There’s not much better than sex outdoors. Well of course there’s not much better than sex, but doing it outdoors can make for a nice change, and there’s something tremendously liberating about stripping off and getting down to it surrounded by trees and birdsong, with the wind whispering gently around your balls…

As with every other sexual experience, doing it outdoors isn’t really a single possibility; it’s a range of choices. At one end of the spectrum, you can do it in your back garden, and at the other, you can do it on Oxford Street during the Friday evening rush hour. In between, there is a whole range of options, including parks, city squares, and the weed-choked wastelands that are scattered like green patches on the fabric of our city. Some of these places are well-known cruising grounds, and you’re pretty much certain to get sex there; others are just random quiet spots, and only a sudden shared look of recognition with another solitary walker turns them into sites of outdoor sexual pleasure.

I lost my virginity outdoors, so I may be biased, and I do sometimes wonder if I’d be such an exhibitionist if I’d had my first gay experience somewhere a little more “normal”. Then again, what’s normal for losing one’s virginity? A mate of mine lost his in the back seat of a car, and he doesn’t get a rush of blood to his cock every time he sees a gear stick (though I suppose this might explain the almost sexual excitement of some TV car show presenters when they see a new Ford Mondeo). But right from the start, I’ve been fond of an outdoor fuck.

My most recent experience outdoors was last Friday, on one of the commons that make grassy measles all over South London. We really should be grateful to the city planners of years gone by, because in their desire to save some relics of London’s ancient grazing lands and shared spaces they’ve accidentally provided our city with some of the finest cruising grounds on the planet. Though New Yorkers reading this may praise Central Park, my own experience of it was less than satisfactory, and, though that park that runs up the side of the Hudson River (sorry, I’ve forgotten its name) is great if you’re feeling brave, it’s not somewhere to go if you want at least moderately safe sex (in either sense of the word). Other cities under perform London, too. The Bois de Boulogne in Paris is pleasant enough, but there’s an omnipresent risk of dog turd that makes dropping your pants an adventure in animal coprophilia. Cities closer to the equator are even less satisfactory, with wildlife adding an unwanted extra thrill to every episode of outdoor sex, whether it’s monkeys watching you (Mumbai) or insects joining in (thank you, Kuala Lumpur, for that unforgettable experience).

So there I was, out on the afternoon common. There are various schools of thought about the best time of day to go cruising outdoors. Some favour the middle of the night, presumably on the grounds that you can’t be seen. The problem is that you can’t see, either, and it’s difficult to work out who’s who and what’s what. Other people prefer dawn, or dusk, both of which have something to recommend them, but sometimes daytime is best. On a summer afternoon you’ve got an excuse for at least going shirtless, and you can see what you’re getting. If you prefer to have sex with good-looking guys, this is something of a benefit.

In most parks and commons there’s an area where gay men tend to congregate. In old Victorian city parks it tends to be near the public toilets installed by our public-spirited forebears, while on London commons it tends to be on the edge of a more overgrown or bushy area. The idea’s the same in both cases: if you see someone you like, you can move to a more private venue (cottage stall or clearing in the undergrowth) without too much effort. Whilst there are guys whose idea of a good time is sex right there on the grass, in full public view, this is generally frowned on by most of the general public. Just as you probably wouldn’t want to see straight people having sex right in front of you, so most straight people would probably prefer not to see you going down on another dude, however hot he might be.

The scene: a bright summer afternoon, with me in my shorts, wandering along the edge of a little island of bushes and trees. I turn a corner and there on the grass in front of me is a guy sunbathing. He’s in blue Speedos and not much else. As I walk past he looks at me, and I look at him. My gaydar pings hard, and I suppose his does too, because our eyes lock and he nods imperceptibly, just once. I walk past him and immediately turn right along a little path into the bushes. I pause for a moment, listening, and hear him getting to his feet. I start walking again, heading deeper into the bushes, towards a little open patch I know of. I glance down the path behind me, and sure enough there’s a Speedo-clad figure following me.

“IN MOST PARKS AND COMMONS THERE’S AN AREA WHERE GAY MEN TEND TO CONGREGATE. IN OLD VICTORIAN CITY PARKS IT TENDS TO BE NEAR THE PUBLIC TOILETS.”

One more turn and I’ll be at my favourite little clearing. I turn a corner and duck under a low-hanging branch and… it’s already occupied. Two guys, one shirtless, the other in a polo shirt, both with jeans open, stroking each other. The shirtless guy looks vaguely familiar, and he obviously recognises me too, because after a startled-deer pause he returns to stroking the other guy’s cock. I stand still and watch for a second, then hear the bushes behind me move, and blue-Speedos joins us, running his hand along my back as he squeezes past me. I turn to him slightly, and he pulls me into a kiss.

There’s enough room for the four of us in this clear space between the bushes, though we’re too close to ignore each other. This doesn’t appear to cause anyone any problems, though. Speedo-boy is obviously well into showing off, because his Speedos come off almost immediately, and a moment later I step out of my shorts too as he goes down on me. The guy in the polo shirt pulls it off, and pushes his jeans right down, and soon there are four virtually naked men jacking and sucking. Proximity and horniness mean we don’t stay as two pairs for long: when I bend down to suck blue-Speedos he reaches over to pull polo-shirt’s cheeks apart, and slides his tongue along the crack, and quickly we’re into a free-for-all of cocks and tongues and fingers and holes. Above us the sky is blue, and around us the undergrowth is green, but the senses we are most using are taste and smell and touch, as hungry bodies explore each other, giving and taking what we all most need.

It can’t last long at that level of instant sexuality, and it doesn’t. Polo-shirt is the first to shoot, a white arc hitting the grass as Speedo-boy fingers him. A minute or two later the rest of us join him, cum squirting like small fountains as we each decide that this is the best it’s going to be today, and go for it.

There are the usual slightly embarrassed grins as we clean up, pulling up our shorts or flicking odd blobs of semen into the bushes. One by one we head out of the thicket, following our preferred paths back to the open spaces. Speedo-boy gives me another long kiss, and I can tell that he likes me. He says nothing, though, just rubs my softening cock as I zip up my shorts, then vanishes back the way he came.

When I walk back out onto the common, he’s sunbathing again. He grins at me as I walk past, and I smile back. Then I turn a corner, and he’s gone.