The
ad in the February issue of
More BS
seemed innocent enough. “Single white male seeking physically
fit opposite for paddling.” I thought perhaps this was a guy I
could finally find fun companionship with, so I inquired.

Charlie
and I agreed to begin the date with an intense afternoon of
cross-country skiing. We skied about 10 miles and afterward Charlie
suggested going back to his place to grab a bite to eat. Seemed
alright. We went back to his bachelor pad and that’s when all of the
“fun” began.

Over
dinner Charlie inquired about my boating. He asked me what kind of
moves I made around the hole and if I was aggressive when it came to
the art of stern squirting. The conversation never digressed from kayaking. I even tried to move the conversation down a different
path. But at that point Charlie insisted that I check out his latest
kayak video.

He
popped in the movie and pulled out a case of beer. By the end of the
paddling flick, I was quite tipsy. Now most guys would have tried to
take advantage of this situation; but not Charlie. He was a perfect
gentleman. He simply suggested another, more intense kayak rodeo video and
left the room.

When
he returned, he was wearing a wet suit and carrying a hose. I rubbed
my eyes, thinking it was the beer. He explained that he’s having a
really tough time this winter with something he called “river
withdrawal”. He said his shrink suggested some therapy, but
because he lived alone he had a hard time keeping up the treatments.

He
promised that he wasn’t trying to be sneaky or anything, he simply
needed my help. I ended up spraying him with the hose while he ran
around the living room yelling, “Stern squirt!! Stern squirt!!”

Overall,
the therapy seemed to help. Color came back into his face and he
thanked me with a kiss on the cheek. “How sweet,” I
thought. “Poor guy. It must be rough living in Wisconsin with
his condition.” Charlie went to the bathroom to clean up and I
resumed my position on the couch with another bottle of beer.

I
heard the bath water running, but didn’t make anything of it. He
probably was just chilled from the therapy. “Uhhh, could you
come here a minute?” sounded from the bathroom. Not being on my
best guard, I went into the bathroom. There was Charlie, butt-naked
in a bubble-bath…. holding a toy kayak.

“You
get to make the white water. Here, take the shower head and make
whatever rapids you want. It’ll be fun, I promise.” I think it
was the beer, because I wasn’t shocked by this scene. We proceeded
to play “whitewater” for about an hour. I became quite
proficient at making eddies with the rubber duck. By the end of the
session Charlie even let me play with his toy kayak.

Things
were getting pretty intense at this point. We were both soaking wet
and fatigued. Charlie offered me a sweatshirt to warm up in. When I
entered his spare bedroom to change, I nearly fainted. All along the
dresser there were voodoo dolls. Each represented different boaters
from the club.

Charlie
explained that he made a doll of each kayaker that could do something
he could not. He assured me that his shrink and he were working on
this problem as well. A little embarrassed, he whisked me out of the
room and smoothly suggested that I change in his room.

“Want
to see my kayak paddle?” he asked with a smile.

“Sure.”
After all, what could possibly happen looking at a kayak paddle….
Well, let me tell you, a lot can happen. I won’t go into detail
here, but after visiting Charlie, “power face” has new
meaning to me.

After
all of this fun it was getting rather late. I was quite tired and a
little drunk, so I quickly agreed to stay overnight. Charlie offered
me space in his bed. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but
ended up being a struggle. Shortly after we fell asleep, Charlie
began doing Eskimo rolls. When I tried to wake him he would just
mumble something about rough water and roll again. I gave up early
and moved to the couch.

In
the morning, I went to tell Charlie I was leaving. I found him in
bed with his squirt boat. There was a large wet spot in the middle
of the comforter. I didn’t ask — just assumed he hadn’t emptied
all of the water out of the boat from his last river trip. We ended
our extended date with a kiss and I went on my way.

Now,
I know this doesn’t sound like a very typical first date. For some
of you, it might even sound a bit twisted. I have to admit though, I
am oddly turned on by the whole affair. It’s not every day that one
meets such an interesting fellow.

I
used to think the personals were a joke. Now I’m a believer. I’ve
made a second date with Charlie for next week. After all, who else
is going to help him with his therapy?

by
an anonymous female boater
From “More BS”, newsletter
of the Badger State Boating Society.

From The Eddy Line,
October 1997