Dogged by bad luck! - A Summer of Outdoor Fun
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According to Brenda Love in her
Encyclopedia of Unusual Sex Practices,
'dogging' is an English term for activities that stem
from amomaxia, or sex in a parked car.
(Please forgive both American spelling and
grammar - how both can be so abused
in one title is beyond me!).
Now, most of us are aware of the ins
and outs of this enjoyable pasttime,
but it intrigued me when I found that
'dogging' was cross-referenced with the
exotic-sounding 'candaulism', the first entry
under 'C' in the aforementioned reference
work - and over half a page in length!
Briefly, 'candaulism' refers to a situation
where, in a group of three or more people,
only two engage in sex.
It seemed to me an awfully long
explanation for something we would
commonly come across at most swingers'
parties and clubs, but I thought that you may
like to throw it into the conversation at a
Jogging the memory
This summer has been one of the wettest on
record and, as a result, I began to think about
my various dogging adventures that haven't
gone as expected.
These exploits cover the full spectrum of
calamitous and ludicrous endeavour in trying
to achieve sexual climax, despite the best
efforts of both nature and mankind.
For those of you familiar with A A
Milne's cuddly, rotund little bear Pooh, you
will be aware that his recorded exploits took
place in the Hundred Acre Wood. Should you
be wearing an anorak, with Piglet, Tigger or
Eyore emblazoned on the back, you will
know that this wood is reputed to be
Ashdown Forest in East Sussex.
Here, in dappled sunlit glades, much
happ, carefree gambolling has supposedly
taken place and, indeed, still does.
Going down to Ashdown
It was in this wood, or one remarkably
similar in its closeness to London, that I had
a very different 'dogging' experience, and for
once I had a part in ruining somebody else's
It was while I was in London that I
worked for a broadcast facilities company,
providing equipment and crew to film- and
programme-makers.When it was in its prime,
the company also produced pilot taster
shows to demonstrate the quality of material
they had on offer.
One such programme involved taking a
'celebrity' into the middle of a forest where
hidden cameras would track said star, night
and day, while they underwent a series of
Of course, in order to show the son et
lumiere at its best, it was necessary to film in
the dead of night. So it was that, late on a
Sunday, a team of ten talented professionals
rigged the car park and a nearby forest
clearing with a series of hidden cameras,
microphones and a number of extremely
bright lights.We returned to the van, which
was to be our 'home' for much of the night
and waited for the car park to empty. And
waited... and waited some more.
The night's performance
From the back of the van I heard somebody
using the term 'doggers', and sure enough
the car park was periodically lit up by cars
flashing their headlamps, and interior lights
flashing on and off. I have to admit that
quite a number of the flashes came in our
direction but it was impossible to warn
anyone without leaving our cover.
After waiting for an hour or so for the
activity to subside, the director muttered the
words, 'fire them up ready for action'.
Immediately the car park and clearing were
lit up as if in daylight by the strategically
positioned, 2kw lights. Almost as quickly, the
car park and the surrounding area were
almost completely vacated, accompanied by
a protesting squeal of indignant tyres.With
the words 'Lights. Camera. Action', echoing
around the area, there was a rustle from the
bushes and the last remaining inhabitants
beat a hasty retreat.
Another from the archive...
As somebody who is happily
bi-sexual - indeed, I now know that
I am tri-sexual - I am aware
that there are similarities
between dogging and a
host of other
practices, such as
cottaging. Both can bring an indignant outcry
from local citizens, and quite often both
practices will occupy the same area of land.
Unfortunately, my experience shows that
problems can occur before even reaching the
The following incident actually occurred,
at different times, to both me and my
partner Helen, albeit in different forms.
Actually, when we first met, Helen
would point to various landmarks and
declare 'that's a dogging site - and so is
that'.When I queried her knowledge, she
denied that she had ever attended any open
meetings but, as ever, the truth will out. And
so on to this particularly embarrassing event.
The setting is fairly typical - a cold, wet
summer's night when the chat-room
type keeps monotonous time with
the raindrops racing to the
bottom of the bedroom
arose of a
clandestine meeting - but of course, the
'name' in the room had been drinking so was
unable to drive. He pleaded, and made
promises of a journey to heaven.
...Do I or don't I?
But I had known and chatted with the name
for a few weeks, so I threw on a coat over my
bra, panties and stockings and made the
hazardous dash to my car.
Praying not to get caught by too many
red lights, and by no flashing blue ones, I
made the 30-mile journey in under half an
hour and pulled up outside the designated
address with a mixture of relief and
To my surprise, the passenger
door was dragged open and,
heralded by a shower of rain and a squeaking
of springs, my 'hero' plumped himself down
next to me in the passenger seat.
It transpired that, because he had recently
split up with his wife, he had moved in with
his mother and, of course and alas, it was
impossible that I be allowed in the house in
case either his mother, or the cat, should be
We kissed and began to get amorous in
the car but my heart wasn't in it. It soon
became apparent that the rain hadn't
affected his ardour and, even if my heart
wasn't in it, he was making every move to
ensure that his cock would soon be in at
least one of my ports of call. Like Helen, I
have a reputation for giving excellent head,
a pulsating deep-throated blow-job that
can't be resisted.
Change of venue
With an itch that needed scratching, I agreed
to drive on to a safe place he knew of where,
quite possibly, we would meet other likeminded
He directed me down B roads, then
country lanes and finally cart tracks, until I
wound up in the middle of a field. By this
time my wipers were having trouble clearing
the windscreen and the absence of street
lighting made the darkness intense and
totally impenetrable. 'It's not like this when I
walk my dog,' he stammered, before urging
me to drive through the gap ahead and into
the next field. Like a good girl I did as he bid,
although with hindsight I admit that I was
concentrating more on his hand as he slowly
stroked his penis erect, and the glistening
head that smiled in my direction.
I never got into the next field - and his cock
never made it into my eager mouth - at
least, not that night. The relentless rains had
turned the field into a quagmire and with a
squelching, grating sound my beloved black
Fiat bottomed out - and stuck fast.
When I had stopped shrieking, I decided
that he would have to get out and push
while I operated the controls. 'What do you
mean you can't?' I ranted, only stopping
when he opened his door to reveal that,
rather than being between two fields, we
were actually teetering on the edge of a
precipice. Of course, I lost it totally and
ended up half in and half out of my car, with
my former 'hero' trying to clamber over me
in an attempt to get out.
Our only chance of rescue was for me to
swallow my embarrassment and call the car
rescue people. I felt sure I could hear the
control room laughing as I described the
sequence of fields he would have to go
through to reach us - a sound that
intensified when he advised me to listen for
a passing vehicle - and then start flashing.
So there I was, soaked to the skin and
virtually naked, with a beaming rescuer filling
out the form to register my satisfaction.
'After all, apart from the tow we do like to
give complete satisfaction,' he smiled, and I
wasn't surprised to find that he had handed
me his mobile phone number... just in case
of any further incidents.
I think that the field incident was one of
the worst to happen to me. I hadn't managed
much more than a decent snog and cuddle -
and that after driving half way across the
county. My blushes intensified when I found
that I would have to pay the car valet double
the normal fee due to the excessive mud.
Hope springs eternal
Of course, I have had many enjoyable
dogging encounters - and few have been
that far out into the country. One encounter
on the A30 resulted in a very nice couple
brewing up for me on their primus stove... on
another occasion on the same road a
campervan was hooked up to the SH site -
but such luxuries are rare.
I have had too many encounters to put
in to one article - and I am thinking only
about the minority that went wrong.
I have learned, in the course of my
explorations, that dogging, while enjoyable
and often exciting, shouldn't take the place
of simple road safety measures - such as
applying the handbrake, especially in a hilly
lay-by on the A22, resulting in damage to my
vehicle that I didn't feel I could take to my
I have also discovered that the police,
especially in Wrexham, can be quite helpful,
advising me that they were only patrolling
for troublemakers and that they would
return in an hour or so. The police in Surrey,
however, did have to take a different view
when a dogging session accidentally
coincided with a major drugs bust!
I suppose, finally, I would
simply advise that if
misfortune is going to strike,
keep your chin down but your
head held high...