Two gentlemen head downtown for a bit of entertainment. Each has their own predilections, but luckily one knows of a lovely establishment that can facilitate both of their desires.

Edward was taking me on another one of his damned adventures. I swear, if he weren’t like a brother to me, I’d be done with him. He shouted from the drawing room for me to hurry and dress, but I couldn’t get the damn bow tie right. …

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It was 10:15 am and from the corner of my eye, I saw Sophie check her phone again. Same little smile, same red in her cheeks, as her face was illuminated by the faint blue glow for the fifth time that morning.

“I’ll be right back, Lily,” she said without looking at me, scampering off to the bathroom.

She had been at it all week. The buzz of her phone became as familiar as the coffee machine gurgling or the birds chirping.

So my partner had a crush, but on who?

We had been working together for a little over…

The bar was beautiful, dimly lit, with dark wood-paneled walls, black lacquered tables, low music, and the hushed buzz of conversation.

The bartender nodded at me as I walked the length of the bar. His muscles rippled as he shook a chrome mixer of ice and some delicious cocktail.

I passed couples sitting close, whispering and smiling, a few kissing over their drinks. I passed it all though, going to the back of the place, through French doors to a silent hallway, downstairs to a metal door with a slit that slid open sharply as I approached.

Serious brown eyes…

Sometimes Dee liked to fuck men she didn’t find attractive. If she was at a party and there was that one guy who talked a little too loud or made jokes that were a little too rude or perhaps just wore an ugly suit, she couldn’t think of anything but sucking their cocks.

She couldn’t always make it happen though. She didn’t always know how to let them know they could have her. She didn’t know how to word it and men got too flummoxed by her pretty face to get the point. That was one of the reasons the…

Mona checked her phone for the seventh time.

Unlike the orderly numbered streets and avenues of midtown Manhattan, the wilds of Downtown Brooklyn quickly descended into a chaos of randomly named roads and dead ends, with the bookstore she sought nowhere in sight.

Only her smartphone’s GPS gave her any hope of finding her destination and with the lack of reception and inaccurate mapping of that area, she had gotten turned around and lost numerous times.

Plus it was cold. Far too cold and windy for the short skirt she was wearing, even if it was a thick wool. She…

We bought her on Bond Street. There was a little shop, above a haberdashery, with a large plate glass window with gold foil lettering on it, where they have a book full of people who want to be sold.

The counter person was quite dashing in their three-piece suit. They had the dazzling androgyny of a young Bowie or Tilda Swinton.

They explained that there had been talk of doing away with the book, which was a thick leather-bound affair with photographs and typed up bios taped into the pages perfectly, like some rather obscene scrapbook.

“The owner says an…

The invitation came one autumn morning. A crisp white card etched with rich black ink.

“You Are Invited To: Un-Still Life.”

“For your curiosity and consideration, we invite you to examine a girl on display. Cocktail attire. OoD members only. No guests. Clean hands and the ability to follow instructions. Arrive with this invitation.”

Knowing the curator I was sure it would be an interesting exhibit. Thus a month later I filed into the downtown gallery with two dozen others, most of whom were acquaintances.

The room was square, with freshly painted white walls. Like so many other gallery opens…

It was often surprising, in such a huge city, that my morning subway ride was constantly full of familiar faces. I saw the same people every day, the cast of the mostly silent SitCom that was my morning commute.

There really wasn’t anything special about her. Well, other than her curiosity. There was something unique about her smile and the way she looked around the subway car. No phone in her hand, no book, just examining each person around her.

That day she wore a gauzy white blouse with a wine-colored cardigan over it. The few buttons that were open…

Shelby pressed “send,” then closed her eyes and prayed.

She looked in the mirror again. The big mirror on the wall across from her bed was one of her few real luxuries, wide and tall and taking up most of the wall of her small bedroom.

She liked sitting in the middle of the bed naked, legs tucked under her ass, hands on her thighs, knees spread, looking at her reflection. She liked the way her lips pouted, the swell of her breasts, and the contrast of her black tattoos against her tan skin. As much as she liked modeling…

Jack Stratton

Writer, New Yorker, foodie, hedonist, kinky, poly, dandy, switch. Find free stories and a list of my books at

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