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Glitter me Smitten – by Madison Lawson

Gay Flash Fiction

The first thing you notice is glitter. Glitter everywhere. Yes, that sounds cliché and annoying, but it’s actually fun. It encompasses the entire celebration.

It’s light and bright. It flies through the air, traveling from body to body. It shines with every turn and glints in the sun. It does not hide and will not be hidden.

That’s the whole point of Pride, right? To not hide? To be seen? To shine?

So you go to the parade and you gladly accept the fistful of glitter that is thrown in your general direction. Smiling, you hold your hands out, giving the glitter more body area to cover as it floats down from the sky.

You make the mistake of smiling while looking up, though, and soon you’re doubled over, coughing up glitter.

Even pride pain is fabulous.

You spit out on the empty sidewalk before straightening up, glancing around for…

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Beyond Fresno – by Chuck Teixeira

Gay Flash Fiction

(c) 2016 Chuck Teixeira

This story was supposed to encourage – if not you — an older friend of yours.  Maybe much older.  Too old to be in a love story.  But not too old for a story about coming to terms with the absence of love.  Legal terms as in a binding accord or agreement.  Your friend, let’s call him Stosh, recently retired from the Agricultural Welfare Commission, is one party to such an agreement; the universe – that universe! — is the other party.  Under the agreement, Stosh accepts dying without ever fulfilling his prayer for love.  In exchange, the universe enables Stosh to persist in that prayer until the final moment without regret or shame.  The agreement provides explicitly that one date can be both an acceptable prayer and a sufficient answer. The agreement also provides that Stosh must stop doubting and complaining — since these destroy the…

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Little Boy Blue – by Alex Hogan

Gay Flash Fiction

(c) Alex Hogan, 2006

“Where is that boy?  He should be mucking out the stables.  He’s probably asleep behind the hay, like little boy blue.  Beth, go find him and send him here.”

What?  How could mother ask me to do that?  The boy was one of our farm boys, and he could well be asleep by now, since he arrived here every morning at dawn.

‘The boy’ was Jack.  He had been working here for three years.  When he first started I did not take much notice of him – he was just a boy.  But now, I thought he looked very nice.   Trouble was, I had spent two years ignoring him, while he and my brother played stupid boy games, throwing cats down wells and such things. So now he took no notice of me.

I left mother by the clothes tub in the laundry and went out…

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Jennifer – by Michael Ampersant

Gay Flash Fiction

(c) Michael Ampersant, 2016

jeffreys-picture-450 by Jennifer

The town house was located in an off-center residential street of Amsterdam inside its own red-light bubble: Blue Boys said the neon-sign on the façade. Jeffrey was one of the boys, although he’d come into the picture only after I’d failed to talk up a hot guy who sat behind the improvised bar on the second floor and assured me he’s a customer himself.

The sex with Jeffrey on the third floor was so-so, so we had time to talk. He’d just enrolled with the Blue Boys because he had no place to stay, and no money, and a bright future, provided he could stay with me, that is, at my place, which wasn’t far.

Jeffrey spent one more working night at the brothel and then we had sex one more time, although I failed to penetrate. He pushed me away, wrapping himself in…

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Hallo! – By Ste McCabe

Gay Flash Fiction

(c) 2016, Ste McCabe

The second that Alex’s underpants drop down to his ankles, the rigidness of his everyday life is discarded along with the cheap cotton he kicks away. A pale, naked Buddha, he sits on a beach towel with his ankles tucked and genitals exposed. This is the same beach where he’d burned his fussy skin into hard red plastic just twelve days earlier, yet there is no way he can resist stripping off in the powerful heat again.

Egg on legs, Alex thinks as he glances at his protruding football belly, but he’s not ashamed of it like he is when he’s back in Liverpool. Nearly forty now, fella, he reasons, slightly detached, as if he were discussing an ageing celebrity in a magazine.

Alex’s ‘real’ life is poisoned with self-consciousness. Passive in almost every situation, he utters ‘sorry’ with an absurd regularity. If strangers spill…

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She’s a Romneyac – by Chuck Teixeira

Gay Flash Fiction

(c) 2015, Chuck Teixeira

Romneyac’s Website was so crude it could lead to outlawing porn.  It allowed viewers to rate videos that studios upload.  Five leaden stars turned gold when the cursor grazed  them.  Clicking on only one star produced little alchemy.  Clicking on all five meant hands could soon be too sticky to touch the display.

Since their election defeat, Romneyac and his wife, Ann, had spent several afternoons healing on television talk shows.  Healing replaced job creation as a family value.  Not sure how much healing still needed to occur, Brother Theresa suggested that Website could elicit comments on less kinetic concerns.  Let the viewers provide redeeming social  value.

“Less kinetic?” Romneyac said.  “Websiteis motion — a continuous crashing through the boundaries between decency and feeling good.”

Despite the rash along his thighs, Brother Theresa resisted the urge to stir on his cushion. While he resisted…

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