Biker Riders (Jerry Wilson)

The excitement and tension within him had started to build up the moment he'd set foot onboard the ship, eager for the holiday to start. It had grown steadily more intense after they had finally cast off and he had seen the jetty and the mainland slowly disappearing behind them. It was nothing more than the ferry over to Douglas, Isle of Man, yet Colin had felt his excitement building. The Isle of Man Tourist Trophy Race - the world famous TT - had turned into something of an annual event for serious bikers and hardened racers alike, and it was one of the last true Road Races left which was still celebrated as an event, rather than just some money making franchise package put together by any one of half a dozen promoters.

Even during the crossing he'd thought he'd seen several celebrity riders, though sometimes, without their crash helmets and leathers, it was hard to recognise them as they half slept, half sprawled in the main lounge.

The holiday was something he treated himself to, once a year, and although the racing, the bikes, the smells, sights and sounds made his pulse quicken, there was always the added excitement of the bikers themselves. Not just the riders, but those who also followed the sport like he did.

He had first been told about The Wayfarer and its clientèle years ago, by an old bike mechanic.

'There's a regular watering hole, about half way round, which tends to be used by gentlemen who prefer the company of other gentlemen.'

Tony had always been like that; old school. Never saying it directly. Under the sheet Colin had run his palm down Tony's chest, then lower, slowly curling his fingers around Tony's hard shaft.

'You mean bikers who like to ride bikers?'

thought possible.

 

*****

Initiation Rites (Mike Fennick)

It had taken Aiden almost eight months hard work to get an invitation to join The Dark Light Club.

Ever since he'd picked up a biker in a bar out in Eastern Europe, and heard him drunkenly talk about the ultra-exclusive gay hardcore leather club, he'd been asking around in various bars and clubs, but with no success. He'd almost given up on it actually existing when, late one evening, he'd received a call from a contact telling him the club was opening a new chapter in town. Was Aiden still interested?

Of course he was. Any club which was that selective about recruiting members seriously into the scene had to be worth at least looking into.

But it was almost another eight weeks before a representative had made contact. The voice on the mobile phone had sounded well educated, but spoke English with a slightly Slavic accent.

'Mr. Colby, I understand you have shown an interest in joining our exclusive club.'

'Exclusive's not the word for it. Bloody impossible would be more like it!'

'The services we offer, Mr. Colby, are not what you would call generally available. You have, I'm glad to say, passed our background check-'

Aiden had cut him off short. 'What background check? Look, I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name.'

'That's because I didn't give it, Mr. Colby. Make yourself available at eleven-thirty this evening,' the voice had then dictated an address in the warehouse district, 'for a drink and to discuss potential membership details.'

'Listen, I-'

But the connection had already been broken, and no matter how many times he'd tried, the number always came back as being unavailable.

Even more intrigued, he'd arrived at the warehouse promptly, rang the bell on the metal side-door and waited.

Eventually he heard footsteps and the young man who finally opened the door to greet him had caught Aiden by surprise.

He was a tall straw blonde, and even in the dimness his athletic, muscular build, stood out. Speaking with a German accent and a natural air of authority he told Aiden to follow him, and as they climbed the metal stairs to the first floor Aiden found he couldn't keep his eyes from watching the blonde man's perfectly lean arse.

*****

Boston Whiteout (Harry Forsythe)

One of the more curious jobs which Philip Johnson had worked, was that of flight attendant for a well-known UK airline. It hadn't been his first job, nor was it down to some kind of career change, but when things got tough, then the tough took whatever they could in order to make a living wage. Or as near as they could get to one, given that Philip's taste in the occasional designer label now and again had often left him more than a little short of finances come the end of the month.

'There's just too much month left at the end of the money,' was an expression he had grown used to.

After they had accepted his application, the interview had been surprisingly straightforward. The training had also been interesting, though sometimes repetitive, and although he wasn't sure there was going to be that much in the way of promotion, at least the airline was expanding and opening up new routes. That had meant the chance to indulge in one of his other passions: travel.

Sometimes, though, there was the occasional downside.

Some travellers - Philip felt sure it was mostly those who often wangled and fiddled an upgrade to Business Class - were abusive and usually seemed to feel they were the only passengers on the flights who needed one-to-one attention. Others, on the other hand, were as good as gold - provided everything went according to the flight plan, that is.

Then there was the majority who were happy to wait their turn, made reasonable requests rather than demands, and were generally a pleasure to steward for.

Nonetheless, the pay was good and even though Philip had finally gotten to work the International routes, he was thankful he didn't have to work too many irregular or weird hours. Working the long-haul also had another advantage, which was that he often got to know a group of regular, long distance travellers.

Thought he might not have been prepared to admit to it outright, Philip had also found himself attracted to one of his regular 'frequent fliers' from his very first flight.

Now, a lot of people seem to automatically assume that male air stewards are naturally gay. That's certainly not the case. However, it has to be said that Philip was one of the airline stewards who actually helped to prove the rule.