It is a travesty indeed that, despite my enthusiasm and my pure, unadulterated joy at obtaining my driving licence in January, the likelihood of me acquiring my own set of wheels before the age of 25 is becoming increasingly slim. The intention was, initially, to pass my driving test just in the nick of time so as to enjoy an enclosed, heated form of transportation (complete with radio and handy designated areas for coffee cups) over the bitterly cold winter, rather than tottering precariously on the back of Finn’s frost-savaged motorbike. Now, as spring edges ever closer to summer and we all prepare for another 6 months spent passed out in parks or lounging in beer gardens, I feel somewhat bitter about the fact that, despite my greatest efforts and obvious successes, I never did manage to achieve that greatest of goals – furthermore, the changing seasons bring with them the inevitability of a million more unforgiving winters, who knows how many of them spent open to the elements with only a set of ineffective leathers to warm my delicate frame. The fact is that owning a car these days is an endless drain on funds, and I’m in no position to be able to afford even the petrol.
So it was then, that when the family car (The Nerdmobile, as I have eloquently dubbed it) was taken off to the garage for servicing and a courtesy car in the form of a small Fiat Punto was bestowed upon us, I was very excited. ‘I’m gona drive the shit out of it!’ I declared gleefully, and true to my word spent the majority of the weekend happily sitting in traffic jams and singing along to the Rihanna CD in the stereo. But there was one thing in particular that simply had to be indulged whilst I was in possession of the car… a trip up the viewpoint at Old Redding. It’s a well-known spot, overlooking north-west London, frequented by lusty couples and lairy groups of teens alike. Finn and I are no exception, but unfortunately a motorbike does not provide the most suitable of surfaces on which to fuck. Many an evening has been spent sitting on the grass up there, smoking spliffs and growing increasingly uncomfortable (or perhaps just jealous) at the prospect of being surrounded by other people shagging in their cars. Of course, the men who would stalk into the bushes in groups of two or three and return some time later looking dishevelled and victorious only added to the awkwardness, and needless to say, we have concluded that, without a car, we simply cannot enjoy this most charming of places to it’s full extent.
The day Finn and I decided to take advantage of our new toy and head up to the viewpoint was a beautiful, cloudless one. It was also 3 o’ clock in the afternoon by the time I pulled up. The sunshine and the lure of the prospect of perhaps a picnic on the grass in the seldom seen golden rays meant that the carpark was full. Looking to our left, and then to our right, we were dismayed to realise that we were infact parked between one car housing an elderly couple eating triangle sandwiches and another full of boisterous, unruly children. No sex here then. It didn’t take us very long to determine though that the chance of us finding an appropriate space in which to engage in some x-rated activity was not highly probable – infact, the place was crawling with families and old people walking their dogs, neither of whom would have welcomed chancing upon an incongruous couple getting it on in the back seat of a Fiat Punto (the joint probably wouldn’t get smoked either). Thwarted by my idiocy and failure to realise that of course, this was a ridiculous idea, I felt disheartened. All I had wanted to do was to bring my boyfriend up to the infamously grotty spot and fuck his brains out… was that so much to ask?
‘Wanna go for a walk?’ offered Finn. It was clear that a pleasant stroll in the sunshine was not quite what he had in mind, and with a nod and naughty smile we followed in the footsteps of those shifty looking men we had encountered during previous visits and embarked on a wander into the endless mass of greenery that lay before us. Stepping over empty condom wrappers, beer cans and the occasional used needle, I was certain that if we were going to get it on up here then our search for the perfect spot was going to have to be extended beyond the confines of the shrubbery surrounding the car park. It’s true that I was little disenchanted at the fact that what I had once imagined as a magical, ethereal spot was now tainted by the reality that was doggers and drug addicts, and I was determined to recapture the essence of the imaginary wonderland I had conjured up; we ventured ever further into the wilderness and before long I realised, turning back, that we’d travelled so far that the car park had disappeared from view and ahead of us stretched endless, deserted fields. It was here that I decided to abandon hope of finding a good bush – those fields looked exceptionally enticing and, as the old saying goes, the grass is always greener on the other side and I had my eye on a particularly lush looking one across the border or some trees.
The grass, of course, was not greener. It just looked that way from far away, and suddenly the metaphor for life made perfect sense to me. That aside, now that we had completed our treacherous hike into the unknown it seemed foolish to be deterred by the ants nests and mud; at least there were no needles here. The field was wondrously, beautifully deserted, and with the hope that it might not stay that way for the duration of our time there nestled snugly in the back of my mind, I strode to the very middle of it and sat down on the grass. There was no need for discretion here. Miles of grass had gone untrod and there was not a human soul in sight, so with a swift kind of fluidity and a disregard for being overheard we got down to it. Infact, the beauty of having sex in wide open spaces is that sound carries like a bitch, and the echoes of our own moans travelling full circle provided a sexy soundtrack to say the least. Despite the fact, as I said to Finn afterwards, that I felt I really should have been more appropriately dressed – perhaps a gingham smock and pigtails would have been apt – the episode was refreshing and invigorating. Even the subsequent skulking around in the undergrowth in search of what definitely, positively HAD to be a dock leave to clean up with didn’t dampen my elation, and our trek back to the car park was a triumphant one.
Upon returning, I eyed the elderly couple still sat in their car feeling complacent that their obvious inconsideration in regards to their choice of parking space hadn’t ruined my fun, and was more than happy, once again, to sit in the traffic jam that ran all the way back to my house.
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