In the Woods

That childhood song concerning teddy bears and picnics makes it clear that there is every possibility that woods are places where big surprises can happen. Moreover, it advises that there is a certain degree of 'sureness' in that regard. For a long time now, I've been hoping and praying that old ditty from my younger years was, not to put too fine a point on it, utter bullshit. The very last thing I had been hoping for, let alone expecting, was any sort of big surprise when I ventured down among the trees.

You see, I have had this little, very mild, kink for a number of years now. Ten years to be precise – and since I'm now nearly thirty, it doesn't take an Einstein or Nash to figure out I was a teen when it all started, albeit one just about to stop being a teen. It's not really very relevant to what I'm about to tell you, and I think that maybe I'm merely trying to provide one of those 'I was young and silly when it started and never really grew out of it' defences for my dumbness. I'll leave you to make the final call and just get on with telling you what happened last weekend.

One other thing, though, before I start. This whole thing I've had going on is just that. A silly little thing that's a holdover from when I was younger and slightly dumber. It doesn't have any relevance to my more adult indulgences but in a strange way – certainly since last weekend – the silly little thing has developed a rather remarkable power and importance.

I am lucky enough to live in a semi-rural setting – my house, the one in which I spent a lot of time growing up and (not so far) out when I was a teenager, is set against a backdrop of the ancient Epping Forest, but close enough to the centre of London that I can commute into the City in a matter of minutes. Commuting across the City is a whole other issue and you can read my views on that elsewhere. In any case, I can retreat into the heart of the forest and lose myself among the millions of trees in just a few seconds after leaving my back door.

And that is what my little kink is all about.

It can be classified as a rather conflicted kink – I'm an exhibitionist who never likes to actually be seen. You see, I get my kicks out of stripping off and gliding through the forest unseen. Me, Maria, naked and surrounded by dozens of totally unaware individuals just a few yards away sometimes, in a forest that is surrounded by millions of totally unaware individuals.

Back in the day when my twentieth birthday had yet to arrive, I ventured into the densest, remotest parts of the forest and dared myself to walk a few yards with my blouse wide open. By the time I was approaching my twenty-first, I had graduated to tracing those same footsteps completely topless, and on my twenty-third birthday I found the quietest place I could locate in the whole forest and – with agonising slowness and much prevarication – finally stripped naked for a few sweet, heart-palpitating seconds.

I know, I know – I hadn't exactly progressed very much down the yellow-kink road, but I should probably add that at the height of each of my 'adventures' I would risk playing for a while, and before I reached my twenty-fifth birthday I had reached my first naked, outdoor orgasm.

The next couple of years saw me become increasingly more adventurous, to the point where I would strip off within earshot of people out for walks among the trees – but always within plenty of tree and bush (don't say it) cover.

The thought of these people being so close to me without realising a naked, cute (well, I am if you like slender and ratty-haired), and rather excited woman was just a few yards away, unseen and hopefully unheard, gave me such thrills that it was almost a frustration too far waiting for them to move away far enough that I could safely bring myself to a shuddering climax.

This year, though, I developed a whole new level of risk and excitement.

It started back in a sudden warm spell we had in May. The trees were burgeoning with new growth, the fresh covering of leaves in the undergrowth providing me with cover and hiding places that I had been craving since the previous autumn. One early afternoon, a Thursday which I had booked off work for some much-needed 'me-time', I walked twenty minutes from my house until I reached a familiar copse; three old oak trees in a tight circle (well, triangle) which appeared to the casual passer-by to be filled with brambles. I knew from years past that the brambles actually opened on the side away from the footpath to provide a smaller circle that was completely enclosed as far as passers-by were concerned. Within those prickly depths I could – very carefully – strip off ready for a short walk among the more forgiving flora of the forest.

That day, though, I felt something stirring when my bra hit the grassy floor of the bramble-surrounded clearing. By the time my panties joined them and the deliciously cool air caressed the already warm and moist centre of me, my pulse rate was shockingly high and my mind was filled with a deep desire to take things just that little bit further than I had before.

I paused in the midst of the prickles, listening hard over the sound of my hammering heart, and eventually picked up the crunch and crackle of twigs that heralded the approach of someone along the path just a few feet away from the brambles. When an elderly male voice called easily to what could only have been his dog – how many people are called Furface? – I knew that I had a perfect situation for my kink.

I crept out of the bushes and stood silent behind them as the man and his mutt walked slowly along the path. At its closest the path would be within ten feet of the brambles, no more than twenty feet from where I was standing, shaking a little. I waited and waited until I judged that the pair had passed the parallel point – I couldn't actually see through the bushes but I was well-practiced – and then took five quick, soft steps out from my hiding place.

I was now in the open, naked, upright, heart rate approaching four figures – and if the guy had turned at just that moment I would have been fully and completely visible to him.

At any time before that day I would have taken hasty steps back into cover but that gentle stirring I had felt when I let go of my bra returned with a vengeance. Or at least, with reinforcements.

I waited until the guy's back – and the dog's ridiculously fluffy tail – had disappeared around a curve in the path, and with a very quick check that theirs were the only footsteps I could hear, I took a few fast, furtive, but above all gentle steps after them.

I repeated the exercise twice around the next two curves in the path before a glance behind me shocked me with the realisation that the brambles were now a full twenty yards away. When that fact was coupled with a sudden extra heat and moistness at my groin, I fled back the sanctuary of the spiny spinney. As soon as I was there, with barely a cursory listen for the presence of others, my fingers were caressing that heat and wetness. One quick thought to the sensation I felt just twenty yards away, naked and isolated in the middle of the forest, no cover to hand, a guy capable of simply turning to be greeted with my nudity... well that was all it took to turn arousal into shuddering climax. On my knees, naked among the brambles, three oaks towering over me, I shuddered and shivered through an orgasm that had me squeaking and whimpering as each wave crashed through me.

It was a day that marked a sea-change for me. After all those years of baby-steps from my open blouse to naked playing, I could feel the need to take a big stride forward. Okay, so it might not seem so much to some, but believe me, the idea that had formed and now lodged in my brain seemed like the biggest deal imaginable. All I needed was a pair of lightweight, slip-on sandals.

I didn't wait or prevaricate (which might surprise some people – even those reading this), and the very next morning I visited a local shoe-shop before heading off into the forest. I was almost running by the time I reached the three ancient oaks and the cluster of bramble bushes, but I still took time to make sure that no one witnessed where I hid myself. In fact, I took a great deal more care than normal – and that was already a meticulous process.

The reason for my extra caution was all to do with my plan for a step up in daringness. Once I was satisfied that there was no one even remotely close to my hideaway, I slipped inside the safety of the prickly bushes and stripped out of my clothes in record time. Pausing only to slip on the newly acquired sandals, I stepped back out into the open trees.

The breeze that morning felt somehow more intimate as it washed gently over my heat and, I have to admit, rather copious moisture. My heart-rate was once more pushed towards the upper reaches of human capabilities – of hummingbird capabilities, come to that – and my senses seemed to be singing with heightened awareness.

I was grateful that my hearing, in particular, seemed to be so very sensitive because I was more aware than I'd ever been of just how naked I was, and I took the first tentative steps away from the bushes – and the clothes that would spare my modesty.

I followed the same few steps that I'd taken just the previous day when that old guy and his dog had been so close but in the weirdest sense imaginable I began to feel even more exposed and at risk in the evidently empty area than I had when I was within easy sight of a man had he turned to face me the previous day. With every step I took, the exposed feeling increased – along with my sense of arousal.

I paused countless times to make sure that I couldn't hear the distant approach of another human but eventually – and moistly – I reached the spot at which I had turned tail and retreated twenty-four hours earlier. I very slowly swivelled around and looked back at the now distant bushes where my clothes were hidden and then, after taking a hundred deep breaths, I turned away once more.

The next steps I took felt as if I were abandoning all chance of modesty and all reason, but I could see another thick stand of bushes some fifteen yards ahead, to the left of the forest path. In the dim distance behind me I thought I heard a twig crack and with a hand rather pointlessly covering my groin I dashed forward towards a sanctuary that was by no means truly safe, but which would spare me the ultimate embarrassment should that distant noise prove to be someone approaching.

Once safely tucked away behind a bunch of ferns and yet more bramble bushes I held my breath, expecting at any second to hear much closer footsteps. My hand was still at my groin and I was tempted for a few brief seconds to indulge the incredible arousal that I felt, but the very first gentle probing had me whimpering too loudly for comfort. I hastily took my hand away, alarmed for a few seconds when my arousal levels increased with my increased levels of exposure.

I tried to calm myself in the seconds and then few minutes that followed, my ears tuned towards the pathway just a few yards the other side of my stand of bushes. With no watch to gauge the time I took to counting slowly to three hundred giving anyone who might be approaching, and who had stood on the distant twig, plenty of time to arrive. I reached four hundred and twenty three before I gave a rueful shake of the head and told myself to be sensible. There was no one within a country mile of me.

Finally, I allowed myself a gentle rub and then stood slowly. My mind was telling me that I had seen another stand of bushes further down the path and I gave a little grin as I decided that I'd be oh so very daring and go that far before turning back.

Nodding at my sense and my daringness, I stepped out from the bushes and turned towards the next target destination.

How the old man didn't see me, I'll never know.

I didn't even know there was an old fallen tree cut into a rustic seat on that stretch of the pathway, but there he was sitting happily munching a sandwich – and for me, at least, blissfully unaware that a naked young lady was standing, shocked rigid, just a few feet across the pathway from him.

I dropped to all fours and scampered back into the shelter of the bushes, finally understanding what the expression 'heart in the throat' actually felt like. When I realised how far I was from my clothes, my heart rate soared higher still and my legs and arms actually started to tremble. With a deep sense of dread and wonder, I felt tiny muscles deep in my belly start to flutter and I clamped my right hand over my mouth, my left hand dropping to my naked groin.

I looked down at myself – small, firm breasts heaving, their nipples rigid and tingling, and that hand, fingers pointed straight downwards, covering my hot and oh-so wet pussy. I looked through the bush to my side and could make out the man's left leg. For some reason when I glimpsed him crossing his right leg over that denim-clad left, I let my middle finger slide upwards along the wetness of my pussy and flicked at my hard clit, sending a lightning bolt through my mind.

As the first shocking wave of orgasm started to shudder and twitch its way through my belly I clamped my right hand harder and harder over my mouth. I collapsed backwards, narrowly avoiding impaling myself on a thousand sharp bramble barbs, and just knew there was no way to stop things. As soon as that realisation washed through me I started to climax. And we're not talking about a quick, easy orgasm. My hips were bucking against my fingers and my right hand slipped away from my mouth, letting loose squeaks and squeals before I could clamp it back. I frantically tried to catch sight of the guy sitting so close, desperate now not to be caught in such a brazen – glorious – way, but every pulse of climax seemed to push my head further away from any convenient gap in the foliage. After a few hopeless attempts I just gave in completely – there was no way I could stop even if the guy had heard anything. And that realisation took me to even higher orgasmic paths.

My fingers were running with my juices by the time I started to calm, shuddering and shaking as aftershock followed aftershock. I could scarcely believe that the stranger from the seat hadn't become the spectator at my feet. And that thought sent another aftershock through me.

I finally heard the guy standing up from his seat – completely unaware of my proximity (and my naked tits and pussy) – and moving off along the path in the direction I had come from.

I left it for a few minutes and then scurried back to my clothes, dressing as fast as I ever had before heading back home where I spent the whole afternoon replaying my near-close encounter. Replaying it with my fingers, that is. I was so sore the next morning, I can tell you.

Since that day I've got progressively bolder, leaving my clothes in the same stand of brambles but venturing further and further into the forest, using a series of clumps of fern and bramble as staging areas where I hide – and sometimes play. One day two weeks ago I spent eight hours deep in the forest, completely naked. I followed six different guys that day – I have a penchant for following older guys since they never seem to hear what is going on so close behind them – and I stopped to play no fewer than three times. You'd be amazed at how close I can get to people without them realising a highly horny and extremely naked lady is so close to them.

Yesterday was another long trip for me. I got to the brambles – there's blackberries by the hundred on the bushes now – before nine o'clock, and took my first steps deeper into the woods by five minutes past. It must have been close to ten before I heard the first footsteps approaching and by then I was skulking in a stand of thick brambles at least a couple of miles from where I'd left my clothes.

I knew that I would be walking ever deeper into the trees for another couple of hours before, so terribly exposed, I turned and headed back towards the sanctuary of my far, far distant clothing, and I have to be honest – I was wallowing in my nervousness, luxuriating in every thrill and scintillation of nerves as a twig snapped somewhere nearby or a small animal scuttled through the undergrowth, rustling small branches and feathering my heartstrings.

I moved on in a series of scuttles and dashes interspersed with casual strolls, one moment taking refuge, heart pounding, among thick stands of bushes, the next brazenly striding among the trees, sunlight sending dappled shadows across my bare flesh.

With no wristwatch to tell me how long I had been naked in the sun and shade, I reached a small outcrop of rock which I thought I recognised from an earlier wander, its appearance a gentle worry since, although I thought I had seen it before, I seemed to recall that the last time I'd seen it was when it had been rather closer to my starting point. Which couldn't, of course, be the case this particular day since I was certain I had walked as far as ever before away from my base camp.

I looked up through the thick tangle of branches above and realised that the sun was as high as it was possible for it to get – a sure-fire indication that early afternoon had arrived given how late it was becoming in the summer. I turned quickly, trying to get my bearings and headed off at once towards where I estimated my destination to be.

It's true that a return journey always seems so much shorter than a journey out to a destination, right? Well yesterday I found the fallacy in that statement. I headed resolutely – and as swiftly as I dared – back the way I thought I had come. I scanned left and right with almost every step, becoming ever-more desperate to see a landmark that held even a hint of familiarity. I recognised nothing and as the distance I travelled increased, my anxiety increased with it. In direct proportion to it, even.

As the sun started to make its way noticeably towards the horizon, I became more and more panicky. My nakedness felt more and more pronounced and my sense of vulnerability began to reach critical proportions.

After what seemed like hours – days – I thought I caught a glimpse of a tall, gnarled plane tree jutting up between two distant oaks, and I swore – rather ungraciously – a small prayer of thanks before adjusting my direction to aim more squarely at my new target. From away to my right, deeper among the trees, a small branch snapped with a pistol-loud crack, sending my heart up into my throat, and I pretty much sprinted forward towards a small clump of the ever-present brambles some ten yards ahead of me.

I angled to my left, intending to round the prickly bushes on that side and cower behind them until I could identify whatever had snapped the twig – or at least until I heard whatever had caused the noise move off deeper into the forest. I was already straining to hear, glancing worriedly to my right as I reached the safety of the bramble bushes. I careered around the thorny branches, acutely aware of having covered a very broad open space and of the seconds that had elapsed since that sharp wooden report. But acutely unaware of the young man who was standing behind the bushes trying to locate a number of his phone.

I collided with him before I had even truly registered his presence and was already squealing in shock and fright even as I was flying through the air backwards. I know it sounds impossible, but in the split seconds I had between the collision and my butt hitting the grass of the forest floor, I became acutely aware of the fact that every inch of my front was exposed to the stranger. I even managed to estimate his age (mid-twenties) and his type (geek who could look quite cute if he ever worked out how to make the effort). Those facts didn't exactly help.