Natural Waterslide
Posted by Allwet on August 18, 2024 at 23:59:20
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This took place when I was a Boy Scout in the early 1970’s. I’m sorry if this is long, but I need to give a bit of background.
The Order of the Arrow is a rather secretive honor organization within the Boy Scouts of America. Its members are elected by their fellow scouts, and the ones chosen have to pass through a weekend of initiation called the “ordeal”, held every year. Only one scout per troop is elected each year. My best friend, “Dave”, was chosen a year before I was. The Ordeals in our scout council were held in late spring at the camp it owned in the southern Sierra Nevada. The candidates were required to clean and prepare the camp for the summer opening.
The year of my ordeal the weather was quite cold, and it actually snowed the first night. The following year, Dave and I volunteered to go and help supervise the inductees, but it also involved doing some of the work ourselves. This time the weather was much better, with daytime temperature approaching 90 degrees (F).
Our troop had gone to that camp the previous summer, so I was very familiar with the layout and area. It had a stream flowing through the middle of it which fed a small artificial lake used for aquatic activities and merit badges such as Swimming, Lifesaving, Rowing and Canoeing. And, yes those all required a fully clothed swim. I had previously gotten my Swimming and Lifesaving badges closer to home, but I enthusiastically signed up for Rowing and Canoeing, so I got to get wet again. (I wore brown Levi’s cords and a green long-sleeved sweatshirt). But that’s not what this story is about.
About a quarter mile upstream of the camp, outside its boundaries, the stream flowed down a smooth granite slope for about thirty feet into a small pool, forming a natural waterslide. Although it was questionable whether the scouts were allowed to go there, we all did, including the youth staffers. Several of them had large leather patches sewn onto the seat of their scout shorts or cutoffs to prevent wear. I usually went in jeans and a t-shirt, and the seats showed wear after a few times. If my shirt was long it would wear a hole in the tail after the first time. Some others wore clothes too, or at least a t-shirt, or shirtless with pants. Regular swimsuits were rare. Cutoffs were the most common swimwear there and at home. Most wore shoes because of the rocky bottom. One kid wore his long sleeve scout uniform shirt, unbuttoned, over a white t-shirt. If anyone asked why I wore my clothes I would say it’s what I had, or I wanted to get them clean. That was partly true, but the slide would color your butt mossy green.
The year we volunteered at the ordeal, I was assigned to help paint the wooden row boats. I can’t remember what Dave did. When we broke for lunch, it had gotten warm, almost hot. We ate and returned to our tent, which was near the camp boundaries on the trail to the slide. I suggested we hike up there “just to look around”, but I had ulterior motives!
I was wearing worn, faded and patched Levi’s 501’s that had gotten a bit splattered from painting the boats (gray and orange), along with a white long-sleeve waffle weave thermal shirt. I really wanted to get that shirt wet, but for some reason I chickened out. (It may be because I thought I might need it later that night when it cooled off). I changed to a regular white t-shirt. I had some kind of white leather tennis shoes with white sports socks, and Dave did too. He was wearing faded Levi’s Super Bells, which were hip-hugging, low-rise jeans with large bell bottoms. (Those were very normal back then, but today would look somewhat feminine. I had a couple of pairs myself which I swam in on several occasions, including that slide). He was also wearing a white wife-beater style tank top which he tie-died orange. A very 70’s look.
We hiked up to the slide. I can’t remember much of how the conversation went but I suggested we go in the water, and put my feet in to test the temperature. It was freezing, making my feet ache, even with shoes on. “You really want to do this?”, he said. “Why not,” I said, “It’s a hot day and we’ll dry quickly.” I could feel that familiar tingling in my crotch growing just at the thought of it. He got his feet wet too, and we gradually went in to about a foot or so deep, soaking the bottoms of our pants. I somehow persuaded him to go down the slide, and to keep all his clothes on (we had gotten wet together many times before, but he didn’t share my obsession for it).
We hiked up the dry part of the slope, and gingerly sat down in the stream, which was faster and heavier than the summer because of spring runoff. Our butts and backs of our pants were instantly soaked, and the cold penetrated. I can’t remember who went first, but when I hit the pool the cold was a shock, making my body ache, and I went all the way under the first time. The cold killed any growing boner, but it was still exhilarating. Both our shirts became semi-transparent, and our shiny wet clothes glistened in the sun. We went down a couple of more times. The cold soon faded after sitting in the sun for a few minutes.
When we returned to the camp, another scout saw us and said he thought slide was off limits. “Nobody told us that!” we replied. (Easier to ask forgiveness than permission). No adult leader saw us, so we got away with it. I can’t remember how much of the wet clothing I kept on for the rest of the day. I’m sure I wore the shoes because that’s all I had, and I may have kept the jeans on because I didn’t want to ruin my other ones, and probably my shoes. I remember the clothes drying quickly in the dry, high-altitude air and warm weather. I never felt cold that day. We got back in time to resume our work without anyone noticing.
The reason this stands out among my many other wet experiences is the total unexpectedness and spontaneity of it, as well as it being possibly prohibited. I had an idea of what I wanted to do, but wasn’t sure if I could pull it off, or persuade Dave to go along. It remains one of my best wet memories, especially because I did it with a friend.
In case anyone is wondering, there is no version of this for the “other site”. As was the custom of the time, the last thing in the world we would do was anything that might be construed as “gay”, or express a peculiar fetish. I’m sure wet clothes was not a turn-on for my any of my friends, because I was always the instigator. I wish we could have been more open about it back then, but most people weren’t. The sexual nature of my wet clothes fetish remains a secret, but most of my family and friends probably just knew it was something I liked to do.