When I woke up the next morning, Bruce was already outside, now also in some comfy sweatpants and t-shirt reading his book.
As I left the tent, I got a whiff of my own scent, realizing I had not showered for two days now.
"Ugh, I stink", I muttered, "I think I'm gonna go to the stream to wash up".
"Good morning", Bruce said, looking up from his book. I noticed he was not wearing his glasses. Apparently, his eyesight was not that bad. "Sure, go ahead!", he continued, "I won't, though, I hope you don't mind"
I blinked. "Huh? You're not gonna wash?"
"Na, I wanted to this morning, but I figured", he shrugged, "It's just us two here anyway. Nobody's gonna see or smell us, so why bother?"
"But...", I started, before realizing he was probably right. "Yeah, I guess, you're right there. Why bother. I'm still gonna head to the -uh- bushes", I said.
While I walked there, I felt kind of euphoric. Just not bothering to shower for a week or two felt oddly liberating. It was something you're supposed to do all the time and I was just not gonna do it for a bit!
I sighed as I started to pee into the foliage again. The place had already adapted the distinct smell of urine, and the ground was a bit wet here. The fumes were stimulating somehow, and I was growing a bit hard down there while I peed. I wondered how it would taste like... Following the sudden impulse, I caught some of my piss in my hand and gulped it down, almost sputtering. It tasted acridly, but strangely good.
"Fuck", I sweared. I had been so out of it that I didn't watch where my stream was going and a moderate amount had landed on my sweatpants. Even worse, when I sputtered out the piss in my hand, some of it had landed on my t-shirt, my white t-shirt.
I would have to change both when I get back to the tent. I immediately turned back.
Bruce looked up, when I returned, obviously eyeing both the wet patch on my sweatpants and the light yellow stains on my t-shirt, but, to my relief and surprise, said nothing, like it was the most natural thing for a guy in his thirtees to go peeing and soil himself in the process.
Perhaps just ignoring the event was indeed the best idea, I rationalized and refrained from changing my clothes.
As the hours went by, I was rather focused on my carvings. I was trying to create a bird, but the wings wouldn't really work out, so it looked a lot more like a sorry snake than anything birdlike. My clothes had dried quickly, only adding to the odor of sweat and two unwashed men were producing in the heat of the midday sun. I looked up, when I heard an audible tearing sound.
Bruce had stretched and the movement had seemingly be enough to tear his t-shirt at the seams connecting the right arm to the torso.
I had to take a double take; Bruce was... incredibly well built. Like bodybuilder-well-built, but with a small, but solid gut. He definitly hadn't been like that two days ago, and I was starting to worry, panik even. I quickly calmed down again, though. There had to be some rational explanation, and there was no need to ruin our holidays over that.
He did look like he was struggling though. His shirt looked like it was painted on him and had smaller holes and tears next to the big tear on the right side.
"I can't get it off", he sounded frustrated. I understood, the shirt was probably cutting off his circulation, that must have been very unpleasant. With a swift movement, he grabbed the big tear from both sides with his big hands and just ripped the piece of clothing in two, with a shredding sound.
What was revealed was a muscular and rather hairy torso, with impressive biceps. I stared with a bit of envy: I guess everyone would want an upper body like that, it would make things so much easier with the ladies. Bruce just went back to reading, like nothing had happened, the remains of his shirt surrounding him. I briefly wondered why he wouldn't get another shirt, but it made sense: None of his shirts would probably fit him now, and it was hot enough to go without one anyway.
It was hard for me to concentrate on my woodwork again. I was obviously distracted, as I looked over to Bruce again and again. Not distracted in a gay way of course, although I found myself growing a semi on some occasions from the pure awe.
Bruce's pants hinted at equally well built legs and, as I could not help but notice, formed a rather big bulge in his groin.
I had no idea how well equipped Bruce was. Since he was not the type for sports (or at least not that I knew of), I had never seen him under the shower - and even if I had, I wouldn't have noticed.
However, for a bulge that big, he must have a pretty impressive tool. That or he was sporting a boner. I looked again, despite my earlier resolution to stop staring at my best friends crotch. Nope, that was definitely not a boner. The bulge was not sticking out or forming a tent but it was rather solid and voluminous. I wondered how it looked under the sweatpants...
Argh. Ryan. Stop it. What's gotten into myself? I was ogling over the impressive physics of my childhood friend and coworker. I forced myself to go back to my woodcarving, hoping Bruce didn't see me staring before.
We talked again a lot after dinner, discussing pretty much everything that came to our mind. Bruce said he had had some trouble concentrating this afternoon, but was enjoying the trip a lot so far - and I had to agree. It was peaceful and quiet, what could I wish for more? When Bruce went to bed, I considered releasing some of the obviously pent up sexual energies I had experienced today, but I decided against that. I was too tired and there would probably be an opportunity for that tomorrow.
Bruce was already asleep, when I entered the tent, snoring slightly. In the closed space, the musky smell of both of us was even more noticeable, but I actually found it quite enjoyable.
I got in my sleeping bag and and closed my eyes, but today, sleep didn't come easily. Compared to the day in the sun, the night was cold.
No matter how much I crawled into my bedding, I was still shivering. I looked over to Bruce, who didn't even bother to crawl into his sleeping bag; his muscles radiated so much warmth he probably didn't even feel cold. After some minutes of squirming, I sighed. It was no use: I was freezing and couldn't find sleep that way. Bruce, a mere meter from me was radiating heat like a small steam engine, but that wasn't of much use here. Well, here. I could probably get a bit nearer and siphon some of that heat, to help me find sleep. I would need to get out of the bag to reduce the insulation, but it could work.
So, I got out of my bag again and slowly crawled nearer to Bruce. It helped, but even when I was only half a meter from him, it still felt too cold. Well, Bruce was a cool guy. He would probably understand. With that thought, I carefully snuggled up to Bruce. His bare upper body skin felt hot and his hairs were tickling. It felt weird, somehow, to touch a guy in that way, but on the other hand, it was really nice, warm and cozy. I was just starting to drift to sleep, when I felt Bruce turn around in his sleep and lay his powerful arm around me, effectively spooning me. I swear, I never felt safer in my whole life and dazed away with a smile on my face.