I was staying with friends, in the guest wing of their house in the country, and since this was England there was a main trunk road not far away.I couldn’t sleep that night for the continuous distant noise of the traffic and my hand had strayed down between my legs in search of alternative entertainment.Suddenly I got an idea of the kind that instantly produces a rock-hard erection!
After a few minutes of detailed planning I got up and went in search of scissors and the heap of black plastic bin-bags I’d seen around.I cut three slits in the bottom of one bag to make a poncho and slipped it on.Then I made boots by taping cut-down bags over my feet.Nearly ready.
I often used to take my handcuffs with me when staying away from home, new locations sometimes offer interesting new adventures.(Once by the light of a full moon I climbed over a fence into a neighbour’s garden and handcuffed myself, stark naked, to a tree in full view of their bedroom windows.After an edgy ten minutes by my watch bleeper I squatted down to retrieve the key left on the ground behind the tree.)So I dug out the cuffs and tiptoed quietly out into the night.
First I had to go up a narrow lane with high banks on each side, noting there was absolutely no escape if a car came.Then the land opened right out and there was the main road, still surprisingly busy even though it was already past midnight.I waited for a gap in the traffic and crossed rapidly to a gate in the hedge opposite.Once over that I set off across a wide, open field to a distant wood I had seen at the top of the hill.
All was quiet except for the traffic noise.The edges of headlight beams caught me as I walked up to the wood, but I was pretty invisible in my black outfit.
By the time I reached my destination my eyes were getting more used to the dark and I could begin to pick out some detail.The ground seemed rather muddy and there were a lot of nettles and thistles about but I found what I wanted, a tough-looking bush on the edge of the wood.
I slipped out of my poncho, ripped it to shreds, and stuffed it into the bush.The plastic ‘boots’ followed, getting the same treatment.Now I was stark naked, on top of a hill and half a mile from home.Wow!
A few gentle touches were enough to remind my dick that all this was for his benefit; he responded with an aching hard-on. A spy satellite could have been forgiven for reporting a unicorn.
Now for the handcuffs.Hands behind.
Click.
Click.
Its nice to pause quietly at this stage in any scene to let your full predicament register, and it was while I was standing there like a pornographic Michealangelo sculpture with my hands resting on my bum and my dick pointing the way home that I heard the footsteps.
It sounded like more than one person.
It sounded like it was coming nearer.
It sounded like a lot more than one person.
They were definitely getting nearer, surely just round the side of the wood.
Scenarios raced through my head.Farmer?Burglars?Fugitives?Police?
Did they know I was here?
No more unicorn.Heart banging away unsteadily.
Footsteps nearer still, now a noise like a breathy sneeze, now a dim suggestion of movement, perhaps black and white shapes, coming straight towards me.
Cows?
Dear God!
BULLOCKS!
There is no animal more inquisitive than a young bull, and here were twenty of them.They formed up in a semi-circle just four yards away; I could smell their breath.They could probably smell my panic.One stamped its foot and I imagined it crushing my toes. Christ these things were big.If I spooked them they could write me off in seconds.I was horribly vulnerable.
I looked at them and they looked at me.
I tried a pace towards them.They looked away wild-eyed, skittered backwards, then formed up again exactly as before.Now they were really alert.
I caught sight of a stout stick on the edge of the wood, alas deep in a clump of nettles.Suddenly I needed that stick more than anything in the world.Side-stepping slowly, I backed up to the nettles, squatted down and got my fingers round the stick.Never mind a bum glowing with a hundred stings, I had a weapon!Something very, very primitive was happening, but the bullocks knew it too and backed off another yard.
They were looking jumpy again, so I stood there a while to calm them down.
Then I started slowly walking down the hill, and with a snort of pleasure the huge animals lumbered after me.
That was a long and painful progress.I was walking mostly sideways, keeping one eye on the bulls and another on the ground ahead.Thistles scratched my feet, cowshit oozed between my toes, I was trying to hold the stick in front of me with hands twisting from behind, and sweeping headlights were illuminating the whole strange procession.But eventually we made it down to the gate.
The gate was a serious obstacle.When I’d shinned blithely over it before I’d barely noticed that it had rusty barbed wire nailed along the top.Once handcuffed, however, it was very clear that I couldn’t climb over without risk of serious injury.I would have to open the gate.It wasn’t locked, but it was tied shut with quantities of orange plastic twine.I settled down with my back to the gate, feeling my way into the knots.
The bullocks, meanwhile, had finally cottoned on to what was going on.They were going to be let out of the field, and that meant a delicious meal of cattle-cake back in the shed.They all started mooing enthusiastically in anticipation, pushing closer and closer to be the first out.My furtive midnight adventure seemed to be turning into a major circus event with full orchestra and cast of thousands!Headlights hurtled by only feet from me as I struggled with the string.
At last the gate was undone and I stood up.The bullocks were almost grinning as they queued up, the noise rose to a deafening level.I waved the stick at them with negligible effect.A quick look round; no cars visible.Open the gate a crack and slip through, pulling it tight shut.Grab the twine, wrap it round the post, some kind of a knot.Quick before a car comes, I’m a sitting duck this side of the hedge.Then rapidly over the road, down the lane, quick wash and back to bed with the noisy complaints of twenty frustrated bulls ringing in my ears.
I still couldn’t sleep, my bum was fizzing like a firework.
Nickerlas.
12/11/01