STATION 7

By Simon Traum


They're sucking each other's cocks. Is this before or after the altar? Not sure. Something about a rose blooming. Memory's so jumbled up. Yeah, there are roses all over, in season, blooming black in the moonlight. Jacob licks the big man's purple cockhead, then impales his face on it, choking, loving it. He hears the man moaning around his big dick, taking it like a pro. He looks especially good with it stuffed halfway down his throat. He feels the fleshy horn in his mouth begin to erupt, and swallows greedily.


THEN:

Ignacio was not yet three years old when he was in the accident. The car was totaled; everyone inside was killed but him, including his father and one older brother. Only Ignacio survived, but he was horribly mutilated by the collision. There were many operations. Ignacio's mother would not have been able to afford the medical bills, but the remaining family had been ironically lucky. The accident had been caused by an out-of-control garbage truck designed and owned by a large conglomerate. In order to keep the tragedy out of the papers, they quietly settled for paying the remaining family a discreetly outrageous amount of money, covering all of Ig's medical bills and insuring that no one in the family would have to work if they didn't want to.

Ignacio's face and some of his body were almost completely destroyed in the impact. He had to be rebuilt. His face was carefully reconstructed by surgeons who did what they could: they gave structure to what had been destroyed, but there would be many scars. Ignacio would never look "normal" again. The livid explosion of scar tissue that covered most of the left side of his head and invaded a good part of the right had left one eyelid stretched unnaturally around the orb. His hair didn't grow back where the scalp was scarred, leaving red, lumpy, bald patches that stretched themselves like small landmasses through the jungle of his thick, dark hair. He wore braces on his legs for several years, re-learning to walk in them. His mother devoted a lot of time and attention to him, making sure he continued to develop at the pace he could. There was some concern that his brain had been damaged, but as he grew, it became clear that he was as sharp as anyone else his age. It appeared that nothing important had been lost mentally.

When Ignacio grew old enough to begin schooling, he and his mother decided that he should attend an ordinary public school. She had been careful not to isolate him from other people after the accident, knowing that he had to get used to interacting with the outside world. At seven, Ig was shy, somewhat used to being stared at, but not cowed by it and not particularly frightened of other people. He could stand on his own two feet. He'd grown stronger as he got older, healing.

He was finally allowed to remove his leg braces permanently when he was nine years old. At that point, he began to play with other kids. Without his encumbrances, he frequently forgot the accident as he grew, defining himself less and less through it, although people did still occasionally stare.

Something happened when Ig started high school. His body had begun developing quickly over the previous two years. Puberty was kind to him, perhaps in deference to what he'd already been through; his physique ballooned up impressively over a series of months. His shoulders broadened, chest deepened, height shot up quite a few inches.

Halfway into his freshman year, he noticed that girls were checking him out. At first, he thought they were laughing at him, but then he realized they'd behave more rudely if they were. This felt more reverent. The girls were shy at this point, unsure of how to approach, but fascinated. And anyway, guys were checking him out, too, and not nearly so shy about it.

Ig's preference was girls at first, although he admits these days that that was mostly because he didn't know guys were available. His mother hadn't told him about that part, but, privately, he had acquired a taste for them.

It was during Ignacio's sophomore year the first time RJ appeared to him in a dream, telling him to stop looking in mirrors. Ig remembered when he woke up, and duly avoided any reflective surface. He didn't know RJ, had certainly never met him, but figured if a stranger that attractive gave you advice, you should take it and see what happens. Within twenty-four hours, he realized he was getting a new kind of attention. He was used to people staring at him, but this was different. It took a while before he recognized these were appreciative looks, given additional weight by the lack of expectation brought to the appraisal; a surprise for both of them. These glances had gravity, he could feel them without looking himself. It was like wherever he went, he was traveling in the eye of a hurricane. Suddenly, Ig was everyone's best friend, scars and all.

A week later, Ig had a girlfriend as well as a jealous stalker. His mother knew something strange was up when his female classmates began loitering outside the front door. Against all expectation, her son was growing up into the sexiest thing on two legs. He seemed to inspire obsessive behavior in others. A deeply pious Catholic, she decided on the spot that her prayers had been answered. Ignacio had been touched by the hand of God, blessed above all others; more Holy even than the Church, if it were to come down to it. She would not be the least bit surprised to find Ig strolling across the surface of the pool.

In his senior year, Ig discovered sex with men. He was still a virgin, still too shy to put the moves on the girls he dated. He sensed his own magnetism in a vague way, but still wasn't entirely sure that other people weren't just tolerating him for politeness' sake. Just to be on the safe side, he figured he shouldn't push it. He'd been recruited for the football team this year, and had been getting used to hanging out with the guys on the team; sports and the rough-and-tumble routines associated with it helped him burn off steam so he didn't get too horned-up.

In late fall, he'd been at a dance with some girl after a game, kind of bored really. He'd offered to get her some more soda, but when he arrived at the refreshments table, Chet sidled up to him and patted him on the butt, which got Ig's attention fast. Chet was on the team with Ignacio. They'd hung out a few times, had some classes together.

Chet pulled a small silver flask out of his jacket pocket. "Hey, Ig, you want to hit this with me?" his eyebrows shot briefly up his handsome face. Chet was too cute to say no to, still --

"Aw, I should get back with these drinks..." Ig indicated his date on the other side of the cavernous gymnasium..

Chet grinned. "Hey, it won't take that long. Let's just duck behind the bleachers..."

"What is it?" queried Ignacio.

"Vodka."

"All right, you're on."

When they got behind the extended bleachers, they found another one of the football players, Tex, waiting for them. Tex was a senior as well, good-looking and well-liked. Lounging on his butt, he had a hand-rolled cigarette in his mouth, unlit. He was fooling with an unworkable lighter. He looked up at them and tossed it away. "Right on, you got him!" He jumped up, smiling. "Hi, Ig. Got a lighter?"

"N-No," Ig stammered, nervous and not sure why. Chet passed him the flask. He took a swig, feeling it burn its way down. "Are you going to light that thing in here?" he asked, more for something to say than because he was interested.

"Thinking about it, but my goddamn lighter's dead." Tex took the proffered flask from Ignacio, and downed a belt. "Thanks, bud."

"Won't they kick you out for smoking?" Ig was mystified.

"Wasn't gonna smoke the whole thing." He looked at Ig more closely, rubbing his jaw. "It's pot, dude."

Chet's right hand appeared, bearing forth a flaming lighter. "Spark it, Tex." They did, hitting twice each, then passing it to Ignacio. Ig hadn't smoked weed before. "Hold it in," Chet coached him. "Okay, now let it out. You better put that out, Tex. There's too much smoke back here."

"I'm on it. It's out, we're good." Tex stood up, handing the flask back to Ig, who swigged from it again and passed it on to Chet. He smiled dreamily, starting to feel the effects kicking in.

"Hey, check him out," he heard Tex say. "He's getting bombed."

"Yeah, look, maybe we should get away before someone comes looking back here." Chet sounded nervous; Ig couldn't imagine why.

"No, I don't think we have to worry about that. Hey, Ig," Tex addressed him, "how you feeling?"

Ig smiled at him. He felt warm, fuzzy waves vibrating out through him in time with the music, which he was feeling more than hearing. He liked looking at Tex, who brought his very appealing face right up to Ig's and kissed him suddenly, on the lips. "How you feeling now?" he asked.

Ig felt shock waves ricocheting all through him. He leaned in and kissed Tex back, and the two of them locked mouths for a while. Behind him, he heard Chet whisper, "Wow," which was pretty much how he felt himself. He loved the feel of Tex's tongue on his.

Chet's hands were on him without warning, turning him in Chet's direction. "My turn," Chet said, kissing Ig, who couldn't believe this was happening to him. He heard Tex behind him, muttering, "Yeah, I guess he don't have all night," then he felt Tex's unfamiliar hands undoing his pants. He started to struggle, but Tex's long fingers just reached inside, grabbing Ig's cock, stroking it, getting it big and hard and feeling good, and he lost all interest in resisting. His tongue relaxed back into Chet's mouth as Tex jacked his prong to a full hardness. No girl had offered to do this to him yet, and here were these two cute guys determined to scratch his itch without him even having to ask. He'd already forgotten his date's name by the time he was coming in Tex's mouth.

Ig was in a fantastic mood, sailing through the rest of that night.

By the end of his senior year, he'd cultivated a few other friends on the team who he could trade blowjobs with and a couple who'd even bend over for him - although Ig was uncomfortable with more than a finger up his own rump - and he always knew he was in for something special when he saw Tex and Chet together, waiting. He still dated girls, they all did. He took one to the Senior Prom, but Chet and Tex ended up getting in a fist fight over him that night.

All this time, Ig kept having regular dreams about RJ, once or twice a year. It was something he'd find himself daydreaming about, surprised he could still recall the details clearly. When he finally met RJ, he'd already memorized every feature, convincing himself that he'd run into the guy any day now. For his part, RJ claims he has no memory of any of this, but he's seen stranger things happen, and he can recognize a shamanic dream when it's described to him.


FIRE + WATER:

Ig finally encountered RJ in the flesh only recently, about a week back.

After graduating from high school, Ig's been at loose ends. His twentieth birthday is still months away. He sees no way forward, no career for him, as if the world he's grown up with no longer makes sense. After the summer of his graduation, his football friends and fuck-buddies have started to become more distant, consumed by their separate lives' trajectories. He still has memories of everything changing at once when he was younger. There's nothing for it, but to see what develops.

He's begun to feel funny, has trouble concentrating for increasingly longer periods. The basic reality of his environment - something he'd rarely questioned in previous years - seems to be breaking down again, causing a plethora of questioning attitudes he can't stop chewing on. Is this all there is? There must be more...

He signed up for a full load of classes at a local community college, but found he couldn't focus on any of his studies. He considered the Army, but the side-effects of chemical warfare just didn't appeal to him. It's not depression, more a kind of enervation, an invisible block between himself and other people. His mother sent him to a doctor, worried that maybe there might be some brain damage issues complicated by football, but it turned out he's fine physically, in exceptionally good shape actually. The doctor prescribed some pills for him, but they sent his stomach off, so he stopped taking them, preferring his semi-dazed, introspective state to constant nausea.

Ignacio is lost, and he knows it. It seems like he should be more upset or worried, but he's just drifting with it instead. He's still getting laid occasionally; he figures things could be worse. Somewhere deep inside, he can feel some part of him, waiting and calm, ready.

This particular day, Ig's been wandering the downtown streets on foot, having successfully forgotten to attend any classes he had scheduled. It's like he just travels on automatic, taking in whatever he sees pass in front of or by him. There's a smudge of darkness in the sky ahead and people hurrying. Ig follows, smelling smoke.

It's a three-story apartment building, burning merrily away on the corner of an intersection. People have gathered down the two streets to watch the chaos unfold at the nexus. The fire department hasn't arrived yet, but sirens wail, growing in the distance.

Zoned out, Ig stares with the crowd as the fire trucks pull up, then becomes distracted by a splashing sound cutting through everything else. He pivots his head, glancing at the corner furthest across from the fire: a fountain, a huge one. Great gouts of water endlessly throw themselves at the sky, quickly giving up and falling defeated into a basin below. The constant sound - roaring fire and splashing water - hypnotizes Ignacio, who walks into the street toward it, his mind a blank. With the street effectively closed down to deal with the crisis, miraculously no one attempts to stop him. Rushing, heavy-coated bodies fly past him, but he's no longer in their film.

Halfway across the intersection, Ig feels a sharp burning sensation at the back of his skull and turns, eyes stinging, stunned into sudden awareness. He stands on the asphalt, halfway between a burning building on one corner and a gushing fountain on the other, as a muscular confusion of hoses spew water into the blaze, coming out of his daze finally and staring straight at RJ standing on the sidewalk.


NOW:

RJ's deep brown eyes - they almost look black in the dim light through the blinds - stare back at Ignacio, wonderingly. Curious.

"You've been introduced to the Station in an unusual way," RJ says finally. "Most people don't have dreams about it before they arrive."

"Can I suck your cock?" Ig asks softly, now that they're alone.

RJ undoes his trousers and casually lets his thickening snake out for some air. Ig kneels, staring reverently at it. Thick. Pretty. Ignacio runs his tongue up its underside and RJ's eyes close. Ig feels it get harder as he takes it between his eager lips, tongue swishing around the head. RJ gasps and Ig can feel his own cock growing larger in his pants. He feels vaguely superhuman, but born for it, as he starts to suck in earnest, feeling RJ's muscular body tensing in pleasure.

"Ah, fuck yeah," RJ rumbles encouragingly, placing one hand on the back of Ig's head, "Yeah, that's it. Take it all, now. Ahhh, yeah!" Ig can taste RJ's pre-come, mixing with his saliva and leaking out his mouth as he sucks with abandon. RJ's cock is growing, amazingly, larger. Sometimes Ig chokes, but it only turns him on more, making him force the big hog back down again.

RJ's fucking his face now, holding Ig's slurping head tight in both hands. He grunts satisfyingly every time he thrusts down Ig's throat. Ig's just going with it, relaxing, letting the big guy use him. His own cock is like steel, jutting from his open fly and leaking on the floor, untouched. His head spins, he's so fucking horny, and the room tilts dangerously for a second. Ig closes his eyes, concentrates on sucking the cock in his mouth, hopes he doesn't pass out, but then everything goes black.

Ig becomes momentarily unaware of himself and his surroundings. Floating in limbo, he hears RJ's voice: "The accident during your childhood was a shamanic ordeal. It took you out of the ordinary world forever and placed you on a plane that no other human completely exists on. You can consider this your Initiation. Listen carefully. I'm going to show you some motions. I want you to copy them. And you'll want to breathe deep, from down here." Ig feels a warm palm on his lower belly, anchoring him back in his body. "Concentrate on that..."

His vision flickers back into use, like a movie projector turned back on halfway through a reel. He's naked; so's RJ, standing behind and to his right, one hand still on Ig's belly, rubbing. Ig remembers to breathe, pulling it in deep, to the area under RJ's palm. They're in a stone cave, the ceiling of which is covered in blooming red roses. "Good," RJ mumbles, lips grazing Ignacio's neck, making his cock jump. RJ's other hand snakes around the back of Ig's head, turning his face toward RJ's.

RJ turns Ig around and his tongue gently separates Ig's scarred lips, sending blue sparks around the inside of his mouth. RJ's hairy chest brushes up against Ig's, making his tool jump up again, bumping against RJ's horn, and for a second time he gets worried he might pass out. But RJ holds him up, kissing him, and Ig clasps his arms around RJ, like a drowning man with a life preserver. Gravity, however, is not as irresistible as RJ's big dick, so Ig ends up on his knees anyhow, dragging his tongue up the veiny undershaft from RJ's dark-furred ballsack.

Taking his cock in hand, RJ points it tip-first toward Ignacio's drooling lips. It's all Ig can look at, transfixed. "We've made it holy," he hears RJ saying somewhere, "now suck it out."

The monstrous member abruptly pushes into Ig's mouth, and he pushes his head down over it, a tiny Niagara of spit falling over his chin as he noisily sucks the big, pretty fucker. It's so good he's groaning around it, his own neglected dick sticking up, trembling. He feels like he could shoot any second, but he wants RJ's load first, so he puts his hands behind his back as RJ seizes his head between both palms. RJ grunts ferally as he fucks Ig's mouth. "Fuck, hahh!" he growls, shoving his granite tool in and out fast, sweat dripping down onto Ig's head.

"Fuck, you've almost got me... Ummm! Fuck, suck it, ahhh! There!" His big dick's gotten thicker in Ig's mouth, almost bigger than he can handle, and it's pushing it's way back down his throat brutally as he hears RJ yell, "AAAWWW, FUCK!" and a huge wave of burning liquid shoots straight down Ig's swallowing neck. "OOohhhhh," groans RJ, holding Ig's face to his crotch. His eyes are closed and he moans through his orgasm, panting slowly and deeply.

Once RJ's released his head, Ig falls to the floor, coughing, but still aroused, hard cock dangling between his massive kneeling thighs. That was no ordinary load; that burned and fizzed on the way down. What the fuck is RJ?

Before he can question all this, RJ's helping him to his feet, kissing him deep, running an affectionate finger down the web of scars on his face. Another one traces a trail up the shaft of his still-jerking erection. "It's your turn, handsome," RJ says, backing up to a stone altar at waist-level. He lifts himself, sitting, onto it and beckons to Ig, who moves toward him. RJ lies back on the altar, cock still hard, big, furry legs locking around Ig's hips to draw him forward and inside. "Give it to me," RJ says, gazing up to Ig. As if Ig was going to refuse.

Ignacio's dick feels so fucking good pumping into RJ's butt. He runs a hand up RJ's furry trunk and RJ lifts one big arm over his head, exposing his dark-haired arm pit. He grimaces, hissing breath through his teeth, clearly enjoying the fuck Ig's throwing into him. "Oh Madre," pants Ig, trying not to shoot too soon. He keeps slipping into a hallucination that RJ's full of stars; it's like fucking a galaxy or a nebula or something cosmic, dark matter caressing his thrusting cock. A thread of something he can't define works its way into him like a root planted in soil. It feels like a huge orange flower is opening inside his solar plexus; he can't see it, but he can feel the orange, pulsing as he fucks. His orgasm takes him then, coming on like a supernova, shooting stars deeply inside RJ, whose body knows what to do with them, Ig's sure.


NEXT:

It's early evening, the last traces of a deep blue sunset leak in through the windows. The two figures lying recumbent on the bed breathe softly, gradually recovering, absorbing the revelations they've both had. RJ himself is surprised: It seems Ig is some sort of sexual Buddha, a spiritual powerhouse of divine presence, but he's not yet consciously aware of it. He's still quite immature in terms of his ultimate potential, but a few weeks here at the Station should take care of that. He's already developed amazingly well, considering he's had absolutely no training. The Station's the best place for him. Ig, for his part, feels like he just found home, one he never knew he had. He and RJ fondle each other, languorously.

"Come on," says RJ, hauling himself off the bed. "I'll introduce you to your fellow trainees."

"Should we put on some clothes?" Ig looks around, not sure where he left his.

"If you want." RJ grins like he can't help it. "You probably won't have them on for long in any event." He points out a neatly-folded pile of clothing Ig hadn't noticed on a chair, picking his black pants off the floor. Ig walks over to investigate. They're his clothes, the ones he had on earlier, before all the extreme weirdness hit. He looks around, confused. This whole place is weird; he can't tell what time it is consistently. It's disorienting, and it bugs him. He tells himself that if he didn't like RJ so much, he'd take off.

He looks up, and RJ's already dressed in the clothes Ig met him in. He realizes he's wool-gathering at the wrong time and struggles back into his shirt.

RJ leads him down a series of hallways that leave him no more enlightened as to the geography of the place - half of them look too much alike - and out a back door onto a lawn in the dusk, paper lanterns hanging to illuminate the grass. He smells jasmine, can hear a far-off rhythm of some kind - hard to focus on...

They've gotten about seven feet out the door when Ig's progress is halted by Trent in front of him, Caleb in back. It's rather sudden and Ig's body tenses up, getting ready to fight if he has to. Once he realizes they aren't after his wallet, he relaxes, and Trent's kissing Ig before they've even been introduced, as Caleb's big hands move up under Ig's t-shirt.

Ig's cock wakes up again in his pants. His hands eagerly seek out Trent's and Caleb's unfamiliar bodies. It feels like he's come home all over again, any anxieties he had settling gently like lone snowflakes to melt to nothing on the ground.



 

Simon Traum

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