I could tell you many tales of the dark...
...and my fiance could tell even more, I imagine, as he has been living in it for the last twenty years, having gone completely blind aged sixteen. The dark is his constant companion, and not in an emo way either. ;)

However this tale involves not him but my first serious boyfriend of teenage years.

Wavy lines back to when womanwhocanonlylivewithdogs
is herself sixteen ...

I was going out with the bloke wot dj'ed at my sixteenth birthday party. He was, to my teenage still-at-school eyes, cool as fuck cos he had a job, a business (said mobile dj'ing outfit), and a car. A blood red Ford Sierra estate at the time to be precise.
Having let some other ne'r do well into my pants the year before I wasn't exactly grass green, but this bloke did have a car and David Bowie hair do, which made him acceptable in my book. Unfortunately my arsehole radar was not yet fully developed and I didn't see the "knocking yer bitch about" festivities that were to shortly commence after a few months together. Ho hum.

So here's me, going out still with the total tool, getting my face rearranged a couple of times a month, not knowing any better than to stay with he-man woman hater who bullied the shit out of me. This is relevant, honest.

He used to like to go to the local lovers lane and park up the Sierra of a week night (it even had our names on the plastic sun visor strip at the top of the windscreen, oh yes), fumble gracelessly at yours truly's clothing for abit, then stab me with the pork sword until he had had his idea of satisfaction. Same old story for many a teenage girl down at Quaker's Lane (anyone living in Norwich may know of the place). I put up with it because Quaker's Lane runs under the flight path of the airport and I liked to watch the planes come in, a la Wayne's World, and sometimes I'd get bought a rather wonderful pizza from a place called Bill's Pizzas. When a plane was due, the lights on the flight path would suddenly come on, dim at first then full when the plane was within earshot, which was spooky, but pretty.

However, his lordship did have one peculiarity which I suspect is not the same as most couples who frequent such places - he liked to take all his clothes off in the car during such interludes, every single stitch, shoes included. He liked me to do the same (not keen, but hey, what can you do when you're young and stupid.)
So one night, there we are, having consumed excellent pizza, some Flite Nite cd playing on the stereo, getting down to it, utterly, utterly starkers. It is black as Newgate's knocker outside, I mean black as a black cat in a mine shaft. Himself has managed to install me in the back seat, legs akimbo, and is grunting his way to happy land on top of me like a man possessed. Outside, the inky blackness is complete, with not so much as a pin prick of light to penetrate it. On this occassion we seem to have the lane to ourselves, though even if you didn't, as all the parking laybys run parallel to the road and are bordered on the other side by the high wire fence of the airport, you were usually guaranteed some privacy. This is before dogging took hold and one actually wanted privacy, rather than to invite participants.

He's nearing his happy release, when suddenly there is a bang on the roof the car - a double bang, as if someone has knocked on it. We shriek, he exits my venus at high speed- and in that instant we both look up, to be completely blinded by a flash from a camera pressed up against the window, then the car begins to rock as what must have been several people start setting about it, shoving it from either side. They try the doors, which we have thankfully locked. We have no idea how many there are or where they are, other than outside trying to get in, because it's so fucking dark. We haven't kept even so much as the dash lights on, as we hardly wanted to be lit up from within like a couple of (rather unusual) ornaments in a display case.
Himself absolutely wails in terror and scrambles madly for the driver's seat, wedding vegetables swinging, drops of shag nasty from our union flying about and spattering the upholstery like his wang has suddenly developed a watering can rose, suddenly utterly disoriented. I'm amazed he didn't do himself an injury of friction burns, the way he shot between the front seats, bouncing off them like a pinball. He moved as if his hair was on fire and his arse was catching, screaming like a stuck pig.
Then, once installed in the driver's seat, he remembers he is totally naked and has done something sensible for once in his life - he's taken the keys out of the ignition in case of car jacking (in the middle of nowhere, possible, but unlikely) or attack by rabid badgers or something - possibly something like what is happening currently. The keys are in the pocket of his jeans, which are somewhere on the floor of the car, which is of course bathed in darkness blacker than Satan's arsehole. Cue him scrabbling about on the floor, screaming, "Help me, you bitch !"
Well, thankyou Sir Gallahad, but I am trying to cover my modesty as several unknown perverts of undetermined intention rock the car about and press their faces up against the window, if it's all the same to you.

In the end he found his car keys, shoved them in the ignition and started the car, but was unable to drive it away as he had no shoes on and couldn't keep his feet on the pedals. I imagine the total panic he was in didn't help. Three times he stalled it, until eventually he managed to coordinate himself enough to drive us away, leaving a trail of burnt rubber and several whooping and laughing people behind. However, in his alarm he neglected to put the headlights on, and as we shot out of the layby, we narrowly missed being hit by a car coming the other way. No traffic for hours and then the second we're making our escape - yuppers, there's a fucking Land Rover. Excellent.

He drove into town quite a way before he dared stop. Still gibbering and naked as the day he was born - I had managed to dress myself in the back during the hoo-hah, and am abit disturbed but otherwise ok.

I will never forget his pallid features as he shakingly put his clothes back on, and I will never forget the screaming he did when it all kicked off either - big man that he was. Happy to hit women, but screams like a girl at people playing silly buggers in the dark in a country lane.

We never parked there again.

Length? - not as impressive as he thought, though I would have liked to have seen it caught on camera.
(womanwhocanonlylivewithdogs, Fri 24 Jul 2009, 12:41, 7 replies)

you owe me a cup of tea....which is now in my slightly soggy keyboard!

click!
(twiceydrinker hmmm is it pint time?, Fri 24 Jul 2009, 13:41, closed)

*click*
enjoyed that, thanks (something yer boy probably never said :))
(bazmorningstar efil4nat3b, Fri 24 Jul 2009, 14:43, closed)

...
fantastic

*click*
(Cov Boy, Fri 24 Jul 2009, 15:35, closed)

Make the setting a park in Essex a few years ago and the guy very hot, driving a mondeo - more leg room apparently and you have my story.
You told it a lot better though. Clicks
( fuck shit up the best you never had, Fri 24 Jul 2009, 21:42, closed)

Haha, ace :)
*clicks*
(Professor Kenny Martin Hmm? What?, Fri 24 Jul 2009, 23:05, closed)

"This is before dogging took hold and one actually wanted privacy, rather than to invite participants"
I think you'll find that you were a pioneer of dogging. Put that on your CV.
(Rsoles, Sat 25 Jul 2009, 23:38, closed)

Click!
An excellent tale and clickworthy tale only marred by "the "knocking yer bitch about festivities that were to shortly commence".


Hope that the barsteward was paid back in kind!
( Vambo, Tue 28 Jul 2009, 22:39, closed)