Raw: Uniform by Siobhan Fogarty

Today’s Raw is the rawest of them all. Let’s call it a speculative dystopian queer erotica, shall we? Because it is.

Uniform | Siobhan Fogarty

The figure slipped round a corner. Caedus noticed only because the back of meeting halls were less crowded, but no-one would think to look at the exits. No-one was ever late, and no-one left before business was completed. Caedus himself should have been concentrating on the Talkers at the front of the room, but something about the figure had caught his attention even before the stranger had left. Slender, more androgynous than the typical style of masculinity that was so prevalent – deservedly popular, he corrected himself silently. No distinguishing features as such, but some kind of presence that even the other fraternals in the hall had felt.

That was it.

That was why he’d noticed the person. He seemed to have had an unsettling effect on the people around him. People had shifted on their feet, or looked around them, faintly puzzled. No-one had looked directly at the stranger, except Caedus himself. He moved gently towards the doorway, snapping his head to look directly at the Talkers as he drifted almost imperceptibly, his hand on the holster at his side. He risked a look sideways at the other fraternals near him, but they were all concentrating devoutly on the Talkers, absorbing the latest piece of wisdom on the dangers that every man faced and the utmost fortitude required of them as men. It changed weekly, and attendance was compulsory, so everyone had a good chance to absorb and discuss between themselves, to further forge the iron bonds of brotherhood and masculinity that every man had a duty to uphold.

Masculinity was a spiritual path, articulated through the body through discipline and strength. Muscles were prized as visible evidence of effort and perseverance, but it was understood that not everyone was born with the same inbuilt capacity for bulk. That was no source of shame, it was the work that counted. Some men were born with certain inhibitors, which unfortunately left them behind their stronger brothers in many ways, but they were not scorned, merely given different paths. Caedus himself had undergone that ritual, painful and mortifying in the extreme from first to last, but leaving him stronger mentally and emotionally. His manhood had been tested to the limits and survived. The real weaklings were the ones who had succumbed, and forfeited their manhood. Biology was no guarantee of real masculinity.

As everyone around him concentrated on the stage, Caedus checked the corridor outside. The exterior door was open, which would have been a security hazard, had not everyone strong enough, every man jack in the catchment area, been inside the building. There could be no-one outside. And yet. He eased himself down the corridor, aware that the penalty he faced was harsh, harsher even perhaps than his own rite of passage. He argued with himself that he was merely performing his duty to uphold the Order, but knew it would hold little water if he were caught. His only shot was that anyone who would have the capacity to punish him was inside that room, or one like it elsewhere in the city. And now he was outside of it.

The stranger was still in the courtyard, his athletic frame leaning neatly against the wall by the alley. Caedus knew that if he made one sharp movement, the man would be gone down that passageway, no clear line of shot, and he looked fast on his feet to boot. So he sauntered. If this guy was a sissy, and it looked like he might be, he’d do best to be his most relaxed and assertive. Be confident in his manhood. The guy opposite him smirked. It was not an expression Caedus saw often, except in his bonding sessions where someone had referred slyly to the Great Danger. Everyone knew the word, but he’d never heard it said, except for those times where it flashed across his inner mind, before his formidable will could stop it. Never heard the word out loud, but he knew how it sounded as well as he knew his own name. But there will always people who twist the rules and appeal to a shared urge for mischief. That was part of his job, he reminded himself angrily. This… he could be no more than a youth, surely? This youth was defying mandated convention, set in place for all of their betterment including his own.

“Are you coming, or what?” The stranger’s voice broke into his thoughts. “It’s only another couple of hours before they come out.” They. As if he and this youth were not part of Them. He followed anyway, and as he drew closer, he caught a scent. A rich, musky scent that reminded him of something… something buried, something deep, something warm and refreshing as desert water. This must have been it. This was what the fraternals in the hall had been reacting to.

The stranger turned a corner, and opened a door in the wall. One of hundreds of anonymous entranceways, leading to another room in the BachPad complexes. If he followed now, he would be intruding in another man’s space, entering where he had no business being. Men could build bridges in their shared aims but all men were islands, and to be inside another man’s space was as unthinkable as looking at another man’s parts in a bathroom or changing area. Some things were sacrosanct and private, not to be shared. The youth sighed, obviously impatient, and grabbed his hand. “You can’t stand there. Even now. In or out?” Without letting himself think, Caedus stepped inside, still holding onto the other’s hand. This room was modelled after his own, of course, one layout designed to suit anyone, but each room was personal to its occupant, and he had never seen anyone else’s apart from stolen glimpses walking down corridors as other men came and went about their business alone. This room felt warm, insulated by the colourful materials tacked up, perhaps, which fell from the ceiling and hid the walls, leaving the room feel smaller, enclosing him in a way that felt almost stifling to the senses used to clean lines. The scent was stronger in here, and he dared not look at the bed which he knew must be in the alcove.

“You’re not a talker yourself then,” smiled the youth. “Of course, I didn’t think so, what with you standing oh-so far away at the back there.”

Caedus knew he must say something. Order had been upturned, there was the suggestion of dissidence lurking in every corner of this room, and the scent was turning his mind from his duties. “I should arrest you,” he managed.

“Oh come now. Arrest me? We’re both in here, aren’t we? And this is, after all, my space. No, that would be very boring.”

“It would be an unusual arrest, under the circumstances.” Caedus was trying hard to maintain his propriety, but felt the hint of a blush creeping up his neck. It would do no good for him to make an arrest during meeting time, in another man’s room. It would finish him.

“So, why are you here? Admit it – always being at the penetrative end of justice must get boring after a while. Haven’t you ever wondered what it’s like for the people, after you do your duty?” Caedus knew that men caughting violating the Code were treated harshly. The word ‘penetrative’ sent sharp spikes into his consciousness, half whispered rumours of punishments dealt out to violators of the Code, to sissies. They were not men any more, they forfeited their manhood, and were treated accordingly. A memory loomed dark, the time he became a man, and he pushed it down angrily.

“Are you one of those Delilahs?” It was an inflammatory question. Back when there were women, one had stolen her protector’s strength by cutting off part of his body. Hair wasn’t intrinsic to manhood of course, but it had been explained by the Talkers that this was a metaphor for the wanton selfishness of femininity – having no strength of its own, it could be defined only by masculinity, by stealing the efforts of men and grinding them down in the process.

The stranger laughed scornfully. “I’m every part a man, as you are, and every bit as strong.”

Caedus laughed to himself. “I highly doubt that.” He unbuttoned his shirt, proud to show the body he had worked for. The stranger nodded. “Fine work, brother.” It was the standard fraternal acknowledgement. Locking eyes with him, the stranger removed his shirt too. They appraised each other, the smooth muscle in the arms, the defined pectorals and abdominals, the biceps curving over the shoulders and hint of tricep showing the bulk in their arms. It was closer than Caedus had imagined. He was used, of course, to seeing other men’s bodies. But this felt strangely intimate. The stranger stepped closer, and Caedus was suddenly very aware of the sound of his own breathing, lungs working evenly, and each time he inhaled he could smell that intoxicating odour a little stronger.

“Kneel,” said the youth suddenly, and Caedus surprised himself by obeying immediately. The stranger exhaled slowly. “Good,” he said, and stepped closer, closer. The part where his legs joined was inches from Caedus’s face, and all he could think of was how strict the Code was, and how strict it needed to be if this, this was what it had to restrain, the strength of desire that could be created by suggestion and a scent. He looked up at the youth’s face, tearing his eyes from where they should never have been. The lad smiled back down at him, and moved his hands to his buckle. He stepped back, never taking his eyes from the other man’s face, and removed his breeches. Caedus’s training was strong, and he took care to maintain eye contact. He had been in so many public spaces naked, and all men extended each other this courtesy. This youth was the same kind of man as him then, had probably undergone the same 9-month rite of manhood. Some men earned theirs by another means, participated in the rite in other ways, but they all came out of it men.

“Now yours,” said the youth, nodding towards Caedus’s remaining clothes. He stripped them quickly, confident in his nudity. The lad nodded at him. “Now look at it.” Caedus had never looked at another man in this way before. The lad stood there, completely relaxed, not even tensing his muscles to peacock as many young men did, proud of the results of their efforts. His legs were slightly apart, and amongst the hair, Caedus was astonished to notice something glistening. His own parts suddenly twinged, and he hoped the contractions in his own muscles hadn’t been too obvious.

“This is against everything we stand for, everything we are,” he managed to say.

“Cunt worship?”

That was it. The danger so great that rational men and probably some women (rationality notwithstanding) had been led astray, and eventually had to be controlled for the good of society as a whole. Cunt. That smell. Cunt. That word. The word they’d all been told, then told never to say, to speak it was to give it power. Sure, some men had the physical manifestation, but that was just the opportunity to prove their manhood twice over – to give it up for the good of mankind, to create new men, and then, adulthood earned, to bear the mark of battle. To excel over one’s own limitations was great triumph and no man would argue otherwise.

He groaned. He was already lost, he knew it. He’d been lost since he stepped out of that meeting hall. Masculinity was strong, but you couldn’t expect a muscle to stay strong without reinforcing and training it, pushing it. And he knew how to work a muscle.

The lad stepped closer again. “Look at it. Smell it.” Caedus couldn’t help himself. He buried his face into the richly-scented hair. The lad moaned, and rocked on his feet. “Steady,” he smiled. “Lie back.” Caedus did as he was told once more, hoping that his obedience would be rewarded. He was not disappointed, as the lad stood over him, straddling him, then kneeling, hovering just above him. So close, but the weight of the lads knees on his shoulders meant that he couldn’t lift his head quite far enough. He held his breath as he stared up at the lad, into the lad. The folds of soft-looking flesh shining with juices, warm hair wrapped around endless layers leading deeper inside. He finally gasped, and fell back, finally relaxing completely. He could use one of his wrestling moves to flip this lad, could turn this into a fight, playful or otherwise. He did not want to. He wanted to hand his power to this youth, offer himself over for his use. The youth had spent all this time holding himself in position, quadriceps tensed and sheened with sweat from the warmth of the room. He had been watching Caedus, and as soon as Caedus fell back, acknowledging submission, he grinned, and sat down.

Caedus was surrounded by the Great Danger. It filled his senses and his mind. He could feel it on him, the warmth and moisture on his mouth, in his mouth. He ran his tongue up the slit, feeling the lad writhe a little as it found his cock. He grinned to himself, and began to suck on it gently, lips curling and tongue lapping. He wanted to take the lad’s hips in his hands and pull him closer yet, but his arms were pinned, and the lad himself was grinding his face harder now, pushing his hands into Caedus’s hair and gripping it tight. They found their rhythm, and the lad rode Caedus’s face as his body contorted and his muscles spasmed. Caedus himself was almost frenzied, his lower parts making themselves felt as he pushed himself against the mat beneath him, unable to express himself except through his mouth, still closing and suckling around the stranger’s cock as their bodies shook together. The youth leaned back and smiled lazily down at the man pinned beneath him, chest heaving and mouth glistening.

“That was very enjoyable indeed, thank you. How are you doing down there?” Caedus could barely answer, but shoved his hips up and moaned. “That looks like you’re feeling a little worked up. Would you like some help with that?”

Hand jobs, if given to oneself, were not forbidden. Caedus knew that people could get pleasure from down there, although it was a dangerous path to explore. But he’d never felt this kind of electric charge, like his skin would spark if touched, like his skin could not quite contain his body. “Is that a yes?”

The youth was teasing him now, trailing the question out slowly. Caedus knew the lad would wait for him to say, would take no pity on him, make him say the words he would never otherwise say. “Please,” Caedus managed, “please touch me.”

The lad grinned wickedly, and moved himself down Caedus’s body. “All you had to do was ask.” He was using his hands now, and mouth, and Caedus could feel himself flooding out. Lips catching his lips, fingers tracing the path his manhood had taken so many years before. He tightened momentarily at the memory, and the lad stopped, and looked him in the eye. “Is this ok,” he asked, suddenly serious.

The cessation of movement drove Caedus to the edge of his endurance. “Please don’t stop. I can take whatever you’ve got,” he said, startling himself with the intent in his reply.

The lad smiled, relieved, and stroked Caedus on the inside. It felt like nothing else, this person so close to him, and all his body could do was melt a little under his hands. He felt a swirling motion inside of himself and gasped at the intimacy, holding the lad’s gaze as this stranger fucked him. He withdrew his hand slightly, and Caedus moaned. “Don’t stop. Give me more.”

But the youth was not stopping, was rearranging himself, and he leaned into Caedus once more, his hand pushing slowly into Caedus’s cunt, stretching it. He paused again, for Caedus to breathe and relax, then twisted his wrist, slipping past Caedus’s entrance and filling him completely.

They lay that way for a while, watching each other’s faces for pleasure or pain, mingling breath, before the youth started rocking gently against him. Every movement was magnified inside him, every small motion producing waves of feeling. He knew his cunt could take it, he was not scared – it had passed something larger and more painful when he became a man. This was the opposite; not something ripped out, but something to fill him. The waves passed through his body and he started moving too, matching the young man’s rhythm as he pushed into him again and again, until the tide crashed against the shore, pulling a cry from his chest that he had never before heard himself make. Juice squirted from his cunt, and muscles that he never knew he had closed around the lad’s hand, pulling him tighter and closer, holding onto him with a kind of strength he had not felt before. They fell back, exhausted, onto the mat, bodies wrapped together. The stranger slowly, achingly, pulled his hand out, stopping to let Caedus relax between spasms that still wracked his body.

“The Talking will be over soon. You can still make it back before they come out and find you out of your home.” Caedus whimpered at the thought of leaving this space where the smell of cunt hung heavy and musky in the air. The stranger smiled. “If you get caught, I’ll have to spend the next Talking in the meeting hall itself. Dreadfully boring. I much prefer this kind of masculine bonding.” Caedus unwound himself reluctantly from the younger man. He would certainly need to shower before facing anyone. This scent would send any man mad, and he owed it to the Order to make sure it spread no further.


SFSiobhan is old enough to know better but still makes plenty of mistakes. Prone to dreaming in class, but has plenty to contribute in discussion. Co-operates well with others for the most part but is quite capable of working alone if the subject matter is interesting to her. She particularly enjoys colouring in, particularly if there is a rainbow of crayons to play with. We would like Siobhan to branch out next term and try more new things.

Passing The Bechdel Test


Submission guidelines for Raw.

Other Raw stories.


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