Autofellators at the Pride Parade

[Eddie]

Here' a little created story created in Google AI Studio which seems to work nicely in handling eroticism, although it is reluctant to get very explicit. To get what I wanted, a good number of prompts and tweaks were necessary, and the result is as you can see. Hope you enjoy these stories!

Pride Parade Contingent of Autofellators

The air at the Pride parade was a thick, joyful tapestry of sound and color—thumping bass from a distant sound system, the roar of cheering crowds, and the shimmering heat rising from the sun-drenched asphalt. Into this vibrant chaos rolled a new kind of procession, one that commanded attention with a unique and unapologetic energy: the contingent of autofellators.

They walked with a rhythmic, confident swagger. A diverse group of semi-nude men and transfemmes, their bodies gleaming with sweat and glitter, moved as one. Semi-hard erections flopped gently with their steps, not as a display of aggression, but as a simple, unashamed fact of their ecstatic presence. They were a living, breathing celebration of the act of autofellatio.

Hand-painted signs bobbed above their heads, each a playful or profound declaration. “Self-Love Starts With Autofellatio,” read one. Another, held by a beaming transfemme with intricate tattoos, simply said, “Why Outsource? Autofellate!” The message was clear: this was about self-sufficiency, pleasure, and a deep, physical form of self-knowledge.

The centerpiece of their contingent was a truly beautiful float, a moving altar to their chosen passion. It was meticulously decorated with large, cast resin depictions of autofellators frozen in moments of blissful self-connection. Each sculpture was a work of art, capturing different poses—some impossibly flexible and acrobatic, others serene and contemplative. Illuminated from within, the figures glowed with a warm, amber light, giving them an almost devotional quality. They were icons of a very personal, very physical form of worship. The artists behind this float had clearly poured immense love into their craft, celebrating the aesthetics of autofellating.

Flanking the float were large, flowing banners that declared the virtues of autofellatio in bold, elegant script: “INDEPENDENCE. FLEXIBILITY. UNAPOLOGETIC PLEASURE.” The seriousness of the commitment was palpable. This wasn't just a joke; it was a philosophy. To the dedicated autofellators in this contingent, the ability to autofellate was the ultimate expression of bodily autonomy.

Riding high atop the glowing float were the organizers, their faces alight with pride and mischief. They were the high priests and priestesses (transfemmes) of this temple of self-love. With joyous abandon, they reached into decorated bins and tossed handfuls of small, glossy pins into the cheering, laughing, and sometimes bewildered crowd. Spectators scrambled to catch the small tokens, turning them over in their palms to read the simple, painted words: "I Love Autofellatio".

The entire display was a masterful blend of tones. It was profoundly serious in its message of radical self-acceptance. It was hilariously fun in its sheer, over-the-top execution. And it was undeniably, powerfully erotic, a candid celebration of bodies and their capacity for pleasure. As the contingent of autofellators continued down the parade route, their glowing float and the rhythmic march of their autofellating advocates left a lasting, unforgettable impression of serious, fun, and erotic pride.

The Night Following the Parade

As the sun dipped below the Golden Gate, painting the San Francisco Bay in hues of orange and violet, a different kind of glow emanated from a sprawling private estate in the Sausalito hills. The day had been historic. The contingent of autofellators, once a niche spectacle, had been officially welcomed into the greater community, their unique identity now enshrined in the newly expanded "LGBTQIAf+" pantheon. Tonight was their coronation.

The air on the estate was thick with euphoria and the sweet, herbal scent of premium THC gummies, which were offered freely in crystal bowls at the entrance. The victory was intoxicating, and the mood was one of uninhibited celebration. Inside, the walls were a gallery dedicated to the art of autofellatio. There were breathtaking photographs capturing the elegance and athleticism of the act, hyper-realistic oil paintings that looked like Renaissance masterpieces, and even the glowing cast resin sculptures from the parade float, now arranged like sacred relics in a modern museum.

The heart of the party pulsed on a makeshift stage where a number of gifted autofellators gave performances. This was not mere exhibitionism; it was high art. One performer, a dancer with the lithe grace of a contortionist, moved through a fluid, interpretive routine that culminated in a moment of sublime, poised autofellatio, holding the pose to thunderous applause. The crowd watched with a mixture of reverence and shared pride. They were witnessing the elevation of their passion, a validation of the beauty and discipline required to autofellate with such artistry.

The celebration spilled out onto the grand flagstone terrace, where the view of San Francisco’s glittering skyline served as a breathtaking backdrop. Here, the atmosphere was even more charged. Fueled by the joy of acceptance, the potent gummies, and the palpable erotic energy of the gathering, some attendees were simply overcome. Dotted across the terrace, individuals and small groups were openly and blissfully autofellating, their bodies silhouetted against the city lights. It was a beautiful, shameless expression of the evening's triumph—a collective, physical sigh of relief and ecstasy.

At the peak of the evening, one of the organizers from the float stood on the terrace steps, calling for silence. A hush fell over the crowd of autofellators.

"Today, we marched. Today, we were seen. Today, we were accepted," the beautiful transfemme began, her voice ringing with emotion. "But this is not an ending. It is a beginning. We have a unique culture, a shared philosophy of self-love and self-sufficiency. We must protect it, nurture it, and build a home for it."

She paused, letting the weight of her words settle. "Tonight, we found a society for all of us who practice and celebrate the profound act of autofellatio. We are a circle, complete in ourselves. We are… The Perfect Circle."

A roar of approval erupted from the crowd. As it subsided, assistants moved through the attendees, distributing small velvet pouches. Inside each was a stunning, solid silver Ouroboros pin—the serpent consuming its own tail in an infinite, perfect loop. It was the ultimate emblem for their society, a timeless symbol for autofellators.

"Wear this so the world knows who you are," the organizer declared. "So that we may know each other."

Guests turned the cool, heavy pins over in their hands. On the back, a fine inscription sealed their new fellowship: "The Perfect Circle - I love being an autofellator."

The party continued long into the night, but something had shifted. They were no longer just a collection of individuals; they were a brotherhood, a sisterhood, a siblinghood. They were the founding members of The Perfect Circle, a society born from a shared love for autofellatio, now united by a silver symbol and a future as bright and limitless as the city lights across the water. The act of autofellating was no longer just a private pleasure; it was the cornerstone of a proud and powerful new identity.