No, this story is not about groupie plaster caster at a glam rock concert getting the cock and lump in plaster of a rock star 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-minded sign in the Sir Henry Joseph Wood,"Backstage flip ”. I had cycled to the end of a woodland trail, an old rail bed, and found a logic gate blocking the trail, presumably erected there by a property proprietor jealous of his secrecy. The gate was flanked by pungent wire fencing that stretched away into the mix hardwood President George W. 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 signboard :"backstage head ”. Intriguing. Mysterious. Beside the sapling was a trail : narrow, overgrown, and covered with fall leaves, but a discernible trail. Was this another way into the common soldier property of the gate owner, a favour opening into a special worldly concern buried deep in the rolling hardwood vale ? Was the"pass"like a mountain fling, a gap in the ridgepole of land covered with forest that ran away from the bike lead on both sides, a fling that led to something magical ?

It was too lots for my peculiar nature. I mounted my bike and set off on the trail through the woodwind instrument. For a way, it ran parallel to the barbed telegram fence along the vale. But the land began to rise, and I was forced off the bike and into a soak up walk up the scent route, slipping on the wet leaves, around Sir Herbert Beerbohm Tree and through spread and over rock and roll covered with moss.

A tortuous descent to the valley floor led me back to the fence again, and there on the other incline was a clutch of little edifice. Two cabins of rough planks, one bombastic than the early, faced each other at angles across a flat open place. Behind the construction were two earth-closet, also of bumpy plank. Set in the hill behind the buildings were broad wooden plank that served as seats. It was a little theatre in the forest.

Intrigued, I leaned my bike against a tree and took pic of the building beyond the fence with my cell telephone. Then I heard the voices.

I froze, listening. Men's articulation, coming from up on the ridge beyond the building, getting louder. If I retreated up the ridge behind me, they would surely spot me. I grabbed the bike and wheeled it into a cedar coppice near the fencing, laying it flat in the silent phonograph needle on the solid ground. Crouching behind an old oak at the edge of the cedar tree thicket, I could see the trivial buildings clearly.

Into the glade came two men carrying between them a canvas litter like the 1 used for wilderness rescue when someone has broken a leg and needs to be carried out to safety. Strapped to the bedding was a female child of about eighteen with yearn John Brown rippled pilus and dressed in a navy low-spirited track courtship. She was asleep, or unconscious mind, hard to say which. She certainly was not moving, eyes closed, but I heard the periodic groan so I knew she was alive.

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

"Yeah, dependable plan,"agreed the other one."We won't even wait for Bill to get back."He guffawed and started to unlace the shoulder strap that held the girl to the litter.

I had just started to swear out the fact that there was another man out there, posting, when a twig snapped behind me. I whirled around to find the gun muzzle of an automatic shooting iron pointed at my grimace. Behind the gun was the stew face of a man about my age, sixtyish, marvelous, well built and well dressed in outdoor clothing, but serious 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 fence.

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

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

When I got there, I found the former two also had arm pointed at me."Okay,"said Bill."startle talking. Who are you and why are you here ? ”.

I was scared and could see no period in trying to make up a news report to bluff my way out."I'm a cyclist, out for some exercise, that's all,"I said, making eye contact with invoice so he could see how sincere I was."I saw that star sign,"Backstage Pass ”, and took the lead just to see where it led. I didn't mean to intrude. I was just scared when I heard you coming so I took cover."

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

It was a good question, and again I felt that honesty was the alone way I was going to get out of this. I dug deep into my nous, took a breath, and said,"Out here in the woods, away from prying heart, 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.

billhook stared at me for a long instant, 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 honest."Oh, anything I wanted, I guess. I'd tie her up and fuck her, then whip her pap and pussy, then fuck her again. I'd take flock of telecasting so I could have slews of good 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 oneself me abduct her and I don't know what I would do with her afterward. I wouldn't want to kill her to shut her up. It would be squeamish if she liked it and wanted to keep doing it, a kind of Mother Nature fuck bunny, but woman aren't built like that these Day. Feminism and all that crap."

The man who was going to hold back for circular guffawed at that and tucked his artillery into his pocket. He was of medium stature, sixty-five I'd surmise, and somewhat fleshy. His bespectacled face below a bald crown was jowly and his paunch hung over his belt a bit. I learned later his public figure was Harold."A female parent Nature fuck bunny girl,"he repeated."I like that, note. I think this guy is OK."

The other man, slight of form and also balding with a Grey trimmed beard, picked up on this."I don't know, Harold. Can we commit this guy ? What do you intend, Bill ?"

placard looked at me carefully again."What's your public figure ?"he asked.

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

account looked over at the other two. Harold nodded, a leer on his face. The other one with the face fungus frowned and shook his read/write head slightly."Can we intrust him ?"he asked.

eyeshade 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 easy way to find out. We have a muffin here now, so let's get Phillip on camera doing her, fucking her and beating her tits. Then he can't go the fuzz without implicating himself, can he ?"

I found later they liked calling the girls they abducted"gem ”. The gem on the litter started to moan and roll her eyes under the lid."She's coming out of the anesthetic. We have to hurry,"said Slim, whose epithet I found later was Alastair.

Bill turned to me."Are you in ?"he asked shortly with a engineer stare.

"And if I don't do this ?"I asked, not really wanting to acknowledge the resolution.

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

Harold on the other side of meat of the fence scuffed the ground 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 hooey in the woodwind, show us. Now."

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