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EROTIC SHORT FICTION 6

I would describe the below bisexual tale of incest as mild in strength, although some may find themselves deeply troubled by its content. I suppose it is what it is, intended mainly as a relatable story of isolation and experimentation. With any luck, you will be successfully aroused by it. However, if all you experience is a sense of disgust, then you are welcome never to return to this liberal domain. For reasons that now escape me, I have written it in present-tense, which is a particular skill in itself. Feel free to point out any pesky past-tense grammar that has snuck in by mistake. Otherwise, hook your “DO NOT DISTURB” sign on the door and enjoy!

SECRETS BUILT ON SAND

A young man on holiday finds his travel plans greatly waylaid.

DISCLAIMER: ALL CHARACTERS INVOLVED IN SEXUALLY-EXPLICIT ACTIVITY ARE 18+ AND ALL OPINIONS EXPRESSED WITHIN THE ENTIRELY FICTIONAL SERIES OF EVENTS BELONG TO THE HYPOTHETICAL NARRATOR AND NOT THE AUTHOR.

I present to you the bored mind of a man alone in a hotel room. I am 23-years-old and currently lodging at this seaside town on a personal errand.

The room is cheap, but functional. It has a ceiling fan, which means I am kept mildly entertained as I lie on my back staring blankly up with reckless abandon. There is a television, but I have not the patience to figure out how the damn thing works. I have neighbours, one of whom is a man having an affair with the hotel manager. Our adjoining door is so thin that I can hear their lovemaking in painstaking detail. Wet slapping sounds and all. The manager says she feels like a “mother hen” to her staff, all of whom I assume curse the day she was born.

I climb off the bed and sit next to the adjoining door. I masturbate to the sound of their moans and groans, but my orgasm is unsatisfactorily weak.

I did not pack a suitcase, instead planning on buying a change of clothing at the local retail arcade. I am sure there will be a shop cheap enough to purchase disposable apparel and toiletries. The supplies in the room leave something to be desired, as with all hotel rooms. There is a minibar, but who on Earth delves into such money pits willingly?! There is a cornershop just down the street, so I need not make any purchases from the hotel.

Yesterday was the last day of my employment back home, so I decided not to turn up. Fuck those arseholes. Tomorrow is the wedding of an old school friend nearby. Today is a day of limbo and masturbating to the sound of strangers fucking in the room next door. What comes after tomorrow, well, I do not know. I have enough money in my bank account to allow for this holiday, but that is about all.

I still live at home with my parents, so I will not find myself out on the street any time soon. However, my parents are keen to have me pay a peppercorn rent, as best as I can, so finding employment is certainly something I will have to deal with in the near future. Unless I find a cliff along the beachfront here. Or simply wander out into the tide and never turn back. Or hang myself form the ceiling fan. Or catch a fatal disease from the promiscuous hotel manager.

See? Who says I have run out of options in life?!

I pull my shorts back up and take a stroll down to the cornershop for supplies. Their sandwich selection has dwindled to the point of being uninviting. I do not have the facilities in my room to prepare a meal. I sigh and walk back into the hotel lobby and reluctantly inquire at the front desk about dining in. They point to the in-house restaurant and tell me the kitchen starts serving in half-an-hour.

I wait half-an-hour outside by the sea wall.

During this time, I notice some attractive women paddling at the water’s edge. Some children play with a beachball. A dog, the owner of whom must be around somewhere, plays with anyone and everyone. I secretly desire to have its social energy. But I do not. I believe one of the paddling women notices me and smiles in my direction, but I simply look down at my feet. I do not know why.

I hear a bell ringing, which must be the maitre de in the restaurant signalling to residents that food is now being served. I make my way back across the busy street and through the hotel lobby. I make note of the menu on display by the restaurant door. All the meals comply with my tastes and are within my budget. I take a corner seat in the restaurant and order a soft drink. The drink arrives and I sip it as I make my dining selection.

Other residents, or simply walk-ins off the street, begin to fill-up the room. There are two elderly women together, assumedly there on a suicide pact; a blonde woman in her 30s with a much younger male, assumedly her son; a couple about my age, both very attractive, with the male being slightly more attractive than the woman. I assume he is in town to get involved with the local extreme sports scene, but the woman’s self-esteem is too low for her to refuse.

I assume a lot of things, as you will come to learn.

I order the soup starter, which consists of a garlic-mushroom entity, and a creamy chicken & bacon concoction for my entree. I substitute the boiled potato side for rice, which the waiter sniffs at. I eventually under-tip him on purpose, which elicits yet another sniff. I wonder what he does not sniff at, perhaps his fat, hairy, smelly chef’s dick in his mouth.

The soup burns my tongue. The entree burns my wallet. The soft drinks are always presented half-empty. The blonde woman with her son keeps smiling at me. I do not look down this time. I smile back. I know why.

“Would you like to come join us?” She says, as she returns from one of her between-course toilet breaks.

“Oh, that’s alright, I’m fine.” I say, not used to such an offer.

“Bollocks! We’d love to have you!” She says, pulling my chair out and taking hold of my upper arm. “Come on!”

Being more assertive than myself, she has the sniffy waiter take back my half-eaten bacon & chicken thing and return with a fresh replacement. I admire her confidence, but also somewhat fear it. As we sit idly chatting, I learn she is recently divorced from her husband. Her presence at the seaside is apparently a show of her new physical and financial independence. Her son has not one kind word to say about his father. From what I am able to gather over the next hour, the husband and father is actually a good human being. What that says about this woman and her son, I am yet to find out.

The boy wears a colourful garland around his wrist, which I compliment for its prettiness.

“Where did you get it?” I ask, sipping a beer the woman has kindly put on her bill.

“I won it on the claw game!” He says, with a satisfied giggle.

“He’s very camp.” Says his mother, rubbing her son’s arm supportively. “So you’ll see him wearing all sorts of weird things!”

The term “weird” clearly sits uncomfortably with the boy. His mother notices.

“Sorry, sweetie, you know I don’t mean it like that!” She says, taking a swig of her fourth glass of wine.

Once all is said and done, I return to my room and passively listen to the hotel manager again having sex with her male friend. I do not believe they are in love, perhaps not even in lust. They simply enjoy the act of sneaking around and betraying their respective partners. The manager uses the “mother hen” analogy once again, as if she is a toddler who recently heard the expression for the first time and is now overusing it.

After they finish and the manager returns to work, I masturbate to the memory of the blonde woman and her low-cut summer top. This time my orgasm is more intense, which I believe is nature’s way of positively-reinforcing sexual activity. I ejaculate onto the room service menu, then dump it into the steel bin that sits under the desk. The wank and two beers take their toll, and I drift-off into a deep sleep.

At 8 am there is a knock at my door. I am not expecting anyone, so I ignore it. Knock, knock, knock. I sigh and shuffle over to the door wearing only my underwear. I have decided whomever it is deserves a shock. It is the blonde woman and her son, only today the boy is wearing a girl’s one-piece swimsuit, pink tutu, and floppy sunhat.

“We’re going down for breakfast, you coming?!” The woman says, clearly having never heard of a hangover and how they work.

The boy looks down at my underpants and whispers something into his mother’s ear. They both share a laugh and I suddenly feel very self-conscious.

“How did you know…” I begin to say as I cover myself.

“You told us last night!” She says, fingering the number on my door. “You weren’t shy once we got some booze into you!”

Mother and son laugh again, like gal pals at a hair salon.

I agree to join them, so swiftly get dressed in the only clothes I brought with me. They are beginning to smell. On our way down to the restaurant, I use the public telephone in the lobby to ring my old school friend. I wish to double-check the location of his wedding ceremony and that they will provide me with appropriate attire.

“Something’s happened, mate.” He says, a nervous tremble in his voice. “I need to talk.”

“Sure, what’s going on?!” I say, as calmly as possible.

“Not over the phone.” He says, coughing to indicate he is not alone. “Can you meet me in an hour on the pier?”

I reply with the affirmative and make my excuses to the blonde woman and her son. She informs me that they will be on the beach later, and I am welcome to join them once my business is complete. I use the remaining time to finally shop for provisions, purchasing two t-shirts and two pairs of shorts and a pack of underpants. I feel I can take my chances regarding socks. The pier is busy with tourists and gift merchants and fishmongers. The morning sea air brushes away my hangover that still lingers, even though it is a very mild one.

“Adam!” Says my old school friend, waving over from where he stands chain-smoking.

I trot over and give the man a hug. We know each other well enough to be physically intimate, and neither of us harbour any macho pride.

“So, what’s the story?” I say, hungrily eyeing the ice cream stand over his shoulder.

In the interest of brevity, patient reader, I shall sum-up the rambling melodrama I am subsequently told.

It seems my old school friend’s fiancée had a case of “cold feet” the previous day, so fled, without notice, back to her home town to spend time in solitude and deep consideration. My friend believes this happened because an old boyfriend of his fiancee’s had learned of the wedding and gotten back in touch, presumedly to take advantage of his ex-girlfriend’s natural feelings of doubt.

“Fucking scumbag.” My old school friend says, punching the pier’s flimsy wooden railing. “I’ve met him, you know, and he’s a total fucking scumbag!”

I agree, even though I have not met the man myself. It is just something one says in this type of situation.

“What are you going to do now?” I say, checking to see if I have the correct change for two ice creams.

“I’m gonna go get fucking hammered!” He says, spitting down into the water. “You coming?”

Not being much of a drinker, hence last night’s two beers badgering me well into the morning, I leave a long pause as I attempt to conjure-up an excuse. I do not have one, so put my ice cream money back in my pocket.

“Sure, let’s go.” I say, putting my hand on my old school friend’s back and marching him towards the nearest pub.

We proceed to go from establishment to establishment, punishing all women everywhere with premium lagers. Some venues are respectable real ale houses, some are trashy sports bars, some are shady hotels. You will find many of the latter in a seaside town, of course.

During our final stop, I cannot recall where, we find ourselves surrounded by a gaggle of pleasant gay gentlemen. I assume they are out attempting to meet sexual partners, but do not understand why they simply do not fuck each other. They are all reasonably good looking. My old school friend fails to notice they are gay, so inadvertently finds himself being chatted-up. As we begin to stagger out off the premises, with my drinking buddy still ignorant of the fey clientele, one of the men staggers over to me and wraps his arms around my body, then proceeds to kiss me on the cheek.

“I think you’re lovely!” He says, wiping his slobbering mouth with the base of his thumb.

“Thanks.” I say, laughing with surprise.

The man wanders back to his cohorts and I never see him again. My old school friend never forgets this incident, being sure to remind me of it whenever possible.

I wake-up the next morning staring up at the ceiling fan. I failed to turn it off again. I do not know where my old school friend went after I was accosted by the homosexual. I did remember to bring my new set of clothes back to the room with me, however, so I am able to dress myself in clean attire at last. I notice the minibar is open and a beer missing from its extortionate contents. I find the empty can in the bin. I grimace at how much it will add to my room bill, then leave to go for a walk.

As I stroll uneasily along the sea wall, I notice the blonde woman and her son nestled in the sand. The woman sees me and waves. Her son is once again dressed in his one-piece swimsuit and pink tutu and floppy sunhat. The boy is making a sandcastle with a bucket and spade. I descend the steps from the promenade and join them.

“How’s your friend?” Says the woman, closing her dogeared magazine.

“Not good.” I said, sitting by the boy and helping him with his property development endeavours. “The bride ran off, so we got drunk.”

“Oh, that’s a shame!” She says, picking up a bottle of suncream. “Are you hungover then?”

I nod, eyeing the blonde woman’s cleavage as she rubs suncream into her arms. After she is done coating herself, she throws the bottle over to me.

“Can you put some on David for me?” She says, retrieving the magazine from beneath her deckchair. “The old stuff should be wearing off by now.”

David abandons his meagre castle and stands before me. I squeeze a blob of suncream into my palm and rub it into his shoulders and arms and legs.

“He might change into his boy-trunks later.” Says his mother. “So can you do his top as well?”

Without verbal command, the boy slips his tutu off and pulls the one-piece swimsuit from off his shoulders and down to just above his groin. He smiles at me as I rub the suncream into his chest and belly. He turns around so I can apply some to his particularly-curvaceous back. It was as if nature had begun constructing him as a female, then changed its mind halfway through. When the boy turns back around to face me, my arm accidentally grazes his growing erection.

“There you go.” I say, patting his bum affectionately.

The boy returns to his building project, with his slight-frame now being ever-so-much safer from the blazing sun.

“He likes you.” Says his mother, having pulled her sunglasses down to watch me apply the suncream. “That’s good.”

With my hangover preventing me from fully understanding what the woman means, I rest sorrowfully on my side in the sand and groan miserably. The blonde woman, whom I finally learn is named “Dawn”, splashes some of her bottled water over my head.

“Get up, you degenerate!” She says, jokingly. “Come on, let’s go back to my room and order a takeaway!”

After we place a makeshift flag into David’s castle and return Dawn’s deckchair to the beach manager, the three of us link arms and skip back to the hotel. Along the way, we stop here and there for David to play penny arcade games. I join in a few times and win the boy a soft toy. He falls in love with it instantly and gives me a lingering hug of thanks. He has forgotten to pull his one-piece swimsuit back up over his torso, which Dawn explains is a sign he is shifting back into a masculine headspace. You can tell she is trying her best to understand her son’s alternative individuality.

“I think he’s great.” I say to her, as David loses yet more loose change.

As we pass through the hotel lobby, the receptionist gives me a knowing smile. He is aware that I am not part of Dawn and David’s group. I give an awkward smile in return. The receptionist winks. I look down and try not to think more of it.

Dawn and David’s room is higher up in the building than my own. It is also considerably larger in terms of floorspace. I note there is only one bed, a king size, although a sofa by the window looks comfortable enough for David to assumedly sleep on.

The boy immediately turns on the television set that is mounted on the wall, while Dawn brazenly strips-off and wraps a towel around her body.

“I’m going for a shower, you two darlings make yourselves comfortable!” She says, disappearing into the clean bathroom.

I sit on the bed with her son and flip through the magazine Dawn had been reading down on the beach. Its hateful gossiping only serves to inflame my hangover, so I throw it on the desk and rest back onto my hands.

“When are you two going back home?” I say, not having been left alone with David before.

The boy shrugs and continues to channel-hop.

“Mum wants to forget about dad, so whenever that happens.”

As the water runs noisily from the shower in the bathroom, David begins sniffing his swimsuit. He grimaces, then pushes himself off the bed and slips the whole garment down to his ankles.

“It smells all fishy!” He says, now completely naked.

He returns to the bed and snuggles-up to my side. I hear the shower being turned off and the hairdryer roaring into life. I beg the universe to clear my head, so that I may judge this situation better. No textbook in any library in any town can possibly explain to me what is happening right now.

“That’s better!” Says Dawn, emerging from the bathroom and laying her body towel carefully at the head of the bed.

I gulp.

“Now, let’s see what’s on offer, shall we?” She says, sitting against the headboard with her legs crossed, meaning I am now privy to almost every inch of her naked body.

“Can we have Chinese, mum?” Says David, handing his mother a pile of takeaway menus. “They all look nice!”

Dawn flips through the stack of menus and selects the restaurant with the most reassuring name.

“Here we go!” She says, eyeing its stock offerings. “Shall we get a starter selection and a few mains to share?”

I shrug, assuming the two have their own well-honed system for dining in.

“I don’t have much cash on me.” I say, patting my shorts impotently.

“My treat, honey, don’t you worry about a thing!” Says Dawn, beginning to rub herself between her legs.

My eyes widen slightly.

Suddenly, again without command, David collapses onto his stomach and shuffles further up the bed. He stops once his head is between his mother’s legs and begins to lap hungrily away at her crotch.

I cough.

Without even acknowledging what the boy is doing, Dawn starts to stroke her son’s hair as he works away at his mother’s clitoris.

“Good boy.” Says Dawn, not taking her eyes off the menu. “That’s nice.”

I now have an erection that demands attention, so I begin stroking my shorts as gently as I can. Dawn finally looks up from the menu and eyes me up and down, as if I too am a Chinese takeaway menu.

“Get your clothes off, lad!” She says, as if this happens all the time. “We don’t want to be the only ones with our bums out!”

I diligently strip and allow my dick to bounce happily in the breeze of the air conditioning.

“Come and suck my tits.” She says, clasping my hand and pulling me back onto the bed next to her. “You too, David.”

As David and I suckle obediently at Dawn’s chest, she lovingly strokes our backs and buttocks.

“Give each other a kiss.” She says, now pushing our heads together. “I want to see my two favourite boys at it!”

As I kiss a male for the first time, I surprisingly do not lose my erection. If anything, I begin finding it more and more difficult not to climax. I cease stroking it and instead concentrate on fingering Dawn’s soaking pussy.

“Mmm, I knew I could rely on you both to look after me.” Says Dawn, in a sultry whisper. “I usually feel so alone these days.”

David and I cease kissing each other and return to Dawn’s chest, with David’s erection now rubbing against my own. He giggles slightly, with a drip of precum emerging from his tip.

Dawn retrieves the suncream from the bedside table and hands it to me.

“Use it on his bum.” She says, matter-of-factly. “David, you put your face back between mummy’s legs, okay?”

The boy nods and does what he is told. I spread his pale cheeks apart and admire how clean he is. It is as if he knew this was going to happen. I flip the lid off the plastic bottle and squeeze a generous amount of the thick liquid down onto his anus.

“I’ve never done this before.” I say, barely able to string two words together.

“He has, so don’t worry.” Says the boy’s mother, gasping as she too almost climaxes.

After fingering David’s anus in order to lubricate it with the suncream, I hesitantly begin to insert my penis.

“Tell me if it hurts,” I say, feeling his colon warming my dick throughout, “and I’ll pull out.”

The boy manages a nod as he busily tongues at his mother’s fuck-hole.

Soon I am up to my balls in David’s body, with him giving a great shudder as I complete my entry.

“That’s nice!” He says, finally emerging from between his mother’s sopping-wet legs.

I fuck Dawn’s son for what agonisingly feels like not very long, but I am aware that the woman now wants me to do something else.

“That’s enough!” She announces, pulling her son up onto his knees and dragging me closer. “I want you both to cum on mummy’s titties!”

David and I kneel there as Dawn lies back further. She is rubbing herself furiously, barely able to suppress her passionate screams. I mean, what would the neighbours say?!

I cum first, with my jet of semen hitting both breasts. Then David’s cum joins mine, and they both mix together into a sticky cocktail across and down the woman’s torso. She rubs mine and her son’s donations into her skin until it dries, then she reaches orgasm herself. The towel beneath her soaks up her squirts.

“Now that’s my kind of suncream!” She says, giggling as she licks her fingers.

Her son joins in with her mirth, then eventually I do too. There is not much you cannot say to a person after you have been writhing around naked with them. And then cum on their tits. It is also a very effective way of getting rid of a lingering hangover, so it seems.

I do not recall the quality of the Chinese takeaway that eventually turns up, as the incidental events of those two days tend to dominate my memory.

As I check out of the hotel the next morning, I am served by the promiscuous hotel manager. As she tots-up my bill, a friendly member of staff asks for the manager’s professional advice regarding a petty customer complaint. The manager shoes the lowly clerk away and returns to my expenditure.

“You must feel like a mother hen.” I say, referring to her sleazy rendezvous with the man in the room next to mine.

After double-checking my room number, her eyes snap up in horror and frown darkly at me.

“Don’t worry.” I say, taking the pen from her fingers, crossing out my ample room total, and replacing it with a series of zeroes. “Your secret is safe with me.”

My old school friend eventually manages to win back his fiancée, although I do not attend their second pass at a wedding. I never return to the seaside town at the centre of this tale either. Nor do I ever cross paths with Dawn and David again. Perhaps all these outcomes are for the best.

As I head back to the train station after checking out, I dump my temporary attire in a random street bin and think about my own future. I no longer feel so in fear of it. I suppose I will just figure things out, as is often the way in this odd little life of ours.

I purchase a coffee at the station and sip it calmly. The train arrives on time. It departs on time. It arrives at my return destination on time.

The ceiling fan continues to spin.

THE END