Why Her Rafting Pants Kept Ripping

Why My Wife’s Rafting Leggings Kept Tearing Prologue Every pair of my wife’s quickdry leggings had worn thin at the crotch. The newest pair had an actual hole.

Since summer began, she had been rafting several times a week. She said hours of sitting in an inflatable raft had rubbed the fabric raw. I wanted to believe her.

But how could a raft keep damaging the exact same spot, over and over? Chapter 1 That summer, my wife, Paige, found one reason to brave the heat: whitewater rafting.

She had gone a few times with her best friend and gotten hooked. Her work schedule was flexible, so now she went several times a week.

One Friday, I made dinner and waited for her to come home. She walked in wearing dry athletic shorts and a Tshirt, though her hair was still damp.

She must have changed at the river. Paige dropped her bag by the door and went straight to the fridge. “Honey, is dinner ready?

I’m starving.” I smiled, ruffled her hair, and told her to shower before we ate. While she was in the bathroom, I unpacked her gear.

Her quickdry leggings were folded neatly inside the bag. I took them out to hang on the balcony and found a small hole right at the crotch. The loose threads looked almost sliced.

When Paige came out of the shower, I asked what had happened.

She hurried over, yanked the leggings off the drying rack, and threw them in the trash. “The raft flipped,” she said. “I probably scraped them on a rock.” Then she blamed the cheap fabric and said she would buy a better pair next time. “Fine,” I told her. “We’ll get you an expensive pair.” That evening, we curled up on the couch and watched TV.

Paige told me stories about the river, talking with her whole face. Seeing her that happy made me happy too. “Honey, rafting is so much more fun than hiking.

I’m thinking about joining the club for the summer.” “How much?” “About seven hundred dollars.

Gear is extra.” That sounded reasonable for something she loved this much. “Then do it.” “Thank you.” She leaned over and kissed my cheek. “You’re the best.” That night, Paige couldn’t get enough of me.

She was more demanding than usual. Paige had always hated the heat. Before this summer, she barely wanted to leave the house.

I hated spending every weekend indoors, and we had fought about it more than once. Eventually, I gave in.

I stayed home with her, watching shows and playing games in the airconditioning. All that time inside even made her sick once.

Her doctor told her to get out and move more, but she ignored the advice. Now she seemed happier than she had in years.

After another rafting trip, Paige showered and curled up on the couch with her phone. That was when I noticed several red bruises high on her inner thigh.

They looked like someone had gripped her hard. “What happened to your leg?” She glanced down and pulled her robe over the marks. “I hit it when the raft flipped.” “How does that leave bruises like those?” “How should I know?

Why are you always staring at my body?” I let it go. That night, I lay beside her and whispered, “Are you asleep?” No answer.

I turned toward her, tucked my face against her neck, and slipped an arm around her. The moment I touched her, she shoved me away. “Don’t touch me. I’m exhausted.

Go to sleep.” Paige had complained about being tired before. But when she was tired, she used to curl into my chest.

Now my wife moved away from me like I was the stranger in our bed. Chapter 2 Paige started coming home later and later after her rafting trips. She blamed the distance.

According to her, the rivers were far away and the drive home took forever. I checked the club’s schedule. Their runs ended at six, and the drive took only an hour and a half.

Yet Paige sometimes came home close to ten. They couldn’t be on the water after dark. So where did those missing hours go? That weekend, the club had another event.

They were trying a new backcountry whitewater route in the next county over. Before Paige left, she said, “A woman is leading the trip this time.” I didn’t question it.

After I had mentioned her late nights, she had started sending me pictures during her trips. She even showed me screenshots from the rafting group chat.

Everyone seemed to be talking about routes and gear. I needed the car for work that Saturday, so I drove her to the meeting point early.

Several SUVs were parked along the road with rafts strapped to their roofs. More than a dozen men and women stood around talking like old friends. One man stood out.

He was tall and wore a sleeveless quickdry shirt that showed off his build. Paige got out and greeted him first. Then she waved at me and said she would ride home with a friend.

I didn’t need to pick her up. I nodded and drove away. In the rearview mirror, the tall man took Paige’s backpack from her. They were still laughing when I turned the corner.

Later that day, Mason Cole leaned over my desk with a stupid grin and held out his phone. A short video showed a rafting trip. A woman in tight leggings sat at the front of a raft.

The boat hit a hard turn, water crashed over her, and the camera stayed fixed on her body through the soaked fabric.

Something about it bothered me, though I couldn’t say what. “Miles, whoever invented hookup rafting is a genius.” I had never heard the term. “What is hookup rafting?” Mason lowered his voice. “The shady version of this.” I stared at him.

He said some rafting groups had become like those cycling clubs with all the hookup scandals. I had heard about that mess. Rafting, though?

Mason checked that no one was listening and leaned closer. “They pick quiet routes and put two people in a raft.

Some of them will actually have sex out there.” “In a boat?” “Yeah.” “One of those tiny inflatable rafts?” “Miles, people are wild. Some use toys for firstperson videos.

Some use the campouts to switch tents. I’ve heard everything.” I still didn’t buy it. How could anyone have sex in a little raft on moving water?

Mason made a gesture at the crotch of his pants, as if someone had cut an opening there. “Makes things easy,” he said. “Or they pull over somewhere empty and pitch a tent.” I stopped smiling.

His words dragged every strange thing Paige had done back into my mind. She came home at eight that evening.

Her cheeks were pink from the sun, and she looked almost radiant. “How was it?” I asked. “Amazing!” She kicked off her shoes, still talking fast. “That backcountry run was insane.

Rapids the whole way. Several people around me flipped, but I stayed in my raft.” “Who drove you home?” “Brent, our assistant trip leader.

He’s a real professional.” “Okay.” Paige went to shower. I unpacked her gear. This time, I checked the leggings she had worn. The crotch had no damage at all.

That should have eased my mind. It didn’t. Chapter 3 I gave myself a bitter little laugh. I was turning paranoid. Maybe the people in Mason’s stories were paying for sex.

My wife would never do that. When I finished unpacking, Paige called from the bathroom and asked me to bring her some clothes.

As I pulled them from the closet, her phone lit up nearby. A text notification appeared on the screen. Rafting Guide Brent: [Great job today.

Next time, I’ll take you on a wilder route.] I stared at it until Paige called for me again.

When she came out, I kept my voice level. “Someone texted you.” She picked up her phone without changing expression. “Oh. That’s the guide.

He’s complimenting me.” “You two exchanged numbers?” She kept tapping at the screen without looking up. “There are dozens of people in the rafting group.

Everyone adds everyone.” Then she placed the phone facedown on the dresser and blowdried her hair in front of the mirror. That night, I had a nightmare.

Paige was having sex outdoors with the tall, muscular man from the meeting point. I jolted awake and found her sitting at the foot of the bed.

Her phone glowed in her hands as her thumbs flew over the screen. I cleared my throat. She startled and looked back at me. “Did I wake you?” “No.

Who are you texting?” She turned the phone facedown against her thigh. “The group chat. Everyone’s sharing videos from today.

I’m saving a few to post on social media.” “Come to bed. You can look tomorrow.” “I will.

Just a minute.” She typed a little longer, put the phone on the nightstand, and curled into my arms. Before long, she was snoring softly. I couldn’t sleep.

I waited, then quietly got up and took her phone into the bathroom. Paige and I knew each other’s passcodes. Neither of us had ever snooped before.

But the doubt and that nightmare kept twisting together until I couldn’t stand it. I opened her messages. The recent threads looked normal. Then I found Rafting Guide Brent.

Their entire text thread had been wiped. They were both also in a group chat called Summer Whitewater. The newest message had arrived only minutes earlier.

A man wearing sunglasses had posted a video. It looked like footage from a chestmounted action camera. One raft tore through the current, throwing spray across the lens.

As the camera bucked, it caught the back of a woman crouched at the front of another raft. Her black leggings were soaked and molded to her body.

A man beside her had one hand clamped around her thigh. From behind, she looked a lot like Paige.

Then someone posted a voice message. [Brent, how’d she feel?] A string of suggestive reaction memes followed. I understood that rafting could involve physical contact.

But this no longer felt like nothing.

The next morning, just before I left for work, Paige stopped me. “The club is doing a twoday, onenight rafting and camping trip at Blue Mist Creek this weekend. Families can come.

Could you skip work tomorrow and come with me?” I froze. I had asked to go with her before.

She had brushed me off by saying the water was too rough, I would fall in, and I hated getting dirty. Now she was inviting me. It should have reassured me.

Instead, I saw that empty text thread and the hand around the woman’s thigh. “Why do you suddenly want me there?” Chapter 4 Paige rolled her eyes. “You’re always asking who I go with.

If I don’t tell you, you get mad.” Maybe I really was overthinking everything.

If she had something to hide, inviting me along should have been the last thing she wanted. “All right,” I said. “I’ll go with you tomorrow.” She looked surprised.

Usually, I let her go alone while I worked. Then she smiled and pinched my cheek. “Just don’t slow me down. It’s a beginner route.

Super easy.” When I got home from work, I found that she had bought me a pile of gear: quickdry clothes, a sleeping bag, and everything else I might need.

She carefully showed me how to use it all. She even teased me about my belly. Her smile was adorable. She was packing my gear and bringing me to meet her friends.

I had secretly searched her phone behind her back. For the first time, I felt guilty. Maybe I really had imagined the whole thing. Saturday morning, we packed together. A dry bag.

Quickdry clothes. A compressed towel. A collapsible cup. And several bottles of lubricant. “Why are we bringing this?” “I rub it on my thighs.

Wet leggings cling and chafe like crazy.” “Oh. Okay.” We finished packing and reached the meeting point early. The men and women in quickdry gear greeted me warmly.

A woman with a high ponytail called to Paige, then laughed. “Well, look who finally brought her husband.” Paige pretended to be annoyed. “If I don’t bring him along, he gets mad at me.” Everyone laughed.

Only the woman with the high ponytail gave me a long look I couldn’t read. The tall, muscular man I had seen before stepped out from behind an SUV and introduced himself.

He was Brent, the same guide saved in Paige’s phone. He handed me a life jacket and carefully explained what to do in different emergencies. He seemed friendly and professional.

Once everything was ready, we split into fourperson rafts. I sat in front. Paige sat directly behind me. Behind her sat a married couple.

Brent called out, “If anyone falls in, don’t panic. I’ll be following at the rear in the sweep boat. I’ll pull you out.” Our raft drifted downstream.

At first, the current was gentle. It was my first time, and I loved it. Then the river narrowed. The roar of the water grew louder. After a sharp bend, the whole raft plunged.

Water crashed over us, soaking all four of us. I told Paige to hold on to me and not fall out. She scoffed. “I’ve done this plenty of times. I’m not falling in.

You’re the one who needs to hold on.” We tore through one sharp turn after another. The rush had me shouting at the top of my lungs. I hadn’t felt that free in a long time.

Then the raft went over a drop. It pitched straight down and snapped back up. For a second, my whole body was underwater. When the raft leveled out and kept moving, Paige was gone.

I twisted around and saw her floating behind us in her life jacket. I tried to get back to her, but the couple shouted that the current was too strong and the channel too narrow.

Trying to turn around would only flip the raft. They told me the finish was close and Brent, the sweep guide behind us, would rescue her.

I yelled for Paige to grab a rock along the bank and hold on. We reached the end moments later. I jumped onto the bank and waited, frantic.

Before long, Paige came into view aboard Brent’s sweep boat. Chapter 5 Once they came closer, the sight turned my stomach.

Brent had reached around Paige’s waist to grip her life jacket. With his body bent over hers, he looked like he was holding her in his arms.

Paige leaned against his chest, her head tipped back as she laughed. I had never seen her look that happy. We reached the campsite that evening.

Brent told everyone to choose a spot and pitch their tents. Paige grabbed her clean clothes and went upstream to rinse off with the other woman from our raft.

After she left, I sat there staring into space. Anyone watching probably assumed I was studying the tent instructions. All I could see was my wife in Brent’s arms.

And that was only what had happened in front of me. What happened when I wasn’t there?

The woman with the high ponytail sat beside me and offered me a can of beer. “First trip?” “Yeah.” “What do you think?” “It’s fun.

Pretty intense.” She smiled, took a few sips, then leaned closer and lowered her voice. “Paige has been coming out with us for more than two months.

You know that, right?” “Yeah.” “Then do you know what the trip leader says every time we camp overnight?” There was something in her eyes.

She looked like she was waiting to see what I would do. “Men and women share tents. We draw names for partners.” “What?” She stood and laughed. “I’m messing with you.

Paige was right. You really can’t take a joke.” Then she walked away and left me sitting there. When Paige returned, she had changed into a clean Tshirt and gray leggings.

She crouched beside me and bumped my arm with her elbow. “Tired?” “Not too bad.” “Then let’s sleep early.

We still have half a day on the river tomorrow.” She started pitching a tent with practiced hands. She had the tent up in no time.

I watched her profile as she bent over the knots. “When did you learn how to do that?” “The guides taught me. It’s easy. You’re sleeping here tonight.” That caught me off guard.

Had the woman with the high ponytail been telling the truth about drawing tent partners? “By myself?” My voice came out too loud. Paige frowned. “It’s a oneperson tent.

There’s room for one sleeping bag and one person.” “Then where are you sleeping?” Paige pointed toward the couple who had shared our raft. “Tessa and her husband brought two tents.

I’m sharing one with her. See? Right over there.” I followed her finger. Their tents stood about seventy feet away. The mountain air stayed muggy after dark.

I played with my phone until I drifted off. Some time later, a soft rustle pulled me toward the surface.

Someone had come to my tent and was easing the zipper open, one inch at a time.

I pretended to be asleep and let out a loud snore. “Honey, are you asleep?” Paige called to me several times. When I didn’t answer, she zipped the tent closed and slipped away.

I waited a few seconds, then rose quietly and opened the zipper just enough to look out. Paige was walking toward the riverbank. A red tent stood there. Brent’s tent.

She waited outside for several minutes, as if she couldn’t decide what to do. Then she pulled open the zipper and went inside. A voice in my head kept pleading with me.

Maybe she only wanted to talk to him. Maybe she would come right back out. Chapter 6 Several minutes passed. No one came out. With every silent second, another part of me gave up.

I opened my tent, pulled out my phone, and started recording. Barefoot, I crept toward the red tent. At the entrance, I crouched and pressed my ear to the fabric. Nothing.

I raised my hand and pinched the zipper tab between my fingers. Then I stopped. What would I do after I opened it? If my wife was really in there, how would I ever face her?

A low voice came from inside, broken by a breath. “…Be gentle.” My fingers locked around the zipper. I yanked it open. Moonlight flooded the tent. I could see everything