Britain and Rain. Two words that go hand in hand, however whilst there is a certain charm about the continual self-depreciating humour people from my country demonstrate when talking about the weather, the persistent overcast skies and drizzle we are so accustomed to experiencing do tend to curtail many activities that we enjoy.
Especially, if those activities involve outdoor sex.
You see, as a gay or bisexual male in the UK there are a lot of options when it comes to anonymous sexual release that don't involve the 'great outdoors'. You can visit a sauna. You can hook up online with one of the myriad of gay hookup websites. You can even hookup via your smartphone in this connected age. All that said, there is something innately erotic about having sex outdoors, in spaces that are technically 'public'. I should qualify that by saying that I am not endorsing sex in truly public places, but the kind of places where the vast majority of people wouldn't dream of hanging about - the places where pretty much everyone knows you shouldn't be taking your kids to for a summer picnic. The kind of places I'm referring to are where you would be more worried about bumping into a plain clothed police officer than a group of excited shoppers.
And there are few activities that are so much fun and yet fuel the kind of adrenaline and nervousness that act like a drug coursing through your veins, as having sex in a British summertime. Amongst trees.
So I am sat in my car in the car park adjacent to the wood, patiently waiting for the rain to die down. There are a few cars parked - all with single guys inside of course - but fewer than normal and presumably all waiting for the same kind of meteorological respite as me.
I wouldn't say I come here often. It's a fair distance from my home so tends to be a place I drop into whenever my schedule allows. I'm a stickler for preparation when it comes to sex, especially if anal could be on the cards, which makes it even less of a place I can feasibly visit on a daily basis due to the time needed for preparation. I also mix up my sexual adventures with some of the other approaches I mentioned - saunas and online hookups, which mean I probably only get to the woods once a month or so.
But today was a free day and after I had spruced myself up, shaved myself, ensured I was clean and picked out some clothes that could allow ease of removal - should I be so lucky - I was on my way. Then the water started lashing from the sky and my mood dampened down to suit.
My sexual history is undoubtedly of interest, given the nature of this travelogue, and I really don't know how typical this is. I am not 100% closeted although most people in my immediate circle of friends and family do not know my proclivity for gay sex. Throughout my life I would have classified myself as heterosexual for most of it, with my classification turning to fully bisexual during my thirties and early forties. I've had various relationships - all with women - but now I am in a place in my life and my mid 40's where relationships don't interest me as much as living on my own terms and enjoying pleasure wherever it comes from, be that male or female. And right now I am far more turned on with the thought of the male side of the equation.
I hadn't had any exposure to gay sex until my mid 20's. I was working for a company that involved a great deal of travel around the country, and one day I stopped at a motorway service station to use the toilet. During my visit, I entered an end stall, sat down and noticed a square of toilet paper on the cubicle wall. Without touching it, I moved my head closer to see what it was covering, and my breath made the paper flutter slightly and it became apparent that it was covering a hole in the wall and another similar piece of paper attached on the other side. The movement in the paper must have signalled my proximity, as a hand reached up and removed the paper on the other side. I sat bolt upright, terrified that my neighbouring toilet resident may have thought I was trying to look through the hole. After what seemed like ages, I gingerly leant forward and took another peek through the gap between the fluttering paper and the hole and could see quite clearly the motion of someone masturbating on the other side. Somewhat freaked, I pulled my trousers up, flushed the toilet and left.
But the thought stayed with me all day.
On the return journey I stopped at the same service area and went into the same cubicle. This time there wasn't a square of paper on my side, but there was on the other side as before. I had barely lowered my trousers to sit down when the paper was removed and I could immediately see a hard cock being stroked. I hadn't expected - although had somewhat hoped - that I may see a repeat of the earlier event, but was still unsure what the etiquette was, if indeed there was any etiquette! Suddenly, a finger poked through the hole and made a beckoning motion. Even as a 'cottaging' virgin, as that's what I later learned this was called, I deduced he wanted me to put my cock through the hole so I slowly stood up and gently fed my length through, hoping that it wasn't going to be sliced off by some deranged psychopath on the other side. What happened was I immediately felt the warm and unmistakable sensation of a wet and warm mouth engulf me and gently suck me. I put my hands up to the partitioning wall as I pushed my penis as far through as I could and a minute or so later I came. Stifling my heavy breathing as much as I could, I slowly withdrew from the hole and without any more communication from my partner, I saw the sheet of toilet paper immediately go back up on his side.
