Erotic Flash Fiction: June in a gay club in Barcelona

OK. So you are wearing shoes. And that’s all! Ha, ha. I guess you have to wear something, right?  Nice I bumped into you here. I like the fact that you have no clothes on. Apart from the socks and trainers, that is. Lovely. It is a bit quiet tonight, isn't it?  Ah, you’re not from here? Just visiting, I see. But you speak Spanish, right? Of course. Yes,  I’d say the atmosphere is a bit weird here tonight. I think it’s because of the festival. The music festival: SóNAR. Apparently everybody is there. Yeah, that’s why Barcelona is so packed this weekend. No, it’s not the typical Saturday night here. There’s an unusual vibe. But, anyway, I like the fact that you are naked. Amazing. So they let you walk around like this? I never heard of anyone getting naked in this club. I am glad they allow you though. Well, you have a pretty cock, so why the hell not letting it all hang out? Nice pubic hair too. Have you ever been to Boyberry on a Thursday? No? Me neither. Apparently they have a nude night on Thursdays. Everybody is naked that night. I should go along one of these weeks. I love your moustache, by the way. You have nice hairy buttocks too. And lovely lips. So funny that I bumped into you here in the darkroom. You smell vintage, retro. But nice. I see: it’s the wax on your moustache. It reminds me of my grandfather – when he kissed me. It's nice, I like it. You were at the dance floor earlier, weren't you? OK. So it was you, indeed… Erm… hmm… I am going to tell you a story that is going to amuse you. You see. The thing is that… I am blind. I have 5% vision in one eye and I walk with a stick.  When you see me outside later, you will see me walking with a white cane. Anyway, my friend told me you were at the dance floor. Dancing naked. He is here now at the back of the maze, fucking with someone. He's not my boyfriend; we are just friends. So he told me you were naked but I couldn't see you. And I wanted to see you. I was wondering what you looked like. So it's a nice surprise I bumped into you here.I can see what you are like now, here in the dark room. As I say, you have a lovely cock. I like your thick bush, your little bum. Your chest. Beautiful lips. Yes, that's why I was feeling your legs all the way down to your feet earlier: to see if you were wearing shoes. I am not sure I would go naked myself though. But I love the fact that you do it. I'm lifting my t-shirt for you now. Feel free to stroke my flat hairy stomach. Can I kiss you again?

Erotic Flash Fiction, March 2015: At a gay strip joint in Miami

It was Sunday night at TWIST, prime gay complex in Miami beach. After ordering a caipirinha at the courtyard bar, I headed to the strippers’ shed. The place was busy. Semi-naked muscled boys in skimpy underwear mingled among punters of mixed ages. Only a handful of the customers were women. Apart from the spotlights on the podiums where the strippers danced, the room was dimly lit. On the microphone, a drag queen from Colombia described in English the sensual virtues of the go-go boys. In the shadier corners, one could spot the odd semi-naked dancer rubbing his buttocks against the crotch of some fully clothed older customer. As part of the “private dance”, it looked like the punter was allowed to stroke the boy’s muscley chest and nipples, his flat stomach, his tight belly, his strong thighs… but hands always stopped at the crotch. I never saw a punter feeling a dancer’s genitals, not even over the briefs. And the briefs never slipped down...

During a break, the Colombian drag queen made her way to the bar and stood next to me to order a bottle of water. She got talking. Apparently that night they were hosting an amateur stripper competition. Needless to say, nothing indicated in the way she addressed me that she thought of me as a potential contestant. From what I gathered, the competition was really a public audition to recruit new dancers for the venue. I asked casually if the competitors would have to get completely naked. She turned all thoughtful and weary, as though she was about to make a shameful confession. ‘Oh, no. Unfortunately, not. You can’t show cock here, sadly. We don’t have the right license. This venue doesn’t want to charge at the door. And only venues with a cover charge are allowed to show full nudity.’ Or something along the line. This explanation would have sufficed as far as I was concerned, but apparently she felt obliged to go on and on about the ins and outs of venue licensing, cock showing and male go-going in Miami. ‘I wish, I wish!’ she stressed, ‘I wish we could show cock!’ When she found out where I was from, she switched to Spanish. She told me about her experience performing in Gran Canaria, getting lost in the dunes of Maspalomas and how much she liked Serrano ham. ‘That’s the salty stuff, isn’t it? I love it!’

She returned to her hosting duties: ‘This is Eduardo, 26 years old. He arrived from Caracas just a couple of weeks ago. He likes playing football. Look at his huge strong thighs.’ On the podium, Eduardo lowered slightly the top of his red briefs, revealing his trimmed pubic hair and the top of his limp penis, which he covered up again almost immediately while teasingly shaking his hips. He dedicated a wide, frank smile to his potential dollar-bill-shoving admirers.

Erotic Flash Fiction, February 2015: Overheard at the Gents of a pub in Brixton

I hear a voice with a Cockney accent coming from inside the cubicle: "I'm gay but I don't take it up the arse," followed by a muffled reply that I fail to decipher. The Cockney voice again: "Come on. I'm queer; you're queer. Get your fucking knickers off and bend over." Another muffled reply, heavy breathing, rustling noises. Losing his patience, the man with the Cockney accent raises his voice: "I fancy you. You fancy me, don't you? Now then... bend over!" The panting gets louder. I wash my hands… and leave.

Erotic Flash Fiction, January 2015: On a London bus

I thought I was the only person sitting on the top floor of the double-decker. But a muffled sound behind me made me wonder. It was a night bus. I was immersed in the mysteries of the crime novel I was reading. I heard the sound again. It was a gasp, a rustle. Like the sudden sprint of a frightened mouse across the carpet. Distracted, I turned my head to find out indeed that I was not on my own. There were two other passengers on the upper deck. A young woman sat on one of the back seats with her legs spread out in the air. She was wearing leopard print stilettos. In front of her, on his knees, a man was pulling to the side the front of the woman’s panties, showing under her tight mini-skirt. He was smartly dressed. He pushed his head towards her, sticking his tongue out. Neither of them made eye contact with me but it was obvious that they were aware I was looking. The woman gasped again arching her head backwards.  When I saw the young man’s tongue reaching the woman’s exposed vulva, I turned my head and returned to my book. What happened next was very quick. The bell for a bus stop rang and the couple dashed past me.  As they went down the stairs, the man looked down coyly, visibly flustered. Behind him, the woman kept her chin up. Half-glancing at me, she fixed her hair, pushing her fingers through her big afro. Defiant. 

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#FreedomTo be free in an LGBT Pride which is truly inclusive & truly respects all life styles & individualities - unlike @LondonLGBTPride

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