lgbtq
Explore and support LGBTQ issues, rights, events, and movements.
Mr. Thorne’s office.. Content Warning.
October 3rd The rain in Vancouver has a particular smell. It’s not just wet asphalt and damp earth. It’s the scent of cedar needles steaming on hot pavement after a sudden downpour, a clean, sharp perfume that gets into your lungs and makes you feel alive. I was breathing it in, standing under the awning of the Humanities building, watching the water sheet down in a grey curtain, separating me from the rest of the world. My backpack was heavy with books I hadn’t read, and my mind was a thousand miles away, or maybe just one floor up, in a corner office with a flickering fluorescent light.
By Chahat Kaur3 months ago in Filthy
She booked for a massage but he & his friend wanted so much more. Content Warning.
The rain started just as I pulled up to the address. Not a gentle, romantic drizzle, but a hard, angry downpour that hammered against the roof of my old Volvo. The wipers slapped back and forth, frantic, doing little to clear the view of the iron gate and the sleek, modern monstrosity of a house behind it.
By Chahat Kaur4 months ago in Filthy
Sinful Legacy. Content Warning.
My apartment is too quiet tonight. The kind of hush where every sound is thrown into sharp relief - the tap I never fixed still drips with a stubbornness I somehow admire, the elevator far down the hall sighs like something disappointed, and every empty space echoes with the ghost of his voice.
By Chahat Kaur4 months ago in Filthy
My Girlfriend Was Alone. Content Warning.
The leather of the journal is cool and smooth under my palms. It’s late. The kind of late where the world outside my window has gone quiet, save for the occasional sigh of a car on wet pavement. This lamp casts a warm, guilty pool of light, and my pen feels like the only thing tethering me to this planet. I have to write this down. If I don’t, I think the memory might burn a hole through me. It’s not just a story; it’s an echo in my bones, a hum under my skin. Last night. God, last night.
By Chahat Kaur4 months ago in Filthy
The Resort
Rob was standing at the bar enjoying his drink and people watching everyone at the club. He watched his wife making out with Chase and could assume from the faces Andi was making that he had penetrated her in some way, whether it was his fingers or cock, Rob wasn’t 100% sure. But either way, he loved watching Andi get ravished like that.
By Jo. Schmidt4 months ago in Filthy
The Third-Floor Window. Content Warning.
That, and the ghost of his smell on my pillow. It's a mix of cheap laundry detergent, the crisp bite of autumn air, and something else, something uniquely him. Skin. Just… warm skin. I can't stop pressing my face into the cotton, trying to drown in it.
By Chahat Kaur4 months ago in Filthy
Christmas Eve with Santa's 'Naughty List'. Content Warning.
You ever feel the whole house inhale right before the clock tips toward midnight on Christmas Eve? Candles flare a little higher, snow hushes its own fall, and suddenly everything's listening. That's where it started for me. I was curled up by the tree, nursing a mug of mulled wine - cheeks pink from the fire, fingers sticky with cinnamon - when the grandfather clock knelled eleven and change. No carols, no half-wrapped gifts, just me and a note tied with scandalously red ribbon:
By Chahat Kaur4 months ago in Filthy
Two Sisters. Content Warning.
July 14th. 3 AM. The city is quiet finally, just the hum of my old fridge and the distant sigh of a bus brakes a few blocks over. I can't sleep. My skin feels too tight, my mind replaying a film reel I swore I'd destroyed. It's been five years. But some memories are tattooed on the inside of your eyelids, you know? You close your eyes, and there they are. Vivid. Unforgiven. Unforgotten.
By Chahat Kaur4 months ago in Filthy
