It was a glorious day: the sun was beating down, and I’d been driving for a few hours, lost in the music but also in my thoughts about the potential outcomes and happenings of the week ahead. I followed the satnav, off the motorway, then along a main road for a few miles, then two smaller roads, and into a lane with high hedges. I almost missed the nondescript gate, notable only for the single yellow fence post, as described in the directions. I looked around as I opened the padlock with the code I’d been sent by the host. There was next to nothing here, just a dirt track through the trees, the nearest house I think I’d passed five minutes ago. Perfect for what we were planning…except if it didn't work out. What if it went wrong?

I tried to push the doubt from my mind as I drove through the gate, got out of the car, closed it, and then got back behind the wheel. I had my seatbelt off, the windows down and the music off; as I drove carefully and slowly up the mud track, avoiding the larger potholes, I could hear nothing but the low hum of the engine, the stones under the tyres, the wind in the trees, and the birds. In winter it would be unpassable, especially in my car. The instructions said that it would take about 15 minutes, and this was spot on. After much winding up and down through what looked like an ancient wood and even crossing a small ford, I came round the final corner and pulled up beside the cabin.

I’d seen the photos so I sort of knew what to expect. It was modern but basic, wood panelled but unpainted, double glazed, with shingle tiles, an open porch with a roof, and a small chimney. I checked, and there was no phone signal here - this had been in bold capitals in the description. I guess some people might have balked at this, but it was almost essential for our needs. The solar panels on the south roof were the main source of electricity, although I knew there was a backup generator in the shed. In the height of summer, even in England, there'd be no need for it, though. Heat from the solar and the wood stove, which we might only need - or want - in the evening. Cooking was gas, canisters in a cage outside the kitchen window, one on tap, and two spares. Water was pumped in from the nearby stream, into a tank. ‘Off grid’, it had said in the ad. It wasn’t wrong.

What I hadn’t expected but had hoped for, I guess, was the sense of disconnection, of being…unmoored somehow. It was unnerving, the feeling of really being away, not just from people, work, pressure, the news, and stuff, but also in some ways, from expectation. From the shoulds and shouldn'ts. This had been a conscious decision, part of the plan, to shuck off some of the social mores around how to be a man, a woman, in charge, or not. This was an equal, almost bank space. Here, we were more able to be whoever and however we wanted Still us, of course, with all of our baggage, fears, loves, fun, tastes, and life, but there was more space to breathe - literally - and to just be. This was the point, an escape, an exploration, of maybe leaving some things being and seeing where it left me – us. More of that later.

I found the key under the mat and opened the front door, purposefully leaving my shoes and socks on the porch. Another small step out of the 'normal', whatever that was. The smell of wood – fresh as well as burnt – hit me first, as well as the light. It was so bright, so clear. The interior was predominantly a single open space, a decently appointed kitchen on one side with a table and six chairs, a living room consisting of two long sofas and a coffee table, with the stove in the middle, with logs stacked on either side. No TV. There were French windows all along one wall, with nothing in the view other than the trees and sky. I unlocked them and slid them open, letting the outside in. The wood outside and and the room inside felt like they were seamlessly joined together, it was incredible, no division at all.

There was a stair ladder against the front wall that led up to the 'bedroom', effectively a wide sleeping platform. It was almost the full width of the cabin, with a large double bed in the middle, the eavesdropping down on all four sides, and a skylight in each one. The views from the bed would consist of nothing but the low beams, the stars, and the sky. I opened the skylights slightly before descending, finding the bathroom behind a sliding door - a large shower, a double sink with a mirror, and the toilet. I'd read that there was also an outdoor shower – without any screens, but there was nobody for miles. It was perfect. I had my share of the supplies for the week in the car, and I knew I had a few hours before T arrived, so I carried them in. My clothes, towels, toiletries, a box of books, and what I planned to cook (plus coffee, tea, milk, beers, bread, cold cuts, and cheese. The plan was to cook little but eat simply and well. I stashed everything away in the kitchen, bathroom, or downstairs wardrobe.  

The drive had been long and hot, so I thought I’d clean up and give the outdoor shower a go. I stripped upstairs before descending and stepping through the French doors onto the grass and gravel outside. The earth was damp but warm under my feet, the dried leaves crackly. With the breeze across my skin and the warmth of the sunshine on my body as I stepped outside, it felt strange and transgressive but brave somehow, and natural. It was as though I was streaking but not, even though nobody would see. You can take the boy out of society but you can't take the society out of the boy, I guess. I found and turned on the shower – it was almost instantly warm from the tank on the roof, so stepped into it, looking around as the water cascaded down my body. I was naked, outside, with nothing but the woods and wildlife around. I was almost tearful with the freedom of it.

I took some of the eco soap left by the owner and rubbed myself down, washing my hair and body, thoroughly but gently. I had trimmed diligently that morning, including shaving my cock, balls, and taint. Everything was smoother and looser, the sexual closer to the surface. I started to get hard, and I closed my eyes, reveling in the sensations as I soaped my chest, under my arms, my neck, stomach, thighs, bum, crack, and hole. I pinched my nipples with one hand as I massaged my sack and then slowly but firmly worked my foreskin back and forth a few times with the other. And then I stopped. There would be more than enough time for things like – a whole load of things like that, later. Hopefully. I switched the shower off, towelled myself dry, almost wrapping it round my waist automatically before remembering that I didn't have to, and then went back inside to change into a loose shirt and baggy trousers. No underwear, that was one of the few rules we'd set.

I got a glass of water and sipped it, contemplating the view. What was this the beginning of, I thought? Or the end of? If it was close to what we were hoping for, it would be an emotional and physical rebirth of sorts, a loosening of ties and an opening of doors. But if it went wrong, real damage could be done, scars inflicted. To ourselves, to each other, permanently. There are risks associated with rewards, and we’d talked about this. Well, we’d never met, never spoken, even on the phone, but had been messaging for over a year, developing a trust. First as casual 'hi' chatroom acquaintances, then something akin to friends, and then…on to whatever we were now and maybe to become. Lovers, sort of, potentially, but also explorers, of each other as much of ourselves. But to where, exactly, and how? How far would we go, could we go, together, and individually? The promise of where that could be, alongside the unknowns, was intoxicating.