Fracture Line

I knew to accept this invitation was to expose myself to God and who knows what. Bjorn was, I swear, a Viking who didn't quite make it to the pier to catch the last long boat back so, standing on the shore, his wild blond hair swirling in the wind, he screamed, "I'll fucking populate this whole country and when or if they come back, I'll fuck them too." Bjorn had a tendency to be a bit hasty when it came to matters of violence. To be fair, no one had a greater sense of correctness or...oddly...fun. One thing I knew, if I was with him I couldn't be harmed, have the shit scared out of me, easy, find myself in situations that made the word precarious seem modest, but...I'd be safe.

After the usual magical mystery tour of taxi ways at Kennedy we either found an active, clear runway or our Viking pilot said, a la Joan Rivers, "Fuck 'em if they can't take a joke" and zipped down a service road barely missing a large fuel tank as we were airborne. Flying with them was why I always flew first class and as close to the front as possible on the theory that when we flew into something, I wouldn't have long to suffer or wonder if I was going to suffer. Something about the word "maim" just doesn't ring my chimes although it does make my balls retreat toward my descending colon.

Iceland Air is actually a very nice carrier, good food, pleasant service and quite short flights from the East Coast to Kevlavik, the only commercial airport on the island-for perspective, from JFK. The tourist brochures leads one to think that when you've landed you're but a hop, skip and jump from bustling downtown Reykavik but that's deceptive. To put it in perspective, Iceland is around two thirds of the distance to Europe, assuming the road from JFK to downtown New York was virtually empty, it would take twice as long to get the airport into Reykeyavik. Not that it's an unattractive trip, it's just longer than most expect and to the thrifty tourist, any moment you're not actively doing something touristy, is wasted time.

Given that, Bjorn, always the soul of hospitality, met me at the door, not the boarding gate, the door to the plane and hustled me off not bothering with those running interference such as customs and immigration, baggage handlers, you know, those people who clutter our lives by believing there's a certain way of doing things that should be adhered to. Parked out of sight just beyond baggage claim, I heard a lot of what may or may not have been profanity. I would clarifty that but my Icelandic is almost as fluent as my Urdu which is to say, non-existent. Bjorn popped out of some conveyor with my duffel bag-I'd been told to put everything in a duffel bag for reasons that weren't explained to me then to mark it with a blue cross-a sample of the exact blue was sent.

Striding across the hall toward me, he brushed aside what I felt was probably security, found me and maybe he was carrying me, maybe he wasn't, but hopped over a fence with me, duffel and him toward an SUV that had been modified although to do.....what, who knew? From the exterior it could either repel the enemies, go under water, chase tornados or just be a...I almost said 'family vehicle' but that was one thing it wasn't. One distinctive feature was a large medium blue cross painted on the side.... matching my duffel bag.

Well I knew one thing, before tourists had even met their guides and boarded their coaches for town, I was naked and being plowed with a grand Viking Cock. Welcome to Iceland. After that, and my blowing him, accepting the Welcome to Iceland, I sat, naked, smacking my lips of very fine Viking cream, not entirely sure what would happen next but certain something would. Never bothered to concern me that given the laws and regulations he'd broken rather recently, being followed by several vehicles, all topped with rotating blue lights, was well within the realm of possibility. I'd made  up my mind that if they tried to put him in the slammer, I'd best go along with him as I had no place else to go. But, with Bjorn, things like that don't happen. He's a kind of Icon on Iceland and everyone forgives him for his transgressions knowing the good he can, will and has done.

A waterman par excellence, in gales that would tip an aircraft carrier, he had stripped, and I do mean naked, plunged in, saved a fishing boat and all aboard. I'm told he sprang from the water to tie it to the pier while the men were still on the deck thanking God, and Bjorn, for their deliverance. So to be in his company made you a singular visitor as well as the assurance you'd better have your tail widened and your jaw not easily sprung. I felt I should have a blue cross on me with another sign that said, probably in several languages, "Property of Bjorn". Couldn't hurt, might be useful in a strange set of circumstances which, with Bjorn, were the norm.

Parked as we were in a field, I assumed once the sexual niceties were concluded, we'd get on the road to town, find where I was to be billeted, perhaps have a very early lunch then do whatever was on his schedule. See, I had, stupidly, slid back to proto-tourist mode and I should have known better. He slipped the car into some gear probably not installed by the manufacturer, then headed for the magnificent morning horizon of an incredibly flat, steel blue sea, a sun not yet risen and....the edge of a cliff. He did some maneuver not even attempted by the most adept Highway Patrol officer that swung us through an arc of more than 90 degrees leaving my side parked on the edge. So violent had the turn  been that after we stopped, dirt that had  been thrown up still hadn't hit the bottom and dissolved into the wild foaming sea easily a thousand feet below.

He leaned across me with binoculars looking for whatever and, while there, massaging my cock probabably for another Welcome to Iceland offensive. (Well, that's not fair, I loved being taken by him however he chose to do it.) He reached across opened the door allowing me to look down, way down, then said, "Get out". Oh, that was the game, I was to have all the sperm in my body scared out of me before being sacrificed to the wind, the sea and some cock eyed Viking philosopy.

"Where? there's just a millimeter here..." To prove my stupidity, he slid over me, exited and stood on that minuscule piece of land, one foot behind him in what seemed like nothing but was actually a rock shelf not easily seen from the car. Okay, I got out tried to stand but fear, a component in most humans, was interferring. He laughed,  grabbed behind me, got my duffel, then me and started down about thirty feet of the precipice on shards and out croppings that would have given a mountain goat palpitations.

On one foot he did a turn worthy of the premier Danseur at the ballet which now pointed us the reverse direction, continued down and, blesed be some Saint, slightly larger shards, boulders and, amazingly,  one small space where a lonely tree clutched the earth. Bjorn looked in the tree, something I hadn't bothered to do, found the nest, reached into one of his myriad pockets pulled something out which immediately caused three bright red throats surrounded by yellow beaks to appear. He dropped something in each one and they returned to looking as if nothing was in the nest. "They protect the entrance." Just from what wasn't immediately obvious but Bjorn wasn't an obvious sort of person. Also, anyone who'd made it that far and hadn't fallen to a painful death was probably expected.

Down on more obvious steps, indeed after the first few harrowing moments of descent these seemed almost as wide and easy as the ones Rocky ran up at the Philadelphia Art Museum. One more U turn around something that didn't  reveal anythingou were there and immediately a large hole in the cliff presented itself. He went in, I followed then found myself in what could easily have been the Hall of the Mountain King from Peer Gynt.

He took me in his arms, lifted me, kissed me and welcomed me home for as long as I wanted to be with him. If leaving meant retracing the path down, I'd be buried there. 

Bjorn and I had met underwater near the Aleutian islands. For dumb reasons I had been forced to pick a minor in Grad school so I selected Icthyology simply because I had a heavy crush on the professor who was head of the department; It was a wise choice as I was to discover. Seems he'd been walking past a lab where I was working one day and noticed me. Well, he, like others, had just heard the student who was monitoring the lab scream, "Oh shit, Incoming, every body down." I'd just blown up a carboy, fortunately pointed toward the window, which it took out, glass, frame, a few bricks....really a thoroughly professional job. As usual, much of my hair was again singed off, I had the remnants of two eyelids carefully stitched from previous "incidents" so that they didn't look too bad and here and there along my lids, a spike of what had once been an eyelash.

For whatever reason after my first unfortunate event, the school required me to wear blast gear borrowed from civil defense and often I did. That day I had on the top, loosely over me and, fortunately, a drop down flap meant to protect my gonads and schlong from radiation but today from debris. Class was dismissed while I was sent-again-to the nurse. The fish doctor, as everyone called him, went along to make sure I was marginally alright, which I was (I'd been through stronger blasts then that) but, concerned, took me home. That's when I took up my minor in Icthyology just as he dusted off what ash had sifted into my jock-another bit of equipment insisted on by not only the chem department but the university, then fucked my eyes out; I immediately changed my minor.

Stefan Lazarewicz was formerly from Poland who, while in the Polish Navy, had jumped ship, claimed diplomatic immunity, which he was granted and stayed on in New Caledonia. Eventually off to New Zealand where his love of the sea as well as fish got him covered with degrees but, more important, made him the professor you wanted to study with if fish was your field. That I was in Chemistry was no problem, I could minor in Icky, as it was sometimes called, and, as it happened, major in the professor leading the department.

Two days later I'd moved out of my 'apartment'-one room and most of a bath (I had to use the shower facilities in the gym at school.) and in with Steve/Stefan. His students were shocked, my professors were shocked and, to wait out the shock, he took me on a long trip during which he taught me to SCUBA dive, cave dive, deep dive, use a rebreather, swim nude using your cock as bait, how to make an underwater home in which you could breath and...in which you could have really great sex. He taught me how to do breath control by making me blow him underwater-a useful talent for lots of reasons. 

Both of us considered a Speedo as formal wear and usually wandered around where we lived on the beach in clothes made from fronds, strands of moss, whatever we could find that would, briefly, adhere to us. It's also where I got a tan that would never come off which is why, when I meet people, they're often puzzled as to where I came from; South Dakota strikes them as the least likely but that was home in the beginning. In fact, Steve and I went there in winter where he broke through the a foot of ice in a lake, got us in dry suits and made a fascinating trip to see what was living in frigid water. We also fucked each other whilst there-perfectly warm if you stay very, very close.

And have suits made with a sort of gasket/grommet arrangement at the groin and the tail, normally covered by sealable flaps, that allowed coupling without more than a tablespoon of water getting in. Custom made, the manufacturer only did so based on his enormous reputation, they were blushing when the suits, boxed against all viewers, were delivered.

All of this was fine but....he had responsibilities as a professor and I was not about to walk out on a virtually finished Doctorate because I fell in love. It was convenient that we were at the same school but after what had amounted to a sabbatical for both of us, it was time to return to the grind; He had to teach, I had to complete my dissertation, get it through committees, graduate-Summa Magna Cum Laude-then think of some sort of life after school.

I lived with Steve, could help him with his work, up to a point, but both of us realized it wasn't fair to me or to him; We were too intelligent not to want careers and neither of us could or would sublimate our lives for the other. One more semester passed, I took an unimportant teaching job at the school-for which I was so over qualified the Dean of the department asked me why I'd even consider it?

On the other side of the love duet, he became steadily more popular as did his topic; So much so that the school allowed him to arrange a semester at sea which could not include me. While it had been my minor and being around him was in and of itself an education (probably good enough for a couple of Doctorates particularly if you included Sex 'n the Single Semen as one topic), there was simply no way I could sign on for this save as part of the crew and that would not have been wise if one remembered my past deficiencies with machines.

The only other semi-mechanical problem was that he did not want to leave me or, realistically, think of me with another man. I promised fidelity, promised to wear any chastity device he chose and, in desperation, said he could personally castrate me, an idea he rejected by punching me out. Nothing says love like a slightly cracked occipital bone and a deeply blackened eye. I'd never looked at another man, he had no reason to be jealous, none but....as I'd come to know, he had a selfish streak, not uncommon in certain levels of academics coefficient to their popularity, that can manifest itself as possessive. Over time I'd morphed myself into one of his more attractive possessions, one he was on tenter hooks about leaving behind.

Steve did have one idea, a friend of his was doing some work in Alaska off Kodiak island and, he knew, could use an assistant who was a great diver, pretty well versed in sea things, was easy to be around and, what he didn't say, was damn good in bed no matter where or what constituted the bed.

For reasons that seemed peculiar, he decided that before he sailed away for a semester, he'd take me to Alaska, introduce me to my new, whatever he would be, make sure all was well then return. Okay, I still loved him, had never fucked him in Alaska so why not let him make the introduction even if it did feel a bit too much Alphonse et Gaston? Off we went to Kodiak. 

My first meeting with Bjorn was surprising; Steve and I were sitting on a rotting pier way too near a fish cannery when the water seemed to part and a large man popped out, up and sat on the pier with us. Steve didn't seem taken aback but I was, so few people had entered my life in that fashion...plus he was stark naked save for a nice pelt that wasn't too hairy but made all his better features seem, well, better.

Steve made the introductions, I was still in some form of minor shock, Bjorn put his face close to mine, lifted my chin then pushed me into the water. Thanks to Steve's excellent training I was out and back on the pier in about sixty seconds seated next to Bjorn.

We still had not had the pleasure of conversation but actions and words weren't meshing. This ducking he went with me, maneuvered us between the pilings under the pier and somehow removed all of my clothing. Back to sitting on top of the pier with a surprised Steve wondering, probably, where my clothes went. Bjorn made the first conversational strike.

"Can he fuck? A man?" He reached up and took hold of my mandible evidently checking to see how far out of normal it could be sprung. Steve smiled and gave him a big two thumbs up. Bjorn had begun to smile at me and I was unable to stop smiling back.

"You have beautiful eyes, one day, a long time from now, I would like to close them." Okay, well throw out the funeral insurance, that's an upcoming episode in my life taken care of. I mentioned I was getting a bit chilly, being almost naked and all. Plus, this was Alaska, not the Plage at Monte Carlo and, stimulating as our dips had been, generally when I went in water that termperature I was wearing at least a wet suit. He reached over, gently carressed my balls, looked at them, then pointed out I was destined for the water as they had not pulled up as those of almost all men would.

"Told you he was a keeper, won't find another like him, trained him myself and what you  can do is further enhance what he knows and, you're right, I noticed his resistance to cold early on. When he says he's a bit chilly, others would be bent double with chill blains rather than sitting here. By the way, before I go away and leave him to you, I want a good Viking fuck, part of my price for him. Oh, and he's to be, well, you know, just for us. He's had his last other man."

Bjorn looked serious, even grave. He stared at Steve and I detected a disconnect that had just occurred. "You did not tell him he was to be sold, did you?" Steve bowed his head and almost imperceptibly agreed that was true. Bjorn was not happy and Steve knew it. "I cannot buy him if he does not want to be sold to me, he doesn't understand these things. Why did you not tell him....yes, he's perfect, yes, I want him, but no, I will not accept him until he fully understands the conditions, that I will own him, take him with me, make him my man, take him from you. But, no, you lied to me, you said he knew, he wanted me, he desired to learn from me that he sexually wanted to be only mine. But he knows none of that, he's a stranger to me and, now, to you."

Suddenly he picked me up, held me to him, turned, looked at Steve, reached out with his foot and pushed him in the water. When he came up, we were gone.

Around the corner from the cannery Bjorn pulled up in his rented SUV and just looked at me, not hard to do as I was naked as was he. My clothes, information, everything was gently rocking back and forth in a tidal basin formed by the plant, the boats, by nature by some pilings in a pair of cargo pants. Easy to retrieve but, just then, that wasn't even a consideration.

Bjorn, poor Bjorn, sat behind the wheel, one elbow on it, the hand scratching his chin, the other reaching over to hold my hand. "You didn't know". It wasn't a question, more of the start of a litany. "You Did Not Know you were to be sold to me, he never mentioned even my name. He sent me so much information about you, including five sperm counts, all your vitals, T cell counts, every medical question I could ask, he answered in advance of being asked. Nude photos of you sleeping, working out, swimming, showering, taking a crap, pissing, lounging around his home, taking his cock, sucking him. All your measurements, how deep your urethra was, even that strange suit, the dry one with holes...." He stopped not because he hadn't more to say but because he realized he'd inadvertently forgotten me, the meat on the counter, all but tied with twine, wrapped with butcher paper and handed over with a smile.

"You have a name?"

"Joey, short for Josepho, my family is from Norway generations back." That seemed to please him. Fighting tears, "Sir, Bjorn, I'm a fine chemist, really, I can get my transcripts.."

"I already have them." My transcipts and my sperm count, some sort of daily double of the weird kind.

"You are more handsome than your photographs, all of them. You are casually masculine without meaning to be. Can you fight?"

"For what?" It wasn't a question that had ever come up on anything, educationally or just in conversation.

"Sometimes for fun, sometimes for your life as all men do. As I do. If I owned you, I would expect you to be able to put up your hand, not your fist and start from there. No equipment, just you and the other person or thing...."

"If you owned me...." There was a long delay in my answer clouded by something I brought up. "Sir, I can probably fight lots of things, I used to fight my brother, naked, in the hay loft all the time but...I cannot fight the fucking smell of that cannery...do you suppose...?"

He roared with laughter. "Yes, Joey, yes, I , too, cannot fight the smell." and that was the first time I experienced his driving skills. Or to put it more gracefully, his artistic way of damn near wrecking a vehicle while still quite possibly with others aboard. In a nano second we were headed off on a road towards some snow covered mountains even though we'd passed two signs alerting us to the fact that this was not a safe road. Even heavy duty logging trucks were forbidden.

Some where in my non-functioning mind I felt that the rental company-I saw their sticker on the front wind screen-would not approve of our trek in their soon to be trashed vehicle. Mercifully he paused by what in my more educational days I might have called an attractive copse of firs. Now I was almost touchingly grateful not to be moving. Could I walk back to wherever and how far? You bet? Nude? No problem. Leaving a sudden sperm sample every time a Kodiak bear popped up? Easy. I'd never been eaten raw, well, as food, so that would be a new experience one, regrettably, I would not survive to tell others.

Bjorn was just full of surprizes which rather touchingly, he was attempting to tell me with some hope I wouldn't go berserk with anger, disappointment and killer instinct.

"It's not about the money, that's of no consequence..."

"Money? What money? Where? You paid money for...well, lack of a better guess, me. Right?" It was an axiomatic question that required no answer but his genuine courtesy and kindness forced one out.

"Only for your delivery. I had the right of refusal and that would have been that. Bought you a beer, talked shop with Steve gone away...Steve and you go back to school where, I guess, he starts looking for another out of country buyer."

"Something in  Arabia where I could be paraded, sold, have my nuts cut off, end up as a harem boy to some fat sheik whose pleasure is watching me be tortured and/or butt fucked as often as he's in the mood. Every low brow porn writers fantasy. Only usually I'm a Marine captured, probably with other Marines in a fox hole with a hunky commanding officer who is then forced to fuck me before he's sliced and diced then fed his own testicles, with a sauce made from his blood...."

"Stop it, stop it Joey, now..right now, that's not what ...." and then he stopped because it was "what". He was sitting in a car with a man who, with some alterations, followed the plot I'd just described just no hunky commanding officer and he was certainly no fat Arab in a tent sitting his fat ass on multi-coloured pillows, some made in camouflage from the uniforms of other men whom he....and I stopped. I'd done in my mind just what he'd verbalized, the Arabian porn fantasy just moved to the cold water and white snow replacing an oasis and white sand. I put my hand on the door opener.

"I am so sorry, Bjorn, my family has some money, if you would be kind enough to take me to the airport, and I guess I need to go overboard and get my ID and such....if you've some clothes I can borrow...where was.., oh, my family has money, I'll see you're paid back every penny, with interest if you wish and Bjorn, I am so sorry, you are, I think, a fine man. Had we only shook hands, talked for a few moments, I might have happily gone with you. So...how much do you want, I'm now damaged goods I suppose, better to forget it, me,  lets get back to town."

It was at that moment in the full light of a magnificent Alaska almost sundown that would never come because it was late summer and the sun didn't quite set, the soft sun light flashing from hisn dark blond hair, his eyes, even his suddenly creamed cock head that I heard the transmission snap in half.

I slowly opened the door, no point in looking under the car, what I had to do now was what I always did, like the cops, protect and serve. "I assume you don't have a satellite phone, I'm betting that's the only thing we could get through on." I leaned against the car, Bjorn came around, stood beside me and also leaned against the car; At least it didn't tip over. "Over there, those trees, I think I see dry wood, maybe a place to pull down some branches, make a shelter, a fire, find something to eat....if you have a good knife, I know how to speed butcher something if we caught it."

I looked up. "I'm guessing it'll be two, maybe three days before the car company misses the car...it's a small town, I grew up in one, people will start looking and we're just down the road...ATV, something like that, won't be long. Good place to do some exploration, back to being Boy Scouts...." He laughed.

"If we can find a stream I bet they'll be trout, maybe Chinook, some kind of edible fish. Shame we don't have our Icthyologist with us, we could slice off some part of him as bait....I'll bet you he's already changed planes at Anchorage and is flying South...." Bjorn pulled his duffel bag out, opened it, divied up some clothes, most importantly some shoes and heavy socks. "Ja, you get the fire and I....." he stumbled knowing that his anger at another had done this to us.

"I don't need more than some long johns, in South Dakota, we're like Putin, in winter, everything out doors unless you can't see your hand, no shirt needed. Feel my nipples, you could make them hard but the weather can't." I wandered toward the place I thought I saw dried wood which, on Kodiak, meant that it was only moist.

As I was wont to do, in advance of coming North, I'd done some quick research and knew that we would probably have a heavy rain unexpectedly so the faster I could get something up and over us, the better. Funny thing about rain, I can jump in water and it doesn't bother me but a cold rain, with wind...it fucking chills me. Funny isn't it. I looked at Bjorn who was still going through the contents to see what we might need immediately and one thing was going to be matches or something with which to start a fire-I remembered there was a magnifying glass on my Swiss Army Knife-under water by a pier. Suddenly he pulled me to him, put my head on his shoulder.

"Joey, I am so fucking sorry, so sorry."

"I'm not, why bother?  I learned something I couldn't have found out even with a cattle prod, that son of a bitch didn't love me, he loved the idea of having meat that others admired, would want. He didn't need your money, he needed the prestige of having sold a man...." I thought for a moment.

"You've had a good time to assess the product, check the marbling in the meat, see if all the parts function, need to check out my sex organs, make me stroke it down and watch right now. Feel the BMI, Check my teeth. You've paid for this much, I'm a fair person, finish your inspection before you throw me back with the other trash."

" How do you want me? I can bend over, open my ass and let you take me however you want, you paid for that, or, you can fuck me however you want. If you've got the makings for it, hard bondage, cock and ball torture, you paid for the right to do that if you want. I need to suck you off a few times, show you my edging skills, make sure I can please you when you want pleasure. Tie me up, leave me in a corner when I'm in your way.

Do your work, I am really very intelligent, teach me anyting, a Doctor of Chemistry but that doesn't matter, you're considering the purchaser and it's up to me to sell myself since there's no one else around to do the pitch. Where would you like to start? You want tp fuck me or have me blow you? No limit on how many times are included in your trial period, just tell me how and where you want whatever."

There was a silence, some might have said it was portentious but I thought he was just listening to see how close to rain we might be.

 "Joey, I want to do all the things you said but I only want to do them when...we want to do them. No doubt you're a fine piece of ass, I've got videos of all that. But you're a finer man, like you say, you're not smart, you're fucking brilliant. I still have to make a call, again as you say, I've paid for the privilege and I want you. From now, here, naked, but ready to be with me doing whatever we need to do to get from here to there wherever there may be.

He took me in his arms and held me, not as one embraces, but as a man holds another man, the strength flows back and forth. I put my arms around him and responded by taking my lips to his and closing my eyes.

"Joey, I will take the deal. Your man flesh is now my man flesh. Got that settled now....lets get the wood and settle in for a great white night. Also, you get a new name, Haakon. Viking, like mine, it means greatest son. I think I have to acknowledge the difference in our years but I'm not you're father and you're not my son. Some day we'll do something to make the relatioship plain, at least to us. Also, in our future..".and he tapered off, swatted my butt and we got started on shelter, food and heat.

For those who have never lived through the white nights of the far North, it can be an unsettling experience, our circadian rhythms are set on a light/wake/dark/sleep cycle that isn't easily broken but here, with all light and no dark, rest could be difficult. Bjorn had a solution-he lived where this was a yearly event and so he was prepared, in his own singular way, to accomodate it, even work to our favor. It was as simple as working, relaxing, doing whatever occurred to us to do until we were tired then sleep until we woke up. Throw away your watches as the only suggestion of time was the good old fashioned shadow on the ground and a knowledge of where North, South, East and West were.

Worked for him and, I found, it worked for me.

I did not yet have his over all strength-much of mine was now utilized in the water which meant I had heavy thigh and calf muscles as well as well developed biceps to draw me through the water. Steve was a demon on working out-he could find no reason for his body to be almost constantly on some form of display; why he didn't teach in a Speedo occasionally made me wonder. Took no effort to get him to remove almost any clothing, almost to the point of the ridiculous; To carry a bag from the market he'd pull off his T shirt, stuff it in his pants pocket then push down his waist band. He also parked as far from the doors as possible. I'm sure he could have shopped without upper clothing but the slow, torturous display of his physique as he wound the shirt up over his chest was bound to draw more attention than if he'd been that way all through produce and the dairy section. Bjorn and I just wandered around doing what was needed not concious that we weren't wearing anything, it's just how it was. We instincitvely knew when to seek warmth and shelter and that always meant the two of us together.

It was interesting being an "owned man". Knowing that I had to comply with him, whatever he wished, no matter how debasing it was, turned out to be something almost erotic. Knowing your sex and the tools to make sex are not yours, at least not yours when wanted by another only made me want him to want me. As of then, he'd made no effort to initiate any sexual contact apart from his really quite welcome hugs. I speculated that this "owning"  was as new to him as to me.

As we gathered wood, looked for a place that suggested itself as being potentially shelter I asked him why he'd wanted to own another man. He paused, looked at me and made the simple declaration that he did not want to own a man, he wanted to own me. Steve had, in a slightly boozy moment, said that his live in stud had it all, problem was, he had to go away for a semester and that left me alone.

It was Bjorn, or so he said, who laughed and suggested that he sell this treasure and, if he/I looked good on paper then maybe a sale could be arranged. Steve, Bjorn said, almost instantly flew into full sex mode, the idea of selling human flesh was an enormous sexual goad for him. Over several days he sent off various things about me but holding off on the videos and still pictures that he knew were erotic, or potentially would be to another man. Given time to work this out, he'd had me double my gym time giving me some excuse that, now, I don't remember.

 Much of the photographing of me is also something of which I knew nothing. Yes, infrequently he would ask to take a picture of me nude but they were nothing more than a casual snapshot of a nicely constructed man standing up.The rest of it, well, we live in the world of cameras, known and hidden, everywhere and that's the home I lived in. I was disgusted to learn that he'd sent Bjorn videos of me defecating and was interested to find that he, too, been revolted to receive them.

As to the sperm samples? Steve was hooked on stem cell research and wondered if male sperm, immediately after extraction, could provide some links. It never occurred to me that his sperm wasn't taken but he had a protocol for obtaining mine that did not allow me to manipulate myself but rather a machine stimulated my cock and balls, sometimes my prostate as well, then it would quickly go into vials which were flash frozen and, I was told, sent off for analysis. This was work that, as a chemist, I could easily have done and offered to do so but he declined saying that to allow me to manipulate my own sperm might taint the sample.

 I should have guessed that all the precautions about my sperm had a more practical application; He was selling it. Along with pictures of me, all my myriad qualifications, measurements....just like the ones he sent to Bjorn. When, finally, I did find out I withheld them from him and, I must say, it was down right funny to watch him pout.

However, he was not pouting when I asked him how much he'd made in selling my cum and demanded half. He tried to look hurt, his lover demanding money for something he took so freely whenever...Yes, I wanted half of what the take at the door had been. He was so sure of himself that before I made my demands I'd done a quick sweep of the house, found the name of the purchasing lab, using his name and approximated voice, called them to ask how sales were. I was pleased but not surprised to learn I was one of the most requested if not THE most requested so...when I suggested a slight rise in price, they were immediately agreeable.

 I raised the price of me from eight to ten thousand depending on the amount and the wriggler count. Wondered what they charged the consumer but didn't care. I also wondered if my name had been attached to the likenesses that accompanied the vials of flash frozen me. There was reason to hope that's what he'd done.

Recently there had been stories of young people who had sued the companies that provided the sperm to find their genetic parents and the legal trend was to give them some leeway. Following that, two law suits had been filed against donors asking for child support....so if he was the putative donor, I was in the clear.

Away from him, he would be in the very awkward position of having to say that, no, the samples weren't his but his.....boyfriend, live in, whatever he called me to protect our relationship-it's safe bet that NONE of the fertility clinics would have accepted, even wanted the sperm from a homosexual man. But, gee, no me and, if approached I could deny any knowledge of it. Did the courts want a sperm sample? That would be hard as he had represented himself. Would mine match? Sure, but he'd have no signed release from me for their sale, no proof I even knew about it.

I could easily join with their suit asking for monies I was owed for product stolen from me. Sales dropped and the fertility clinic, who had "pre sold" my juice became at first frantic then annoyed then suggested civil action. Of course by then he'd sold the goose that spewed the golden goods and....however that worked itself out..I'll never know. Maybe in ten years or so I should look at the young to see if there was a "family resemblance"....

We worked silently, efficiently each automatically doing what the other was not, no error of commission or ommision, just like the planned construction project where pieces seemed to just "be there" when needed. We were both sweating so working with only our socks and boots made sense and, besides, where we were, no one was going to surprize us unless they came by parachute and, even then, one of us would have seen the expanding shadow and made a decision as to whether to eliminate it or permit it to land and then make a decision as to what to do with whomever. Of course, had we been spotted and what came down was a box full of very useful things, we would have bowed to the sky and simultaneously done some archaic Viking dance of gratitude; I knew and I suspected that neither of us had dancing blood in us so the mise en scene could have been...diverting.

He stared at a particularly tall, poorly firred tree and its shadow; 'Close to 6, break off and get some food. He reached in the SUV and casually tossed me a Mossberg, took a Remington, better for long range shooting. Skinning knifes, anyone can make a travois wherever you are so we were set. Nothing was in rut so males weren't likely to be as skittish as at other times and, besides, to take a male, speed butcher it then haul the parts back to our camp would have implied we intended to stay until first snow. Which, up there, might have been later that afternoon.....

"Berries!" as we walked along we picked the very edible things we found, put them in a basket of things he had that was carried, Indian style, with a long piece of fabric over his forehead then went down his back supporting a carryall but required no use of hands and, even when very filled, was easy to use as the weight was on one of the strongest areas of the body-hey, Atlas used it to hold up the world....

I was following him and realized, here to fore I'd had other things on my mind, like surviving his driving, what a well constructed body he had. Hips that, just from watching, could do anything from crush Walnuts to allow a cock to slide between them then hold it firmly, gently while an even more male hose slid in.There was nothing about him I didn't like and that included his inate kindness. Okay, so I was owned property-I decided that my parents needn't know all the circumstances of my new job save  that I was, once again, away from chem and into...well, whatever Bjorn was into beside water.

He turned a brilliant smile on his face, "Ho, I hear water running maybe even deep water. Good fishing." Not two minutes later, as he  called it, a substantial stream, not wide but swift moving and, yes, I could see from the reflection and what I couldn't see from the bottom, fairly deep.

Instinctively we both saw movement in the depths, hauled off our socks, boots and dove in. Back to the surface each holding a good sized salmon, we laughed, "Dinner, breakfast and lunch..." He squeezed one, the female, and was rewarded with a flow of roe. He swam to me, held my head back so I was floating, put his mouth to mind and shared the delicious 'caviar'.

With a roar, he tossed me in the air and yelled, "Haakon, you are what I want!!!". In the air I twisted so that my entry was more of a dive than a splash so I could go deep. He followed me and, there, in the cold deep water, he finger fucked me so that when we  breached the surface I was ready to be taken. There. Floating. He was on his back, his prick rising, hardening so to help it, I took it in my mouth all the way to my throat then held it there, gently with my teeth. He went further down as he expanded which felt wonderful.

Steve had always been, well, a bit reluctant if it didn't show him and having him in my mouth didn't show off onc of his assets.....I wanted to fuck him, jump  up, sit on him and feel his Vicking cock go up my Norwegian ass, find something Finnish and we had most of Scandinavia. We both knew water so he rolled on his side, his hard, swelling cock waiting for me to back on to it, and I did, then slowly with both our participating rolled back until I was sitting on him, impaled waitng for our floating to stabilize leaving him just enough above water to breath save when I would start my slow up and down, careful to not let either of us even near climax but just enjoy the feeling of him in me, steadily expanding as I led him further in.

I knew he could go down to my prostate, my goal for him, but it could wait. He leaned forward and took my cock in his mouth, just the head which he lightly held with his teeth while pushing his tongue into my piss hole, widening it, making me feed him the first stream of golden fluid, cleaning me for later when he'd demand, and get the cream in me, all of it, brutally, his teeth, then tearing at the hair in my crotch. It was magic for both of us, there in the cold water, our ever hottening bodies, joined.....He surprised me with some very strong up thrusts that took his head and my cock below the water level but he knew how to control his breath.

To join him, I exhaled and also sank so we were both underwater, still joined and feeling each other with our hands, our cocks now being the property of the other. Only occasionally, and at his command, would we rise just enough to breath then sink back. The slanted sun light made us green and blue in reflection from the sky and the water.

It had to end but only because our weight carried us into the flow and to a narrowing that was fast and deep but not for us to pass through. We seperated but only until we could get on some moss that had grown in the spray and there each took the penis of the other in our well prepared mouths, deeped throated each over and put several fingers up the ass of our partner. In the sun it was, for us, warm and so we stayed as we were, occasionally sharing our man making liquid then entering into a violent edging almost to the next but we knew we were happy as we were. Our bodies slowed their tempos, our breathing slowed, our hearts took fewer beats and joined in as many places as two men can with just their bodies, we slept.

Nothing can rouse you more quickly than hard, sheeting, cold rain accompanied by a wind that passed gale on someone's scale quickly. To both of us, waking up took no time and our instincts were to dive back in the stream and start swimming toward where we'd entered. Not enough down fall to increase the volume or the pressure but by sticking at the margins, we covered the two or three miles we'd floated reasonably quickly. One of those things we both knew, I from training, Bjorn from experience, is to exit where you entered so you are orientated immediately, no standing around like a moist, partially hairy statue wondering where the fuck now.

He tapped me on my shoulder, pointed at a very tall spruce and we made for that. Trees this tall have effectively killed the lower branches leaving a large space on the bottom easily accommodate two men, standing or sitting. On our way in, Bjorn crossed some of the branches, crossed them then shoved them over another pair for an opening. On the inside, while not quiet, the invective of the rain had stopped to a gentle almost pleasant sound of a rain on a fir tree. Because of the overlap of the upper branches, it was dry, the floor made of a deep layer of pine needles, regrettably still stiff but...we were in a dry place, a bit warmer than out side and, I knew full well, I had my own combustible heating system with me.

That system came to me, wrapped his arms around me whispering in my ear that he wished we were both hairier, we could shake ourselves like dogs and be dried off. No matter. I guess Steve forgot to tell him I'd been quite a successful wrestler in both high school and university so he suddenly found himself on the needles, flipped over, his magnificent ass widened, spat in and entered. In his ear I whispered, "I was a Boy Scout until they kicked me out...I remember about rubbing things together to make heat...whaddya think? Are we two things that can  be rubbed together to make heat?"

There was, of course, no answer as I'd already started the entry with his opening glute muscles snatching and grabbing, pulling in me down into him, to a waiting welcome of internal fur and very well toned muscles. I needed nothing but my cock, my arms and legs lay quietly on either side of him offering heat there while his back and my chest performed the same duty. My cock, of course needed no heat nor did the interior of his smooth muscled siphon, one made with capillary action to draw into it whatever it found....imagine getting a suck job and fucking simultaneously.

"Who do I send money to so I can buy you?" His laughter almost jiggled his chute to the point of making me come, not that he would have minded, we were set up for this position for a very long time...at least until twilight which was many weeks away...

In my dreams I was rowing a long boat, naked, being whipped by Bjorn and screamed at to row ever faster. He wore only a helmet with Viking wings his cock in a golden boat shaped tube with a Kraken on the front in gold. We were on...nothing but clouds and, when I had us up to speed, he fell on me, taking my whole ball sack in my mouth, his eyes closed in ecstasy. No words just more of me in his mouth, my cock and balls were entombed in his hot mouth, my cock snaking toward his throat, knowing what it might find. He spat out my nuts, concentrating on the leg sized appendage he held as prisoner in his cave of a mouth...his spittle ran from his teeth, filling the boat but he would not turn loose.

 Knowing it would soon be turn about, he reached in and yanked all my teeth, licking the blood, letting his tongue explore the sockets which gused first blood then semen and, dreaming, each eruption of cum was in a glass vial marked..."No Sale".

He crushed the glass, chewed it drank me and we continued as my schlong crept like Jason looking for the Minotaur in a dark hall down, down until the piss hole, spread by the narrowing oval opened to plant gusher after gusher past his last obstacle and into his lungs where I would grow until, my only release, the ceremony of the blood eagle which would kill him but produce me as the finest man both of us could be, each slave to the other, each owned by the other, the clouds, the warmth I was drifting...........I stirred thinking I was still in a boat on the clouds, drifting but opened my eyes to see two golden ones and a beak looking at me. An owl.

No animal was really afraid of Bjorn. In this case his offering of friendship had been an unfotunate mouse which he'd let squeal enticing the owl to fly down knowing the sound of it's prey. That it found two large men fucking didn't seem to distract it...but it was impossible to believe this was a daily occurence. Still slowly manipulating myself in him, I crossed my arms on his shoulder blades, kissed the back of his neck and put my head on my crossed arms waiting to see what might happen next.

Owls have a peculiar gait on the ground, more like an overly pompous general taking large steps to cover very little territory. Turning his hand, palm up and holding the mouse by its tail, he snaked his arm out toward the owl, carefully watching him wanting him to not take fright. To that end, he clenched his ass putting me in a holding pattern, unable to move. The owl blinked it's large eyes, stepped forward again to where Bjorn was holding the mouse by it's tail high enough to provide the owl with an easy meal, just swallow, digest and disgorge the bones. Another blink then a leap into the air and, for Bjorns kindness, flew two very low passes, so much so that the sound of each feather was discrenible.

He turned me loose so unexplectedly that I shot a monstrous load, one I thought I'd been saving but too excited by all that had happened, and in a place that liked monstrous loads....well....He rolled slightly to one side causing me to slide out making a solid "Plooooop" as all the extended part of me came out. He was immediately on it, held it, examined it kissed it, licked the head, smiled at me saying...."Steve was a fool...you are without price, but with every jewel one could hope for in another man." His smile as he drew his face to mine suggested I was about to be kissed in a way new to me. Far above, one owl and owlets seemed to applaud as they practiced flapping their wings...

I'd forgot that this sort of tree with their constant fall of needles also created a bed of soft, crushed needles under the first several inches. Bjorn and I turned over this top covering and quickly found ourselves on a velvety base which we pulled over us. He pulled me to me, kissed me again, or some more, I'd lost track then whispered, in this place of interior silence, the whisper seemed right..."Haakon, would you like to stay in here with our friends up there and this bed....sleep by me, let me take you when I want...and I want you very badly...now.

It was nothing to take his whole face in my hand, lean in, kiss him and let him slow roll me until I was comfortable, he even made a space for my cock suggesting as often as I wanted, to shoot in there as he planned to be fucking me for...a very long time.

Before he entered me, I was allowed to lick his ever stiffenting stalk, wash his nuts, carress them with my hand, seperate them, press on them to see if I could extract something for me as the rest would go to and in him. He was smiling when he pooled a beautiful gift in my hand, raised it, had me lick it then got my head suited, my dick dug in the needle bed as he mounted me, from the rear, like a dog. And, like many animals, he held my neck in his jaws while he urgently, roughly shoved himself into me, making me know he was my master, my guardian, my giver of sex beyond any other man....he massaged my shoulders as he reached the bottom of my chasm, used his dick head to look about finding the prostate, pressed it, I began to moan as he demanded that I give him more, squeeze him force him to breed me, make him hurt me while he recovered for the next time, ignoring my tears and sounds, he held my head by my hair and shoved himself beyond where I thought there was any place to go.

 My prostate was expanding to make love to his cock head, his staff exploded, contracted, exploded, contracted while I drew fists full of needles and earth and mashed them into my face; Somehow, I wanted to find a way to cause myself as much pain as he was causing me, it seemed only proper to parallel him, make him know I was with him, I wanted him to destroy me if that was his choice...I was his.

He collapsed leaving his shrinking meat in me but unwilling to turn me loose, to seperate the bond; If his flux could have dried sealing us together, he would have done that. Slowly, using his hands like the most delicate probes, he took my head in them, turned it, brushed off the dirt then forced me to bend back, up, his hand now under my chin. He said something but I wept as it was in some language...."Please Bjorn, please, English."

I could almost feel his smile. "Haakon, that is how you must fuck me, how you must always take me, how I shall always take you.....I wonder if we'll ever have another place as glorious as this....? What if we just emptied the vehicle, turned it on its side and....left it there to be found? We have a home here, a house, a pet..." He did an amazing rendition of an Owl's hoot that was answered followed by our friend dropping in, probably thinking the snack bar was open after the first feature.

He lurched up, out of the tree leaving me covered, warm, happy...the owl now comfortable sat a few inches from me, occasionally blinking one eye or the other. I wanted to touch him  but I did know that the beak of an owl can break the bones in your fingers so I left our friendship at just being platonic.

Bjorn hustled back in his hands holding something to his chest. In a flurry he dropped very small fish which the owl gobbled up, flew away then, only moments later returned hoping for more-he was in luck. Bjorn squatted-Jesus he had a beautiful ass-and showed the owl what was left in his hand. I thought he nodded then inched forward, gulped down what was left and, I'll be damned, seemed to put his wings around Bjorns hands then flew away doing his customary fly by carressing us with his wings.

"That's our sentinel should anything come near us, he'll let us know and, occasionally, we'll feed them-there are two of them both male and female tend and feed the owlets. He shuffled around making a soft bed for himself. I could imagine his eyes looking up, out planning for, now, us.

"Haakon, do you have anger at Steve? Do you want some sort of revenge....I want it for you."

"Well....I do have an idea but....it's just not something I much care about, even less than I care about him...now. Just someone I knew, like most guys who work in meat, I think of him as the butcher....sold a good piece to a great customer...or I believe the customer is satisfied?" " And looked at him.

"Oh, yes, the customer is completely satisfied and as the time goes on and the meat ripens even more...." He leaned over took me in his arms, held me, kissed me...."I want you to suck me...."

I made a gesture of aligning my jaw and leaned over to his genitals. He was seated, never did a man sitting like that, but found what he wanted was just the juice of my mouth running down his sword, not trying to bring him to climax. I would find this was his way of thinking. He'd stroke my hair, fiddle with my ears and then lean over, move me and we'd be involved in a gentle 69. I hoped the owls weren't shocked.

We didn't know, couldn't have planned it but this sabbatical while others wondered where we'd gone gave us the time to get to know each other, to have the private language that people who are coupled develop, find things that are mutually amusing that others just shake their heads. Under that tree was, and this sounds dumb, was our marital bed, our honeymoon, our introduction to sex and how we liked with each other.

To his credit, Bjorn was patient with me, realizing that with /Steve it hadn't been so much a sexual affair surrounded by emotions, it was just sex because, frankly, we both wanted and liked it. Bjorn wanted sex as a display of, first, his acceptance of me as an integral part of him and at last out of deeply rooted affection and knowledge of what I was, wanted, desired, needed. I was an experiment once I told him about selling my semen in that now, he took me to parts of sex I might have heard about but had never experienced.

Now we could get rough-we were both strong men and the longer I was with him, the stronger I got-and enjoy the fight for domination and sometimes the pleasure of submission. It wasn't all even, In his mind he was the leader if not entirely the dominant but his leadership was born of knowing what he could teach me, enjoy with me....and it was worlds from Dr. Icky and his fish tank. 

Was he the greatest lover ever? Given only one other man for comparison, I've no idea, but he was the greatest to me his unfailing body provided complete satisfaction, changes in what we did, the on going surprises, sometimes to him although he would not admit it. The physical challenges driven by a want to find new ways and places for sex-the day we swam into the Gulf of Alaska, naked, was frightening; I'd seen a pod of Killer Whales and, fuck Free Willie, in our bare skins and smooth, seal like motions, I had no desire to be a meal for anyone. Well, maybe Bjorn but it would have to be dual self-immolation....

Two days? Maybe three? when there is not dividing line of dark and light and you're so involved with the man you're with, days have no point; Hunger, thirst, exhaustion all are relevant but days? No. However well meaning people intruded as the distinct sound of a helicopter came near. I quietly thought we could have pushed the SUV into the water and never been seen. The reality was...people were looking, were worried, were determined to find us...then there were the rental car people.

As we heard the whirly bird approach, we both threw on some clothing, stood by the SUV, waved, pretended to be glad to see someone, allowed the medic who'd been sent along to examine us, gathered up our things from the now dead vehicle, trudged to the open door of the helo and took off. I thought I saw an owl fly after us for a little ways but...no. Strapped into the seats we couldn't even see the territory and, just as well, it was a short flight back to  Kodiak.

Bjorn had a lot of people to deal with-I slipped away, stripped, jumped in at the pier where we'd first met, got my clothes, ID and was back and dressed in the bits and pieces of what we'd used out in the bush. Someone had gathered up the rest of our luggage, stored it at the police station where, after neatly explaining we hadn't seen the sign about the road, it was released to us.

A day later we were on the commuter plane to Anchorage, another plane to California where, just before he left for his semester at sea, I punched out Dr. Icky. Bjorn offered but I claimed that prize for myself.

It was tough being separated from him, he flew back to Iceland while I finished packing up, cleaning out, storing junk from Icky's home, formerly our home, thought about him all the time, finished up, closed up and flew to my parents home in South Dakota.

Explaining Bjorn and how I'd come to be with him required some careful story telling on my part; They'd known I couldn't go on the semester at sea and in this re-casting of events, we'd been in Kodiak-fish was a good and viable excuse when, Surprize!! Steve had met his old friend and cohort, Bjorn. We found an affinity for one another and-that they bought this did amaze me-there was a chemistry project at a university in Iceland that just had my name on it.

I spent two weeks on the farm, enjoyed it actually, my younger brother, now very much grown up, and I still fought naked in the hayloft....I wished Bjorn had been there, he would have loved the rough housing and loved Tim. Perhaps someday he could come to Iceland..

Hard to simulate reluctance to leave when in reality you would have left the day you arrived. My father had a bizarre form of father/son talk with me-given my age and years in California, I should have had one with him. Was he trying in his kind way to suggest, for he'd never have been even potentially unkind, that he knew about Bjorn...and me...and our relationship. I did tell him about being called 'Haakon' which made him cry; I'd forgot that was his father's name.

Possibly to make up for my lack of mechanical ability, my brother had the gift of knowing all about engines, his own car in particular. To show me the performance-I'd seen him come down the road to our home and didn't need any further demonstrations-he offered to drive me to the airport in Minneapolis. Apart from his ongoing speech about 'lifters' and something to something else ratio he mentioned that he hoped this Bjorn person was a good fuck, I deserved it. Before I could say anything, he 'picked up another gear' causing the interior noise to drown out all but my thoughts.

Bjorn dropped my duffel on the floor of his cave in the side of the cliff. Still in a modified form of shock having used the 'steps' to his home, I hadn't thought about much else. He wanted to show me the  view-without having to look down. I wanted to hold on to him to make sure I was stable and, stupidly, started to cry I was so glad to see him. There is a cure for crying and, as he gently entered me, he said, “I want to show you the end of the world....”