Fucking outdoors: the opposite of getting a room

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When I was young, fucking outdoors was a mundane necessity . The phrase ‘ get a room ‘ ironically got far more of an airing when none of us really had any rooms to ‘get’ to. So we fucked in parks. Behind bushes. Occasionally in tents or sheds. Anywhere you could reasonably slide off your clothes without risk of getting caught by your parents or the police. It didn’t seem adventurous: it was just the only option. Now, though, necessity has given way to spice. Fucking outdoors is an adventure. Before I get letters, I’m going to point out that fucking outdoors is – by and large – an illegal adventure. Sure, you can hire a nice cottage with a lot of land and go fuck in some private woods nearby, but when you’re on public land you have to stay covered up, and avoid giving head to someone you love behind a convenient tree. However, given that fucking outdoors is one of the most common fantasies – and I suspect one of the most frequently-broken laws – I’m not going to pretend that it doesn’t happen. I’m just going to tell you that if you want to do it, you need to have a keen eye for CCTV cameras and a sensitive ear for the rustling sound of approaching dog-walkers. Some people would argue that the thing which makes outdoor sex illegal (the possibility of getting caught) is exactly the thing that makes it sexy. Those who get turned on by danger might find it more – not less – sexy to realise that someone could stumble across them at any moment. That isn’t why it’s hot for me. What’s hot for me is the impulsive, desperate nature of it. As I mentioned above – I’m an adult now and I can easily ‘get a room’ if I so desire . So outdoor sex is hot only because it implies that we’ve been unable to control ourselves for long enough to get a room. Sex outdoors is an act of spontaneity driven almost entirely by the needs of my aching cunt. Cricket pitch fucking One of my favourite outdoor fucks happened on a cricket pitch. I enjoyed it not just because it gave me a fun sex fact that I could crack out during a game of ‘I Have Never’, but because it was a fuck that was never meant to happen. We were strolling home through the park after far too many gin and tonics, and decided to take a detour straight through the middle of the pitch. The walkways faded into the distance, and the glow of the lamp-posts seemed much further away than they actually were, giving us the impression that the small circle of darkness in the centre would cover the sight of us going at it. I had a sweatshirt in my bag which I spread on the ground, all the better to lie on while he fingered me. But this was better than fingering. This deserved something other than a long, slow build-up. Instead he turned me round and pushed me onto my knees, and we fucked doggy-style for the five minutes it took him to come. He gripped my hair with one of his fists, whispering ‘ssssh’ to try and keep me quiet. Park fucking “Do you fancy going on an expedition?” I ask him. The word ‘expedition’ used in place of ‘walk’ to make the whole thing sound more epic. In reality our ‘expeditions’ are fairly mundane: most take place when we’re drunk, and involve walking to a 24-hour shop that’s just a few more minutes down the road from our usual 24-hour shop. They sell cherry Coke there: it’s worth the journey. Instead of crampons and tents and ration packs we carry pockets full of pound coins and lopsided grins. It’s a nice night, so we take a detour. We end up in some bushes in a nearby park, me with my jeans pushed to just below my bum, him with his fly open, fucking me hard against a tree. There was no one nearby, obviously. It was dark. DARK-dark, in a way you don’t usually get in London. Traffic lights, shop signs, and headlights make it impossible to conceal yourself when you’re on the road. But in the bushes at night you can at least have the illusion of privacy. I pressed my palms flat against the bark of the tree, and grit my teeth as he went in dry. There was no time for build-up, and that’s exactly what I wanted. The spontaneity, you see? The lust. The ‘I have to take you in a park right now because I can’t wait till I get home to spit my spunk inside you.’ The hike There are all manner of places to stop and fuck when you’re hiking. In fact, some places in the UK let you ‘wild camp’ – pitch your tent wherever you find yourself, and create a little fuckspace of your own. They take ages to put up though, and so that magic – that ‘let me fuck you before my balls start to ache’ mood – is killed on contact with a groundsheet. Far better to be pushed to my knees in the mud to suck his cock. By the side of a mountain trail with no foot traffic. No people coming past to see the bushes rustle or hear me choking as he grips my face and pulls my lips down to the base of his dick. No one to hear him whispering “sssh” again or the muffled grunts as he comes down my throat. The servant They say fucking outdoors is adventurous, but I think it might be even better if there’s no adventure at all – if the only reason I’m there is for this specific purpose: to be fucked. We’re traveling somewhere, maybe on horseback or perhaps on foot. He’s focused on the task ahead, and our destination. I’m carrying a pack with our food, clothes, and a whip with which he can beat me if I’m too slow. I don’t care about our destination: I just came to carry stuff, get pushed in the mud, and be a useful outlet for his frustration if he happens to get lost. He can’t sleep without coming, so as we lie beneath the open sky, he rolls me over and presses my face into the dirt so I can no longer see the stars. And he spits on his cock and grunts as he slides into my ass. When you’re fucking outdoors, nowhere is perfect You just don’t get nature like that in London. For those who like the getting-caught element, and the thrill of dodging cameras, you’re probably in seventh heaven. But for me the hotness comes from a quick detour, or a functional fuck. One for which you can’t get a room because you’re too fucking desperate to empty yourself, or sate your lust. If I lived in the countryside I’d be a menace. Sure, this tree looks good to fuck by, and that’s a B-road so at best we’ll get a couple of curious tourists whizzing past too fast to see a flash of this or that butt-cheek. But in London you have to be careful. If you want to get whatever the opposite of a room is, you have to take your courage in both hands. Then place those hands against a tree, pull down your knickers, and hope to fuck the police are busy elsewhere.