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AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story and all characters are copyright © 2011 - 2012 K.M. Hirosaki.

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A lot of people have this misconception that dance clubs are these places where really slutty folks (like me) go to have sex. As in, like, we have the sex there in the club, instead of dragging people back to our apartments or finding some run-down motel to go and do the deed.

The fact of the matter is, if you really want to fuck, you need a bedroom. Or at least a couch. I mean, that's just simple logistics.

That being said, sometimes, a quick, nasty fuck in public is just what the doctor ordered.

So okay, let me set the stage here. There's this one club called The Surge (gee, can you tell it's a gay club?) that I go to kind of a lot. Both because it's a pretty decent dance club and because there are lots of slutty people like me who hang out there. Also because of simple logistics, but I'll get to that in a bit.

A couple weeks back I was there, in one of those moods where I wasn't sure if I was feeling toppy or bottomy but I knew I needed to get laid because hell, I get stressed out and horny like everybody else and sometimes I have complicated needs. Also I was a little hazy because I'd pre-gamed things at Sparkles, this one gay bar I go to, along with my tiger buddy Xiao.

Not that I'd had too much to drink. Whiskey dick is not your friend when you're hoping for a one-night stand, and it sure as hell isn't your friend when you're trying to pull off sex in public. No, I was just in that happy, out-there state of mind where I'd lost track of both time and Xiao. Neither of which were particularly problematic.

Xiao's a nice guy, which for a tiger is pretty rare (I mean, in my experience; not a lot of tigers seem to like me very much). And yeah, I mean, we've fooled around a few times here and there, and admittedly he was kind of my fallback plan for tonight in case the random dance floor hookup didn't work out, but hey, if he found someone else to traipse off with, good for him. I've never been one to be anybody's ball and chain.

That's the basic setup, then: I'm out dancing, I'm free to do my own thing, and I'm a little tipsy. Really, this is the perfect recipe for my favorite kind of trouble. Recipes, though, have rules that need to be followed. You can have the right ingredients, but if you don't cook them right, you don't wind up with anything tasty.

So gather round, folks, and let your ringtail buddy Reylin give you a quick, practical guide to quick, practical public sex. You know, in the play-by-play demonstration sort of way. Because people have an easier time following something if they have an example.

It's worth pointing out that, for myself personally, I don't set out specifically to get it on in public when I go out in the hopes of getting laid. That being said, I do take some steps to make it a more feasible possibility, just in case the opportunity arises. After all, a big part of sex in public is that you wind up having it because the opportunity is there and not because it was part of some big master plan that you both had (which isn't to say that you can't do that, of course, but that's its own thing).

The first and most obvious pre-planning step is to have have condoms and lube. Condoms aren't an issue, and if you're going out with the idea of hooking up, then you should have those with you anyway (unless you're sticking with just paws and muzzles, which is totally fine and sometimes actually preferable in these situations). Lube is trickier, but still doable. You're probably not going to be able to stick an entire bottle of it in your pocket--not without disastrous results--but you've got options in the form of really tiny bottles they offer (we're talking like the size of a bottle of nail polish, which can easily fit into a pocket) or the little "pillow" packets you can either get as free samples or for real cheap at sex shops. And yeah, some guys are really leaky and sometimes you can work things in with spit, but really, time is of the essence here, so try to have lube on-hand if you can.

That's how I was flying at The Surge tonight: two condoms in the back pocket of my jeans, and a teensy bottle of lube in the front, with my keys. I kind of like to have a "just in case" condom on me at all times, anyway, but I don't necessarily recommend that if you're not all that good at getting laid. That being said, if you're gay and available and at The Surge and you can't find someone to hook up with, you're either not trying hard enough or you've just got shit for luck.

Which isn't to say that you always strike gold on your first try. The first guy to catch my eye this night--as I was scanning the crowd for Xiao--was a kinda short but very confident-looking dingo. I've been on record several times as being a sucker for canines, so yeah, the combination of "dog" and "confidence" reeled me in real fucking quick. So I worked my way through the crowd, trying to keep my step in time with the beat, and taking extra care with my big, long, banded tail as it trailed after me (getting that thing caught or stepped on is no fun, believe me).

Me and this dingo--he was topless, I should add, which helped contribute to his air of self-assuredness--danced for a bit. Nothing too close or grindy, but certainly flirty. Didn't get any words exchanged, but we let our tails and our wandering gazes do the talking. Sometimes it's hard to get a good conversation in by screaming over dance music, anyway.

After a few minutes, though, I lost him. I'm not sure how. Sometimes that happens, though: with so many people moving around on a dance floor, its inevitable that someone might wind up slipping between you and somebody else, and the ebb and flow of a dancing crowd can be a tricky thing to predict. And okay, this dingo fella was also short, and so am I, so getting lost is even easier, in cases like that.

I thought maybe he'd slipped away from the dance floor to grab a drink at the bar, and I'd either missed his signal or not recognized it. He could have also been bored and uninterested, but given the way he'd been eyeing me, I doubted that. So my first thought was, well, I should go and try to track him down, because he was clearly looking for a piece and here I was, ready and willing.

And that's when I got stopped--physically--by this fox. Red fox, not super tall, but taller than me by about half a foot, at least. Athletic build, not topless like the dingo but sporting a tight t-shirt that took imagination out of the equation all the same.

I knew at once that this wasn't an accidental bumping-into, either. He'd deliberately come at me from the side and stepped right in front of me so that I'd walk into him and then look up, and sure enough, he was ready and waiting with his gaze to lock on mine as soon as I did so. Big, bright, cunning fox-eyes (I couldn't tell what color with the changing dance floor lights), bold black streaks on the sides of his muzzle, and a toothy smirk directed down at me.

As opening moves go, it was a pretty fucking good one. I made a quick mental apology to my dingo boy, then started to say hi to my new fox boy, but instead I just let out a yip as he grabbed hold of my wrist and pulled me in nice and close.

Now this--this was the up-close, grindy sort of dancing. I mumbled my hellos then, and I'm not sure if the fox heard them and I'm not sure that he cared. After I nuzzled at his chest, he grabbed my hips and flipped me around, and then we were dancing with his front pressed against my back.

This is one of those points where you need to examine your clues to see if you're being hit on for a drag-home or a then-and-there sort of deal. Just because some guy is pressing his hard cock against your ass on the dance floor doesn't mean he wants or needs to stick it in you immediately, and actually, in most cases, it probably doesn't. In this case, though, given the speed, forcefulness, and sheer purposefulness with which this fox had approached and outright claimed me told me that I wouldn't be amiss trying to sneak a quickie in.

At this point, you have two jobs: communicating to your partner that you want to get frisky there in the club, and picking a place to do it.

You could just lean in and whisper into the other guy's ear and ask, but that's kind of trashy and doesn't demonstrate a lot of skill or finesse, in my opinion, and even when it comes to getting off with strangers, I like to have finesse. That being said, if you're new at this, maybe asking outright wouldn't hurt. Worst-case scenario is that the other person accuses you of being a pervert, which you totally are at that point.

To show my, ah, receptiveness to his advances, I started to press back even harder against the fox. The bass was going at a nice, slow, thumping clip, which gave me a good rhythm to push backwards, wriggle in a slow circle, dip down and then rise back up. He responded by taking firm hold of my hips and staying pressed close with me, and then he took one of my ears in his muzzle.

My knees buckled. He'd gone after my left ear, the one that only has two piercings in it instead of six and is therefore much more nibbleable. That long vulpine muzzle gnawed, those sharp teeth held in check behind his lips. If I hadn't already been good and hard, this would have fixed that, because fuck.

Actually, this is a good barometer for the situation: if you're this hard just playing around on the dance floor, then you are officially not too drunk to fuck. Congratulations!

But, yeah, I needed it pretty bad now, and I'd solved the dilemma of whether I wanted to be on top or on bottom--well, I suppose the fox solved it for me. Now I needed to figure out where I wanted to do it.

This is where knowing your location is key, because you have different options depending on where you are. You need to know what places are available, and also what you can get away with, along with what the consequences will be if you don't get away with it. There's a big difference between quickly jerking someone off in a dark corner both and dropping to your knees and blowing someone on the middle of the dance floor.

Again, this is why you need to know where you are. Even at a meat market like The Surge, you're not going to be able to pull off a shameless dance floor blowjob. Not without the establishment "politely" asking you to get the fuck out (and possibly stipulating that you not come back). Depending on what city you're in, you might be looking at the club calling the cops instead, and since I can't be sure how serious they'd take the charge and where they'd take it from there, my advice in any situation is to just not put someone's dick in your mouth where everyone can see you. I mean, come on.

I don't own a car, but I've certainly been dragged out of clubs and into someone else's car almost more times than I can count. Depending on where the car's parked, that can mean more privacy, but it also means more restricted movement. If you're just going to jerk someone off and/or vice-versa, it won't be an issue, but even if you're a short fella like me, you're going to be cramped pretty quick if you attempt anything more complicated than that. Which shouldn't stop you; just be aware of it.

This fox, if he had a car, didn't seem intent on bringing me out to it. At least, when he grabbed me by my wrist and started to drag me off of the dance floor, he wasn't heading toward the exit. I knew where he wasn't taking me, and so now the fun was trying to figure out where he was taking me.

One of the most obvious (and perhaps even time-honored) places to have sex in public is in the bathroom. I'd almost go so far as to call certain bathrooms the proverbial beginner slope of public sex, except for the fact that some bathrooms can actually be a bit tricky. Granted, that usually means they aren't well-suited to the task, but if nothing else, having any sort of barrier that prevents staff from outright seeing for sure what your doing still gives you plausible deniability. Sure, they'll still yell at you and tell you to take it someplace else--and probably still throw you out--but you're not as likely to wind up in real hot water. Probably.

The fox was taking me in the general direction of the bathrooms. I hadn't seen this guy around before (if I had, I'd certainly know his name and proclivities by now), so it was possible he didn't know that the bathrooms in this place were particularly ill-suited to the task of fucking. For one, they only had one stall, which was barely wide enough for a single person to fit inside. Aside from that, there was just a trough set against the wall, basically this giant metal urinal that was way too big for one person but not quite big enough for two. Maybe the Surge people don't trust drunken dancers to stand in one place and piss?

But yeah, so I wasn't thrilled at the idea of a hot encounter with a handsome fox being ruined by a trip to a crummy bathroom. Not to the point where I was going to stop him, because I'd rather get laid someplace gross and crowded than not at all, at least on a night like this one. I was, however, on the lookout for anyplace better, because I probably could have at least taken the reins long enough to redirect foxy to where I wanted him to go. Hometown advantage or something.

I did try to tug myself in a different direction, but the fox tugged harder, and that was that. And okay, that kind of turned me on. Maybe more than kind of.

But, to my surprise, he passed the door to the bathroom and kept going, leaving me to look around in confusion as I was led around by the paw. I had to snap my tail back and forth faster now in order to keep it from getting stomped on, but years of practice made that easy enough with some concentration. Still, it was because of that added bit of distraction that it took me a few extra seconds to realize where this fox was taking me.

There was this one hallway the led back to a room where live musicians bring their equipment on the occasion they play at The Surge, and I guess where some of the DJs who bring way more stuff than they need leave some of their things, too. I'm sure the club uses it for other things, but all I know is that it's not like the main office or anything.

I wasn't sure if the door would be locked or unlocked. I didn't get to find out, though, because as soon as we'd rounded the corner, the fox spun me around, shoved my front against the wall, and started to undo my pants.

This is another place where planning ahead can come into play. A lot of times, I come to dance clubs like this one wearing really tight, form-fitting leather pants that have all sorts of arcane, complicated fasteners that are hard to undo even when fully sober and in a wide-open, well-lit area. They're great for showing off my ass, but not as great for letting someone have it right there, because even if you can manage to get them undone, you still have to peel them off, at least partway, and that takes effort, too.

There are a few places where you can get away with wearing chaps that leave your ass hanging out, and I've been nailed a few times while done up like that (though not as often as you might think, and certainly not as often as I'd like). Again, though, whether or not you can get away with that is highly dependent on the establishment and city.

As mentioned, though, tonight I was just wearing jeans, and most self-respecting gay guys know how to get into those in a hurry just fine. This fox was no exception, his nimble fingers undoing the button at the back of my pants first, then sliding around to undo the button at the front of my pants before catching my zipper. Before he could start to pull them down, I reached into my side pocket to pull out the tiny bottle of lube. He saw that, took it from me, and let out a little chuckle. "Condoms in back," I muttered.

He grabbed one of those, too, and stuck it between his teeth to hold it as he shoved my jeans and underpants down to around mid-thigh (another tip: wear underpants that you don't thread your tail through, or just go commando if you can bear it). Somewhere through the haze of music and sound I could hear him unzip his own pants, and then I heard the foil wrapper of the condom being torn open.

Now, when I said this was a hallway, I should clarify that it was a very small hallway. Maybe ten feet long at the most? And this fox had pressed me against the wall literally right next to the corner leading back to the dance floor. Where I was, I could still hear the thumping of the music and the buzz of the crowd, could feel the bass vibrating through the wall, and could see the flash of the rapidly changing and swirling lights.

There probably wouldn't be a lot of foot traffic this way. Probably. It was the "probably" that was foremost on my mind.

That dropped to second-foremost when I felt the slicked-up, condom-wrapped tip of the fox's cock press underneath the base of my tail.

If you're the kind of person who needs a lot of prep work to get ready for sex, this sort of thing is not for you. Speed and efficiency are of the essence, and so if you can't handle a guy just lubing up and slipping into you, find some other way to get your rocks off. I can't imagine a bigger mood killer than someone whining that their impromptu, too-passionate-to-wait sex wasn't gentle enough.

Me, I'm the kind of cacomistle who can handle it a little bit rough. This fox was big enough that I had to grit my teeth to keep from yelping as he pushed into me, but not so big that it was going to hurt for much longer. Certainly nowhere near as big as I've taken. Let's call it "respectable."

The height different between him and me meant that he needed to reach down with his paws, grab hold of my hips, and keep me lifted up while pressed against the wall. I reached up with my arms and kept my own paws pressed flat against the wall, and his weight against my back kept me propped upright without any difficulty. As I expected, after the first several thrusts, he was in nice and deep, and the lube was doing its job.

I did my best to keep from making too much noise, but sense of propriety or not, there's only so much a guy can do when he's getting his prostate hammered. The music was loud enough that I doubted anyone would hear unless they were already pretty close to the entry to the hallway, and even then, it was a small chance that they'd be anyone who'd care about two guys fucking in a gay club.

With the way I was pressed against the wall, there wasn't any chance of my being able to reach down and stroke myself off. The fox didn't seem like he was going to be taking care of that for me, either, but honestly, that didn't bother me. I can appreciate getting fucked silly even if I don't get off right away, and even I have to admit that jizzing all over an exposed wall in a public place is kind of tacky.

As the fox behind me started to thrust harder and more urgently, my ability to stay quiet diminished rapidly. His thickness was more impressive than I'd initially given him credit for, and now, at the end of each thrust, I could feel the swelling curves of his knot, and--

Okay, another important thing that you'd think would be common sense: if you're having sex with a canid in public (or if you are a canid), good lord, do not try to tie. Unless you're already in a bathroom stall and don't mind laying low for a little while or something like that, you're going to want to, ah, "hide your indiscretion" as quickly as possible, and you can't exactly do that if one person is stuck to the other for a long stretch of time. Remember, like I've been saying, this is a game about quickness and efficiency.

It was looking, though, like this fox was going to tie with me whether I wanted him to or not, which surprised me because he'd seemed pretty savvy up until this point. I wanted to say something to urge him caution on the matter, but he was actually fucking me so well that I couldn't get any words together. And that made complaining seem really stupid, in the heat of the moment.

Just when I thought I was in for a surefire sojourn into embarrassment, that handsome, savvy, big-dicked fox pulled out just enough to keep his knot from locking underneath my tail. He buried his slender muzzle against the crook of my neck and started to grunt and growl nice and loud, and though I couldn't feel anything, I knew that he was flooding that condom he'd put on. I got that dizzy little rush that I tend to get whenever I know I've successfully gotten someone off, like a sort of miniature afterglow to make up for the fact that I hadn't gotten off myself.

The fox then kissed me on the shoulder and bent down, taking hold of my jeans and pulling them back up for me like some kind of gentleman. I grinned like an idiot, staying pressed against the wall and holding still as he cinched those pants back up and got everything snugly in place. He then slipped a paw into one of my back pockets, pulled it out again, and then patted me on the butt before slipping around the corner and making his way back onto the dance floor.

I didn't follow right away. Not because I was trying to hide the fact that we'd obviously just screwed in this little back hallway, but more because I wanted to catch my breath and bask in the moment. I was still pleasantly tingly and noticeably sticky from the lube, and anyone close would be able to smell fox all over me--and hell, smelling fox all over myself was keeping me hard inside my pants.

Despite it having happened less than a minute earlier, I'd nearly forgotten about the paw the fox had snuck into my back pocket. I reached into it, fished around, and pulled out a business card. It was nothing official or even printed; it was just a tiny rectangle of card stock with a name and phone number, handwritten in pen. A smile crossed my face, and I stuck the card back into my pocket. I'd input the digits into my phone later.

Then it was my turn to walk back out onto the dance floor. I didn't stop to do any dancing, though. First, I needed to hurry over to the restroom, because I had one more quick thing to take care of before figuring out what I was going to do with the rest of my night.