Isle of Dogs

Disclaimer:

This story is intended for adults interested in homosexual erotica. If that is not something that you wish to read then go no further.

All characters and situations are fictional though hopefully plausible and grounded in reality.

The work published here is all my own with all rights reserved.

The author is based in the UK so the diction reflects this but my stories involve characters of different ethnicities and many are set in locations outside the UK.

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Hope you enjoy

Barney

THE ISLE OF DOGS?

Summary

After hearing about Playa Del Ingles reputation for being a sun-drenched gay paradise, Ian Hamilton opts to take a winter holiday in the Canary Islands.

Travelling alone, after the beak up of a relationship, he opts to book with a gay tour operator, thinking he will soon make friends with his fellow tourists.

But introverted Ian doesn't make friends easily and when his travelling companions all seem to be in tight-knit couples or groups and no one he fancies takes much interest in him, he turns to the locals to satisfy his craving for sexual domination and his lust for hirsute Latino and Arabic guys.

A few years later, a more sexually accomplished Ian hears the resort now has a leather scene, so decides to visit Gran Canaria again.

This time, he mixes more with his British compatriots, but after finding it hard to pin down a guy he fancies, who is into the sort of sex he enjoys, he fears he may have to settle for watching the drunken antics of others.

Until, on the last night of his stay, he summons up the courage to make a move on a strikingly handsome guy who has caught his eye in the disco.

When his affection is reciprocated, Ian proceeds to introduce his companion to the delights of public humiliation and bondage, only for things not to work out quite as he had planned...

PART FOUR - ROMANCE

1. Drunken Fumblings

Our story resumes three years later, when, in between relationships yet again, a more sexually experienced, but no more outgoing, Ian decides to pay Playa Del Ingles a second visit.

Short of cash, this time round he opts to use a cheaper tour operator and save himself the inconvenience and expense of taxi fares to the gay scene by choosing less plush holiday accommodation located nearer the centre of town.

He had left the booking late, so was apologetically offered "mixed" accommodation nearby the Campo de Golf by his gay travel agent. But far from being disappointed by this, he was overjoyed at the prospect of having an "older style chalet bungalow" all to himself within a stone's throw of the Yumbo Centre with no other gay guys close by to gossip about what he got up to.

Free to explore the gay scene without having to be sociable with anybody, he planned to play the role of the mysterious, handsome, stranger, relaxing and enjoying the sunshine and cheap booze whilst cruising the gay beach by day and the gay bars by night - with the objective of fucking at least one new man every day!

After the many and varied sexual adventures he'd had on his first visit, his expectations had been sky-high. But he'd forgotten how the Black and Indian guys he especially fancied were in short supply on the gay scene in the Canary Islands and the Latino ones hard to bed.

He'd also blanked out how his fellow gay holidaymakers tended to hang out in groups, cling to the security of their friends or lovers with the tenacity of limpets and have an aversion to sex beyond vanilla. He'd soon remembered when he'd eyed-up a couple of moustachioed dark-haired guys that took his fancy standing in line for the coach to Playa outside the airport, as they had not only looked the other way but ensured they got seats well away from him.

He'd proceeded to make things worse for himself when he'd first hit the gay scene, by spending endless hours fruitlessly stalking similar nervous young beauties, whilst at the same time rejecting out of hand the advances of half dozen or more passable White guys who'd cruised him. The effect of which was to encourage others to steer well clear of him for fear of rejection.

So, after propping up the gay bars and tapping his heels in the discos for hours, he'd found himself ending his nights out with brief drunken fumblings in the club's dark room with god knew who, after which he would stagger completely inebriated the short distance home alone!

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • As the week progressed, it began to dawn on Ian that it had been pure chance that he had stumbled into so many hot encounters on his first visit to Playa del Ingles.

Increasingly depressed, his daily routine began to morph into something far less healthy than his usual holiday itinerary of fresh air, exercise, good food and relaxation to one almost exclusively focused on sex.

He'd wake at midday feeling fragile, nursing yet another hangover. After swallowing a dose of painkillers, eating breakfast and taking a shower, he'd get himself together enough to venture down to the gay beach, protecting his throbbing head from the sun's glare with a pair of dark glasses.

As he ambled along the promenade, he'd take in a deep breath of the sea air and cough up the tar from the second-hand cigarette smoke he'd inhaled the night before. He'd then follow the herd of tourists paddling in the breakers at the edge of the seashore until they thinned out and he reached, the by now very familiar, gay stretch of the nude beach, above which a, now rather tatty, rainbow flag still flew.

Once there, he would throw modesty to the wind, peel off all his clothes, coat himself in sun cream from head to foot and lay his weary carcass out to roast. When no one gave him so much as a second look, he would settle down resignedly to read his novel and after barely two minutes would be sound asleep.

Sometimes he was woken by a tug on his arm, but sadly it was never some handsome admirer in search of a sexual partner to fuck, but an attendant demanding payment for the sunbed he'd splayed himself out on.

After checking the time and discovering he'd been sunning himself for long enough, he'd head to the shore for a quick dip in the sea to cool off.

Feeling refreshed afterwards, he'd pull on a vest and shorts, pack his bag and head off into the dunes in search of adventure.

Every visit he would check out the spot where he had been fucked rotten three years earlier only to find it bereft of any guys he fancied. There was no pink plaque to commemorate the occasion, but, perhaps more aptly, a few used condoms trodden into the sand.

Sadly, the dunes seemed to be predominantly populated by middle-aged White guys, all deeply tanned and many completely naked. Rather than lower himself by joining in their furtive meanderings from one clump of scrubby bushes to the next in search of hidden sexual treasure, Ian would return to cruise the beach once more instead.

But he found no sexy young Frenchmen smoking their Gauloise by the litter bin waiting around to be relieved of their clothes, only the usual poseurs showing off their tans and bugling muscles, who blanked him out completely.

So, after reading another chapter or two of his book, this time from beneath the shelter of a sunshade, he'd go for a second swim in the sea before literally throwing in the towel and trudging disappointedly back to his bungalow.

One afternoon on his return journey, he'd gone out of his way to check-out the shopping centre where he'd met Ali, but all the handsome Arabic guys seemed to have called it a day by the time he had arrived.

After doing a bit of grocery shopping, he'd return to his empty chalet to microwave himself a ready- meal, followed by an after-dinner nap before getting ready to hit the gay scene once again. This boiled down to a tour of the bars in the nearby Yumbo Centre followed by a visit to the late-night disco located there.

When he had struck-out at all the nearby venues, he'd occasionally also checked out the Nilo Centre. But there'd been no sign of Enrique at "The Bronx" or any of Amadu patrolling its corridors either. Sadly, their successors were completely immune to his charms and plainly mystified by his unsolicited interest in them.

Although he'd exchanged messages with Tim for a few months following their encounter, the Asian lad had never taken him up on his invitation to visit him in London and both of them had quickly moved on to find new love interests closer to home. Ian had toyed with the idea of contacting him in advance of his booking to persuade him to join him, but had talked himself out of it, doubting he'd be available at such short-notice even if he was interested.

So, by Thursday night, with over half of his stay over, Ian was not only still feeling incredibly horny but also desperately lonely! What he now hankered for, above all, was a holiday romance, one that would provide him with something more satisfying than brief sexual encounters in a club darkroom and also with some much-needed company.

On one of his visits to Divas he had noted that the bar was planning to host a leather party that night, and as he had packed his leather gear and boots, despite their additional weight, decided this would be his opportunity to give them an airing. Maybe his wearing black leather might improve his chances of landing a guy who was on the same page as him sex-wise?

Uncertain when the party was scheduled to begin, by eleven, he was itching to get his leathered ass off to Divas, despite knowing full well that everything kicked off incredibly late on the gay scene in Playa. Keen not to miss out on any of the action, he told himself he could always check out the other bars in the Yumbo Centre if the place was empty.

After donning his leathers, he checked himself out in the hall mirror and decided the combination of his smartly cropped hair, newly acquired tan and gym-toned muscles made him look pretty special. Surely the tight-fitting black leather pants, shiny boots and the skimpy waistcoat that revealed his chest, must give him an edge as far as gay desirability was concerned!

But before he set off, when his leather waistcoat rubbed up against his nipples and made them instantly become erect, he began to have second thoughts. Deciding he was uncomfortable walking the streets alone dressed so provocatively, after a moment's deliberation, he opted to exchange the leather vest for a tight-fitting white T-shirt instead - a decision he regretted almost immediately he stepped outside.

Although the sun had set hours earlier, the marble-clad pavements were still radiating heat and there was precious little wind. So, by the time he had clambered up the tiers of concrete steps of the Yumbo Centre entrance yet again, his forehead was covered in a glaze of perspiration and damp patches of sweat had begun to appear beneath both of his armpits.

As he made his way self-consciously through the groups of late-night revellers wandering the shopping centre corridors wearing his leathers, he broke into a nervous sweat when heads turned around to examine him. But despite his fears, although clearly fascinated by the way he was dressed, no one approached him or made a single hostile comment.

To be continued...

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