It’s British slang for:
The practice of watching or engaging in exhibitionist sexual activity in a public place, such as parks and car parks, and the people involved are often strangers. It’s thought that the term Dogging originated from dog walkers accidentally coming across people having sex in a public place, and then being invited to watch or join in.
And why do people do it?
Because they can!
I hope that you enjoy the story.
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“How do I look?”
He was now scrutinising me, and the clothes that I was wearing, as if he was a judge in an important beauty contest. And I was pleased to see, that the expression on his face, was telling me that he’d already decided that he was going to vote for me.
“Slowly turn around so that I can see all of you.”
I did, and then I kept on doing it. That made him smile.
“Thank you, once was enough.”
When I stopped I felt dizzy, but I managed to keep still. He’d had more than enough time to work out what he was going to say. When I asked him it again, I knew that this time I’d get an answer straight away, and I also knew what it would be.
I was right, because, as expected, he’d said, “Perfect!”
And that single word had made both of us laugh. Anybody watching us would think that we’d gone mad.
Let me introduce myself, I’m Eleanor, and the gentleman that was carefully assessing me is Oliver. We’ve been together for twenty two years, but we’re not married. One day we might tie the knot, but for now, we are happy just living in sin. Our relationship is working, so why change it? As they say, if it’s not broken don’t fix it!
For a long time, when I’m ready to go out, with him or with any of my friends, we have played this little game, and it never fails to amuse us.
I ask him, “How do I look?”
And his response, because he loves me, is always the same. He says, “Perfect,” even when I’m not.
It doesn’t matter if my clothes are formal or casual, or if I’m not at my best, he always gives me the same answer, and he makes it sound sincere, as if he really believes it. And that makes me love him even more.
We don’t do it because I lack self-confidence. I’m not a shrinking violet that needs him to say it to me so that it will bolster my fragile ego. I already know my worth, and it’s high. It’s also not because I’m unattractive, and that I need him to praise me to make me feel that I’m desirable. I might be forty two years old, but I still get men in their twenties asking me for my number. That pleases me, but I always politely say no. My relationship with Oliver is enough for me.
So why do we perform this silly ritual? The answer’s simple. It’s just because we like doing it, and that’s as good a reason as any for doing it!
Tonight, I was going out with Rachel, my best friend. She’s ten years younger than me. She always dresses well, and her hair and makeup will be immaculate, so I also wanted to look my best while I was with her. Before leaving, a final look in the mirror confirmed that I was indeed looking good. In fact, my appearance could be summed up as, ‘fabulous’.
I’m beautiful. That might sound like boasting, but it’s not. I’m just stating a fact. I’ve been told many times, by lots of different people, that my eyes are the deepest shade of blue that they have ever seen. So who am I to disagree with them? I also have long eyelashes. That’s a winning combination. When I look at a man, and then I flicker my eyelids, I know that it makes him want me. Eyes like that should be enough for any woman, but I’m blessed because I have more to offer. My nose is petite, perfect for my face, and my lips are full. They are lips made for kissing, or better still, for servicing a nice cock. That face, that I’m proud of, is topped by short blonde hair. And before you ask, yes I am a natural blonde!
But what about my body, can it match my face, or is it a disappointment? I’m happy to say that all my women friends are envious of it. My breasts are large, and I have the hips and bottom to compliment them. I’m not a size zero figure, I’m a proper woman. I’m curvy in all the right places. When I walk I always wiggle my hips, and when I do that and there’s a man behind me, I know what he’s looking at, it’s my derriere.
It was my turn to drive so I had to pick Rachel up. It took me fifteen minutes to get to her apartment, and for a change, she was ready. When we saw each other we burst out laughing. Both of us were wearing identical outfits. A white blouse with a short red skirt. We even had matching red handbags.
She asked, “Where should we go to?”
I looked at my watch. It was only nine thirty, too early for the park.
“The woods, and it’s my turn in the back.”
She nodded in agreement, and then we set off. Both of us were eager to get there. So what were we, two smartly dressed beautiful women, going to be doing in the woods?
We were going Dogging.
Rachel was single, so she wasn’t deceiving anybody, but I had Oliver, so I was. You might be horrified, or even disgusted, at my behaviour, but as long as you don’t tell Oliver I don’t care what you think.
Dogging is my guilty secret, and I love it!
We were now almost there, and I was getting excited. My heart was beating faster, and my pussy was starting to moisten in anticipation of what was going to happen when we got there.
“I hope that guy with the big cock is here again,” and then, with pride in her voice, she added, “It was nine inches long but I managed to take all of it into my little pussy.”
I wanted to laugh, because if her pussy could accommodate a cock that was that big, then it definitely wasn’t a small one, but somehow I managed to keep a straight face. She was a size-queen, obsessed with big cocks, but I wasn’t. I find smaller ones more comfortable, seven inches being the perfect size for me. Don’t get me wrong, if the man is well-endowed then I’m not going to turn him away, but if he wants to fuck me, then he can’t use all of his cock.
As we approached the Dogging site I was pleased to see that our favourite spot was still vacant, so I parked there.
There were, including mine, four cars here. I could see six men next to them, and there might be more inside. It was definitely busier than usual.
When I got out, so that I could get into the back seat, two of them started walking towards us. I was inside with the door closed when they got to the car. One of them tapped on my window.
When it was down, while giving me a big smile, he said, “Are you two ladies looking for cock.”
Now that was a silly question, but I was too polite to tell him that. I was about to say yes, but Rachel answered for me.
“Yes, and we aren’t ladies.”
That made all of us laugh.
It was time for us to pair off. The second man had come closer to the car, and Rachel had lowered her window. All of us were, without any subtlety, eyeing each other up. Rachel was the first to speak.
Pointing at the man who’d asked if we were looking for cock, she said, “I want you.”
His big grin told us that he was happy to have her. But what about me? I would have preferred him as well. There wasn’t anything wrong with the other man, in fact, he was the better looking one, and he was tall and muscular. It was the ages of them. Hers was mid-thirties but mine was a lot younger, perhaps as young as twenty. I was forty two, old enough to be his Mother. I would have preferred him to be older, and more importantly, to not look like my nineteen year old Son. But he shouldn’t be worried, because despite my misgivings, we were still going to fuck!