Splash

In honor of National Coming Out Day on October 11, 2024, Theo Reads is sharing FREE romance and erotic stories featuring LGBTQ+ characters all week long!

Two men hook up with a third at a pool one night while on holiday in Miami.

LGBTQ (Gay) Erotica, Strangers, Casual Hook-up, Exhibitionist & Voyeur

Spice Level: Spicy

 ~*~

“I can't believe you did that,” Oliver said, shaking his head. 

“Look, I honestly didn't think it was going to be such a big deal, okay?” I whined back. “The bartender was cute. I thought he was flirting.” 

“Well, obviously, Jake, your gay-dar is broken.” I swear: when he said that, 

he actually harrumphed. 

“Fuck you, old man,” I replied, playfully punching his upper arm. “You could have stayed.” 

“Oh yeah, right! And leave my precious ward unsupervised? Out wandering these dangerous streets at night, all alone?” 

He pulled me closer to him, and gave me a squeeze that felt paternal as 

well as loving. Oliver kissed the top of my head before speaking. “I bet you 

would have liked that!” 

“Stop…,” I said, laughing. His tickles turned into a twirling action, and now I was facing him. His strong arms held me at the waist. 

“I see it now,” he said, looking over my head and channeling his inner Carrie Mathison. He emphasized key words with kisses all over my face. “I´m onto your plan! Yes! You´ve concocted this whole ruse to provide you with cover–to sneak away! Then, you shall rendezvous with your Cuban lover…under cover of darkness…” 

“I love it when your vocabulary combines conspiracy with academia, Ollie,” I interrupted, batting my eyelashes. “Maybe I should stay after class? You can give me a private tutoring session.” 

“Oh stop, you delicious creature!” he said, squeezing my ass again. “And that's Professor Weston to you. You know I abhor nicknames.” 

“Uh, excuse me, Oliver? Rewind. Did you just complete your graduate thesis in the last five minutes or something, while I was getting us kicked out of Splash?” 

“Shut up and kiss me,” he said, “or I'll make you take summer school.” Oliver leaned down to kiss me on the lips. His mouth tasted like beer and lime. 

“Only if you're teaching--” 

“Hush.” 

We kissed again, letting words recede for a few sweet moments while we held each other and walked down one of the darkened streets near Panama City Beach. While technically he and I were both students at the same university, Oliver was fulfilling part of his graduate degree by teaching part-time. In other words, he was teaching one of the undergraduate courses I was currently enrolled in this term, making the ethics of our little love affair more than a little squishy, as well as a frequent cause for debate and laughter. A doctoral candidate at Tisch, my boyfriend Oliver´s research thesis applied queer theory to examining New York City´s experimental dance and theater scene from the period of Stonewall to the end of the AIDS epidemic. I, on the other hand, was but a lowly sophomore, “creating my own major” at the Gallatin School, which was a generous way of saying I was still figuring things out. Basically, I signed up for any class that had the word “gay” or “queer” in its title, so I guess it wasn't completely random. Everything would all come together, eventually. Sometimes I´d joke that he was the brains and I was the brawn, except I hated going to the gym to work out. 

I thought Oliver was cute from the very first day of class, even before he finished his introductory lecture on Charles Ludlam. By the end of that first week, I had his phone number, and by the end of that first weekend, we had hooked up. Our dates in Manhattan (at his place) and in Brooklyn (at mine) required us being a little furtive. NYU owned more real estate than God, and we were both paranoid that someone from the school would see us making out on the street, call the PC Police, and put both of our academic degrees into jeopardy. But keeping things “undercover” was cool with me, at least for now. I had just come out during the summer after my Freshman year, and was still getting used to expressing my sexual identity in public. Unlike Oliver, who grew up right here in the city with open-minded hippie parents down in Tribeca, I grew up in Terre Haute, which isn't exactly known for being one of America´s Queer Capitals. My parents were never abusive or anything, and at least never judge-y around me. I love them, I really do. It's just–we don´t talk about sex or gender or anything like that, in our house; never have. And we certainly never talked about HOMOSEXUALITY. So, when I got that acceptance letter to attend NYU, moving here was about more than just going to college and getting a degree, even more than just getting out of Indiana. This was my chance to finally begin exploring being myself--all of myself. 

Reaching a corner, Oliver and I paused to kiss again, and then just lingered in an embrace. I enjoyed the security and the warmth of feeling his strong arms around me, protecting me against that sharp late night breeze that was coming in off the Gulf of Mexico. I felt so glad that we decided to come here! Keeping our affair private around campus until after the spring semester grades were submitted was a wise arrangement we agreed upon early on, but also one I was finding particularly sweet. For me, taboo just makes the sex hotter. And yet, after a couple of months of secret meet-ups at either one of our apartments, Oliver and I agreed that we wanted more than just sex behind closed doors. We wanted to experience simple freedoms like going out to dinner, taking a walk hand in hand, or kissing in public. We wanted to go somewhere where we could be ourselves, and not stress about someone from NYU seeing us. So for the spring break, we booked a few days vacation here in Florida to relax and see what was happening in the sixth borough. 

“So what do you think, babe? Wanna try another club?” I asked, pulling myself away from the bass drum beating inside his solid chest. His gaze, though, was fixed on something across the street, like an English Pointer sensing a bird. “Uh, babe?” 

With some stealth to his step, Oliver crossed the street and peered through an iron fence surrounding a two-story house. Moments later, I crouched beside him and followed his stare between the metal bars, and saw a tall handsome man on the other side, standing beside the edge of a pool. He was in the middle of taking off his clothes in an almost ritualistic fashion, patiently folding them before carefully placing them on a lawn chair, revealing a gorgeously muscular body. His movements were graceful and lithe, absent of any hurry or rush, and his increasingly naked body was in full view for Oliver and me. The light of the full moon made his smooth black skin appear almost blue, and emphasized the definition of his square shoulders, his powerful thighs, his ribbed stomach. 

Then, when the stranger at last pulled off his white cotton briefs, instead of folding them, he first twirled them around his index finger, like he was some sassy burlesque performer, before tossing them into the deep dark of the bushes nearby. The move distracted me from enjoying a longer glimpse of his long cock, which stood half erect in the cool quiet night. When he dove into the pool, the stranger cut its surface cleanly with the precision of a blade. 

Oliver immediately began climbing over the fence. 

“Ollie!” I whispered. “What the fuck are you doing?

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About the author:

Based in New York, Christian is an award-winning bisexual writer who has published over 100 stories and 15 books since April 2021. Christian challenges the notion that "all writing about sex is essentially porn" by emphasizing that "pleasure is good for you" and that by reading fiction, we nurture our erotic imagination.

Christian's stories are for readers who want more than just "p in v" erotica, who crave stimulation for the largest sex organ in the body (i.e., the 🧠), as well as for fiction that frequently centers the experience of bisexual characters. Find him on Instagram @christianpanerotica.