What are you all doing in there? Get out right now.” Emphasis on right.
“Nothing. We’re doing nothing,” we said, as all four of us filed out of the bathroom.
Do you have a playing doctor story?
obsessing on the opposite sex August 14, 2011 With 17 comments
Hi Anita,The only thing I remember is when I was around 4 or 5 years old, a little girl let me watch her pull down her panties and pee in a squat position. I saw her pee come out and thought is looked strange. That is it. I think many kids do what you and your siblings did–it is normal. I have had friends tell me stories about their kids showing their stuff to friends. It is just curiosity.blessingsfrank
So has your brother ever mentioned this doctor game to you as an adult? This playing doctor bit stirs some of my memories, but I’m too tired to relate any of it ight now. Thanks for sharing this story. Highly relatable!
um…yes i have a “play doctor” story or should i say stories. lol
I have a couple of one as well with of course the neighborhood girls. By the time we were all 12-14 we have seen each of us naked in some doctor game. LOL brings up some fuzzy memories.
i was offered a treat by anolder friend if i showed him my tiny penis
When I was little a nosey neighbor told my mom and I never saw a pussy until I was in the navy in the Philippines.
The girl asked me if it was was my first time. When I said ,”yes” she hugged me. It was obvious it made her feel special.
I have two sisters, one four years older than I am and the other two years younger. My little sister and I used to take baths together, so the female form was no mystery to me. My story involves “the girl next door,” literally. She was a few years younger than I was, and I guess she was kinda cute. We were talking across the chain-link fence that separated our two yards. I don’t remember what brought it on, but across that fence, she showed me hers and I showed her mine. A few years later I remember kissing her, but we didn’t do anything else.
Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:
You are commenting using your WordPress.com account.
( Log Out /
Change )
You are commenting using your Twitter account.
( Log Out /
Change )
You are commenting using your Facebook account.
( Log Out /
Change )
Notify me of new comments via email.
Sunday, Jun 5th 2022
9AM
16°C
12PM
19°C
5-Day Forecast
RELATED ARTICLES Previous 1 Next
Embed icon
Embed Most Watched Videos
By embedding this you agree to our terms and conditions
Cancel
Copy code
Tick icon
Code copied
Site
Web
Enter search term:
Search
The Queen shows off ‘cute’ acting skills with Paddington skit for jubilee concert
George and Charlotte steal the show at Queen's massive Platinum Jubilee Party
Boris Johnson to make NHS announcement in bid to move on f
Backpage In Dallas Texas
Des Moines Outcall
Beheading Porn