This is my favorite time of year in the UK. Have I mentioned that? I probably have as each little thing that crops up makes me feel that much more thankful for my life. A year ago tomorrow I had my wedding #2. The wedding that everyone came to. The day after the wedding we all went for a walk through a coppiced birch forest. The forest floor was a thick carpet of bluebells. The beauty of bluebells is the mystical hue they cast from a distance. When driving down the beautiful Kent country lanes, what appears to be mist on the forest floor is actually these delicate blue flowers. I have looked forward to it each year, and this year was no exception.
We decided to go to a forest a half hour from our house. The walk is gorgeous and we saw the hint of what was to come when we walked through it a few months ago. We noticed something else about this forest. It is a flash back to the 1985 male gay scene. Each time we have gone the parking lot is full of cars. Each car has one man sitting it it, engine off. At first, when D suggested it might be a “dogging” site, I countered with it being lunch hour and these were probably guys who didn’t want to eat at the office. Mind you the closest town that has business men in it is about 20 minutes away. This time when we went we noticed a man come from an unmarked path. He got into his car and a few minutes later threw tissue paper out his car door. Then, from the same direction, came a younger man who got in his car and drove away. We were suspicious.
We went for our two and a half hour walk and didn’t encounter a single person.
You know, there is a stereotype that gay men have the best taste for locations on the planet. Although I am sure the stereotype wasn’t devised over dogging locals, it certainly wasn’t an exception.
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