othersAA

I spent four years of my life, during the early 80s, living in Milton Keynes (of roundabouts and concrete cows fame). At the time Milton Keynes was still a huge building site and my flat overlooked a newly constructed road bridge that was to take one of the grid roads over a pedestrian/cycleway. As neither the grid road nor the cycleway were at the time complete the bridge did not serve it intended purpose but for about eighteen months it served as a huge "portakabin" for the dozens of construction workers engaged on building the roads, cycleways, and housing. The "arch" was boarded up at either end and only a small door, facing my flat, gave access. During the day muddy wellied workers could be seen tramping in and out but in the autumn and winter evenings, as the nights closed in, the giant mess room emptied and the last worker would switch off the lights and close and padlock the door . . . and hide the padlock key under an large oil drum that served as a waste bin. Next to the oil drum was a standpipe under which the workers used to rinse off their muddy footwear before entering the messroom.

When I was quite sure all was quiet I'd pull on pair of jeans, anorak, thick woollen socks and my wellies - I'd only a couple of pairs of wellies in those days (Dunlop Warwick and Uniroyal Argyll) - pick up my torch and some tissues, leave the flat, cross the local road and a small field, retrieve the key from its hiding place, unlock the door and enter "paradise". I'd close the door behind me, taking care to ensure I had both the padlock and key with me as I
was always slightly worried that someone might have seen me and
might take the opportunity to lock me in there.

What a smell there was in there! A mixture of damp canvas, rubber, sausages, bacon, chips, toast, cigarettes and above all else, drying mud! The inside was roughly divided by huge plywood partitions into a larger kitchen/mess room with tables and chairs and a smaller locker room. I always explored by torchlight so as not to reveal to the outside world that the lights were on but also because I never found out where the light switch was! Anything and everything in there was covered with mud, the floor, the walls, the tables, the chairs, the lockers and strange relate, it was probably the rubber boots, standing by or on top of the lockers, which were the least muddy articles in the place.

There were dozens and dozens of rubber wellingtons (PVC had not got a strangle hold on the market yet). Most of them were Uniroyal Century or Argyll Non-Safety or Safety all black rubber with the green or red trim, with plenty of Dunlop Warwicks and Safety boots as well. Most had their tops turned down to a greater or lesser extent. Most were in pairs by lockers but there was also a corner with a great jumble of wellies. My usual plan was to select a pair of boots I liked the look of, this often took a while as there were plenty to choose from,
but once my mind was made up it was the work of a moment to slip out
of my boots, into the chosen ones and to turn
the tops up, if they'd been turned down.

I'd take a few steps around inside just to check the boots were reasonably comfortable and then off I'd go for a long torch-lit walk across acres of muddy building sites. I'd walk for about half an hour, my thoughts on rubber boots, stopping from time to time to mess in the mud, until the need to wank was overpowering, then I'd find a bit of shelter (hedgerow or trees or bushes), loosen the belt, unzip the flies, release the prick and pump away and try to catch some of my cum on the boots. A quick clean up with the tissues and then the walk back to the mess room under the bridge where the sight of all those boots and the need to change back into my own boots often led to another wank. Most nights saw me in action, moonlit nights were the best, and wet nights I stayed in the flat in my own boots.

On Friday or Saturday nights I often used to "borrow" a pair of the rubber boots and bring them back to the flat to "play" with over the weekend, when the site was closed, returning them on the Sunday evening. My favourite "borrowing" pair were a monster pair of size 13 Uniroyal Century - I'd bring them back to the flat, clean the worst of the mud off them in the shower and then clump around the flat in these huge boots - I found I could wear them over my slippers which then kept my feet firmly anchored in the boots which really did come up to my knees!

I once bumped into some neighbour one evening as I trudged up the staircase to the flat in these seriously big boots whilst my pair were tucked between my upper arm and my chest - I'd tried not to look embarrassed and probably failed, but once behind
my door I had a bloody marvellous jerk-off - the thought that someone
had seen me in these monster mud covered rubberboots made me feel
ten feet tall!

But all good things must cum to an end and eventually the construction work ceased, the mess room became a bridge, and the construction workers and their boots moved on - but over the months I had kept two pairs of boots which I had never returned - a pair of BTR Trents and a pair of Uniroyal Centurys with yellow foxing!