Sorry, but the fantasy in your dirty minds is not borne out by the practical issues of the dirty environments themselves. For that matter, I very much prefer a comfortable bed (or couch or futon or pretty much anywhere else) over wet or dusty concrete. Sure, when I was younger I wasn't as particular, but these days I can wait. Really. Still, it is a good alternative kind of foreplay. I mean, if you aren't willing to put on your rubbers and get down in some wetness, then what's that say about you in the bedroom?
I've never heard of urban exploration merging with the fetish world, but it seems almost inevitable. After all, there's no much overlap between these subcultures that the connections are fairly obvious even if your kinks don't bend that way. I do have a friend who takes "art pictures" of girls who are willing to accompany him to abandonments are strip down for the camera. A lot of places out there make for great backdrops for interesting shots. Oh, but bring insect repellent.
And many of those same locations, especially the subterranean ones would, I'm sure, match up to the gothic settings of the fantasies of the kinkiest person you'd ever meet on Craigslist, although you'd better bring a cordless drill and some concrete bolts if you want to adorn the walls with shackles. Those don't come standard, I'm afraid.
Another eyebrow-raising topic is what's up with the ostensibly erotic names of the places we've visited? Honestly, they were never really intended as such, but that's turned into a running joke. Specifically:
Beaver Tunnel was so-named because there were nutria swimming outside the entrance the first time we visited that spot (and on several other occasions as well). Since I couldn't see their tails, I assumed they were beavers. I incorrectly assumed nutria were more of a Louisiana phenomenon, but apparently they are plentiful in the Trinity River here in the DFW area. So, no, "beaver" here was not intended as a euphemism.
If you have an oral fixation, then you might read something into The Mouth tunnel. Originally we called it the Big Mouth, but later shortened it since there wasn't a corresponding Little Mouth tunnel. There's a very HR Giger quality to it visually, so no matter what you call it, it's a big, smooth-walled, concrete orifice.
Then there's The Squirter, a tunnel with a pipe you could just about get your hand around ejecting a forceful stream against the wall opposite. Yeah, I know. I should write romance novels.
Finally we have The Threeway. That was a set of three large tunnels that appear to go off in separate directions. In reality two of the tunnels converge a mile or so upstream. Near the opening they run parallel and pick up a third, much like couples occasionally do on Craigslist. Threeway? Well, the first time I explored part of it, it was with three other guys, so that was four of us, and we were all straight (so far as I know). The next expedition I went on was with another guy and a girl, but I don't really swing that way, so that's not my idea of a threesome regardless. Finally, the most recent trip was with a guy again, so it was just two of us. We explored a lot, but not in any ways that would interest the Kinsey Institute. Of course, I still haven't finished parts of this system though, so if you and your twin sister want to take a trip, come on!
Admittedly, the implications of exploring drainage tunnels the way I do are so obvious that I won't belabor them beyond this haiku:
But what would Freud say
About my urges to be
In dark, wet places?
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