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Middle Man for Madame Blavatski

Barry Lowe

Classic Erotica

Group / Orgy / Menage

Would you trust romance advice from the Occult?

When a middle-aged gay man hangs out his shingle announcing ‘Tarot Readings for the Gay Gentry’ to make a little extra money on the side, the questions are all about sex and relationships. No surprise there. What does delight him, however, is the enthusiasm of a young man who wants to be made into a human kebab. Will the tarot reader and his lover be tempted by the juicy prospect or will they leave the young man’s fantasy unfulfilled?

eBook Cover Price: 0.99

Length: 3140 words

Gay, Group / Orgy / Menage

Heat rating: 3


Steven was like a kid with two new toys. “I want to be fucked both ends at once like a human kebab.”

For two guys in their early forties, this was an invitation from the gods, especially as the guy issuing the invitation was a twink with the sex appeal of the hottest Hollywood hunk only ten times more available. And all because of the occult.

There's a lot of bullshit talked about the occult. How do I know? Simple really. Whenever the coffers run a little low and I need money to pay the utility bills or for some little luxury the long-term bf covets, I stick out the shingle that reads “Tarot Readings to the Gay Gentry” and wait for the loot to roll in. Don’t run away with the idea that I'm not legit. Over the years, I discovered a certain affinity for reading the cards and most of my clients go away happy or, in a few cases, relieved.

The first time I advertised in the gay press I was inundated with requests – for readings – the questions most men wanted answering concerned sex. Or the variations thereupon, such as relationships, wealth, or the body beautiful. No one ever, not once, asked about world peace or the cure for cancer.

Whether it was about the boyfriend, one-night stands or the likelihood of bedding that hunky barman, it all boiled down to that little piece of flesh dangling between their legs or that little puckered hole wedged snugly between their butt cheeks. And in a small percentage of the cases, that little piece of flesh got hard, or that little puckered hole got the itch, and I found myself servicing the bits in question.

Not long ago the spiritual urge took over once again, the DVD player went on the fritz, so out came the Aleister Crowley tarot cards, and out went the flyers and advertisements. Unbeknown to me, the occult was about to put a little spice back into my fifteen-year relationship with Warwick, my significant other. Don’t be a smart ass, of course I couldn’t see it coming, I can read people, I can’t foretell the future.

Let’s face it, if you have to consult me about a relationship or your chances with a certain gym dandy, you have a snowball’s chance in hell because what you should be doing is getting out there and doing it, not sitting back passively consulting bits of coloured cardboard. Can anyone say the word ‘loser’?

Steven sounded like all the other typical clients when he rang for an appointment although far too young to be suffering the relationship battle fatigue of middle-aged gay men. Most asked simple questions such as ‘How much?’ ‘How long?’ or ‘Can I tape it?’ Steven asked more penetrating questions such as ‘How old are you? Do you have a partner? Do you live with him? How long have you been together?’

I was about to fob him off with the ‘none of your business’ response I have when people get too personal but he sounded so sexy I curbed my tongue and answered him truthfully, thinking the worst he could do is waste my time. To my surprise, he made a booking even when I told him the truth that we were probably the same age as his parents. I was even more surprised when he turned up, somewhat early, for his appointment.

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