Lucy was beautiful, but Latif was stunning. In his grey Chinos and patterned shirt, he looked like he was about to go to an art gallery and mingle with posh people.
Finley grinned and followed his friend into the depths of the London Alternative Market. They navigated the stands, passing cock cages, floggers, and a variety of contraptions. Finley made a mental note to set aside some funds and return to splurge more than he could this time. Latif seemed to know everyone, and introduced Finley to vendors selling hand-made colourful dildos, paddles, and some stuff he’d had to research to figure out what they were for. The banter between the sellers created a friendly atmosphere, and by the time they reached the stands with clothing, Finley had met more people and listened to more stories than at a party.
“So are you more of a leather or latex man?” Latif asked, tapping his chin as he perused the vast selection.
“Leather, definitely. It smells so nice.” And the snugness on his thighs and ass felt like someone holding him tight. The boost of confidence the ogling patrons at the club gave him was a bonus.
“Mmhm. You’re kink leaning already and don’t even know it.”
“After what I’ve seen so far at the club, I’m not going to argue with you.”
Latif’s laugh was rich in a movie-villain way as he reached for a hanger. “Okay, what about these?” He waved a garment on a hanger in front of his face.
“Assless chaps?” Finley imagined the draft. “No. I don’t think I’m ready for those.” He’d found them hot on other men at the club, but he wasn’t ready to hang his big ass out for an entire evening.
“Oh, come on. You’re no fun!” Latif groaned, clacking the hangers as he browsed. “These boyshorts, then.”
“I don’t know.” Finley squinted at the skimpy piece of rubber.
“Your thighs would look great in these.” Latif waggled his bushy black eyebrows. “With a tank top to match and those tattoos of yours, you’d turn the heads of all the men—” He bit his lip. “Anyone really. Whoever you fancy.”
“Gimme that.” Finley snatched the shorts and held onto them, turning toward see-through shirts. He couldn’t focus on the garments, his mind stuck on Latif’s words. “How did you know?”
“About what?” Latif gave him a look of false innocence.
“That I’m not gay. I mean, I—” Finley looked away, his stomach flipping more intensely than during the job interview. He’d been so young when he’d married Maggie, then after the divorce he’d explored his sexuality in secret—with random people he’d met at clubs or pubs on the odd night he’d left the island.
“You don’t owe me an explanation. Nor anyone else.” Latif stopped browsing and met Finley’s gaze. “I mean it.”
“Thanks. But I think I’m done hiding and pushing aside who I am. I’m attracted to people, if that makes sense?” Air left Finley’s lungs and he found it hard to take more in. He wiped his hands on his jeans and backed into a corner with fabrics and craft materials. No one around paid attention to him but Latif, who approached slowly as if Finley was a spooked animal ready to bolt.
“It does,” Latif said and opened his arms. “You can be yourself with me. And at the club.”
Finley took a gulp of air and stepped into the offered hug. “I wanted a fresh start,” he said in a series of quick breaths. “Thanks for helping me realise it will take much more than a new job.”
“Are you looking to forget your old life?” Latif’s low voice was so caring, Finley returned the embrace.
“No, just the opposite. But the good memories are now painful, and my previous house and workplace were full of them.” He’d been losing his mind cooped up at the distillery, haunted by the ghost of a life he’d never get back.
Latif patted Finley’s back then held him at arm’s length. “Let’s start with some fabulous threads then, hm?”
Three days later, Finley wore his new garments to work under jeans and a shirt, which he stripped off in the changing rooms. Admittedly, the latex shorts hugged him well and were insanely comfortable. However, they were so tight he’d have to stay behind the bar if he got hard again watching people at the club.
Joining Lucy behind the bar, he took in the elaborate black ensemble she was wearing. She was mid-explaining that the frill on her puffy dress was a ‘fairy goth-mother’ look when a ruckus started by the entrance.
Instinctively, Finley rushed towards the arguing voices, but Lucy stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “You’re not a bouncer and it’s not even your security day. Sit this one out.”
Finley nodded, but moved closer in case he could be of any help.
A guy dressed in full Nazi uniform, complete with a hat and an SS band on his arm, was kicking up a fuss, claiming his clothes were of historical significance. Face red from anger, he was shouting obscenities towards the bouncers, who refused to let him in.
“Don’t worry, Finley. We get plenty of those.” Lucy sighed, shaking her head. “We are a place of tolerance, so bigots and Nazis can go fuck themselves. ‘Scuse my French.”
True enough, three security guys escorted the angry bloke out with little to no gentleness.
“Okay, the circus is over.” Lucy snapped her fingers, and the gawkers turned towards the bar.
“I’ve been a good girl!” a petite lady said quickly, then looked around with wide eyes.
