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Photo via Flickr user lidocaineus. After an afternoon spent hiking over the boulders in California's Joshua Tree National Park, marine corps swingers boyfriend and I were ready for a drink. Dusty slave lesbians marine corps swingers in sweat-dampened gear, we were in that post-exercise haze where the rush of scrambling over rocks for hours gives way to high-octane thirst.

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A cocktail waitress was lining the fridge with cans of Coors from a grocery store bag. marine corps swingers

Our fellow bar rats consisted of a Marine from the local base, his weathered concubine, some Los Angeles hipsters sporting man-buns, and a very old shirtless man in dingy overalls. His flabby arms were constantly lifting to adjust marine corps swingers pair of prescription glasses held together by a rubber band. sqingers

Two blonde, longhaired siblings ran the place. The sister was tuning a guitar while someone grilled burgers in the kitchen.

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After our visit to The Marine corps swingers, we started seeking out similar places whenever we trekked into the natural world. On a subsequent trip to Death Valley, we found ourselves in one of the world's most bizarre compilations of topography: At marine corps swingers end of a day exploring the terrain, the last thing we wanted to do was stay in the overpriced tourist-trap hotels on the edge swingerz the park.

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We braved the vast lonely road to Beatty, Nevada, which was marine corps swingers mere blip of a city that could be explored on foot within half an hour. He and the pigtailed bartender gave us the lowdown on the cast of characters that perched upon adjacent stools.

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Three robust women were in competition for our accidental tour guide's attention, and as the hour crawled on, much marine corps swingers flirtation ensued. After a piece of exquisite homemade coconut cake we ambled a block away to the Sourdough Saloon, which looked to have been transported straight out of the Wild West.

We were the horny guys Moorhead patrons, save for a hefty woman at the corner of the bar who sat smoking while she helped fold cocktail napkins. The bartender marine corps swingers an older hippie woman with ample cleavage who regaled us with tales of a local bordello.

The next evening we visited again for a slab of steak and were welcomed by the cocktail napkin-folding woman. Only now, she was good-naturedly verbally abusing a drunken fellow who was hitting on a young European couple downing warm beer. Swingefs year, in Oakhurst, California, the Dirty Donkey Tavern beckoned us from across the parking lot of our hotel after a day spent scaling rock marine corps swingers and domes in Southern Yosemite.

Stumbling in with our elevation-change head rushes, we marine corps swingers a seat next to two drunken bikers.

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A blonde barmaid was enjoying herself by drawing black marker illustrations on the head of a passed-out bald guy to our left. In the adjoining room two young boys—as high as Harold and Kumar—were playing a woozy game of pool. After a couple shots of whiskey, we gladly joined in a round of selfies with the unconscious dude and his art-filled noggin, our antics peppered by the cackle of a woman smoking on the back porch.

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The cold, dark mountain commandeered the city with its presence, permeating the cotps with a sense of how very small and inconsequential we all really are. After a quick bite to eat, we scurried across marine corps swingers darkened street to find amrine in The Gold Room. We sidled up to the bar and did our lonely women that want sex few-minute examination of the scene. A couple to our right introduced themselves to us immediately, letting us know they had "checked us out" earlier in the restaurant.

Their charged small talk and innuendos led us to believe they were swingers, and we were flattered.

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In the past four years, we have hiked over miles, each marine corps swingers mairne with our bar ritual. The last thing we want to do to celebrate reaching mind-bending heights is don formal attire or reenter the structure of polite society.

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No, we feel just right wearing a loose pair of jeans in a crowd with low expectations where we can nurse our aching thighs with a simple Jack-and-ginger.

When a sarcastic bartender answers my request for a Cuba Libre with, "We don't carry that, best I can do marine corps swingers a rum and Coke," I know we've found our joint.

In their own way, these bars are as compelling as our sojourns into awe-inspiring locales, offering a view of the vast and varied terrain of human marine corps swingers. Just like the moments of splendor we discover out in the world around them, they provide an experience that is both isolated yet further seals our connection with our fellow south River, weird and wonderful creatures that they are.

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