3.30 in the morning, on some unlit minor road, in the middle of Denmark, and Zack was heading north on foot, with only the moonlight to light his way. He had been travelling now, without sleep, for about 40 hours straight, across the north of Europe by bus, boat, hitch-hiking, whatever would get him further north. Looking the way he did, he had no problems getting lifts, the main problem was the fact that his unfriendly, arrogant personality usually got him kicked out after a few miles, either that or the fact that me made it clear he was not interested in rewarding the various truckers and salesmen who picked him up with ‘a ride for a ride’. If he had been able to wait until dawn there was probably some public transport that would have taken him this way, but the voice in his head was so insistent, and it kept urging him onwards, onwards, ever onwards, towards what he firmly believed would be his heroic destiny, fighting evil and protecting the earth.
He had not seen a car for at least an hour, and he was beginning to get concerned that he was going the wrong way, but somehow he knew inside that he was heading in the right direction. And then the itching started – a mild, light itchiness, coming from his crotch.
At first he thought he needed to take a piss, so he stopped in the middle of the road and unzipped his fly (no point in going behind a bush, nobody about to see him anyway). As he pulled his cock out, he felt a not unpleasant tingling sensation where his fingers touched the exposed flesh, but he ignored this, putting it down to the chilly northern wind that was blowing across the flat empty landscape. He pissed, vigorously, replaced the equipment, zipped up and then continued on his way.
He had been walking for about 20 minutes when the itchy sensation returned. ‘I can’t surely want to piss again, already’, he thought. But he went through the procedure again, this time pissing just a few drops onto the road surface before he was dry. The mild itchiness this time did not go away. He was curious about the sensation, but it wasn’t uncomfortable, and he had travelling to do. He continued on his way, and blanked the sensation out.
Walking alone along the long, moonlit road, he was able to keep his mind on other things for all of fifteen minutes, before he stopped again. This time, he dropped his trousers and pants to his ankles, and gave his cock and balls a good going over, scratching and rubbing, feeling for anything unusual that might be causing the itching. It might have been an illusion, but his balls felt heavy, swollen. He leant over forwards to try and examine them, but in the subdued moonlight he could see practically nothing. Again, as he fondled the flesh, a pleasant tingling sensation ran through his cock, and this time, as he continued to manipulate the flesh, he noticed he was getting erect.
Zack did not jerk off regularly – why bother when he could put a girl on his cock anytime he wanted? – but he decided there and then that this was exactly what was needed today. He would have a good, hard wank, and then everything would be OK. As he started to pound the cock in his fist, he visualised his favourite thing – himself – in his usual pose, naked except for a loincloth, atop a pile of freshly slaughtered enemy bodies, big breasted girls at his feet. The cold Denmark air blew gently around his exposed cock, and he pumped away, faster, faster, still standing bang in the centre of the road. The sexual wave rose within him, getting closer, closer, he was getting close to climax, almost there...
The sensation stopped, dead. It was as if someone had turned off his orgasm with a switch. Zack snapped back into full consciousness. What the hell had just happened? He looked down at his cock – still looking rock hard, the same as ever. He pumped it a few more times. Nothing, nothing at all, just the warm feeling of his own flesh. What the fuck??? And now the itching returned, stronger than ever, somewhere inside his cock and balls, somewhere where he couldn’t scratch it. A cold chill ran up Zack’s spine. Something was wrong – nothing like this had ever happened to him before. In his usual arrogant way, he refused to even consider there was something wrong with his own virility, it must be someone else’s fault, he thought. He immediately thought of the girl, a few nights ago. She’s given me something, he thought, some sort of sexually transmitted infection. Damn her!!! When he comes back from his quest, and the whole world is praising him as the hero who saved the planet, he would let the world know her name, the girl who dared to pass on an infection to the hero just as he left on his heroic quest!
He decided to keep walking, it was all he could do. A few miles later, he tried again, with the same result – getting hard, climbing towards an orgasm and then cutting off suddenly before he peaked, as if a tap had been shut off. And again, the itch increased in irritation, somewhere deep inside his cock. He now had two quests – he would get to the mysterious island, sure, as fast as he could. But he was going to find a doctor on route, and get some sort of cream or lotion for his cock. The saving of the world would have to wait a bit.
At exactly that moment, Cedric was driving through the suburbs of Oslo, somewhere near the airport, in the rented car, lost. Although his mind knew which way he should be going, whenever he turned onto a road that seemed like the way out of town, it would turn back on itself and he would have to start again. He had spent most of his money on fuel and was beginning to worry that all this twisting and winding would mean he wouldn’t have enough to get to his destination. That was when he saw the hitch-hiker. The guy was on the other carriageway, holding out his thumb to hitch, and Cedric could not perform a U-Turn fast enough. Because, he had often fantasised about picking up a sexy hitch-hiker, but in all the years he had been driving, he had never seen one like this. As he drew up alongside, he drank in the image before him – he must have been in his early 20’s, six foot tall, cropped hair with blonde streaks, broad neck, thick, muscular arms and an almost ridiculously small waist compared to his broad and strong shoulders. If someone had drawn a picture of this guy people would have said his body was all out of proportion, but here he was, standing before Cedric, and, in the flesh, the proportions worked perfectly. Even his clothes looked like they had been drawn by a graphic artist, and the cropped top, knee length shorts, bright red rucksack and armless body warmer looked totally unsuited to the cold night air. As he stopped the car, Cedric saw that the boy was shivering. He opened the passenger door and the boy got straight in.
He was a kickboxer, so don’t even think of trying any gay shit, that was the first thing he said to Cedric, in his faltering, south American accented English. Cedric didn’t doubt the boy meant what he said – his body was even more muscular and powerful close up than it had looked from across the road. Cedric swallowed his lustful thoughts as best he could and drove on, as his ungrateful passenger lounged out beside him. Cedric found it hard to keep his eyes on the road as the youth stretched out on the seat. The boy had a bad habit, he kept reaching inside his waistband and scratching at his crotch, and every time he did it Cedric had to work hard not to drive off the road.
After that initial exchange of conversation, trying to get him to answer friendly questions was like trying to pull teeth. After a few polite enquiries from Cedric went unanswered, he eventually found out the boy’s name was Braulio and he was from Argentina. Braulio means Shining or Fiery, he said, and Cedric could easily believe that. He had just flown into the country a few hours before, and had spent several hours in customs, trying to explain why he had flown half way across the world with practically no money in his pocket and no possessions, but he had eventually talked his way through.
‘Where are you going’, Cedric enquired
‘North,’ was the simple answer
‘Me too’ said Cedric, and this was true, although if the boy had said South, Cedric would probably have abandoned his quest there and then and turned the car around, just to spend a few more hours in this stud’s vicinity. The boy began scratching his crotch again, and Cedric watched through the corner of his eye. He held out little hope of getting any closer to the boy than he was right now, but even a tiny sliver of hope was better than none at all...
They drove on in silence into the slowly brightening dawn.
Four hours later, Zack stood in the examining room, trousers off, legs apart, as the doctor examined his crotch. After a few minutes, the doctor returned to his desk, and started writing on a medical pad. He spoke to Zack in his broken English as he filled in the form.
‘There is nothing wrong that I can see, maybe just a little redness. Take this prescription to the pharmacy for some ointment.’
He held out the slip of paper to Zack, and then a strange, quizzical look came over his face.
‘What have you boys been up to?’ he asked.
Zack was just doing up his belt, but the question caused him to stop.
‘What boys?’ Zack asked
‘You, and your two friends out in the waiting room. Have you been having a bit of, how do you say, experimentation?’
‘I’m here on my own’ Zack said, angrily, snatching the piece of paper from the doctor’s hand.
‘There is nothing to be ashamed about. Boys of your age should experiment, try things out. But next time maybe a condom, yes?’
Zack had no idea what the doctor was talking about. He grabbed up his bag and marched out of the room. As he passed the waiting room, he glanced inside.
Two men, of about Zack’s age, were sitting, separately, on the plastic chairs. Zack had no interest in men, but even to his eye they were both well built, sexy, strong looking hunks, one with a dark haired, Hispanic look, the other maybe Korean or Japanese. They both wore crumpled, travel-weary clothes and had travelling bags or rucksacks by their side, and they were both twitching and crossing their legs, like men in a queue for the bathroom . Exactly how Zack had been acting, when he sat in those same chairs, fifteen minutes ago, waiting to go in and see the doctor. The Hispanic guy looked up at Zack with a cool, detached expression.
‘Maybe it wasn’t the girl’, Zack thought. ‘Maybe something’s going around? Maybe this is the first stage of the threat that I have to defeat? Men like those two will learn to thank me for what I am going to do for this world’, he thought. He left the doctors surgery, ready to resume his epic voyage.
From his chair, Javier watched the blonde haired boy leave. He had been impressed by the blonde boy’s physique – it even came close to rivalling his own perfection, he thought. ‘All men will be required to work out to that standard when I am pronounced prince of mankind’, he thought, ‘there will be no place for weak or inferior men when I am in charge. Men and women alike will bow in gratitude before my power’, he muttered to himself, under his breath.
And, in the seat across the room, Korean born Mal-chin had similar thoughts running through his head, about how his sword fighting skills would lead him to a heroic victory over his enemies
So did Braulio as he sat in the passenger seat of Cedric’s rental car as they tore across Norway,
And so did 46 other 21-year old boys, many of them already converging on that location in Norway, some still a long way away, all believing they were somehow the saviour of mankind, the most important person on the planet, the thoughts that made them seem arrogant and aloof to most ordinary people but were somehow programmed into their subconscious. They were all being drawn together. And all of them, without exception, were trying their best not to be distracted from their missions by the increasingly irritating itching they were experiencing, emanating from within their crotches, somewhere deep inside where they couldn’t scratch, an itch that was somehow connected to, and made much worse by, their inability in the last few days to sexually climax...
And the other men were coming too, the men like Cedric, who were also being called to this place, except this rag-tag group were having no delusions of grandeur, no visions of their own greatness, they had all just shared that one dream, two days ago, and the need to reach this place. They were also not cursed with the itch, and could safely, and privately, wank themselves off in toilet cubicles, thinking about the many young, sexy, fantastic looking twenty-one year old boys they had been seeing on the roadside, or on the ferries or aircraft, all travelling, all heading north...
Braulio and Cedric followed the main road for eight hours until it became a rural road, then twenty miles further until turning onto a narrow road over the mountains, and then becoming little more than a track, leading steeply down to the waterside and a little, un-named village. They had no map, but they knew exactly where they were going.
Along the way, Cedric had stopped to pick up two more hitchers – a Texan by the name of Cameron and a French boy whose name appeared to be Ramon, but he appeared to speak no English at all. Not that it mattered, because none of the young studs talked to each other, and none of them wanted to reply in more than monosyllabic grunts to Cedric’s questioning.
Cedric would not have believed he would get three such perfect specimens in his car at one time, and he was already daydreaming about the many and varied sexual games and torments he would put their bodies through, if he ever notched up enough courage to put his fantasies into action. But he knew he never would – this was the same fantasising as he did with all the unobtainable studs he had seen in his life, he watched them from afar, hatched ingenious plans, but never saw them through – the plans were just part of the game and he knew the difference between fantasy and reality.
But now there were three real, live sexy 21 year olds in his car, he couldn’t help noticing something that never appeared in his fantasies -what a sullen, arrogant, vain, rude bunch or wankers they were. In the past, when the image of a real person was woven into his fantasy, he would feel somehow embarrassed, ashamed to be doing this to someone, even though it was only a fantasy inside his head. But he felt no shame about his thoughts of incurring humiliation and pain upon these three perfect bodies as, in his opinion, if anyone ever deserved to be punished for being beautiful, it was these three. He was getting angry by the time they arrived in the village – these three have been blessed with perfect bodies, and here they sit, sulking and pouting like spoilt teenagers. They need a lesson taught to them, he thought, and he wished he had the power to teach them that lesson, personally.
The fifteen or so fishermen and their wives who formed the villagers of this tiny community had never seen anything like it before. Their little hamlet was full of abandoned cars, bikes and trucks, blocking up the narrow main street. And the occupants of the vehicles, well, with a few exceptions, they looked like they had fallen from the pages of some kind of sport and efficiency magazine – several dozen young men, all tall, all muscular, all standing on the sandy beach, right at the edge of the surf, looking across the bay towards the outer islands. A second, smaller group stood apart, a more mixed bag of men, who looked thoroughly out of place, like they had been invited to the party by mistake and had clumped together, away from the action, but keeping a good eye on whatever action they could see. The men on the beach did not talk, did not interact, they just stood still, motionless except for sometimes scratching or rubbing at their crotches, looking out towards the grey islands, a few miles out across the water.
Cedric had to abandon the car outside the main street as the road was blocked by an expensive looking red Porsche convertible, abandoned with its doors wide open and engine running. The three boys got out of the car and walked on, without a word to Cedric – typical, he thought. He considered backing the car up, trying to find somewhere better to park, and then the thought came to him.
‘Leave it, it doesn’t matter.’
He got out of the rental car, still a bit unsure – there was a deposit on his credit card, after all. But again, the though came to him. ‘Don’t worry,’ the voice in his head said. ‘Walk.’
And Cedric did, leaving the keys in the ignition. He walked into the town and down to the beach. His eyes took in the site of the array of muscular studs, lined up like statues on the beach, and the voice in his head said simply ‘Yes. This is how it is meant to be’
One of the fishermen came across to Cedric, and asked the obvious question. What the hell was everyone doing here?
‘ I need to go to the island’ Cedric said. And then, looking around, he added ‘I think we all do’
‘But there’s nothing there,’ the man protested
‘I need to get a boat. I’ll pay...’ he reached into his pockets and pulled out the handful of Euros and other currency he had left. He stuffed it all into the man’s hand. ‘I’ll pay you whatever you want. We all will’...
The fisherman eyed the stranger suspiciously, and then he turned and walked away.
Twenty minutes later, and the first boat was pulling away from the shore. It had been difficult stopping the boat from being swamped when it first arrived, as everyone wanted to get over to the island immediately. But, somehow, Cedric and one of the other ‘outsiders’, as he had nicknamed the group of men who stood separately from the 21 year olds, had been able to squeeze abroad amongst about a dozen young men on the first trip. Cedric was in the rear of the boat, squeezed up in a corner against a particularly fine looking Blonde boy. Cedric had picked this boy, out of all the fine specimens he had seen today, as the most beautiful, the sexiest, the most ‘his type’ of the lot. He had made sure he boarded the boat just before this boy, and was ecstatic that the seating arrangement had put them side by side. He loved the sensation of the boy’s firm bicep and thigh pressing against him as they sat on the cramped wooden bench seat in the small boat. The boy rubbed distractedly at his own crotch. Cedric saw the faraway look in the boy’s eye, and he decided he had to know this stud’s name. He plucked up courage, and he asked.
‘Zack’ came the reply
And, dreamily, a voice repeated in Cedric’s head.
‘This is the one’, the voice said. ‘This is the one who will be yours’
The boat moved across the bay towards the looming, grey shadow of the island.
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