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This story is strictly fictional and contains male-on-male (gay 🏳🌈 ) sexual content, both implied and explicit. 🔞 Reader discretion is advised. The names, ages, circumstances, parties, and locations mentioned in this narrative are entirely fictional. Any resemblance to actual individuals is purely coincidental. This story is a product of the author’s imagination. The author does not endorse any products or entities mentioned herein.
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A gay summer Holiday — Chapter 1
• The ferry ride to freedom.
• Dear Diary: April 27th – Well past midnight.
Damn, that was a birthday. Nasty as ever. Those guys will never give up the ‘joke,’ will they? I am done with them calling me the runt of the family. They make me feel like a failure just because I don’t shove Dicky into every cunt I meet. I’m just not like them. Heck, even Sis got herself knocked up by that black hunk of a guy she’s with. I guess everyone is getting some but me.
I’m using these four months on the Island to figure myself out. Four months of bliss. Sure, I told Uncle I’d help fix up the holiday lets, but there will be time enough to hang out with the guys... or maybe finally visit the nude beaches now that I’m old enough to handle what I might find there.
Christopher’s ticket out of the city was a junior technical degree and a spot at a prestigious engineering college waiting for him in the fall. But as the train pulled into the ferry harbor, those academic achievements still felt like a lifetime away. He needed the salt air to scrub the resentment from his family off his skin.
At nineteen, Chris had spent years as the perpetual target of his three older brothers and his sister. To them, he was still the ‘runt,’ a label that justified the relentless teasing about his lack of a girlfriend. Even his aunts and uncles had joined in, whispering that a boy his age without a girl must surely have a ‘secret.’ Their winks felt like slaps, and their ‘jokes’ hovered uncomfortably close to a truth Chris wasn’t yet ready to name.
Physically, he was anything but a runt. Though he wasn’t as tall as the average Dutchman, his gym routine had carved out broad shoulders, a solid chest, and the hard lines of a six-pack. He looked like a man, even if he hid the evidence under loose hoodies to avoid further scrutiny.
He didn’t lack a girlfriend because of his looks; he just preferred his own company and the odd jobs that had funded this escape over the shallow sexual needs of his peers. Not that Chris was a virgin, or anything like that. He gave Dicky a taste of every dish out there. He had not yet made up his mind what he liked to feed that slab of meat.
The cash he’d saved from those jobs was now his ticket out. He was heading for a four-month working vacation at his great-uncle’s campgrounds — and Christopher wasn’t planning on coming back as the same boy who left.
His favorite retreat was an hour and a half away by car ferry — a trip he made at least three or four times a year. Most of his family still lived on the Island, a sandy, wooded paradise way out in the North Sea.
The train arrived right on time for Chris to catch the afternoon ferry toward his destiny. As he stepped off, a large group of men had debarked the ship and headed his way. His mouth fell open as he watched the drunken bastards waddle toward the train platform.
It was clear to Christopher that they’d just finished one hell of a kinky holiday together. Some of the guys still wore their bondage gear over their regular clothes, although calling what they wore ‘regular’ was a joke in its own right. He’d never seen this many men wearing that much leather and hardware in public. Chris couldn’t imagine himself in gear like that — not in public, anyway — yet the raw leather look these biker-types sported definitely excited him.
One of the men from the group threw himself over Chris’s shoulders, burping drunkenly. “Hey, sweet thing. You’re late! We could’ve used your sweet ass last week. They would’ve fucked the shit out of your tight ass!” he screamed at Chris, pointing back at his mates.
The man’s master pulled him away. “Sorry about that, son. We had a fun time in the woods this past weekend, and we got a bit too drunk on the ferry. You’ll have to forgive my boy here — I’ll punish him good for you,” he said semi-coherently.
“Ha! I bet you had a great time drinking and doing God knows what else out there. Better get yourselves home safely now, men!” Chris pushed the drunk guy back and said his goodbyes to the pack. Just as he turned to leave, a younger guy from the group leaned in and planted a kiss right on his lips. “Thank you. See you around at school, stud!” he said, looking oddly familiar to Chris.
Christopher brushed off the seductive encounter. The younger guy’s face was familiar, but the upcoming holiday was more important than tracking down a ghost from school.
He headed for the ticket hall, but a familiar figure caught his eye on the ro-ro deck. His Uncle Mathias, a second mate on the ferry, waved a walkie-talkie at him. Working at sea was Christopher’s dream — a life of salt and independence. He had worked for this ferry company last year. So he already knew most of the crew.
“You’re Chris, right?” a guard called out before Chris could reach the ticket booth. “Your uncle and the captain want you on the gangway. Follow me.” The guard grabbed one of Chris’s bags and led him past the long queue of passengers waiting behind the locked gates to the dock.
“Why the fuck is he allowed on before us?!” a man in heavy leather barked. He was part of a bigger group of bikers waiting to park their motorcycles on the car deck.
The man’s angry outburst startled a nearby mother and her son; the boy stumbled, but Chris caught him with a practiced reflex.
“Don’t be afraid of those bullies — their bark is worse than their bite, son,” Chris said with a wink, setting the boy back on his feet. And when his eyes met the biker, he smiled warmly. He liked the way the older man dressed.
The guard didn’t miss a beat, informing the angry biker that the ferry wouldn’t sail without a full crew — and that Chris was part of it. Christopher realized that his ferry ride had just been traded for an impromptu job. If it meant his expensive ticket was free, he certainly wasn’t going to complain.
Uncle Mathias met him on the dock with a crushing hug. “Damn, boy, you’ve grown even stronger! We’re short-staffed, and the weather is turning rough. We need your help.”
The captain joined them, clapping Chris on the shoulder. “Hey Chris, how’s your father, boy? Can you lend us a hand this journey?”
“Sure thing,” Chris joked, eyeing his uncle’s white bomber jacket. “But only if I get one of those nice crew jackets, too.”
“I’ll do you one better, Chris,” Mathias said, handing him a flimsy, white canvas American Navy cap, a company badge, and a spare crew jacket. “Keep them if you do a good job.”
The captain smiled. “Report to the steward of the main saloon on deck 3. It needs a scrub. When you’re done, help stow the luggage for the walk-ons.”
“Aye aye, sir!” Chris replied, feeling the sudden weight of the uniform. Give Chris a job, and he’d make the team complete.
In the main saloon, the steward didn’t waste time giving Christopher his assignment. Chris stowed his luggage and his own jacket, then set to work cleaning the saloon and wiping the tables. The previous crossing must have been brutal; the tables and benches were a mess of trash, and the tell-tale signs of seasickness. Having done a three-week stint with the company last year, Chris moved methodically, cleaning the grit away as the large ferry prepared to depart.
In one of the trashed booths at the back, he found a classic black leather biker jacket abandoned under the bench. It was likely left behind by one of the rowdy bastards he’d met on the platform. He had to keep moving to finish his shift, so rather than hauling it back to the shore office, he decided to just wear it for a few minutes. And then it happened.
A strange, powerful jolt surged through him — something Chris never felt before. The jacket was heavy, a thick second skin of cowhide that fit him like a glove. The primal scent of treated leather filled his nostrils, and as he moved, the material groaned and creaked with a masculine, rhythmic sound that made his heart race. He felt shielded, dangerous, and incredibly exposed all at once. It took everything he had to snap himself out of the boner tingling euphoria and get back to work.
After finishing the saloon, Chris reluctantly hung the thick jacket on the coat rack near the entrance. He planned to leave it at the Island office for return to the mainland later, but the memory of its weight lingered on his shoulders. He reported to the steward, who reassigned him to boarding duty with a sharp warning that the weather was turning; every piece of luggage had to be stowed securely so nothing would slide when the waves hit.
The crowd began boarding shortly after. Chris looked the part of the dutiful worker in his spotless crew jacket and that childish sailors’ cap. He clipped the badge to his belt, enjoying the familiar sense of purpose that came with being part of a crew again.
He hauled heavy suitcases onto the racks and directed the travelers to their seats, his muscles rippling under the white fabric of his uniform as the ship began to hum with power.
The young family Chris had assisted earlier boarded next, the mother’s voice strained as she tried to soothe her children. “The weather won’t be that bad,” she promised. “You aren’t going to be sick.”
After stowing their bags, Chris leaned in to the father. “Take them to the saloon one deck down. It’s closer to the ship’s center, so you won’t feel the roll as much — and the toilets are right there if you need them.
I’m Chris. I’ll come down later with some distractions for the kids.” The parents offered him a grateful look before disappearing down the stairwell.
The moment they were gone, the rowdy leather-clad group shoved their way in. They began heaving heavy backpacks onto the highest shelves. Chris stepped in, his voice level. “Heavy gear on the bottom racks, please. The crossing is going to be rough.”
“Go fuck yourself, dude!” the lead biker barked. “Stop scaring the passengers. We can handle our own shit.”
Chris didn’t back down. He leaned in close, his voice dropping to a dangerous, low-octave whisper. “You’re right, sir. You can fuck yourselves all you want. But I’m making sure your gear doesn’t crush my other guests.”
He grabbed their bags and slammed them onto the lower racks himself. “Company policy, sir. File a complaint on the Island if you’ve got a problem. Sir!”
The bikers went silent, blinking in surprise at the sheer balls of the kid in the silly Navy cap. They looked almost impressed. Muttering among themselves, the burly men shuffled toward the lower saloon, suddenly appearing a lot less tough than their biker gear suggested.
• April 30th - Noon ferry to the Island.
Goddamn, I made it on board. Got shanghaied, and I’m wearing a crew jacket again. No complaints there. But — well, I met a few guys. Leather queers, I guess. A group coming off the Island ferry and a fresh batch going over there. Fuck, they look so cool! One forgot his jacket, and I tried it on. I am still hard! I looked so fucking dangerous wearing that leather. Is this what I’m looking for?
The first leg of the crossing was deceptively smooth. Chris headed to the lower saloon to check on the young family. “If you want to show the kids the view from the deck, now is the time,” he advised the father. The parents thanked him and hurried toward the upper deck, clearly grateful for the tip. Chris watched them go; he wanted their first family voyage to be more than just a memory of seasickness.
“Hey, boy! Bring us more beer!” a voice bellowed across the saloon. The rowdy group of bikers was sprawled across the benches. Chris walked over, his expression calm but firm. “The bar is open on deck 3, sirs. Down here, it’s just the vending machines for sodas and snacks.”
The leader sneered, leaning back in his creaking leather. “Well then, you can just suck my cock!”
Chris didn’t flinch. He leaned in, his eyes narrowing. “I’d love to, sir. But I’m on duty, and the captain doesn’t tolerate that kind of behavior. Now, I’m going to have to ask you to lower your voices and mind your language.”
The biker’s bravado faltered, replaced by genuine surprise at the kid’s steel. “Sorry, dude… didn’t mean it like that.” He paused, looking Chris up and down with newfound interest. “But… would you? If you weren’t on duty?”
Chris offered a slow, knowing smile. He liked the way the man looked in his heavy gear — the grit, the salt, the raw masculinity of it. He felt a surge of pride that a guy like this was actually propositioning him. Truthfully, Chris didn’t just want to be with a man dressed like that; he needed to experience him. He’d had his share of girls and a few late-night encounters with guys, but he’d never had the guts to pursue the rough-and-tumble fantasy with a man he truly craved. Christopher wasn’t looking for a label — He just wanted to enjoy the sex when the opportunity presented itself.
The steward in the main saloon looked frazzled. “The captain needs his coffee, but I can’t leave the bar, and I don’t have spare keys for the crew stairs. Can you take it up the outside way?”
Chris glanced at the window; the rain was already lashing the glass. His own raincoat was buried deep in the luggage racks, but his eyes landed on the abandoned black leather biker jacket. He snatched it up. The moment he slid his arms into the sleeves, that primal tingle returned — he felt broader, harder, and far more lethal. He grabbed the tray, threw a towel over the pot, and stepped out into the gale.
The wind fought him, but the heavy cowhide acted as a shield. After delivering the brew to a surprised Captain and his Uncle Mathias, they wondered why he had braved the lashing wind outside.
Chris was ushered down the dry internal stairwell. He felt like a different man — the ‘silly Navy boy’ was gone, replaced by someone who moved with the creak of black leather.
Christopher stopped by the young family first, handing the kids coloring books as a distraction for the looming storm. “Ten minutes of ‘fun’ once we turn,” he told the father, handing the mother a stack of sick-bags with a wink. “Just in case.”
The lewd biker from earlier was standing by the narrow hallway leading to the lower-deck toilets, swaying slightly with the ship’s roll. Looking distinctively green around the gills. The burly biker was staring back at Chris — or rather, at the cool, rain-splattered jacket Chris was wearing. The man’s eyes were dark, a mix of challenge, hunger, and… seasickness.
The ship began its turn between the sand banks, the engines roaring as the deck swayed precariously. Chris felt the familiar lurch in his legs — his sea legs were solid, especially in the work boots he’d worn from home. He kept the kids focused on their coloring until the worst of the roll subsided, then excused himself. He noticed the biker hadn’t returned to his friends, so he went to investigate.
“Are you okay, sir? Can I help you?” he asked.
“Yeah… you can suck me off, boy!” the guy croaked, the bravado returning despite his pale face.
I’d love to… but you know,” Chris joked with a laugh. The biker stood up, his eyes widening as he took in Chris’s silhouette. “Hey, dude — nice leather jacket!” He reached out, grabbed the wet collar, and tried to pull Christopher in for a kiss.
“Gross! You were just sick,” Chris laughed, pushing him back gently. “At least suck on this first.” He handed the man a bottle of water and a breath mint. The biker blinked, processed the sass, and let out a rough chuckle.
“You didn’t say no, boy… You’re going to get it now.”
The man’s eyes took on a dark, horny glint as he yanked the zipper of his leather pants down. “You can suck on that!”
He was a show-er, not a grow-er. Even limp, the biker’s pierced cock was impressive. The man grabbed Chris’s hand, wrapping his fingers around the heavy meat. “Not here… let’s go into the stall,” Chris panted, his pulse hammering as he felt the man twitch to life in his grip.
They ducked into the cramped stall, the lock clicking shut against the roar of the storm. The biker grinned, pinning Chris against the vibrating bulkhead. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you, boy?”
“For sure,” Chris replied, a mean, dirty grin spreading across his face as he reached for his own fly. “But you’d better show me how it’s done first… I’ve never sucked off a tough leather guy like you before.” This was a lie, but Chris had him hanging in the ropes. With a mean, dirty grin, he pulled his own cock from his damp jeans.
The biker didn’t realize he was being played; he just saw an invitation. He dropped to his knees, his leather gear creaking as he settled onto the vibrating floor. He traced the head of Chris’s cock with his tongue, and Chris felt himself go rock-hard instantly. Looking down, the visual was overwhelming: he was standing there in a heavy biker jacket, looking down at a burly, leather-clad man serving him. Chris rested a hand on the back of the man’s head, and with a firm shove, the biker took him deep.
Chris groaned, his head hitting the toilet partition as the man worked him with professional intensity. It was the best blowjob of his life. Emboldened by the leather on his back, Chris began to pump, his hips driving into the man’s face. The biker looked up, eyes dark with heat. “Tasty dick...” he rasped. “Give it to me, boy. Shoot it down my throat.”
The dirty talk pushed Chris over the edge. He grabbed the man’s hair and began to skull-fuck him in earnest, the roar of the engines below matching the thrum in his veins. “Here it comes!” Chris growled, his voice a low, primal rasp. “Wash that puke out of your mouth... swallow it all!” He erupted, dumping stream after hot stream of semen into the man’s throat. The biker swallowed every drop with a hungry, rhythmic gulp.
The biker let out a muffled shout as he blew his own load, the jizz splattering across the floor in a messy release. He stood up, breathing hard, and shoved Chris down toward his waist. “Clean me, boy!” he ordered.
Chris didn’t hesitate. He took the man’s cock into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the cold metal of the Prince Albert piercing. The metallic tang mixed with the salty, rich taste of the man’s cum. When he was done, Chris stood up and pulled the man into a deep, messy kiss, sharing the taste of their combined loads.
The biker pulled back, looking totally stunned. “Goddamn...” he whispered, his breath hot against Chris’s ear. “I didn’t know you were this dirty, kid. I’m fucking loving it. And that jacket suits your attitude. Here is something to remember me by.” He took a step back, unsnapping a metal-studded cockstrap from his hairy sack and handing the filthy trophy to Christopher. With a nasty, conquering grin, he stepped out of the stall.
“Thanks, dude... I hope I see you around. There’s a lot more I can teach you,” the leather man grunted softly. “I’m staying at the Harbor View campgrounds.”
“Ha! So am I,” Chris laughed, the adrenaline still coursing through him. “So who knows? We may just meet again.”
Chris tucked his junk away, proud of the gift and the conquest. After the man left, he quickly mopped the floor and pulled out his diary.
• April 30th - 1:40 PM. The Island’s lighthouse is in sight.
Well, this trip started off right. I met a burly biker dude and cured his seasickness with a load of spunk. Fuck, I actually had sex with an anonymous man. I got sucked off, and I tasted his junk. Damn, I hope I meet him again over the next few days. I think I’m developing a taste for men in leather. Dicky seemed pleased, and his two cousins definitely lightened the load today.
“Ah, here you are, Christopher,” his uncle’s voice boomed. “We’re about to dock. Get ready to help the passengers with their luggage, then head to the ticket office. Your Aunt Dianna will be there to help you with your return pass.”
Chris worked the deck with renewed energy, hauling suitcases and nodding to the passengers. Once the ship was clear, he reported to the steward. “I’m done, sir. Permission to disembark?”
The captain overheard and stepped forward. “Sure thing, Chris. Thanks for the help, son,” he said, pressing a fifty-euro bill into Chris’s palm.
“No, thank you, sir! I enjoyed the cruise very much... even if it was a short one,” Chris joked.
“Smart-ass,” the captain smiled. “Now go get your gear. I saw your grandmother waiting on the dock for you. See you later, Chris.”
Chris thanked the crew one last time and headed for the shore, the heavy leather jacket creaking with every step. This is going to be one hell of a holiday, he thought with a grin.
• Continued in chapter 2 •
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© StrykerJ - January 2026
