We pulled off the motorway to find a quiet spot for lunch that wasn't a crowded Service area. We shut the GPS down to stop the lady in the machine doing her pieces as she tried to get us to turn round and keep heading north towards the border, and Bridget had an old-fashioned road atlas open on her lap. The weather was the UK version of fine, so sunshine and cloud, a bit humid, and the hint of the occasional thunderstorm somewhere in the distance. A typical summer's day.
"There's a "B" road half a mile ahead on the left which looks like it was an "A" road once," she said. "It heads across the edge of a moor so it looks like a good bet for a quiet layby, perhaps with a view."
I took this as the instruction it was, and sure enough the road headed across country more or less north-westerly. Long stretches were dead straight as if it were an old Roman road, which it probably was. A sign indicated a layby picnic area coming up on the right which was likely in the wooded area we could see ahead. I signalled and we turned into one of those off-road stops constructed around a bend in an older version of the road which had been bypassed by a smoother turn, where the general direction of the higher ground had changed. There were trees right and left and a widened parking area half way around with a bushy bank on the right where the land dropped a little to the farmers' fields rolling down the flank of the moor. I turned and parked facing back the way we'd arrived. We had the place to ourselves.
"What's in the lunchbox?" I asked.
"You know very well. You were right beside me at the Co-op."
"I've forgotten. Surprise me," I countered hopefully. She gave me that look, tossed the atlas onto the back seat, and slowly hitched up her white front-buttoned summer dress to reveal she was wearing light tan stockings, a full white retro lycra open girdle I'd bought her last birthday, and white knickers. I couldn't see exactly what type of knickers but they looked like the sort I liked which were quite full, had no waistband and were cut so they disappeared between the delightful cheeks of her arse in a positively irresistible fashion. To a bum man like me, that is. Of course, I couldn't tell for sure, just getting a glimpse as I was. And with the girdle they couldn't do their disappearing trick, but I'd settle enthusiastically for what I'd seen.
"This do you?" she asked raising an eyebrow slightly as if not sure whether it would or not. She knew damn well it would, but it was supposed to be a lunch stop.
"A man should never turn down a lady, and I have no intention of disappointing. But could the condemned have a sandwich first? Just to build up a little strength?"
"You asked for a surprise, and now you tell me you want a sandwich. Yours are the cheese and onion. I went for the egg-mayonnaise, remember. And I'll still be wanting the sausage later." She proffered the box. "Yours are on top."
"As it should be." I grabbed my share of the sarnies and we both went about opening the packaging and getting to grips with the contents. While we munched away companionably, I wriggled around trying to get my erection into a comfier position.
"What's got into you?" she asked.
"You," I replied, pointing to the obvious evidence.
"As it should be," she grinned. "Coffee or Pepsi?"
"Tea," I tried. "Please."
We got the drinks sorted and packed the rubbish away. I sat back with my cuppa while idly stroking the leg on my left. The leg edged closer to express its appreciation and all seemed well with the world. "There's another car pulled up behind us," Bridget announced. "Black Ford."
"Right brand then. Though they don't have Holdens here, do they?" I replied. We were over from Australia to see relatives and catch up with some old friends. The vehicle scene was nowadays dominated by Asian makes so it was nice some things from our past here still endured.
"No need to let an audience cramp our style is there?" she rejoined. "Shall we shift to the back for a while where there are fewer knobs and gearsticks?"
"Good plan," I agreed.
"Put the windows down first, otherwise we'll get too hot," she suggested. I complied, mulling over the prospect of getting as hot as we could, and we eagerly switched to the back. Bridget had retrieved a wee pack from the glove compartment which she popped into the seat pocket in front of her with the atlas behind it, and chucked a couple of cushions we'd left on the seat to me to put by my door, out of the way. Then we began being more friendly, but in a relaxed summery way. There was no hurry.
A long gentle kiss mingled the flavours of our lunch and drinks and Bridget gave a contented sigh as I started undoing some buttons on the dress. I started at the bottom and after making some headway pushed the material aside to gently stroke the inside of her nylon clad right leg, moving gradually up to the bare flesh where the stocking tops ended. She reached down to undo more buttons and opened her legs wider to encourage me. For some reason the setting and the distant audience lent an air of unusual excitement which belied our languid progress. We both felt like a couple of teenagers on a first date. I reached her knickers.
"You're wearing the ones I like, aren't you? And you put the girdle on."
"I thought you'd be pleased. What's our watcher up to?" I turned to look over her shoulder through the back window. The car was parked about thirty metres away and the sun on the windscreen meant I couldn't see much.
"Can't tell. Ah! The door's opening. Looks like a man getting out. Denim jacket and jeans. Dark curly hair. In his thirties maybe, so a toyboy. He's coming this way."
"Don't stop!" Bridget commanded. I hadn't and didn't. I loved stroking her through her knickers so stopping wasn't on my agenda. The chap walked purposefully in our direction but closer to the bushy bank. There was a sort of gap in the vegetation opposite our car and it turned out he was heading for that. As he drew level, he gave us a glance and Bridget flashed him a big smile. He made no sign he'd noticed but disappeared through the gap and dropped out of view as he went down the bank.
"Must be the loo. Probably not very salubrious," she observed, while continuing to rock her hips gently in response to my caresses.
"You're hoping he'll come over, aren't you?" I breathed.
"It might be interesting. We've never done anything quite like this before. I'm feeling horny as hell."
"He's probably a tit man. He'll think all his Christmases and birthdays have arrived at once if he comes over."
"Well, perhaps they will have."
So, I reached up to start work on the top buttons at this point, but that was a mistake.
"Put your hand back where it was, you naughty boy, and keep rubbing me. I'll deal with those."
Obedient to a fault, I again complied. We were in our late forties but Bridget had kept her figure in good shape. She had a very narrow back for her size but enormous breasts heading into the second third of the alphabet. Getting bras which fitted was a nightmare. Particularly if I had the misfortune to accompany her and was required to hang around the underwear racks trying not to look like a middle-aged cross-dresser searching for bargains. And all while the hapless assistants tried to find a magic solution to one of the toughest physics problems on the planet having just walked into their shop.
There was a movement of branches and the tousled head appeared, followed by the rest of its owner rising below it. He paused on the lip before the gravelly paving to take in the view and check that his dress was properly adjusted. Bridget flashed him another of her big smiles. His face creased in a half-smile in return and he made to come over. Just short of the car he stopped. And I'd stopped my ministrations as he approached and leant back against the cushions by the far door.
"Good afternoon, folks. It is just afternoon, isn't it? I hope I'm not interrupting anything."
"Not at all. We'd just had lunch and were having a bit of a cuddle, but nothing more. Are you a local or a traveller like us?" Bridget had done nothing to adjust her dress, so the dress hem was pushed right up on both sides and resting either side of her still parted legs. She swivelled towards him so closing her legs a bit, but this meant he was now staring at her breasts bulging invitingly against the thin white material. He stiffened momentarily and his eyes widened a fraction, but regained his composure in a flash.
"I'm a local. Well, I'm from the town just down the motorway. But that's local by our standards. I can't quite place your accent, I confess."
"We're from down south originally, but we've lived in Australia for twenty years so their twang has rubbed off on us a bit. We're over to catch up with old friends north of the border."
"That accounts for it. I'm Geoff, by the way."
"Pleased to meet you Geoff. Bridget and Bill, we are. I'll be Bridget."
"Not much doubt about that!"
"And I'll be Bill."
He smiled, and sensing no offence had been taken continued smoothly "Being a bit off the beaten track this layby is often used by courting couples and so on. So, you won't be the first to have had a bit of a cuddle here."
"And so on?" Bridget did her eyebrow thing again.
"Er, do you have something called dogging in Australia?"
"I'm not sure." She looked at me, then turned back. "We've heard of it from our time here, but that's about it. What's the story?"
"Some couples park up and like to be watched. Mainly that happens after dark. But sometimes during the day. I sometimes come up here for lunch with the possibility of a little fun to boot."
