Scarves for Dogs

A change from my normal short story format. Naughty warning-Adults only. 😀
This is dedicated to a friend who inadvertently found herself in a similar position.

dog and scarf 27.2.16

Every Christmas without fail Aunty Emily gave me a scarf. Don’t get me wrong, I love scarves but there are only so many you can wear at any one time.

At least she varied them; I had silk ones, woolly ones, cotton ones, head squares, printed, triangular, long, short, shawls and bandannas.

Finally I’d had enough. I bundled them all up into carrier bags, put them in the boot of the car to take to a charity shop, and promptly forgot all about them.

On my home way from a rock concert late one night, in a particularly desolate part of the countryside, the car started to cough and splutter. It was cold, miserable, raining and not a soul to be seen. All I needed. To add insult to injury the battery on my mobile was nearly dead, so I couldn’t even phone for help.

Without warning the car cut out, but I pumped the pedal and thankfully it choked and came back to life. A mile further on it did the same again, and although it didn’t die on me, by now I was seriously worried.

Normally I was religious about keeping the petrol topped up, but I had been so busy I hadn’t made my usual weekly trip to the garage. Checking the petrol gauge I was relieved to see it showed half full. Then I remembered that when I looked at it yesterday it had been down to a quarter. Keeping my eyes on the road I gave it a tap, and was horrified to see it move straight over to the lower edge of the red.

Damn and Blast. It must have stuck and now I was out of petrol. I was on a narrow, bendy, country road with no street lights. The rain had produced a thick mist which was threatening to turn into a fog, so there was no way I could leave the car there, even if I could walk and find some semblance of civilisation.

From the corner of my eye I noticed a lay-by and wrenched the steering wheel to turn into it. The rough path led through trees and shrubbery until it unexpectedly opened up into a circular area, full of cars. I realised I had actually found a car park, but as it was all in darkness I assumed locals used it to leave their vehicles overnight.

At least I was off the road, so turning on the interior light I prepared to collect my belongings and start walking.

I nearly jumped out of my skin when a disembodied voice yelled ‘Turn that light off.’ As I opened the driver’s door I realised all the cars were in fact occupied, and people were leaving their vehicles and heading in my direction.

I have never been so scared in all my life, and was in dire need of a change of underwear. Surrounded by about twenty semi-naked men and women I thought my time had come.

‘Identify yourself,’ one of them demanded. ‘Which group do you belong to?’

‘I don’t,’ I spluttered, unable to think clearly. ‘I just broke down and pulled off the road. I’m sorry.’

Why was I apologising? Despite my fears I regained enough bravado to ask ‘Anyway, who are you? What are you all doing here?’

‘This is the district dogging and BDSM association,’ someone answered. ‘We meet here on the first Friday of every month to indulge and share our fetishes. The rules demand that we each bring a scarf to indulge our partner’s fantasies, but obviously if you’re an outsider that doesn’t apply to you.’

‘Funny you should say that,’ I said, as I reached into the boot to retrieve the charity bag full of scarves. ‘If someone can supply some petrol, I’ll willingly donate these and leave you to your fun.’
cowboy dog 27.2.16




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