Naughty In Nature

By TeeJay

Illustration by Michael Broderick (hottlead.com)

A soft wind at your back, the crash of the surf nearby, your toes in the sand -- and your swimsuit around your ankles. Ah, sex outdoors. Could there be anything more wholesome? More back to nature?

For many sex is a horizontal activity that occurs in a controlled environment with carefully staged lighting and all the necessary props close at hand. The more adventurous among us recognize there is nothing quite so bracing as parking the car at the end of a country road, heading into a grove of oak trees and de-pantsing in the brush for some good ole’ al fresco butt fucking.

Maybe it’s my years as a Boy Scout. Pitching the tents, roasting the wieners, and crawling into the scout master’s sleeping bag because “the woods are so scary!” I’ll never forget him kicking me out, his brutish face all red, ordering me to act like a man, forcing me to take down my jockeys so he could spank my bare butt behind a tree. Wait, I’m pretty sure this is a fantasy …

What’s not a fantasy are all the truly scenic places the nature lovers among us can rock out with our cocks out. City parks, suburban bike paths, national forests. There is nothing like a wank in the woods.

But why, pray tell? What is it exactly that makes outdoors the destination spot for sexed-up men folk everywhere? For me it’s simple: fresh air makes me horny as fuck. I breathe it in and I want to pull it out. Or maybe it’s the pagan aspect that makes the men want to smack it outside. There’s something witchy about fucking under the stars. Like you’re part of this gi-normous eco-cycle of copulating animals and you’re doing it to please Mother Earth. An offering of sorts. For a lot of us -- and I’m going out on a limb here (sorry) -- I bet the great outdoors was where we first did it. So maybe there’s a nostalgic aspect. Aww! In my case, there was a cemetery down the end of my block that had groves and groves of trees. For a suburban boy looking for hiding places where I could make it with other suburban boys, this turned out to be an extremely handy hideaway. I have very fond memories of one particular rock under one particular oak. I recall squinting up at the sun while seeing stars. Lemme tell you, this made an impression. Since then I’ve wanted to get out and get down.

Whatever the reasons, lovers who love outdoor sex can be found wherever there is open space. Just take a gander at the online content that documents it: Sex in the Jungle, Twinks on the River, Back Woods Bears, Camping Guys and Lawn Boy Action (where they’re whacking more than just the weeds!). For those more nautically-inclined: Aussie Beach Boys, Caribbean Beach Boys, Latino Boys on the Beach (is there no beach on this fair earth that’s safe from gay men?) For the Lynyrd Skynyrd lovers among us, you might check out a website called All-Trash Nude. There you’ll find the pastiest naked white guys you ever did see stroking their dicks in bayous and swamps. You can practically smell the crawfish.

There’s no question: it goes on everywhere -- and has been doing so for-fucking-ever. The Greeks did it, the painters of the Renaissance did it, and you just know the first pilgrims did it. They had to build all those low-lying huts at Plymouth, which must have taken weeks. Until then, they slept under the stars. There they were, filled with the hope of religious freedom, all sweaty from their toil, and bulging through their britches. I bet that first Thanksgiving found more than a few of them standing ankle deep in ferns, their knickers round their boots and their cocks saluting their new colony.

These days, of course, there is less and less virgin outdoor space for carefree hot sweaty monkey love. So, you must look to urban areas that come in handy for those who like to get busy in places where they might be seen by others. A not-so-hidden alleyway. A bus stop downtown. And, seasonally, the welcoming streets of New Orleans and Rio. These are settings that scream out: put it in me, you crazy outdoor showoff.

I myself prefer those utterly remote and hidden places where two sweaty men can feel as if they are the last two people on earth. Rainforests. Apple orchards. Black’s Beach in La Jolla, California. Such places bring us back to man’s very beginnings when, finally standing erect, one cave dude moved to another, groped his balls and grunted, “No one’s invented shelter yet, so why don’t we get it on out here in the open?”