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Spanish Adventure Ch. 01

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Babes

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 görükle escort 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.

If ever there was a moment which signalled an introduction to gay sex for me, that was it. A straight guy stumbling on a situation I was completely unprepared for, but who had now had his eyes open to a different way of experiencing pleasure.

Naturally, I sought out more of the same wherever I happened to be and over time amassed an almost encyclopaedic knowledge of good ‘cottages’ across the areas I frequented. There was a good one about a ten minute walk from my office, so lunchtimes were covered. If I was visiting family I would know where to head whenever conversation about my childhood became too unbearable and I probably knew more about the service areas on the UK motorway network than some truckers!

It didn’t take long to realise that risk-taking in public toilets had potentially disastrous effects too. One evening, some mutual masturbating with a guy at the urinals in a local cottage ended abruptly when a group of youths rushed in shouting “Fucking queers! Fuck off!”. Thankfully, I never was a recipient of any physical violence directly, but it certainly gave me pause for thought. Over years the number of viable cottages which had workable ‘glory holes’ diminished, as local councils tried to combat the growing problem by erecting steel separating walls, entrance cameras and on-duty attendants. I soon realised that the rush of 5 minute pleasure at my local toilets were a thing of the past and I needed to find alternatives.

The alternative I found were gay sauna’s and cruising grounds. bursa escort bayan Sauna’s were safer in a ‘less risk of arrest’ way, but initially I found them rather full-on for my liking. Within ten minutes of attending my first sauna, I witnessed an orgy in a darkened room, with a group of five or six guys furiously sucking and fucking each other. This was some difference to the furtive oral sex I’d come across in public toilets! Of course, over the months and years I acclimatised, and before too long I was also in the middle of a similar scene, being spit-roasted by two guys who not only I didn’t know, but couldn’t even see clearly!

Since then, I’ve fallen into my current pattern of occasional release at saunas, sprinkled with a few pre-arranged meets over the internet and my semi-regular visits to the woods. I’ve also very slowly realised what I enjoy and what I don’t. The list of ‘don’t’ is pretty small but I’ve come to realise I am predominantly a bottom, or submissive partner (in other words I enjoy being fucked and being the one doing the sucking) although I can switch to being a top when the mood takes me. I also found wearing jock-straps to be a real turn on, realised I had a liking for guys with big cocks, enjoyed having sex under the influence of mild recreational drugs and enjoyed some of the more kinky stuff that even a lot of hardened gay guys baulk at, such as water-sports. On the flip-side, I’m not a fan of fisting, don’t like sex to be too rough, don’t find leather or rubber a particular turn-on and absolutely find the kind of vanilla masturbation and tentative oral which turned me on so much in the early days, to be a real passion-killer.

All of this, and everyone who knows me would consider me a straight-laced businessman who has the perfect junior-exec lifestyle. Funny how it’s so hard to read people!

Peering out of the window, I realise that my windscreen-wipers have stopped clearing the screen and the rain has abated. I reached to the passenger seat and grabbed my regular accoutrements for a wood visit – a condom, a sachet of lube and a bottle of amyl-nitrate (“poppers”) – and put them in my pocket, opened the car door and walked out into the fresh air.

Entering the woods via one of the breaks in the foliage, it was clear that it would be a quiet day. The car park only had two other cars parked up at this point, so I was expecting to not have to venture far into the wood to find someone. After all, the other guys won’t be expecting many in there either so are unlikely to venture too far for what would be a fruitless hunt, not to mention the rain making the ground rather muddy in places.

I was correct in my thinking, as after only a few steps I could see a guy dressed in a dark blue tracksuit about thirty feet away. Seeing me, he started walking deeper into the wood, periodically glancing over his shoulder. I followed him ensuring I kept a reasonable distance just in case I have misread his intentions. Eventually, he stopped at a clearing amongst some fairly dense woodland and stood against a tree as though he was taking a quick piss. I walked into the clearing and slowed my pace to a shuffle, whilst feeling the bulge under my tracksuit bottoms and glancing in his direction. Once eye contact was made, he turned around and mirrored my actions by stroking himself through his trousers. Quite frankly, given the quiet circumstances, the two-hours or rain and the pent up sexual frustration, this was all the signal I needed.

I slowly walked over to him, pulling down my tracksuit bottoms as I walked and he did the same, exposing his cock to me. I don’t know how it bursa escort would work in a police sting, but I’m pretty sure that undercover officers are unlikely to expose a fully erect penis when on duty, so this was pretty much a green light as far as I was concerned.

I moved in front of him and took hold of his cock in my hand, masturbating it gently. As he let out a slight moan, I bent over and took his full length in my mouth, moving my head up and down whilst sucking and occasionally pulling it out to lick the head. Whilst I was doing this I felt his arm move behind me and stroke my arse, which was exposed through the back of my jock-strap. His finger found it’s way to my hole and I knew that the next sensation he would feel was the wetness of the lube I had applied prior to venturing out. He fingered me for a few seconds then pulled my head up from his crotch and physically turned me around and pushed me up against a tree. I heard the sound of a condom being unwrapped behind me, before he pressed slowly against me. As I could feel his cock enter me I let out a deep moan.

The situation was made all the more exciting by another cruiser who had ambled up from the car park and was watching – and masturbating – from a ‘safe’ distance while observing me getting slowly fucked. The guy inside me felt really good, as his rhythm increased whilst he pounded away. After what seemed like ages, but was probably only a couple of minutes he started panting, pulled out, ripped the condom off and started masturbating. “Come on my arse” I requested quietly, and he obliged – pulling my arse cheek to one side with one hand as his other worked his cock to orgasm and he sprayed his cum against my cold skin. I could feel the sensation of cum running down the inside of my arse cheek and between my legs, which felt amazing. I glanced around to see if the other guy was still there as I felt in the mood for a second cock but he had unfortunately vanished.

We both put our clothes back into some kind of order, and engaged in what is generally a weird kind of cruiser’s post-coital small-talk. The kind of small-talk you make when you have just been exceedingly intimate with someone before you have asked their name or even passed the time of day with them!

“Thanks mate, I needed that!” he whispered.

“Pity it was pissing down with rain. It’s pretty dead up here so glad I met you,” I responded, realising immediately how desperate it sounded.

“Well I’ve just come back from Spain and had an amazing time, so really could have done without this weather,” he replied.

“Cool. Family holiday?”

“No. Solo. Met up with some mates in Sitges. Cock everywhere! You’d love it I’m sure,” he said with a wink.

We then walked separately back to the car park but it did start me on a train of thought that stayed with me long after I’d driven away from the wood.

Over the coming week I thought of the guys advice, and it made more and more sense. I have a few days holiday I can take from work so could do with a long weekend away somewhere sunny, but who am I kidding? – the idea of a ‘sex holiday’ really appealed more than anything and subsequently reading about Sitges on-line, it sounded like a good place for a solo traveller with great bars, darkrooms aplenty and with it being near Barcelona was pretty easy (not to mention cheap) to get to.

The subsequent chapters cover the trip that was the result of that awkward post-fuck chat. The stories are all based on real-life experience, however some elements have been fictionalised in order to maintain a narrative flow and provide anonymity for those involved.

I can’t promise intricate plot or character development – that simply doesn’t translate to a travelogue of this kind. What I can hopefully communicate is the rush of sexual adventure, something akin to those early stops in the motorway service area, just with added sunscreen…

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