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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 28
• Fight for your right to party.
“Your knees must be killing you by now, Chris,” a familiar, older, low voice rumbled from the other side of the partition wall. “Let’s go to my place. I’ve got some news to share.”
“Nah, sir. I’d rather spend the night in my own bed, and I have news as well, Tomas ‘McKinzie’ Tompson… But don’t run away just yet. Let me help you out a little.”
Fuck, as wide as Tomas was, his brother Barnibald ‘Big-Mc’ McKinzie was a few inches longer than this black Jamaican pry bar. But he liked them both — the ebony Islander police officer and his younger Dutch-African half-brother, his defense lawyer on the mainland.
Chris put a hand around the base and his lips over the ebony tip. He worked his tongue in circles over the large, juicy ebony glans and listened to the breathy groans and moans from the other side of the glory hole. Tommy’s massive dick was a tool and a half — twelve inches long and veiny. The color of their cockheads was the only real distinguishing feature. Officer Tomas was a little lighter in color than his Dutch African counterpart on the mainland.
But with today’s practice, Chris went deeper down on Tommy than he had with the guys before him. Much deeper. It lodged itself in the back of Christopher’s mouth and began to twitch. Sucking cock was really one of the boy’s fortes. And well, he loved helping out men in need. That much was sure.
It felt a little odd to Chris to see the police officer, though. Tomas Tompsom was still in uniform. No wonder the rest of the punters scarpered when he stepped into the toilet block at kilometer marker 13. Tommy had to help Chris off the floor; his knees had indeed locked up. However, the grin on the horny twink’s face could not have been wider.
As Chris washed his hands and face in the metal sink, Tomas leaned up against the wall, observing the dude.
“Shit, Chris. You look terrible. When’s the last time you had a full night’s sleep, boy?” Officer Tomas remarked to his young friend.
“Been a while, but don’t leave me hanging; what’s the news, Tom?”
“Let me give you a lift home, Chris. I saw your red all-terrain bike and knew you were in here. Is Wyatt okay with that?”
“So, umm… Hold on… copper, how are things with you and your ‘boi’? — Listen, Cop. Either put me in handcuffs and take my white ass ‘in’ an interrogation cell, or drop the silly questions. Umm… Master T.” Christopher gave the broad-chested ebony police hunk a slap on the chest and grinned dirty up at him.
“Touché.” Officer Tomas smirked back and followed Chris to pick up his bicycle.
They loaded the e-bike in the back of the boxy 1980’s truck and drove the fifteen kilometers back to the Harbor View Campgrounds. As West drew nearer, they started chatting. It turned out that Sergeant Tomas had been promoted to Head Inspector and was first in line to become the Islander Chief of Police.
“Umm… not to be rude, but what about —” Chris started to ask, but the cop had foreseen the question.
“During my interview, I told them I was in love with… I mean, I told them I was gay and that my lover is moving in with me. They didn’t even blink an eye… Apparently, the senior staff already knew.”
“Wow, I’d think… Well, congratulations squared then. No, cubed. A promotion, a coming out, and a houseboy to do your dishes, wash your car, and suck you off. Lucky bastard!”
“Ha, hadn’t looked at it like that. Jelly Belly is going to sell his little cottage soon.”
Christopher mulled that one over for a moment and said, “Hmm?… Maybe tell him to hang on to it for a while. I think his younger brother might want a lovenest of his own. Jessie sounded a bit jealous when I bought a house on the Island. I think he wants to put a little distance between himself and his grandparents. Peter and Jessie are falling head over heels for each other, too. Those two are doing it like rabbits. I caught them a few times in one of the unfinished cabins since Peetv’s birthday. The horn dawgs!”
“So, what’s your news, Chris? Let’s hear the latest gossip,” asked Tomas huskily.
“I’ve just asked Otto Teller for Wyatt’s hand in marriage. I think I’ll ask Wyatt in a couple of weeks. I even found the perfect wedding venue in Hallward. The only thing left to do is find a ring for the blond stallion… And pick the right moment.”
Tomas suddenly hit the brakes of his boxy, 1980s black Land Rover. The boy looked a little surprised, but got crushed into a hug so tight it caught his breath.
“Damn, you’re moving fast, kiddo!”
“It’s only the first step, Tom. There is so much left to do. But I do love the man and can’t imagine my life without him.” Chris gasped in Tom’s ear. “Tomas ‘McKinzie’ Tompson, will you be my best man? I mean, I still have to find a second one, and you don’t have to answer right away. The wedding date isn’t set yet.”
“Me? Your best men?” The thirty-eight-year-old senior cop asked, stupefied.
“Yeah, you, McKinzie. I need my lawyer for other extracurricular activities. He’s huge! Though a little scary. Way more brutal than you. Tom, I did the entire law firm and found myself a thugish leather tailor in the provincial capital, to boot.”
“Hmm…” Officer Tom asked pensively, “… Are you sure, Chris? I’d love to. Just — Stick to Tomas Tompson. And Barny is my half-brother, and I haven’t seen him in years, though we do text and call occasionally. But be careful of — Ah. Nevermind… No need, I guess. If you’ve already tamed that thug?”
“Did him as he done me. Hard and leathery. Fuck, I love that nig—. Whoops. Sorry.”
“Don’t be, Stud. I’d love to make you our creamy Oreo filling. It’s time I caught up with that king. He may have got the brains, but I do have the family’s looks.”
“Ha, stop thinking with your dick, Inspector Gadget. ‘Go-Go-Gadget Erection’. One of you at a time is all I can take. Now put this thing in gear and drop me off at the foot of the dune. I’m longing for a hot shower and my bed. Damn, look at the time!” said Chris, stifling a huge yawn.
As the two Islanders drove along Back Street, Chris immediately saw it. While he had been out galavanting across the Island, someone had placed no parking signs at the new parking spots Christopher had created at the foot of the dune. The six gleaming poles were placed in such a way that no one could use the spaces, not even if they wanted to.
Chris let out a lingering sigh and muttered, “Well, I guess the new building inspectors still don’t get the message.”
“Right, but I’ll look into it tomorrow. Get to bed and take tomorrow off. Night, night, Crissy.”
“See ya, Inspector Gadget.”
“That’s Head Inspector Tompson to you, boy. Don’t make me clap you in irons and ruin your ass for Wyatt Teller,” Tommy chuckeled.
“Get your head inspected, Tom.” Chris joked. “See ya, and thanks for the rescue.”
As Chris wandered up the dune, he spotted a firefighter in full turnout gear who had parked his ass on the terrace of Cabin 26. Not like the stripper from a few days back, but the real deal — Mark Evens.
“Heh, Bunky. Been busy?” Mark called as he saw Chris approach.
“Good’n, stud. Are — are you on call?” Chris asked, stunned.
“Nope, been waiting for you, though. I was told to check you over.”
Mark hoisted himself out of the deck chair and grabbed his paramedic’s bag from the table. He threw a warm arm over Chris’s shoulder, watching him unlock the patio door. Chris slid the door open and pulled up the blinds that had been keeping out the summer heat. Turning, he stopped the clingy paramedic in his tracks, looking straight into his dreamy blue eyes. The Dutch twunk realized he really liked the look of a man in uniform — and this young firefighter definitely fit the bill.
It didn’t need many words. Like magnets, they drifted closer and locked together.
“If I’d known the Island was this queer, I’d have come out much sooner! Wanna take my temperature, Evens?” Chris asked huskily, clapping a hand over the heavy fabric of the bunker pants. Mark just grinned, shrugged his suspenders down, and popped the top waist snap. Chris peeled back the heavy-duty Velcro fly and found exactly what he’d hoped for — a fully erect, nine-inch anal thermometer. It had a slightly unusual glans, long and tapered, though not much wider than the thick shaft of the firehose.
But what shocked the boy was the biohazard tattoo inked just above the proud shaft, with a Rod of Asclepius running straight through its center.
“Mark? Are you —” Chris asked, shock widening his eyes.
“Nah. Nothing like that. I’m clean, Chris. This? — ” Mark gestured to the ink with a self-deprecating smirk. “Stupid med school bet. I lost, and my buddies thought it was hilarious to brand the hazmat paramedic. I kept it because it reminds me to be careful. Though, given the choice, I’d much rather have a cool lion tat like yours, Chris. I’m a firm believer in regular testing, and I take my health seriously. Not that I’ve had much opportunity to ‘walk the dawg’ on the Island, if you know what I mean.”
“Oh damn, that was dumb!” Chris gasped.
“Yeah, thought so too, the next day — tattoos are pretty permanent. But, hey, it’s a conversation starter. Ha, and an educational tool, I guess. But don’t worry, Chris. I’d love to play with that ass of yours, but you really do need your rest. Let’s get you showered. I’ve been thinking about you all day.”
“Yup, I’ve noticed, Evens. I’ve definitely noticed. Who told you to come check me over, anyway?”
“Ha, who hasn’t? Frida, that woman from the ticket office on the dock. Jan-Timo, my mom and dad. They’ve all got your back. But seriously, you do look a bit peaky. You work yourself way too hard, Bunky.”
“Well, help me relax a bit then. Come on. I’ve got a condom with your name on it. So let’s take that fat firehose into the shower and cool me down.”
Christopher wrapped a hand around the thick shaft and dragged Mark toward the bathroom.
By the time the steam coated the tiny window in the back, both men were fully engaged, trading wet, hungry kisses and hard, groping hands. Chris stuffed a spit-lubed finger deep down the firefighter’s chute, eliciting a sharp gasp.
He leaned in, murmuring, “Damn, that’s a tight ass, Evens. I’m not sure my dick’s even gonna fit in there. When’s the last time you got gaped open?”
“Oh, don’t you worry about that, Bunky. There’s — there are just not that many opportunities on this fucking Island to get laid as a gay man.”
Christopher let out a low, husky laugh. He looked Mark dead in his ice-blue eyes and tilted his head. “Dude, I’ve had the exact opposite experience. I can’t keep those Islander horn-dawgs away from me. Plenty of team players to fool around with. And that’s not even counting the tourists.”
“Really? Well, you must have honey dripping out of your ass, man. I used to have a close friend when I was growing up, but he apparently preferred pussy. I guess you’ve heard of him — Wytze Teller.”
“Ha, him I’ve heard of, all right. I guess you let that one slip through your fingers.”
“Dude, we weren’t even of age back then. I’d hoped to experiment a bit with him, though. Even back then, he was a rough, horny bastard. So yeah, I guess he did.”
Chris drove his tongue deep into the twenty-four-year-old fireman’s mouth to shut him up and get the heat going. He gripped Mark by the hair and pushed the well-fit sexy paramedic down to his knees. Mark’s mouth was filled in an instant. Swallowing thick saliva, Mark mumbled around the shaft that he didn’t mind sucking raw cock but wouldn’t swallow.
That was more than good enough for the nineteen-year-old. Chris rolled his eyes back as his glans plunged deep, claiming the wet warmth of Mark’s throat with force. Christopher leaned his head back into the pulsing stream of hot water, letting the pure physical pleasure wash over him.
The heat coiled tight in his loins, and the warm water radiated down his chest from above. Mark gasped for air, sputtering slightly under the deluge. The young twunk hauled the heavy paramedic up by his armpits, dragging him back to his feet. Now it was Mark’s turn to face the tile under the pounding stream of steaming water. With his forehead pressed against the wet stone and his hips flared back, Chris knelt down, aligning himself between those tight, pale buns. The light, unexposed skin of Mark’s tight ass contrasted beautifully with his tanned back and muscular thighs.
“Give me that ass, Evens. Let me open you up.” Chris buried his face between those cheeks, driving his tongue as deep into the tight, puckered heat of Mark’s ring as he could manage, lapping hungrily.
“Oh, fucking hell... Shit. Oh, God, yes... Shit, that’s so good.”
Chris let out a low, breathless laugh. “Ready to get fucked like a bitch in heat, brother? Don’t tell me the guys at the firehouse don’t do a bit of sword fighting in the showers.”
“We do help each other out occasionally. But that’s just a quick wank or a blowjob. Nothing like this, Chris.”
“Well, then you’re in for a treat. You’re going to get fucked — hard, if I do say so myself. And once I’m done with your holes, I’ve got to introduce you to the rest of the Islander queers. Heck, I might even get that Teller guy to join us for a rough trio. Imagine him taking that firehose of yours while I ride these tight buns.”
“Fuck, sounds like a plan. There just aren’t that many chances to ‘walk the dawg’ on this Island.”
“Again, bullshit. buddy. You’ve just been looking behind the wrong trees.”
As they washed, Chris listed off the guys he’d fucked around with: his four second cousins, Skip the baker, a local cop, and the tourists down at the kilometer-marker-13 glory holes. He even told Mark about the French-Moroccan guy he’d almost ended up with tonight. But Mark’s knees really went weak when Chris explained how he met Wyatt, Okko, and Pierce, teaching the verbal Alpha that there was far more to sex than just dominant thrusts and throat-fucking bottoms.
Of course, it might have also been the fact that Chris had straightened up and was dry-humping the wet perineum of his fire buddy, heating up the horny paramedic as he reached around to slick him up with soap.
With the foreplay finished and their skin still damp, the two men walked stark naked into the bedroom. Chris ordered Evens to bend over and prepare to take his thick, nearly nine-inch dick. Mark smirked over his shoulder, watching as Christopher rolled a rubber over his glistening shaft and slicked it up with lube.
“Deep breath, brother. You’re going to get fucked tonight. Take it.”
“Holy Shit... Oh, God, yes... Hell, that’s a big one!”
Mark let out a choked cry. Chris kept pushing, slowly navigating past the tight ring of the inner sphincter, stretching and loosening the hot depth of him. He only paused — briefly — when Mark’s knees buckled, sending him face-down onto the mattress. Chris didn’t let him slip away, though. He stayed buried balls-deep inside his new friend, heavy and dominant as he flattened himself against Mark’s back.
“How’s that?” Chris murmured, his breath hot against Mark’s ear. “Are you doing okay, buddy? You’ve got an extremely tight ass. I love it. You really should fuck around a little more, Mark. Find yourself a boyfriend. It’s well worth it.”
“Goddamn, De Boer!” Mark gasped, trying and failing to catch his breath. “I thought you were told to take it easy. That was anything but slow... Nice, though. I might get used to this.”
After a few more hard, grinding thrusts, Chris pulled out, slickly stripping the spent condom off his still-hard shaft. He grabbed a fresh one from his stash, rolled it onto his buddy’s thick, pointy erection, and slowly sank down onto it. By the time Mark started pumping up into his heat, Christopher stifled a huge, exhausted yawn.
“I’m not boring you, am I?” Mark asked, a sudden touch of worry in his voice.
“Hell, no! But it’s been a fucking hard day. A few hard weeks, actually — mentally as well as physically.” Chris sighed deeply. “Anyway, where do you want my load? I’m about to bust a nut.”
“Dude! Been there, done that... twice, already.”
“You fucking bunny rabbit,” the muscle twunk smirked dirty at his new best friend.
Chris just grinned, collapsing happily across the hard, muscular V-taper of the firefighter’s body. He lay there quietly, feeling Mark’s heart pounding like a bass drum against his chest.
“Thanks...” Chris whispered in Evens’s ear.
“For what?”
“For a fucking great first training session. I hope we can do this again sometime. I like you, Mark.”
“But what about that Wytze Teller?”
“I love him. Though we have an open relationship, I’ll always end up in his bed. But this was great fun too, Marky Mark.”
• Dear Diary: Thursday, July 15th – well past midnight.
Damn. This was one weird day! Not relaxing at all. If anything, it was hard work. But it set things in motion that I could not have anticipated at the start of this working holiday at the end of April. I am actually going to ask Wyatt to marry me. And I think I know when, how, and where. Just thinking of it gets me… hard.
Otto agreed to give his son away in a church wedding in Hallward. Father Dirksoan and Pastor Evens will make it a special day for the Island — steeped in tradition and laced with some new queer stuff.
Talking about Evens. Mark and I fucked around a little. Normally, I prefer it raw, but he was almost unstoppable, and quite as nasty as Wyatt…
Damned great fuck, though! Plenty of juice in the tank, too. Can’t wait to share him with Wyatt. He’s a sweetheart. Well, they both are. But Mark’s dreamy blue eyes melted my soul. Like so many deluded Islanders, Evens thought he was the only queer in the village. The fools! Well, lucky for me. If ever I need my temperature taken, I know who to call. I’ve added him to the chat group. And the bastard sent a dick pic in uniform to introduce himself to the ‘Gay Team’. This working holiday is getting better — and weirder — by the day. But I am NOT complaining!
Note to self: I do need to get a doctor and have him do a full checkup. It couldn’t hurt to become more careful. I have been screwing around a lot. But heck, you’re young, dumb, and full of cum. Just don’t let it become my epitaph. There is too much fun to be had.
The next morning, after a restful night’s sleep, Chris walked his Great-Aunt, Uncle, and their Grandchildren, Jelmer and Jessie, through the almost completed bunkers. The walls still looked a bit bare, but the furniture was in. With the newly pitched roofs and the diagonal patio overhangs looking like gun emplacements, the holiday lets finally deserved the name. Outside, the new grass had already grown considerably, and the colorful additions to the porch supports gave the whole row a cheery disposition.
Chris’s extended family was delighted with the results of the remodel. Even more so when Chris showed them the photos he had taken yesterday. He suggested they could hang metal prints in each cabin. Ben wasn’t confident that the posters wouldn’t be stolen immediately. However, he liked the everyday still-life Island images Chris had selected. And Jessie suggested selling them in the campground store.
Uncle Ben looked at Frida, and she smiled and nodded back.
“Guys, Frida and I have been talking… We want to take a step back. We’ve run this place for more than fifty years now. It’s time to find a successor. If you three want to — I mean… do you guys want the job?” Ben asked quietly. “The Harbor View makes more than enough money. And with you finding your own nests, we can keep living on-site to give you and the staff a hand. What do you say?”
“Bernard, put a sock in it! Let the boys think about it. Christopher, when are you going to erect the tall mast for the flag?” Frida giggled as Jessie snorted.
“Ah…” Christopher said thoughtfully, “… Now it all makes sense!”
“What does…?” asked Jessie and Jelmer in unison.
“You see, I was wondering why Ben wanted me to upgrade the cabins last year.”
Great-uncle Ben said nothing; he just hugged Christopher as he had never done before, almost like a long-lost son.
Later that same day, Chris hoisted the buckets of colored rubber roof-coating onto the rows of bunkers. It didn’t go to plan, though. A few of the buckets dropped off the pallet and burst over the gleaming white roofs. Rather than cry over spilled milk, Chris made the best of a bad situation and painted the roofs in a desert camo scheme. It wasn’t what he intended, but the result was in keeping with the former functions of these officer barracks.
With the roofs repainted and the lawns mowed, Chris stood back to admire his work. The last thing he needed to do was mark each of the twenty-four bunkers with a colorful cabin number — odd numbers to the west, and even numbers to the east.
Chris and Drake Willson had spent several evenings making miniature kilometer markers with engraved aluminum caps. Each cap bore the names of several volunteers who helped bring Christopher’s vision to life that summer.
He had his friends send invitations to all the helpers to celebrate. Christopher would show his haters and lovers alike what the results of his labor had been. Love it or loathe it, the upgrades to the buildings left a definite impression on the Island.
It was time for the Islander youth to ‘♫ Fight for their Right to paaarrty! ♫’
Chris filed for an event permit with the municipality. The open house, a local market fair, and a private volunteer party would take place next Saturday. There was enough time to pick up his new car tomorrow and prepare for the final inspection on Wednesday. However much he liked to rest his weary head, this wasn’t the end. It was just the beginning of the next phase of Chris’s Islander life.
For now, he contented himself with hooking the forty-two-foot flagpole into its base and connecting the grounding wires to the aluminum mast. Chris had contacted the air force duty sergeant from the nearby bombing training range about the large structure on top of the tall dune.
The sergeant had been surprisingly helpful, suggesting that a flashing aviation-grade obstruction light would not only keep the flyboys from clipping his pole during low-altitude exercises, but also make the campsite look like a genuine, professional landmark.
The way the air force man referenced Chris’s pole wasn’t lost on the boy.
Chris picked up a high-powered strobe light at the boat supply shop, similar to the ones used on the channel markers in the harbor, and bolted it to the top. It blinked with a sharp, rhythmic, slow pulse — white by day and red against the darkening sky. It was the perfect, functional finishing touch. It wasn’t just a repurposed sailboat mast anymore; it had become a beacon. Chris felt a surge of pride.
He would — with the help of his boyfriend — hoist the five Islander colors to the top and ask his man to marry him. It would be a new landmark to tower over West, as the lighthouse had done since the sixteenth century. It had withstood storms and wars; it guided ships and warned against impending doom. Chris could only hope that the new beacon would do the same.
Slightly rested, Chris took the afternoon ferry to the mainland that Saturday. He helped board the guests but decided to give the entertainment a pass that day. Christopher felt a little edgy. He had been anticipating this day for a full week and wondered what his wheels would look like.
• Diary: Saturday, July 17th – Christmas will come early!
It’s finally time. If the car looks even half as good as the renders Zable Fire Equipment dreamed up for me, I’ll be stoked.
I can’t wait to see the end result. Ha. I guess I have to — an hour by fast ferry and the same by train and bus to Zable. I just hope I make it back in time for the late car ferry.
Wyatt said he’d had a few ideas for the volunteer party next weekend. The stallion has no idea what I’ve planned for him. I measured the few rings he owns and showed Maren the engagement ring style I picked out for him. She warned me he doesn’t normally wear rings. Heck, I would have settled for a matching tattoo, but the long-haired surfer dude doesn’t seem the type for that, either.
Still… I — fuckin’ — love — him!
When Chris finally stepped back into the Zable garage, the air smelled of fresh paint and diesel. The saturated sunset-yellow F-550 didn’t just look different; it looked like a statement of intent with its black trim. Zable Fire Equipment had gone far beyond the requested upgrades. They had gone all out over the fixed truck bed. It had actual metal artwork in the angular brackets for the over-roof supports. The raised and lowered metal depicted the Island’s lighthouse, making the truck unique and instantly recognizable.
The car designator CRP-19 had been applied to the over-cab roof in bold, reflective lettering, complete with a designated drone landing spot. Chris’s CB handle, ‘Goldilocks’, never looked more apt than it did on the driver’s side door.
The new black truck bed had a rail system to help load and secure the new multi-functional attachments Zable had constructed for it. A huge water tank — with remotely operated fire monitors — transformed the black-and-yellow Ford F-550 into an actual brush fire truck. But they also made a salt spreader and a custom snowplow for it. They sat atop a new trailer decked out in the same color scheme as his six-by-six heavy truck — his daily driver. Boy, this thing was a definite eye-turner. Butch and a little gay, like its proud owner.
All Chris had to do now was get back to the Island and finish the long list of punch-list items that awaited him. And… besides showing off his new ride to the Islanders, get ready for the surprise marriage proposal next Saturday. It should be a hoot.
• Continued in part 29 •
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© StrykerJ - July 2026
