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I’m writing an erotic short-ish story and would love some feedback on chapter one. TW: features pg-13 violence (non-sexual), and descriptions of violent imagery including blood. I’m new to writing and would appreciate constructive feedback. I’m worried that some of the passages are too long.
Thanks <3
LAST NIGHT AT LA CIE’S
Friday nights always meant drinks at La Cie’s with the gang. The gang being Pete, his boyfriend Matt, and Pete’s childhood friend, Barry. Sometimes they had a special guest star in the form of whatever dick Barry was fucking at present, but tonight Pete’s grand plan of setting up Barry with their mutual friend’s coworker, Mario, was finally coming to fruition. Pete had been laying the groundwork for weeks, lavishing Mario with tales of Barry’s extravagant lifestyle (“he owns a condo in Hoboken!”) and his comings and goings (he just came back from a safari in Africa!”) all mostly true, though he might’ve left out a thoroughly and entirely accurate description of Barry. Worst case they get drunk and hookup, Pete thought, at least Barry would be able to add doctor to the list of job descriptions he’s been fucked by.
Matt and Pete were the first to arrive, securing their usual tables at the back right of the bar. Pete sidled up to the bar and got their usual order, a gin gimlet for Matt, and a cosmopolitan for himself. When he got to the table, Pete took his coat off and slung it over the back of the wooden chair nearest him while Matt pushed the two tables together with his upper thighs, making several sharp, grating sounds while doing so.
“You can’t just pick them up, right” Pete said, “you have to scrape them along the floor?”
Matt shrugged and began exaggeratingly pounding the tables with his thighs as if he was fucking the table like an overeager porn star. Pete’s aggravation evaporated, and his scowl was replaced with a smile.
“I’m sorry” Pete said, “it’s just been shitty at work and my nerves are fried.”
“It’s okay,” Matt said, sitting down across from him on the opposite side of the table, “work sucks and then you die, at least table fucking is forever.”
Pete smiled even wider, “if no one else was here I’d throw you on that table and ride you so hard the table legs would be driven into the floor.”
Matt sipped at his gimlet and grinned devilishly, “I dare you.”
Pete bit his lip, but before things could escalate and he was double dog dared into publicly fornicating his boyfriend in front of the other La Cie’s patrons, their friend Barry made his way to their table and tossed a leather briefcase on the table between them. Pete immediately scooped it up and admired it.
“Ooh, Barry with the Brunello attaché!” Pete exclaimed, “how much did this cost, Barry?” he asked, only slightly mocking him.
“$2,550 on Poshmark,” Barry said, sitting down, “but the clasp’s all scratched up. I think I’m gonna return it.”
“Poor Barry,” Matt piped up, “too good for the cheap shit, too cheap for full price.”
“I’m sorry I’m a Goldilocks, Matt,” Barry said, he elongated the “att” in Matt to a comically exaggerated degree. “But everything has to be just right, and sadly Mr. Cucinelli isn’t.” He took the bag back from Pete and gingerly placed it on the ground next to him. Pete smiled slightly because he knew that bag would never be returned and would probably end up being accidentally donated to a Goodwill or Salvation Army and that Barry would tell the story of how he donated a nearly $3,000 Brunello Cucinelli bag to a homophobic organization on accident for the rest of his life. If he listened carefully, Pete could almost hear Barry’s “myyyy “Coooochinelli” bag? In a Goodwill?!” and giggled to himself.
A waitress appeared with a white wine spritzer and placed it in front of Barry. “Where’s Mario?” Barry asked to no one in particular. Pete picked up his phone and said, “I just texted him, but he hasn’t replied.” Barry looked dejected.
“Don’t worry, Barry,” Matt said, “I’m sure he’s just finishing up at the hospital. He’ll be here soon.” and offered a not entirely authentic smile.
He better be, Pete thought, Mario and Barry felt like a long shot, but on paper they were nearly perfect.
Barry wasn’t unattractive, he was just a little frumpy and had fully accepted that he was never going to be a twink, so he refused to deny himself any of life’s pleasures. He also lived in New Jersey and did the commute five days a week, which would be a cardinal sin for city dating, but he was here enough hours that dating a NYC native wasn’t completely out of the picture.
Pete decided early on that one day Barry was the type of guy who would melt his boyfriend’s homophobic parent’s hearts and make them reconsider their biases, but until then he contented himself with fucking around with the usual bar gays and spending far too much money on secondhand designer bags.
Not that Barry hurting for money, he was an established civil engineer working city contracts and made enough money to casually drop two grand on accessories and trips to Africa on a whim. Pete often wondered just how much money he made and had even wondered about the two of them romantically, but as the old saying goes, two bottoms don’t make a top.
Mario, on the other hand, was all but an Adonis. Tall and handsome, Mario had an easy smile for everyone along with the cocksure confidence that made every gay guy rock hard. If you spent any time pursuing his Instagram, as Pete often did, you’d be mesmerized by his six-pack abs and all-around hot boy vibe. Mario was hot shit, Pete mused, and he knew it. It was all together intoxicating and infuriating, but underneath the cocky bravado, it seemed there was somehow a gentleness too, a legitimate caring heart which was why he spent so much time volunteering at the city’s only charity hospital. Mario was the total package, and Pete had spent an inordinate amount of time wondering why Mario wasn’t ringed up already.
The bar had filled in a bit with the usual Friday night regulars and the volume had risen accordingly. Matt got up to get himself another gimlet and pointed at Pete’s half drunken cosmo. Pete nodded yes and Matt slipped past him, close enough that his crotch rubbed against Pete’s shoulder. Pete blushed at the PDA and Barry noticed his reaction.
“So you and Matt are still going good?” Barry asked. Pete smiled despite himself and said, “yeah, we’re good. It’s almost eleven months.” Eleven months was a benchmark in Pete’s dating history—most of his relationships had petered out after only a few months, but Matt was different. Not to say that things were perfect, Pete sometimes thought that they brought out the worst in each other, but the sex was amazing and their recent decision to move in together hadn’t broken the relationship apart or really changed their dynamic at all.
“Eleven months is big time, girl” Barry continued, “you know a year in and you’re in proposal territory,” he laughed.
Pete laughed too, but he wasn’t sure why. In his mind, Pete thought Matt was good enough to stay with, though if someone like Mario decided to show any interest in him, he wasn’t sure what he would do. While he was confident that he wasn’t biding his time waiting for something better, he wasn’t entirely convinced that Matt was the endgame.
“You letting him hit raw yet?” Barry blurted out, leaning in close over the table conspiratorially, desperate for details.
“Barry!” Pete exclaimed, clutching at a nonexistent pearl necklace, “a lady never hits raw and tells!” They both laughed.
Pete still insisted on using condoms and Matt was good enough to not complain, but he could tell that Matt was beginning to get frustrated at the prospect of always wrapping up. Pete wasn’t entirely sure why he wanted to use them, they were both on Prep and eleven months was a lifetime in gay dating years, but still Pete wanted them, and so that was that.
“Well, you know, a guy like Matt could be dumping loads all across the city,” Barry continued, “maybe it’s time you put your little brown ring on his favorite appendage.”
Pete winced and Barry exclaimed, “I’m just saying!” Pete rolled his eyes, but in the back of his mind, he knew Barry was probably right. Fucking raw was almost as expected as a blowjob on the first date, and he wondered if Matt’s unspoken frustrations would lead him to want to hookup with other men who didn’t share such reservations.
Matt returned from the bar, “they ran out of cranberry juice,” he said, placing a pale green colored drink in front of Pete, “so I got you a Kamikaze.”
“What a man,” Barry exclaimed and raised his glass in a mock toast. Pete picked up the glass and sipped it, “what a man”, Pete echoed, smiling.
“Whoops—looks like plan-B is here” Barry said, and motioned his head towards the door. Pete turned around and saw Roland walking in. Roland was a tall, beautiful black man that had probably slept with every single man in the bar by that point, maybe with the exception of Matt. Barry shot his hand up and waved at Roland, a wide grin plastered on his face. Roland nonchalantly nodded his head at him in reply. “Baby’s getting his bottle after all, ladies,” Barry said getting up and grabbing his drink. “I’ll be back” he said in a singsong voice.
Matt took a sip of his gimlet and said, “I thought Barry wanted Mario?”
“Barry wants dick, Matt” Pete replied matter-of-factly, “doesn’t really matter who it’s attached to.” Matt shrugged and took another sip of his gimlet.
They sat in silence, and after a few minutes of scoping out the scene, Pete stood up and said, “I’m gonna go to the bathroom…,” he motioned with his head towards the left side of the room, absentmindedly biting his lip, “…see you in a few minutes.”
Part 2 posted below
Thanks <3
LAST NIGHT AT LA CIE’S
Friday nights always meant drinks at La Cie’s with the gang. The gang being Pete, his boyfriend Matt, and Pete’s childhood friend, Barry. Sometimes they had a special guest star in the form of whatever dick Barry was fucking at present, but tonight Pete’s grand plan of setting up Barry with their mutual friend’s coworker, Mario, was finally coming to fruition. Pete had been laying the groundwork for weeks, lavishing Mario with tales of Barry’s extravagant lifestyle (“he owns a condo in Hoboken!”) and his comings and goings (he just came back from a safari in Africa!”) all mostly true, though he might’ve left out a thoroughly and entirely accurate description of Barry. Worst case they get drunk and hookup, Pete thought, at least Barry would be able to add doctor to the list of job descriptions he’s been fucked by.
Matt and Pete were the first to arrive, securing their usual tables at the back right of the bar. Pete sidled up to the bar and got their usual order, a gin gimlet for Matt, and a cosmopolitan for himself. When he got to the table, Pete took his coat off and slung it over the back of the wooden chair nearest him while Matt pushed the two tables together with his upper thighs, making several sharp, grating sounds while doing so.
“You can’t just pick them up, right” Pete said, “you have to scrape them along the floor?”
Matt shrugged and began exaggeratingly pounding the tables with his thighs as if he was fucking the table like an overeager porn star. Pete’s aggravation evaporated, and his scowl was replaced with a smile.
“I’m sorry” Pete said, “it’s just been shitty at work and my nerves are fried.”
“It’s okay,” Matt said, sitting down across from him on the opposite side of the table, “work sucks and then you die, at least table fucking is forever.”
Pete smiled even wider, “if no one else was here I’d throw you on that table and ride you so hard the table legs would be driven into the floor.”
Matt sipped at his gimlet and grinned devilishly, “I dare you.”
Pete bit his lip, but before things could escalate and he was double dog dared into publicly fornicating his boyfriend in front of the other La Cie’s patrons, their friend Barry made his way to their table and tossed a leather briefcase on the table between them. Pete immediately scooped it up and admired it.
“Ooh, Barry with the Brunello attaché!” Pete exclaimed, “how much did this cost, Barry?” he asked, only slightly mocking him.
“$2,550 on Poshmark,” Barry said, sitting down, “but the clasp’s all scratched up. I think I’m gonna return it.”
“Poor Barry,” Matt piped up, “too good for the cheap shit, too cheap for full price.”
“I’m sorry I’m a Goldilocks, Matt,” Barry said, he elongated the “att” in Matt to a comically exaggerated degree. “But everything has to be just right, and sadly Mr. Cucinelli isn’t.” He took the bag back from Pete and gingerly placed it on the ground next to him. Pete smiled slightly because he knew that bag would never be returned and would probably end up being accidentally donated to a Goodwill or Salvation Army and that Barry would tell the story of how he donated a nearly $3,000 Brunello Cucinelli bag to a homophobic organization on accident for the rest of his life. If he listened carefully, Pete could almost hear Barry’s “myyyy “Coooochinelli” bag? In a Goodwill?!” and giggled to himself.
A waitress appeared with a white wine spritzer and placed it in front of Barry. “Where’s Mario?” Barry asked to no one in particular. Pete picked up his phone and said, “I just texted him, but he hasn’t replied.” Barry looked dejected.
“Don’t worry, Barry,” Matt said, “I’m sure he’s just finishing up at the hospital. He’ll be here soon.” and offered a not entirely authentic smile.
He better be, Pete thought, Mario and Barry felt like a long shot, but on paper they were nearly perfect.
Barry wasn’t unattractive, he was just a little frumpy and had fully accepted that he was never going to be a twink, so he refused to deny himself any of life’s pleasures. He also lived in New Jersey and did the commute five days a week, which would be a cardinal sin for city dating, but he was here enough hours that dating a NYC native wasn’t completely out of the picture.
Pete decided early on that one day Barry was the type of guy who would melt his boyfriend’s homophobic parent’s hearts and make them reconsider their biases, but until then he contented himself with fucking around with the usual bar gays and spending far too much money on secondhand designer bags.
Not that Barry hurting for money, he was an established civil engineer working city contracts and made enough money to casually drop two grand on accessories and trips to Africa on a whim. Pete often wondered just how much money he made and had even wondered about the two of them romantically, but as the old saying goes, two bottoms don’t make a top.
Mario, on the other hand, was all but an Adonis. Tall and handsome, Mario had an easy smile for everyone along with the cocksure confidence that made every gay guy rock hard. If you spent any time pursuing his Instagram, as Pete often did, you’d be mesmerized by his six-pack abs and all-around hot boy vibe. Mario was hot shit, Pete mused, and he knew it. It was all together intoxicating and infuriating, but underneath the cocky bravado, it seemed there was somehow a gentleness too, a legitimate caring heart which was why he spent so much time volunteering at the city’s only charity hospital. Mario was the total package, and Pete had spent an inordinate amount of time wondering why Mario wasn’t ringed up already.
The bar had filled in a bit with the usual Friday night regulars and the volume had risen accordingly. Matt got up to get himself another gimlet and pointed at Pete’s half drunken cosmo. Pete nodded yes and Matt slipped past him, close enough that his crotch rubbed against Pete’s shoulder. Pete blushed at the PDA and Barry noticed his reaction.
“So you and Matt are still going good?” Barry asked. Pete smiled despite himself and said, “yeah, we’re good. It’s almost eleven months.” Eleven months was a benchmark in Pete’s dating history—most of his relationships had petered out after only a few months, but Matt was different. Not to say that things were perfect, Pete sometimes thought that they brought out the worst in each other, but the sex was amazing and their recent decision to move in together hadn’t broken the relationship apart or really changed their dynamic at all.
“Eleven months is big time, girl” Barry continued, “you know a year in and you’re in proposal territory,” he laughed.
Pete laughed too, but he wasn’t sure why. In his mind, Pete thought Matt was good enough to stay with, though if someone like Mario decided to show any interest in him, he wasn’t sure what he would do. While he was confident that he wasn’t biding his time waiting for something better, he wasn’t entirely convinced that Matt was the endgame.
“You letting him hit raw yet?” Barry blurted out, leaning in close over the table conspiratorially, desperate for details.
“Barry!” Pete exclaimed, clutching at a nonexistent pearl necklace, “a lady never hits raw and tells!” They both laughed.
Pete still insisted on using condoms and Matt was good enough to not complain, but he could tell that Matt was beginning to get frustrated at the prospect of always wrapping up. Pete wasn’t entirely sure why he wanted to use them, they were both on Prep and eleven months was a lifetime in gay dating years, but still Pete wanted them, and so that was that.
“Well, you know, a guy like Matt could be dumping loads all across the city,” Barry continued, “maybe it’s time you put your little brown ring on his favorite appendage.”
Pete winced and Barry exclaimed, “I’m just saying!” Pete rolled his eyes, but in the back of his mind, he knew Barry was probably right. Fucking raw was almost as expected as a blowjob on the first date, and he wondered if Matt’s unspoken frustrations would lead him to want to hookup with other men who didn’t share such reservations.
Matt returned from the bar, “they ran out of cranberry juice,” he said, placing a pale green colored drink in front of Pete, “so I got you a Kamikaze.”
“What a man,” Barry exclaimed and raised his glass in a mock toast. Pete picked up the glass and sipped it, “what a man”, Pete echoed, smiling.
“Whoops—looks like plan-B is here” Barry said, and motioned his head towards the door. Pete turned around and saw Roland walking in. Roland was a tall, beautiful black man that had probably slept with every single man in the bar by that point, maybe with the exception of Matt. Barry shot his hand up and waved at Roland, a wide grin plastered on his face. Roland nonchalantly nodded his head at him in reply. “Baby’s getting his bottle after all, ladies,” Barry said getting up and grabbing his drink. “I’ll be back” he said in a singsong voice.
Matt took a sip of his gimlet and said, “I thought Barry wanted Mario?”
“Barry wants dick, Matt” Pete replied matter-of-factly, “doesn’t really matter who it’s attached to.” Matt shrugged and took another sip of his gimlet.
They sat in silence, and after a few minutes of scoping out the scene, Pete stood up and said, “I’m gonna go to the bathroom…,” he motioned with his head towards the left side of the room, absentmindedly biting his lip, “…see you in a few minutes.”
Part 2 posted below