lowestoft is on the east coast of suffolk, it grew around the fishing industry, but now, in the freezing depths of winter, it was playing host to three erotic dancers and a comedian, the end of the pier show would never be the same again.
we had decided on bed and breakfast, neither of us fancied tackling that gig sober, i mean, girls, taking their bras off, bloody nora!! the sea was rough, the waves crashed beneath us as we waited our turn in the queue along the boarded pier, man it was cold.
once inside the venue, we took up position alongside the catwalk. the warmth and soft lighting was a pleasant contrast to the inclement conditions outside. groups of men chatted with nervous anticipation, factory workers having a social get together, single men sat in quiet corners whilst others arrived at the tables in pairs. the mix was eclectic,(copyright aknowledged to big g, for terminology used in a previous thread), but we were all united by the common desire to see naked flesh presented in an erotic way.
the comedian ran through his material, chinese, asian, black or irish, gay, women or anyone that dared go to the toilet, nobody escaped his attention, cigar in one hand, micraphone in the other, he had the room in stitches, the booze ran freely, then the words we had waited for, "lads, i want you to give vixen a big hand on her opening, and looking at the size of her opening, you're going to need a fucking big hand"!.the lights fell, and the room exploded, "pussy cat pussy cat" screamed out from the sound system, vixen burst onto the catwalk and the crowd fell silent.
the lady was probably in her mid to late thirties, she went through her routine with well rehearsed grace, one moment bobbing up and down suggestfully, the next, wrapping her bull whip around the neck of a squirming punter, much to the amusement of his workmates. the perfume, lighting, sound and costume blitzed the senses, it was pure hypnotic theatre, magically erotic, vixen held her audience spellbound, and always in perfect control, i realise now, i spelt suggestively wrong, bugger!
ten minutes later she stood poised mid way down the catwalk, she stood only in her knickers and thighboots, her thumbs placed in the elastic as she gestured with her facial expression, "shall i"? she was silently asking, the crowd went wild, they stamped the floor and banged their beer glasses on the tabletops, "off off off" went the chant, several agonising moments passed, then the last remaining garment landed squarely in the face of an unsuspecting man. vixen left the stage to rousing applause, the smell of baby oil hung in the air as a stagehand retrieved her discarded items, man was that something.
for my mate and i, that was the start of a journey into the exploration of the female form that would take us into some bizzare situations, we saw some incredible sights and got into dire straits on more than one occasion, getting knifed in an amsterdam alleyway being one of the most undesireable, but nothing ever really matched the erotic charge felt on that harsh january night in that lowestoft pavillion.
now, when we go out dogging, many of those emotions flood back. ok, mrs dirty's body is one i've seen countless times, but when she is dressed in her finest lingerie, black stockings and leather boots, make up expertly applied and smelling so fucking sexy, i'm every bit as smitten as that fatefull night on the east coast, and if she can enchant me after 18 years of marriage, then i'm damn sure some dogger, feasting his eyes on her slender figure for the first time, is going to return home sporting a monumental boner!!
well, so far, its all about me, but as i'm writing this, i can only give of my experience, which is the feelings of pride and the emotions involved in providing something desireable. mrs dirty is often the one to suggest our excursions, when she tears my clothes off and demands a seeing two upon our return, the assumption is that she benefits too!! our conversations aren't analytical, that is saved for the purposes of entertainment on these pages, in reality, dogging is just something we do, we just have fun with it, we go with the flow, for us, getting into the psychology would kill it dead, but its all there, in all its guises, to be contemplated during our more reflective moments.
to park up in a dark carpark, aware of the shadowy figures congragating around the vehicle, to sense the anticipation and sexual tension is for us, a special kind of thrill, seedily erotic, and erotically seedy. to see and feel mrs dirty getting so aroused by the presence and rarely, interaction from the voyuers is very sexy, to see her completely lose herself in the moment is quite special. to know that every dogger is imagining doing, what i'm doing is quite exciting, when the master joins the dance, it takes on a whole new intensity, but for us, it gives so much.
we see the wide eyed newbies, going through the same emotions i went through all those years ago, is fun. to see the older guys visually feasting on mrs d's naked form is powerfull, when they see mrs d getting dirtier in front of strangers, than most women do in private is quite satisfying, when they gasp in disbelief as mrs dirty shags herself with "black thunder" its quite funny, given that she sports a flange like a mouse's ear, its a seemingly impossible feat, only viable through the intense arousal she experiences through exhibiting for strangers.
but for us, the dogging is only foreplay. the action really kicks off at home. you can see the lust in her eyes, hear it in her voice, all bursting with passion, brought about by the simple exchange of complete strangers watching her and becoming aroused. do we like dogging? you betcha.
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