The Coast is Clear


The Coast is ClearWe sat on the side of the motorway bridge, on the earthen bank, partially hidden by some low bushes. Below us ran a cycle track, stretching under the bridge and far off into the distance, it forked on our side of the bridge and ran alongside the bank before disappearing into a small clump of trees beside the road.I munched contentedly on my sandwiches while my friend was crunching down a bag of crisps. We were waiting for two more istanbul escort friends. The four of us usually met here on our lunch break in summer. It was a place where we could get away from the working environment of college, just visible across a field, and relax.A man came out from under the bridge and sk**ded his bike to a halt. We looked on curiously as he dismounted and began avcılar escort furtively peering up both forks of the cycle track. He didn’t notice us, mostly obscured by foliage and a good 15 feet away from him. He turned back to the bridge and yelled, ‘its all clear’. Curious I thought.A woman on a bike appeared and pulled up next to the man. They were obviously husband and wife, dressed in matching cycle gear şirinevler escort and helmets. they must have been in their mid 40s, maybe on a cycling holiday I idly mused. ‘Are you sure it is clear’ she asked and he nodded. She shuffled off her bike and, moving next to a tree by the side of the path, yanked down her trousers and pants, squatted down and began to pee.We gazed on in amazement, trying, mostly unsuccessfully, to stifle our giggles. She let out a contented sigh, tidied up, and then rearranged her clothing. They both mounted their bikes and rode off, pursued by our pent up laughter, concealed only by the sounds of the cars passing my above us.And that was it, my first ever glimpse of a woman’s pussy. Hairy, much older and pissing, an odd way to achieve a first.

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