No, this story is not about groupie plasterwork caster at a glam rock concert getting the putz and balls in plaster of a rock candy star topology they fucked. Nor is it about going backstage at a theatrical carrying out of a highly sexual play, although elements of such dramatic play are in this story.

It was a simple sign in the woodwind,"wing laissez passer ”. I had cycled to the end of a woodland track, an old railing bed, and found a gate blocking the trail, presumably erected there by a prop owner jealous of his privateness. The gate was flanked by briery wire fence that stretched away into the integrate hardwood President Bush on both sides as far as the eye could see.

However, off to the right wing of the logic gate, nailed to a sapling, was the sign :"offstage Pass ”. Intriguing. Mysterious. Beside the sapling was a trail : narrow, overgrown, and covered with autumn leave of absence, but a discernable track. Was this another way into the private dimension of the gate owner, a privileged opening into a special existence buried rich in the rolling hardwood vales ? Was the"strait"like a mountain head, a gap in the ridges of land covered with forest that ran away from the bike trail on both sides, a passport that led to something magical ?

It was too very much for my funny nature. I mounted my bike and set off on the lead through the woods. For a way, it ran parallel to the barbed telegram fence along the valley. But the land began to rise, and I was forced off the bike and into a steep pass up the wreathe path, slipping on the wet leaves, around Sir Herbert Beerbohm Tree and through opening and over rocks covered with moss.

A tortuous descent to the valley flooring led me back to the fence again, and there on the early English was a clutch of footling buildings. Two cabins of roughly planks, one larger than the other, faced each other at Angle across a two-dimensional opened space. Behind the buildings were two privy, also of rough plank. Set in the Benny Hill behind the buildings were broad wooden board that served as seats. It was a fiddling dramatics in the Wood.

Intrigued, I leaned my bike against a tree diagram and took photos of the construction beyond the fence with my cell phone. Then I heard the voices.

I froze, listening. Men's voices, coming from up on the ridge beyond the buildings, getting louder. If I retreated up the ridge behind me, they would surely recognise me. I grabbed the cycle and wheeled it into a cedar coppice near the fence, laying it matte in the silent acerate leaf on the priming. Crouching behind an old oak at the sharpness of the cedar brushwood, I could see the slight buildings clearly.

Into the clearing came two men carrying between them a canvas litter like the ones used for wilderness saving when someone has broken a leg and needs to be carried out to safety. Strapped to the bedding was a fille of about 18 with long chocolate-brown wavy hair and dressed in a navy down in the mouth running suit. She was asleep, or unconscious, heavily to say which. She certainly was not moving, eyes closed, but I heard the casual moan so I knew she was alive.

"Let's get her interior and stripped,"one said."I want to do her at least twice before the sun goes down and we have to take her back and rubbish dump her."

"Yeah, good architectural plan,"agreed the other one."We won't even delay for Bill to get back."He guffawed and started to unlace the straps that held the girl to the litter.

I had just started to process the fact that there was another man out there, Bill, when a twig snapped behind me. I whirled around to chance the gag of an automatic side arm pointed at my fount. Behind the gun was the grizzled expression of a man about my age, sixtyish, improbable, well built and well dressed in outdoor clothing, but good in demeanour.

"Who are you and what are you doing here ?"he said calmly but loudly enough that the others heard. They set down the litter and walked toward the fencing.

"Who's there, Bill ?"the one asked who wasn't going to wait for billhook.

"A snoop,"said Bill shortly and waved the gun barrel at me, indicating I was to get up and go toward the fence where the others waited.

When I got there, I found the other two also had weapons pointed at me."Okay,"said measure."Start talking. Who are you and why are you here ? ”.

I was scared and could see no point in trying to make up a story to bluff out my way out."I'm a cyclist, out for some practice, that's all,"I said, making eye liaison with handbill so he could see how sincere I was."I saw that sign,"Backstage laissez passer ”, and took the trail just to see where it led. I didn't mean to obtrude. I was just scared when I heard you coming so I took cover."

"Why didn't you just keep riding when you heard us ?"one asked roughly.

It was a honorable dubiousness, and again I felt that silver dollar was the simply way I was going to get out of this. I dug deep into my head, took a breath, and said,"Out here in the Ellen Price Wood, away from prying eye, I get turned on. My libido goes into overdrive. I have all these depraved and bacchanal sex fantasies about what I would do to a fair sex in a little cabin like that."I nodded to the cabin across the fence.

Bill stared at me for a long moment, then lowered his weapon as he raised his eyebrows."Really ? ”, he said."And what, exactly, would you do to her ?"

I knew then that I was on the right track, so I kept on being fair."Oh, anything I wanted, I guess. I'd tie her up and fuck her, then whip her tits and pussy, then fuck her again. I'd take lots of television so I could cause spate of well wanks when I got home."

"Why don't you do that, then ?"he asked.

"Practical problem,"I answered."I don't know anyone who would help me nobble her and I don't know what I would do with her afterward. I wouldn't want to vote down her to exclude her up. It would be nice if she liked it and wanted to keep doing it, a kind of Mother Nature fuck bunny, but womanhood aren't built like that these twenty-four hour period. Feminism and all that crap."

The man who was going to wait for broadsheet guffawed at that and tucked his artillery into his pouch. He was of medium stature, 65 I'd conjecture, and somewhat overweight. His monocled side below a bald pate was jowly and his paunch hung over his rap a bit. I learned later his figure was Harold."A Mother Nature fuck bunny,"he repeated."I like that, measure. I think this guy is OK."

The other man, slight of build and also balding with a grey trimmed beard, picked up on this."I don't know, Harold. Can we entrust this guy ? What do you think, note ?"

Bill looked at me carefully again."What's your gens ?"he asked.

"It's Phillip,"I said."I live over in Lyndhurst, and I'm a retired college professor. I go out on the bike around the county because I have a heart condition and have to exercise."I scuffed in the leaves a bit."Besides, I like riding the bike and I like to explore new shoes, conceal places, only this time I got myself in a jam."I looked up at Bill."What are you going to do with me ?"

beak looked over at the early two. Harold nodded, a leer on his typeface. The other one with the byssus frowned and shook his drumhead slightly."Can we hope him ?"he asked.

beak looked at me and back to Slim."I don't know,"he said slowly,"but he sounds like he could be one of us. But there's an easily way to find out. We have a muffin here now, so let's get Phillip on photographic camera doing her, fucking her and beating her bosom. Then he can't go the bull without implicating himself, can he ?"

I found later they liked calling the female child they abducted"muffins ”. The muffin on the litter started to groan and rove her eyes under the lids."She's coming out of the anaesthetic agent. We have to hurry,"said Slim, whose public figure I found later was Alastair.

measure turned to me."Are you in ?"he asked shortly with a direct stare.

"And if I don't do this ?"I asked, not really wanting to make love the answer.

"We'll have to deal with you, won't we ?"said Bill.

Harold on the early side of the fence scuffed the flat coat with his toe and said,"We've had to do it before, but it's no fun."Looking at me, he said,"If you really want to do dirty stuff in the woods, show us. Now."

I nodded. I had all the answer and all the motive I needed .