gay cruising

On my knees in public, surrounded by strangers, is a fantasy I never knew I had.

I thought cruising was dead, but not in Berlin. My straight friend and I stumble into a scorching hot scene in a dark park: a couple of guys with their jeans undone, pinning each other on a picnic table. I can’t take my eyes off them, and it’s clear we’re not the only ones watching.

But that’s not me. I’m not the cruising type. So why do I suddenly want to be the one bent over that table, exposed and devoured by prying eyes?

And why the hell is my straight buddy smirking like that?

On my knees in public, surrounded by strangers, is a fantasy I never knew I had.

I thought cruising was dead, but not in Berlin. My straight friend and I stumble into a scorching hot scene in a dark park: a couple of guys with their jeans undone, pinning each other on a picnic table. I can’t take my eyes off them, and it’s clear we’re not the only ones watching.

But that’s not me. I’m not the cruising type. So why do I suddenly want to be the one bent over that table, exposed and devoured by prying eyes?

And why the hell is my straight buddy smirking like that?

On my knees in public, surrounded by strangers, is a fantasy I never knew I had.

I thought cruising was dead, but not in Berlin. My straight friend and I stumble into a scorching hot scene in a dark park: a couple of guys with their jeans undone, pinning each other on a picnic table. I can’t take my eyes off them, and it’s clear we’re not the only ones watching.

But that’s not me. I’m not the cruising type. So why do I suddenly want to be the one bent over that table, exposed and devoured by prying eyes?

And why the hell is my straight buddy smirking like that?