I'd been having some drinks with my housemate (by "some" I mean I'd put away a couple of bottles of red to myself), and after he'd gone to bed, I was compelled to go for a walk in our local cemetery park. Keep in mind it was around 1:15am.
Mile End Cemetery is a notorious cruising ground that is often packed with guys looking for fun. This was the first time I'd ventured into the cemetery to cruise in a while, but I was so hammered it seemed like a good decision. It was not. As mentioned, it was around 1:15am. Everyone knows that after 11pm, you're not going to bump into much, apart from trees and Victorian gravestones – which is exactly what happened.
As I stumbled through the heart of the pitch-black wood, wearing my jock and loose, easily-pull-down-able shorts (in late September), I had a moment of clarity: this may be somewhat of a compulsion. Despite the time of night, despite the temperature and despite my inebriation, my main drive was to take a dick in the woods (possibly leaning on a gravestone 😬). Oops.
So, as we always ask our members when interviewing them about their kinks, how did I get a taste for outdoor sex, and what's the appeal?
Cut to me aged 16, at ______ _____'s birthday party, and we were drunk teens falling about the garden. An older boy was there, who, though not out, I could smell the gay on him a mile away. Booze made me reckless, and I made my move in front of the other revellers. Lying next to him on the grass I started conversation. I'm not sure how long it took me to play my hand, but eventually I said, "Do you think people can be…bisexual?" (🙄). It worked like a charm, and before you know it, we were stumbling off 'to get more beer from my house'. We ended up climbing over a fence into a field, and after a quick, awkward kiss we were frantically fucking up against a tree.
I returned to the same well several times. In truth, I think he thought there was more going on than there was. In hindsight, I was maybe a bit of a shit for just using him for sex, but I was 16 and he was 17, and if I wanted to get fucked on the swing set in the playground, then I had someone to knock on for. Regardless, these early outdoor liaisons burned bushes, and brambles, and mud stains, and public places, and risk into my brain as deeply horny aspects of sex.
My twenties were a strange time, filled with boyfriends and vanilla sex. Periodically I'd suck a cock in Sackville Gardens, cruise Chorlton Meadows or snap my banjo cord in a toilet encounter in Cruz 101 (quite a story for another time), but on the whole I was a lot less sexually adventurous. Wanderlust was still in me, though. The call of the wild.
At 29, I moved to London and what I found there were men, parks and outdoor spaces. Also, I found that these men could be talked into fucking in the outdoor spaces with very little effort required.
I've lived roughly in the same part of East London for 10 years, so I've become very familiar with my neighbourhood parks at night. The parks are expansive, but so is the population. Though there are plenty of destinations, they all carry a degree of appealing risk.
One evening me and a fuck buddy went to the aforementioned cemetery, and unbeknownst to us, we were followed in by a gang of lads. He'd only just started to get a rhythm going when we heard them shouting and calling out to us in the dark woods; the crack of branches and rustling getting nearer. We pulled up our pants and ran further into the cemetery, hearing them close behind us. We hid in a bush and waited for the noises to die away…then finished what we started. The thrill of the chase and the pounding of my heart made the encounter all the more addictive.
The cemetery's great, but Victoria Park's my motherland. I can't count the number of times I've scaled the fence to meet guys in there. And I don't think it's a coincidence that all the more memorable encounters include some element of risk or danger. Whether it's a cyclist stopping to watch at 4am, security cars shining their headlights on us, or noticing a drunk nearby in the same bush, only after the guy had cum, it's always the potential for getting caught that gets the blood racing.
City parks, under canal bridges, pub toilets, once on the side of an A-road. If I'm with a guy and the mood takes me, I find nothing hornier than pulling down the back of my shorts (sadly, my outdoor sex mostly takes place in seasons where shorts are wearable), spitting on their cock and sliding them in. Even if it's just for a few cheeky thrusts whilst no one's looking, it gives me a thrill.
I get a buzz having sex at fetish events, but it's not quite the same. In those instances, it's still sex in public, but without the added risk of danger. Without the fear of getting caught, it's a little more pedestrian - I'm just doing what's expected. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy club sex plenty, it's just a different kind of pleasure.
Cruising a club and cruising a park are completely different experiences. For one thing, often in a club, you see exactly what you're gonna get. Tight gear or exposed cocks mean you can size up the situation with ease. You know he's there to fuck, he knows you're there to be fucked, so just fuck. In a park (or wood or beach or toilets), how do you know they're not just on their way home? How do you know what you're gonna get? You don't. You have to size up the situation and make calculated risks. Gauging every passing glance and movement. The thrill of the hunt is half the fun. Another layer of risk.
For me, I don't think it's even connected to exhibitionism, as I don't necessarily want to be watched, but the thought of getting caught is what gives it a charge. It also has to be noted, that one of my defining character traits has always been 'cheeky'. There's just something profoundly cheeky about sex in a bush or in the toilets at a wedding…maybe not everyone would agree with this, but it's how I choose to view the world. I'm just a guy who loves the wind on his face, the sun on his back and grass under his feet as he takes a load in his ass. Wink.
Winter is coming and we find ourselves in a global pandemic, so for now, outdoor sex is off the cards, but spring will return one day, and with it so will the shorts. On a sunny afternoon or a warm evening, if you listen carefully, you might just hear my call coming from the undergrowth – the slightly muffled sound of a happy, cheeky pig.
[This isn't be the first time I've written about my love of outdoor sex. You can find an account of one of my more ridiculous experiences in an old Fetish Problems article (written anonymously). See below link for details.]
If you'd like to write about fetish and kink in a member article, send your ideas of a first draft to: firstname.lastname@example.org
*Photo used of OhBilly cruising in 2014. Not a true reflection of his current bod 🤷🏻♂