Jenna Jameison: Erotica for Women with Explicit Sex

As we stood at the launch point at Lee’s Ferry, ready to begin our seven day rafting adventure down the Colorado River and through the heart of the Grand Canyon, I surveyed the group we’d be spending the next week with. There was of course my wife, Becca (short for Rebecca), who was looking both incredibly beautiful and very apprehensive. While I’d grown up rafting, hiking, fishing, camping, she’d never really done any of those things. It was only the enthusiasm of our other friends, Alesha in particular, that had eventually persuaded her to agree to this trip. We had come with two other couples who were close friends of ours, Brent and Lisa and Alan and Alesha. Both couples lived near us and had kids similar to ours in age. Five out of the six of us (everyone but Becca) had either recently turned 40 or would within the next year, and this trip was how we chose to celebrate. None of us had ever been away from our kids for this long and it had been a long time since any of us had attempted a vacation this ambitious.

We were part of a larger group of 10 couples who would be split among two rafts, with two river guides on each. We had agreed that if we were going to do this without our own kids, we didn’t want to be around anyone else’s either. The package we eventually signed up for was billed as a “couples only” trek, geared for people who were in reasonably good shape and capable of long hikes, Canyoneering, and other more advanced outdoorsy activity. As I surveyed the people around us, it became clear that we were actually on the older side. Most people looked to be in their 20s or, at most, early 30s, though there was one couple that was clearly older, probably late 40s.

The four guides were all very young, college age or thereabouts. And in keeping with the theme of the trip, they too were “couples” — one man, one woman per boat — though I doubted they were actually romantically involved. They all wore khaki colored button up shirts with short sleeves, with the tour company logo on the front. It made them all look a little like scout leaders. As we gathered by the two rafts, one of the guides, a guy with long black hair and scruffy facial hair who looked like the lead singer of a 90s grunge band, addressed the group.

“Hi everyone, my name is Aaron,” he spoke in a very calm, friendly voice, “I’m going to be one of your guides on this adventure. This here is Jennifer.” He motioned toward the short, red-haired guide standing to his right. “But you can call her Jen. She’s my co-pilot and is also one hell of a good camp cook. You’re lucky to have her on this trip.” Jen was strikingly pretty in a pixie-ish sort of way, very petite and fit looking. She waved and smiled. “And this big guy over here is Jim,” Aaron continued. “He’ll be captaining the other raft.” He motioned toward a tall, well-muscled man with wavy brown hair and a beard. The guy reminded me of Magnum PI. “Jim is from New Zealand and can teach you all sorts of cool Kiwi phrases.”

“Right you are,” Jim said with a very pronounced Kiwi accent and a broad smile.

“And to Jim’s right is Sonja, who, in addition to being an experienced river guide, is a world class Rock Climbing and Canyoneering expert. She’ll be leading most of the side excursions.” Sonja, who I would later learn was of Filipino descent, took a step forward and with a courteous smile waved at the group. She too was very attractive, with darkish skin and long black hair pulled back in a tight pony tail. All four of the guides looked to be in incredible physical shape.

“We’ve got a whole bunch of rules and safety tips to go over before we actually get on the rafts. But before we get into all of that, there’s one thing I want say to the whole group. This is a long trip and it’s one without a lot of privacy. I know. I’ve done it dozens of times now. We’re going to be sleeping out under the stars, bathing in the river, and generally spending a whole lot of time in close proximity to one another, whether it’s on the rafts, in camp, or on the various side hikes we’ll be doing. You’re going to get to know the people around you very well before this is done, and that’s great. This is a hell of a bonding experience. But it’s hot out there this time of year. And there are no walls. No changing rooms. No showers or baths. And with no kids around, I think you’ll soon find that modesty is one of the first things to go. I’d encourage you to embrace that and not let it bother you. We’re all adults here. We know what adult bodies look like. And you’ll have a better time if you’re not too self-conscious all the time.”

I glanced briefly at Becca. She looked even more apprehensive than she had before. She wasn’t a shy person. In fact, she was very outgoing. But she had never been the type to dress in skimpy clothes or show much skin. This trip was going to be a real test for her.

It was late July, so by mid-morning, it was already roasting hot out on the river and most of us had peeled off several layers of clothes. The women had generally stripped down to tank tops, and in some cases, bikini tops. Among the latter group was Lisa, who had, over the past few years, become one of Becca’s closest friends. Becca and Lisa had very similar figures. Both were about 5′4″ and very slender and fit. But where Becca was naturally olive-skinned, with long curly brown hair, Lisa had milky white skin and jet black hair, which she had pulled back into twin pigtails, like a schoolgirl, a look I’d never seen from her before. She, like Becca, was very attractive and could pass for much younger than her actual age. She was wearing a bright blue bikini top that showed plenty of cleavage (her breasts were quite a bit bigger than Becca’s). As she was sitting right in front of me on the raft, it took considerable effort not to get caught staring at her chest, even with the remarkable scenery all around me.

The rafts were large pontoon style boats with a motor in back that was manned at all times by one of the guides, so there was no need for us to paddle or otherwise assist in the navigation of the rapids. We sat along the pontoons on either side. Alesha, Alan’s wife, was on the opposite side of the raft from me. She, like Becca, had not yet stripped down to her bathing suit, though it was visible underneath her white tank top. We called her “Kelly Ripa” behind her back because, in addition to the physical resemblance, she was an energizer bunny of woman, the kind of person who ran eight miles a day and somehow had enough time and energy leftover to be in everyone’s business all the time. She, of course, had been the one who came up with the idea of doing this trip and had then browbeaten all the rest of us into coming along. But as annoying as I sometimes found her, I had to give her this much; she too was a very good looking woman who kept herself in fantastic physical shape. She had her straight blond hair tied back in a neat braid, and she was wearing a tiny pair of jogging shorts that showed off every possible inch of her well-toned legs.

By the time we pulled the rafts onto the bank to make camp for the night, any apprehension I’d had about the trip was gone. Between the beauty of the river and the canyon, on the one hand, and the women around me, on the other, I was almost euphoric. It was the perfect antidote to the daily grind, the tedious routine of work and family life. I felt more alive than I had in a very long time.