Treetop Sex

I had to run back to Jersey City today to get a suit to wear to the service for my step-mother on Tuesday. On my way, I stopped off to visit the guy I met a few weeks ago who has bought a former Boy Scout camp in the hopes of developing it into a Man Scout camp.

Now, I sort of pictured something like the set up of the place where I would go to Mennonite Summber Bible Camp. There would be a big pavillion for meals and evening singalongs. There would be the showers. There would be a few cabins. There would be a maintenance shed.

Uh... no. Man Scout lives in a shack on fifty wooded acres. There's lots of garbage laying about. The shack has no running water and is heated only by a wood stove.

I imagined that I could be doing helpful stuff like pointing out that the bank along the driveway wouldn't work for shasta daisies as it doesn't get enough sun, but it would be perfect for hosta. No, I'd be hauling bags of garbage down to the dumpster. And that would be fine. But it's unlikely that there would be anything like a dungeon ready before campers are due to arrive next June.

But if Man Scout wants me to work, I'm sure up for it.

But we went for a walk so that Man Scout could show me the property. That area (Bridgeton Township) is notable for Ringing Rocks State Park. Bridgeton Township was where a glacier halted in its southern advance during the last ice age. And so it dumped a bunch of huge boulders. (Brooklyn was the southernmost advance of another glacier, and hence there are all those huge boulders in Prospect Park.) There in the middle of the woods was a collection of huge boulders. Man Scout had strung a cargo net between four trees about fifteen feet off the ground. You scrambled up a boulder and climbed from there onto the cargo net. And there you sat in this cargo net, up in the trees, catching the breeze.

It was magnificent. For a while, we just lay there sprawled in the net, dappled in sunlight, feeling the breeze. Then we got down to the business of having sex. It was really wonderful, there in the cargo net, looking up at the sunlight coming through the boughs of the trees, hearing the sounds of the woods around us.

Now, that's not likely to go down with anybody I'd meet at the Eagle, is it?

When we got back to Man Scout's wee shanty, he had visitors. Three guys with a pickup truck were picking up some cedar logs. All three of them were of the ZZ Top beard/no teeth variety. The guy who seemed to be the leader of the trio had a pistol in a holster, cowboy style. Meet the neighbors!

Afterwards, Man Scout and I went down to a little cafe on the Delaware Canal. While we were sitting there eating hoagies (if you don't know what a hoagie is, you'll have to do a google search cuz I'm not gonna enlighten you in that regard), this... this... guy wandered up. He was in his seventies. He had his hair--which he wore in a pony-tail--and his goatee died dark red. He was wearing a big blue smock, belted with silver and turquoise belt. In other words, he was a total freak. As I've pointed out before, Bucks County has a remarkably high tolerance for freaks.

As we were leaving, I had a yen for iced coffee. Alas, they didn't seem to have any. So, I got a large coffee cup, asked the boy behind the counter to give me a scoop of coffee ice cream, and then filled up the rest with hot coffee. I apologized to the boy for going off the menu but he took it in stride. He charged me $1.25 for the concoction.

Treetop sex, colorful freaks, $1.25 coffee floats. What exactly is not to like about living here?

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