Doggers

This morning I walked to taunts of how “they do things in Clifton” this is where we hope to move and today was to be the day that we deviate from the norm and give the house a real JGTU which for the uninitiated is a jolly good tidy up, especially on the HS&L (hall, stairs and landing) and everywhere else. This is because we are trying to sell our house and the “professional photographer” is coming tomorrow to take shots to make people buy our house, he’s told us that his photos will small of freshly baked bread and fragrant french coffee, and will have a hypnotic property like the snakes eyes in Jungle Book forcing the first person who sees the house to buy it and spare me (us) of this incessant tidying up day in day out. The worry I have is that once the tidying starts it won’t stop, this could be a Sisyphus type affair in which we tidy and then someone comes in and throws everything out of the cupboards again and puts grease on the inside of the cooker knobs, for ever and ever. We’ll never sell the house and will remain deluded that someone wants to take it off our hands, sometimes I feel our houses like a clam shell which promises much and yet proffers no pearl. And i’ve checked, Clam shells do produce pearls, but they aren’t particularly beautiful, just rare, so their value lies in their uniqueness, similar to Froggers; our house. 

I met my boss today for a socially distanced chat at a car park at a local forest. Arriving a few minutes early I got myself a ticket and sat in the car, then kind of waited with a purposeful air, puffing on my vape and trying desparately not to look too much like a dogger. But this car park is popular for activities other than dogging, unlike Fish Hill in the Cotswolds. When I worked in the Cotswolds I would take my dog, Hovis, to work with me, and we would always stop at Fish Hill car park to have a piss and stretch our legs. There’s a public toilet, picnic tables and many secluded parking bays in the pretty large landscaped car park, surrounded by woodland.

One this day Hovis and I decided to head down a path we’ed not been down before, I was speaking to a friend I knew at the time on my phone and as we went deeper into the thicket, I noticed something in a tree, a note. All the while I’m relaying this episode to my mate as I walk through the woods. I grab the note and theres a pair of knickers next to them, hanging from a branch, rain stained and cold looking, not sexual, more sinister. The note reads,

“These are my wife’s knickers. Do what you will with them and write it down (!). Then I will send you a photo of my long stiff cock”

This doesn’t happen to me everyday so I was shocked and exillerated that this has happened to me and it was a brilliant tale to tell, I didn’t know anyone who had stumbled upon a clandestine Cotswold Copulation Centre. I looked around me as Hovis was sniffing something and noticed there were used condoms, tissues, and dirty pieces of unidentifiable cloth littering the forest floor; revolting. I was in the Epicentre of Cum, the Eye of the storm, the place where pasty faced London types, fled to the country, can’t resist a fumble amongst the Oaks with some filthy piece of rough.

“Come on Hovis” I shouted as he was chewing some tissue paper, and high tailed it out of there. As we re-emerged from the trees and back into the car park, I noticed a few cars with chaps inside, who looked up at me as I left the trees, they could have been businessmen, stopping for a piss, or to get the paperwork together before they met a client, or maybe, just maybe they might have been waiting to see if I was up for a bit of al-fresco dining, if you know what I mean.

We left, and avoided that particular path the next time. I did visit the toilets there a few years back, it was a beautifully sunny day, probably about 2pm, Jason my way home and needed a piss so I stopped off, parked the car and walked into the toilet, heading to the closest part of the urinal trough to relieve myself, I was bursting. In the gloom, right at the other end of the toilet were two blokes wanking each other off, I kid you not. That was pretty grim, they had been busted but I wasn’t going to stay around so I guess thats what Dogging is all about; the thrill of the possibility of getting caught. 

I don’t work in the Cotswolds anymore, but theres plenty of woods near me, so i’ll keep an eye out for a decent spot near Clifton Upon Teme, when we move there.

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