The whole first arc of me growing into my zoophilia took place in the woods behind our house. Nobody ever went back there, and the undergrowth was pretty thick, but there was never anything stopping someone from finding us if they went looking. One time I was out there, me and the boy were in the mood, so I drop trou' and assume the position. We're goofing around wrasslin', I get mounted a few times- but right as it goes in, I hear someone on the back porch shouting my name. Man, when I tell you my heart sank, I mean it fell from my throat all the way down to the mezzanine in my gut. I scrambled to my feet, whipped my pants back up, I'm totally frantic. I fix my belt and my zipper. For a second, I consider not even answering the call. I'm freaked out thinking that somehow, someone was able to see me, even as far back as we were. I stumble out from back there, I'm walking on legs made out of Jello, and I call out, "Yeah?"
"Did you remember to take the cans out?"
"Yeah."
"Alright."
They go back inside. I assume I checked my glasses for eyeball prints, but then I went right back where I was. I think my boy appreciated how tight my ass was after that. ?
I don't think that was the riskiest, though. At one point I was ass-to-ass tied with a collie in the furnished loft at my great aunt's house while she was downstairs cooking. That wasn't my intention. The knot really snuck up on me that time. And then again in the tool shed in the garden at like, three in the morning. I took a lot of dumb risks, and I'm really lucky I never got caught.