Writing in the Margins
Content warning: This story contains elements of explicit sexuality.
For our first event after relaunching, Writing in the Margins hosted a special Smutty Story Circle on September 23 to celebrate Bisexual Visibility Day.
One of the features we'll be offering on the website is a selection of writing from our writing workshops, shared generously by our participants. A few of the writers at the special Bisexual Visibility Day event expressed an interest in sharing their work and I'm looking forward to putting those stories up on the site! The first story to be shared is one of my own.
The prompt for this story was “choose a stereotype about bisexuality and write a scene where that stereotype is a positive element.” The story was written during the 15 minute writing session, and I've only done minor editing. Other writers may choose to polish, extend or significantly change their stories before submitting them to post on the site.
“Bisexuals Fuck Everything” by Tiffany Sostar
Bisexuals fuck everything that moves.
That's the idea, right?
So it's bi visibility day and I'm going to fuck anything that moves.
I'm wearing tall black boots, a tight red corset, a short ruffled skirt. My cock twitches against the crinoline. There are many things moving in this club.
I approach a tall person with bright purple hair, introduce myself, ask what pronouns she, I now know, prefers.
“I'm bisexual,” I say. “It's bisexual visibility day. I was wondering if you'd be interested in my increased visibility?” I play with the hem of my skirt and grin at her lasciviously.
She declines, and I thank her for the chat.
Promiscuous, not predatory.
An adorable femme person in black latex from neck to wrist to just the very bottom of their lovely bottom taps my shoulder.
“I'm Dylan,” they say. “I'm a voyeur, and I'd like to see more visible bisexuality.”
They give me a grin that puts my own to shame. I can feel myself blushing. I nod. My cock presses against my skirt. They grin again.
“I propose,” they say, “that you sit on that chair, lift your pretty skirt, play with whatever you've got under it, and not break eye contact with me on pain of, well, me walking away.”
I gulp.
I've never met them before and they're pushing almost all of my buttons. My stomach flips in delicious discomfort. I lick my lips. I sit.
I slide my skirt up my thighs and then pause – “can I blink?”
They laugh, delighted.
“Yes! But no cheating and closing your eyes.”
I slide my skirt all the way up, past my hips, exposing my aching, erect cock.
I suppose I do count as something that moves, and I will happily admit that fucking myself is one of my favourite pastimes. I wrap one hand around my cock, hold eye contact with Dylan's dark green gaze, and begin.
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