"I could absolutely piss to break my neck," groaned Dave, his bladder straining fit to burst like a ripe melon.
One of the girls on the back seat giggled, giving him a hopeful spasm down below, which he really didn't need right about then.
"Lightweight," murmured Barry, over in the driver's seat. Still bitter, Dave figured, from having to be the one whose turn it was to be on the shandy all night.
"Sorry, Baz. I really don't think I can make it. You'll have to stop".
The two girls giggled some more merry, drunken giggles.
Dave looked through the windscreen at the small wood along the right-hand side of the road, which was probably the reason why the pub had had the name, The Forest's Rest. Dave had thought it an odd name. But then he found it all very odd out here in the sticks. The quiet, for starters. It was too quiet. Too restful. He found the quiet a little unnatural, to be honest, and found himself pining for the hubbub of urban living. Still, it was nice to have a weekend break and get away sometimes. And tonight, it looked like his luck was in, too.
"I'll have to go in there," said Dave, nodding his head in the direction of the wood.
"Alright, but be quick," muttered Barry, sighing and stopping the four by four with annoyed grace at the side of the road.
Dave limbered out, peering his head around, checking that the coast was well and truly clear. "'Scuse me ladies, call of nature," he said with a sheepish apology. The women giggled again.
Slamming the car door behind him, he bolted along the road, his trainers scratching the tarmac, and dived amongst a dense patch of trees.
It was insanely dark inside the wood, but he could just about make out what was in front of him. The forest seemed alive with a fresh, musky scent of wood and leaf and green. Not that it mattered to Dave. He didn't go in for all that back-to-nature stuff. He preferred more practical things. That, and getting his end away, which is what most of his thoughts were usually consumed with, especially tonight.
The forest looked ethereal in the light from the moon overhead. Ghostly, eldritch, like Dave had stepped into another world. The branches swayed with a slight breeze, and the leaves rustled out a mellifluous harmony. But, again, this was lost on Dave. All he cared about was his aching bladder.
Letting out a lagery belch, he dashed to the first tree he found that was wide enough for his purposes but also far enough in so that people wouldn't twig what he was up to.
The tree was colossal. Like its branches could scratch the night sky. It looked ancient, too, with the bark resembling an old man's skin. Dave certainly wasn't a horticultural expert, but he would have recognised it as an oak if he had been. The heady, musky aroma was thicker here for some reason.
Dave unzipped his flies and pulled out little Dave. He let go of his bladder and sighed with ecstasy as a thick arc of yellow, beer-fuelled piss streamed out and struck the tree with a swaggering splash. It smeared and soaked its way all over the ancient bark and ran down its noble length in thick rivulets. Dave, continuing to sigh and in a cheeky mood, waggled his penis about a bit, letting the stream hit the bark by moving it around, this way and that, like playing some sort of game. He tittered to himself.
Eventually, the trickle dried up. Then, shaking himself off until the last stragglers of urine had dripped out onto the ground, he put himself away and zipped his flies back up. He looked at the large wet smear, soaking up the wood on the tree, good and proper, and felt a strange kind of masculine pride.
His bladder relieved, his thoughts could return to more interesting climes, and he clapped his hands together and rubbed them at the thought of what awaited him on the back seat of Baz's four by four. Then, turning to go, he hoped he hadn't gone too far in that he wouldn't be able to find his way out again. That would be embarrassing, he thought. His feet crunching old leaves underfoot, he had only gone a few steps when he heard it.
