Blood and Salt Ch. 02

She had scrambled to her feet and stood panting, eyes wide with wonder. A splendid young creature she was, tall, clean-limbed, slim and shapely. Her only garment was a torn piece of white linen hung carelessly about her hips. She spoke hastily, stammeringly, as if she had not so spoken in years.

"You ... who are you men? When come you? What do you on the Isle of the Gods? Wait ... you are a Celt? And you there ... a Saxon!"

"Thor's hairy arse!" rumbled Aelfric; "We are far south, but I would wager she's of our own kind! We're not the first to be shipwrecked here it seems! There may be hope of a way off this island after all ..."

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Second Interlude

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This is all going a bit biographical, I guess. To recap, partly thanks to my Uncle Barry (if you believe that kind of crap), I had a taste for manly men - like most of the men in my life. Growing up in the North of England this was not an easy taste to have. While I could imagine an night of drinking, fighting and fucking with Fafhrd and his little boyfriend, the average bloke down the boozer would smack the shite out of me if he caught me checking out his meat-and-two-veg in the pisser.

Reading back through that early home-made porn, it's painfully clear what I wanted. A proper man I could have a pint and a fuck with. I didn't have much luck with it in my teens when I was painfully in the closet and overcompensated to a shameful degree. I even fucked a few lasses, furtive sweaty encounters in shoddy places. I'm surprised to this day that unlike a lot of my mates I had the good sense to empty my nuts into a rubber, rather than end up saddled with kids before I was 20.

It was mostly a phase, and interspersed through it were a couple of wild nights experimenting. Then I got my old car - a shitheap that was held together with rust, you know the sort of thing. Until I was about twenty-three I thought that blokes fucked in cars, carparks and garages. I started to associate the smell of oil and petrol with fucking and to this day I have to have a quick wank before I drop the car off at a garage or run the risk of an enthusiastic boner.

Then at twenty-three I moved away from home, got picked up in a pub of all places, and ended up with a brickie of all things who reminded me just a little bit of Uncle Barry. He sorted me out and set me straight, so to speak. That little speech Huw gives early on in this chapter is almost word-for-word what I remember him saying to me that first night, probably the first time I had ever fucked a guy in a bedroom rather than somewhere sleazy. I didn't stay the night, but he gave me his number and I went back a few more times. He introduced me to his boyfriend - another man's man like himself more-or-less living the lie of the 80s and 90s, pretending to be a typical blue-collar thug in public and fucking his best mate in private.

That scene on the beach, where Beric guides Aelfric into Huw's arse? Written from the memory that is, of the first time I was with the three of them. My first threesome ... and barely twenty-four. They were good lads, and it was always casual with them. A few years after I met them I moved again, and we celebrated with such a fuckfest as I have barely had since.

So there we leave Huw, Beric and Aelfric for a bit, and there we leave me - having learnt the ways of the world from some old bears, and moving down to the evil city of London in search of work.

Hopefully it won't be a year or so before I do me next installment.