Dare to Dog

It had taken a lot to get me to walk out the door in the first place. Even after spending hours bathing, primping, putting on my makeup - not to mention pulling out nearly every outfit I had from my closet - I had nearly called the whole thing off.

It wouldn't have been the first time that I had aborted at the last second. As a matter of fact, it would have been the third time. Each time I had pressured Tim to take the kids out so that I could have a "Mum's Night Out," and failed to follow through. The first time I never even made it to the door.

The second time, I got as far as the bus stop. I caught the look of the only other person there was a young chav in a track suit. He had a gaudy gold chain around his neck and a ball cap cocked sideways. He smacked his gum loudly and looked at me askance. He did a double-take and looked at me up and down, making me very self-conscious. When he lifted his lip in a form of both a snarl and a smirk, it was all that it took for me to lose my nerve.

Humiliated, I slunk back to the house with my proverbial tail between my legs. What I had hoped would be a fun, fantastic romp in the park ended up with me on the sofa watching

The Best of

East Enders

on DVD and eating chocolates. My plans for a wild sexual escapade didn't even make it so far as masturbation. Whenever I thought about touching myself, that fucking chav popped back into my head. I was as cold as frozen fish fingers.

To make matters worse, Tim had returned with the boys sooner than expected. I had hoped he might have even been late, but it was not the night for good luck. "I thought you were going to go out?" he said, somewhat surprised.

I shrugged, never taking my eyes from the telly. "Plans fell through," I said, telling the truth. "Patty couldn't make it so I decided to stay in." That was the lie.

I had spent weeks nursing my wounds and crushed ego. It took weeks more to get up the courage to even think about doing it again, and then a couple

more

weeks to put the plan into action.

Now, having passed the front door like defeating a powerful enemy, I thought about Patty. My best friend, completely in the dark about what I intended to do. I had never kept secrets from her. We had grown close in sixth form, became best friends at uni, through my marriage and childbirth, through her marriage and divorce.

"Helen!" she would gasp if she knew. "How

could

you?!"

She would never understand. She

couldn't

understand. She had divorced

her

husband years ago. She didn't have children. Her life was exciting, each man new and thrilling. To her, getting laid wasn't a chore. It was an invigoration. A reaffirmation of her womanhood.

"Oh, Helen," she would chastise me when I complained about my boring life. "You have it

all

. You have two beautiful kids and a husband who loves you. Do you have any idea how many women would

kill

to have what you have?"

No, she wouldn't understand. If she knew, she might even hate me. She could be extremely petty. In truth, she

loved

being single. She might actually want the stability that I had in theory, but in practice she found being a slag far too intoxicating. If I were to have what she had too, she really

would

hate me for 'having the best of both worlds.'

It reminded me of just how alone I really was. Not only was she my best friend, but she was my

only

friend. I simply couldn't afford to lose her in my life.

Then I'd be

completely

alone.

I slowly approached the bus stop, looking to see if it was occupied. If that bloody chav was there by some chance, I would take it as an omen and never do this ever again. I would take it as the sign that it was - I just wasn't supposed to

do

this.

I breathed a long sigh of relief. The bus stop was empty. One of the two streetlamps overhead had burned out, casting lopsided shadows across the bench. It was wet from the perpetual rain that seemed to always fall in North London and I didn't want to sit on it. I looked up at the electronic signage for when the next bus was due. 8 minutes.

It was enough time for me to chicken out again if I wanted. I glanced back towards the direction of home, and seriously thought about doing it. No harm, no foul. Only thing that it would cost me would be the time it took to get ready.

And my pride.

And maybe an orgasm or two.

I swallowed. I hadn't taken the decision lightly, and it had taken nearly a year to even try it for the first time. How I managed to get up the courage to plan on it a second time - let alone a third - I'll never know.

The chav's sneer came to mind again. How he had cowed me with just a look. He'd beaten me without raising his fist or even speaking a word. Tore me down. Made me feel like less than nothing. The bastard.

Tonight had been different. I'd felt stronger. I think that I hadn't really been prepared for just how much planning this was going to take. Getting Tim's schedule sorted out so he could take the boys. Coordinating it with the weather report. Making sure that it wasn't an awkward time of the month. Then, after all of that, getting up the nerve to physically walk out the door.

I don't know why this time had been different. Maybe it was because Tim hadn't touched me in weeks. Or maybe it was because Patty had gotten shagged by two different men in just the last week. Or maybe it was because I had looked in the mirror and wanted to know - no,

had

to know - if I could still pull.

Out of the peripheral vision, I saw the bus pull up on the right. I held out my hand and the driver angled the behemoth machine towards me. The doors opened, but no one got off through the center doors. A quiet mid-week journey. I slapped my card on the reader and then moved to the back and sat down.

I had planned all of this. Played it over in my mind. Far enough out that no one would recognize me, but close enough that I could get back home in time without raising suspicions. How many times had I run my fingers through my folds just picturing me right here, right now? I'd lost count.

Excitement was starting to build. My fantasies were starting to come back to me, like forgotten photos locked in a secret shoebox in the attic that no one knew about. I was doing this.

I was doing this

.

Calm down

, I told myself.

You haven't done anything, yet.

Looking around, the other passengers were oblivious to my perverted plan. They had no idea that I was going to debase myself with complete strangers. Within the hour I would have strangers in me and on me, using me. They would

want

me. And I would let them have me.

My imagination had told me so.

For months I had fantasized about their lusts, strange men with no faces but wild looks in their eyes. The needed to have me, desperate to take their erections out of their trousers and aim them at my direction. I had sucked at my dildo whenever I could get away from the constant time pressures of being a mum, imagining that each moment was a different guy.

I closed my eyes and let the rocking of the bus move me around. I imagined it was the hands of these men, passing me amongst each other. My arousal was starting to run rampant, as by this time I would normally have plunged a finger or two inside me.

Reflexively, I moaned. I looked around in a start, suddenly aware that I hadn't kept control over my expressions. There were probably ten people on the bottom level of the bus, and none of them looked at me. No one cared. They had no idea about my deviance, but it felt like they all knew. They were all judging me.

As we got further from the city, the crowd began to thin. I began to hope that perhaps they would all be gone by the time that I needed to press the request button. Unfortunately, there were still a few people left when the time came.

I reached for the button. The familiar "ding" seemed loud and accusatory. Even the bus itself judged me. One man looked up at the sign, and then out at the dark exterior, confused. Who would be getting off

here

, I'm sure he wondered.

I stood up and made my way to the centre door. As the bus slowed to a crawl, another man stood up and waited patiently behind me. Panic flooded through my veins.

In my fantasies, I had jumped straight from riding the bus to being ravaged by strangers. It never dawned on me that I would be seen getting from one place to the other. What if this guy was one of "those" strangers? Was he looking for dogging too?

He was roughly my age. Mid-thirties, slender. Mildly attractive, but average. The typical distracted look of a London commuter. But why would he be getting off here? I had deliberately chosen this place because if its reputation for dogging and distance from any truly crowded villages. I thought about sitting back down, pretending that I had made a mistake about choosing my stop.

Don't be such a stupid bint, Helen!

I scolded myself. I knew that if I sat back down then I would never have the guts to do this again. The bus would drive on and I would either ride it around for hours or then get off and get another one back home again.

The door opened in front of me, and I froze. The vast expanse of the park lay before me. The man behind me, unaccustomed to people not immediately moving, walked straight into the back of me and pushed me out of the bus.

"Oh!" he exclaimed. "Excuse me!"

It was entirely my fault, but he acted the gentleman anyway. I appreciated his graciousness. I smiled awkwardly, then turned and started walking in the hopes that he was going in the other direction.

He did. I felt an awkward relief. Almost immediately, my nerves came back to me. He had been kind and polite, and I instinctively felt a sensation of safeness and it was quite noticeable the further away that he got. Yet, suddenly, I felt vulnerable.

I didn't feel

unsafe

, though. Just... vulnerable. The park was clean and there wasn't a history of attacks or violence. In theory, it was perfect. Now that I was here, I had never felt more out of place in my life.

I continued walking, trying hard to look like I belonged there. I had worn a miniskirt with fishnet hose, and suddenly felt like anyone looking at me would see a slag. I mean, I

was

planning on being a slag tonight, but I didn't want to be

seen

as one!

There was no one around me, but I felt incredibly exposed. My imagination ran away with me. The end of the path around the edge of the park was coming to an end. If I simply turned around and walked back from whence I came, would someone see me? Would they think that I'm a whore casing the park?

Wiping my hands on my skirt nervously, I started to feel panicky. Looking back over my shoulder I scanned for the bus stop. It wasn't too far away. I could simply go back and wait for the bus.

Yeah, that's what I should do.

Just at that moment I saw a couple up ahead of me, arm in arm. The girl was about my height, but probably around ten years younger and very thin. She was giggling and gripping the arm of a slightly taller young man, and they were lost in their own private joke. They strode off the pathway towards the edge of the park's wooded area, and looked around conspiratorially.

They saw me instantly, and I froze again. Instead of being embarrassed, though, they giggled and disappeared into the woods. The girl gingerly stepped over some bushes pulling at the man's hand. He smiled at me, then turned to follow his girlfriend.

I swallowed.

This must be it,

I thought. Seeing their state, I realized that I was much more sober than I probably should have been. I hadn't even thought to take a sip before heading out of the house.

Like them, I looked around to see if I was being watched. It hadn't stopped them, but I wasn't so sure if I could so brazenly look someone in the eye and then disappear into the woods. Fortunately, there was no one around.

These were the wrong shoes. Stupidly, I had worn heels like I was going clubbing. They pierced the soft earth, damp from the recent rains. I made my way through the wooded area and tried to keep the couple in sight. I lost them several times, but every once in a while, her giggles pierced the night air and I was able to pick up their tracks again.

It was utterly ridiculous. All my preparation had been designed around my fantasy that had no basis in reality. This wasn't fun. This wasn't sexy. This was a middle-aged woman stomping through brush and trees in an outfit that should have been on some fit college coed instead.

Still, I walked on into the wooded area of the park.

The branches reached for my face, and I nearly found myself with a nasty poke in the eye. It missed me by millimeters, but it had been too close. My mind automatically started coming up with excuses that I would make to Tim.

It was the first time I'd thought of Tim since I'd gotten on the bus. I imagined what he would think about all of this. He probably wouldn't even believe me. I could go right home and tell him straight up that I had gone dogging, and he would laugh in my face.

"You what?" he'd say. "

You

?" And he'd bust up laughing in that obnoxious gasping way that he always did. I'd found it cute when I was 20. Now it grated.

The imaginary conversation continued. "Yeah, I went dogging, Tim," I'd say, offended. It

bothered

me that it would never have crossed his mind that I could be so depraved.

"Oh, stop taking the piss, you daft cow," he'd say in that dismissive way.

I'd had this mental conversation for months. At first when I would masturbate to fantasies of dogging, the initial guilt always wound up resulting in a vision of a confrontation. I would confess my sins, and he would laugh at me. It was more humiliating than if he had slapped me. More demeaning than if he had just yelled at me and called me whorish names.

Tim had never struck me, of course. He'd just grown to dismiss me. In some ways, that felt much, much worse.

Maybe that was what made me try for a third time. He had found my fishnet hose - the very ones I was wearing, in fact - and held them up to the light.

"Gor, love," he said, pulling the seams so that they stretched beyond exaggeration. "What're

these

for?"

I shouldn't have felt embarrassed, but I was. "What do you think, Tim?" I shot back.

"Well, they ain't for looking sexy, I can tell you that," he said. He raised the material up to his face and stuck his tongue through one of the diamond-shaped spaces, right in the crotch.

"You'll stretch it out," I complained.

He looked me up and down. "Ain't no way my tongue will stretch it out as much as that fat arse of yours," he said. He smacked my behind and tossed the hose at me as he left the room, wheezing in laughter.

"Tosser," I muttered.

It was the moment that I realized that Tim wouldn't be my salvation. I couldn't leave him - he was the breadwinner, and I had no actual skills. I was a mum first, second, and last. We were skint as it was.

Most of the time we were flatmates at best. He never tried to seduce me anymore. He wasn't attracted to me. He'd wank away at the stiffest wind but couldn't bring himself to see me as a sexual being.

As mean as he could be, he was a phenomenal father. The boys adored him. When they went off to the pitch it was as if the whole world was made for them. At first, I admired how good he was, but over time I started to feel like more of an observer than an actual participant.

Having kids didn't save our marriage, it doomed it. He wanted to be a father, not a husband. I felt like a brood mare instead of a woman.

His mouth had been right where my pussy was now. It was the closest it had been there in years. He'd rather bury his face in the crotch of my hose than in mine. Anger and frustration rose in my chest as my neglect kept my feet moving forward over the tangles of roots.

Lost in my own self-pity, I stepped around a tree and nearly collided with the couple I had seen. I almost yelped in surprise but managed to cover my mouth in time.

He was standing behind her with her back to his, his arms wrapped around her shoulders. They were looking straight ahead, giggling. I saw movement in her shoulder and followed her arm down to the long skinny cock in her hand. It was so close her knuckles almost brushed against the hem of my skirt.

One more step and she would have touched his penis to my thigh. Or the crotch of the hose that Tim had jokingly brought to his mouth. The irony was obvious.

Now I did gasp quietly. They both turned their heads slightly to look at me, and she giggled again when she saw what I was looking at. Then they turned and looked forward again. She didn't stop stroking his hardness, and it took all my willpower to turn my attention from the first hard cock I'd seen in ages to follow their gaze.

There it was. I saw what I had come for. There was a blanket on the ground with two electric camping lanterns providing a small amount of light. After walking through the forest, though, my eyes had adjusted to be able to see perfectly.

On the blanket was a woman about my age and size, dressed in a mini skirt and with her top pulled off her shoulders and her tits exposed. Without the support of the bra, they were sagging a little, but no one cared. Flanking her on either side were men standing with their jeans pulled halfway down their thighs.

She had a cock in each hand, taking turns to pop one in her mouth and suck before giving the other one attention. There were two other guys standing around with their dicks out, stroking them absentmindedly. Her eyes were locked on to the masturbating men's cocks. She looked possessed.

Aside from the fact that she was blonde and I'm a brunette, she and I could pretty much have been twins. At least, maybe sisters. I focused my attention on the men watching her, marveling at how much they lusted after her. I couldn't help but think that if she had been walking down the high street these blokes wouldn't give her a second look.

Maybe I was wrong, though. Maybe they

would

have looked at her this way. Maybe even average-looking women have their admirers.

After the chav at the bus stop, I had been filled with self-doubt. Who would want

me

? I had convinced myself that I was a has-been, or maybe even a never-was. I'd never been lithe or svelte, but before Tim it wasn't difficult to go out on the pull and wind up with a walk of shame the next morning.

That's what I told myself, at least. After so many years of being ignored, perhaps my 'glory days' were just a figment of my imagination.

Even so, here she was. My sister in lust. In fact, now that I started looking with a little more focus, she was a little heavier than I was. Maybe a little older. These guys, though, couldn't get enough of her. They were all

hard

for her.

"Bend over," the young man next to me said to his girl. She giggled. She seemed to do that a lot.

"Okay," she said, looking back at him. Her eyes flashed with mischievousness and daring.

I don't know why I hadn't moved away from them. In fact, they seemed closer. Had they moved to me, or had I stepped closer to them? Her hand was still pumping away at his rod close enough for me to feel the air move. Or maybe it was my imagination.

"Here," she said, adjusting her angle so that her fist and his cock actually

did

touch my thigh.

I felt my pussy contract at the touch. Maybe that was why I didn't move away from them. Perhaps I had hoped that she would touch me with his prick. Maybe I

wanted

an 'accidental' brushing of my pussy.

Whatever my unconscious motivation, it was happening. Right now. As if in a trance, I reached for his dick as if she were handing me a cup of tea. I watched my fingers encircle her hand to take over, and she slipped it away leaving only the soft flesh covering iron-hard muscles.