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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 34
• After the After-party came the Search party.
With today’s score of orgasms tied at one to one, Chris bent down over his man on the kitchen island.
“Thanks, Wyatt. I really needed that,” Chris sighed deeply.
“What are you thanking me for, Chris? You did all the heavy lifting today. You jerked me off this morning, and you just filled me up so nicely right now. No, I really think you’re the bigger top out of the two of us. Fuck, man… I do love you!” Wyatt panted.
“Hmm… You’re enough of a top for me, Wyatt. But …” Christopher answered pensively, “… Might be that heavy ball stretcher holding your swim team back, love.”
Wyatt blushed crimson as he reluctantly admitted, “I completely forgot to keep the Allen key with me. I’ve been wearing the damn thing all day.”
“What!? That can’t be healthy! Why on earth didn’t you say something? Geezus, Wyatt! We need those blueberries functioning. Here, let me —” Chris gasped, straightening up quickly as he fought with the denim jeans currently stuck around the cowboy’s snakeskin boots behind his back.
Chris managed to yank off one boot and pull Wyatt’s leg completely free, giving him quick access to the multi-tool knife tucked into his own pocket. With a bit of strategic force, Chris finally managed to loosen the machine screws and carefully pulled each half of the large metal ball stretcher apart. Wyatt yelped in sharp pain, but the muscle twunk’s nimble tongue immediately soothed the bruised flesh. In fact, Chris watched the ten-inch slim pole rise right back up, eagerly awaiting its turn with those plump lips.
Not one to ever pass up a golden opportunity, Christopher looked up longingly at his fiancé.
“Go for it, but we seriously have to hurry. We have to get the pool ready, and we haven’t even started on… ooh, fuck, yeah!… Suck that fucking dick, bitch… Blow that cock… Take me deep… Swallow it!… Oh-hm-mm. Yeah. Fuck, Chris… stop, man, we’ve got —” Wyatt grunted loudly, verbal as ever. Just the way Christopher had come to like it.
“Ooh, hush up, we’ve got plenty of time. The team can wait. Let me unclog that drain for you, stallion.”
“It’s not that, Chrissy,” chuckled Mark from behind him. “You’ve got visitors! And you better leave some of that sauce for the best man, you fucking dirty rampant rabbits!” came Mark Evens’s gleeful voice straight from the open kitchen door. Laughing fit to burst at his two horny buddies.
When Christopher hurriedly pushed his dick back into his pants and turned around, he noticed an odd-looking stranger standing right next to their best friend. He was just glad he could help cover Wyatt’s drooling modesty, grinning over his shoulder. Chris took the gambler-style leather hat Wyatt had gifted him and hung it casually over the fully erect, slick, ten-inch pole of his man.
Neither Chris nor Wyatt had ever seen this guy before. He was way too fucking comfortable with what he was witnessing, looking entirely too eager to step right in and join the private party.
The four-eyed man appeared to be in his late twenties, at least three or four years older than Mark, and he looked like a freakishly weird ‘Trustafarian,’ straight out of university.
He was pure old money mixed with a strange, entitled attitude that Chris couldn’t quite make out. It certainly wasn’t anything remotely Islander. So what the hell was Mark doing, bringing a wealthy mainlander to this not-so-quiet queer Islander get-together?
Dressed in bright, eccentric, preppy red pants and old-fashioned brown loafers with golden buckles, this guy took a little time to get used to. However, the starched shirt and the neon-blue, Harry Potter-style glasses hinted at who this guy was. Well, that and the black leather doctor’s bag he was clutching tightly. As if he were married to the thing.
Slowly, things started to clank into place for Christopher. He walked over to the sink to wash his hands before inviting the two men further inside.
‘This is the guy Mark told us about. He must be the new doctor from Middelland,’ Chris thought to himself as he dried his hands. Turning back to the room, he smiled. “Sorry about that. We just got engaged, and we really hadn’t expected you this soon.”
“Ha! Captain Obvious!” Mark chuckled as he casually stepped up and removed the gambler hat from his childhood buddy.
Mark gently cupped his friend’s heated nuts, checking the deep purple skin. He shook his head in mock concern and looked over his shoulder at the man shyly standing behind him.
“What do you think, Doc? Does this need a closer medical inspection? — Don’t be shy, man! We’re all gay in one way or another here. Go ahead and introduce yourself around.”
“Oh… umm… I don’t think — Damn it, Evens! — Don’t throw me under the bus like that!” the doctor stammered, blushing furiously.
Christopher held out his hand to cut through the tension.
“Hi, welcome to 'Casa de Boer.' I am Christopher, and that’s Wytze Teller. Again, sorry about the profanity. We just needed to celebrate a little…”
“Oh… right. Yes. I actually saw you two on the Islander News Network. Extremely impressive,” the doctor said, clearing his throat. “You two are the first openly gay Islanders I have met since moving here. And since Mark told me that you were actively looking for a new family doctor, I thought I’d —”
Chris held up a hand; he had heard enough. The way this guy hesitated, stammered, and looked away told him a whole lot more than the words he actually spoke. The man was a team player, but he clearly didn’t want the entire Island knowing his business just yet. The 19-year-old twunk could respect that from a man in his profession. Chris took the man’s soft, manicured hand into his own rough, calloused grip and pulled the doctor firmly closer.
“I am happy Mark persuaded you to tag along,” Chris said, his voice dropping into a serious, reassuring tone. “Yes, I am gay, and yes, I am looking for a new doctor. It doesn’t matter to me what your personal preferences are behind closed doors; I just want a competent physician to take care of me, and one who’s not afraid to look at my junk when I ask him to. I do need a full checkup, though. I’ve had several unknown bed partners these last few months. Sorry.”
Chris let go of the hand and looked the doctor straight in the eye, waiting for his reaction. The doctor swallowed hard, blinking behind his neon frames.
“Oh. Well. I am Doctor Falentine Izra Steven Hubertus Hardt. I am very happy to meet you, Mister de Boer.”
“Doc F.I.S.H. Hardt? That sounds fishy. I bet you got teased mercilessly back at medical uni,” Christopher chortled.
“You don’t know the half of it,” Falentine admitted with a small, self-deprecating smile. “That is exactly why I thought I would find a nice, quiet community out here, but…”
“Doc, don’t worry about it,” Christopher interrupted gently. “I ran into the exact same problem when I arrived. But I eventually found a solid group of Islander men to keep me warm at night behind closed doors. Don’t worry, we are good at keeping things on the down-low. We’re having a bit of a pool party right now, if you want to introduce yourself to the ‘Gay Team.’ You’re more than welcome to stay, Doc.”
Falentine Hardt gripped Chris’s hand back, suddenly pulling him in close to deliver a sneaky, unexpected smooch against his cheek while smoothly sliding a business card into Chris’s other palm.
Chris grinned, looking down at the elegant paper. “Thanks. Call me if you need help redesigning a more Islander-friendly card, Doc. This one has too many titles; that smells a little fishy,” Chris joked.
“What smells fishy?” another familiar voice sounded from the open kitchen door. It was Jan-Timo, Chris’s second cousin and a shipping-lane traffic manager for the government. JT stepped inside, clutching three large cake boxes. “Sorry, Skip asked to be excused, but he sent you these. The market fair had the bakery completely sold out, so these were the last cakes and snacks they had left. He’s going to work overtime to get the shop back in stock before Monday.”
As Wyatt took the boxes from JT, Chris introduced Doc Falentine to his older second cousin. But before anyone could say a word, their jaws dropped to the polished kitchen floor as Wyatt lifted the lids. Out popped two large, intricately decorated whipped-cream cakes — easily the gayest stuff the Island had ever seen. And a box full of donuts and cupcakes. Rainbow frosting covered the whole thing. They were heavily decorated with elaborate white piping flowers and pink and purple sugar spheres.
“I can’t stay very long either. I am due up on the traffic tower at eleven o’clock because someone called in sick,” JT added, glancing out the kitchen window toward the driveway. “By the way, have you seen your truck out there, bro? The CB antenna on your rig has been ripped loose, cuz.”
“Ha! I’ll just add it to the ever-growing pile of other stuff around here that I need to fix,” Chris joked as he immediately set the doctor to work. “Come on through to the pool, guys. Grab those plates and glasses from the counter. Doc, you’re staying too, so you can meet the meat.”
The eccentric physician had definitely grown on him after that sneaky little freeing kiss. Judging by the paramedic outfit, Mark Evens was currently on call. Hence, Chris reached over to the sideboard beside the front door to grab his emergency pager and the Fire Department walkie-talkie as well.
He set out the boxes of snacks and cakes while Wyatt, Mark, and Doc Fish rearranged the old Miller furniture around the pool. Christopher flicked on the soft-glow outdoor string lights and dropped a fresh mixtape into the stereo system out on the terrace. When Chris lit the bright LED lights inside a large helium workside illumination balloon, it floated upward above the pool. It instantly bathed the entire concrete pool deck in the most beautiful, glowing mood lighting. He had set the device to mimic a flickering fireplace, and the dancing effect on the water was absolutely marvelous.
It wasn’t the only trick this tethered balloon was capable of, though. The gear had originally come with his inspection drone, designed to illuminate a dark construction site or a search area. Well, this pool was definitely bound to see some heavy equipment at work tonight. The high-powered LED light ring inside the three-foot sphere could be set to almost any pattern. Slowly, the deck chairs filled up with eleven horny Islanders — along with the one mainland powerhouse who had already proven he was more than capable of handling himself in any crowd.
Christopher’s mainland attorney, Barnibald, introduced himself to the rest of the gathering as Master Big-Mc, and he was certainly dressed for the part. He wore heavy black army boots and thick black leather chaps pulled over a pair of skin-tight Speedos. It was an absolute miracle how fourteen fat inches could fit inside that thin, shiny black fabric, but Chris realized he had never actually seen the brute flaccid yet. Maybe the man was just a mighty grower.
His sleeveless tank top showed off bulging biceps, tightly bound with sturdy leather arm straps. His black driving gloves toyed with a heavy riding crop, making the leather tip crack sharply in the night air. The strap had already landed hard on Drake Willson, the Fire Chief’s stripper son, when the younger man didn’t get out of the love seat quickly enough for the brutal ebony leather master to sit down. Judging by the rugged dirt-bike helmets both men clutched under their arms, he had roared up to the house on his cross bike with his older half-brother, Officer Tomas ‘McKinzie’ Tompson.
Even this brown Alpha top, Tommy, was dressed down in his casual brown leather biker jacket and a pair of tight, light-blue jeans. Apparently, the police inspector was off duty tonight. His semi-swollen footlong dick was already prominently dangling down one pant leg. His younger lover, Jelmer, jumped right up and gave the Island’s only black cop a slobbering kiss that made even Master Big-Mc cringe.
Seeing these two ebony hunks together gave Christopher full-body chills. But it didn’t give him nearly as much pleasure as watching Falentine Hardt realize that Officer Tomas was gay as well.
The doctor’s office was located right across the street from the home where Tom and Jelmer played house — and God only knew what else they did together in there. Yet Doc Fish still didn’t have a clue. That delicious bit of insider insight made Chris chuckle appreciatively.
Christopher hooked an arm around the Doc’s back and whispered, “See? We are damn good at keeping this between ourselves. Don’t worry; go ahead and join in. I’ll make an official appointment next week. If the rest of the Island figures out you’re my personal doctor, I bet you’ll attract more new patients than you can handle.”
The two watched arm in arm as Master Big-Mc picked paramedic Mark Evens to worship his heavy leather boots, while Tomas sat right next to his ‘little’ brother on the old Chesterfield love seat. Watching the action up close. That early effort set the intense tone for the rest of the evening, especially when Mark eagerly checked Barney’s anal temperature — with his tongue.
Chris smacked the grinning Hardt hard on the butt and ran back inside to change into his own pool party clothes: red swim trunks and the rugged leather muscle vest he had worn this morning. He combined the bare-chested leather look with the black leather gambler hat. Seeing his man do the exact same thing gave him a wave of goosebumps that went all the way down to his boots. Not that Chris was wearing boots; he had actually stepped into some casual flip-flops that perfectly matched his skimpy red swim shorts.
When the two walked hand in hand out the terrace door, they found twelve men lounging around the pool and sitting in the steaming hot tub. The guys had already helped themselves to the whipped-cream cakes, cold, alcohol-free beers, and sodas. An earsplitting roar of approval instantly hit the newly engaged fiancés. Chris and Wyatt were immediately handed some cake and drinks, and slowly, the clothes began to drop. The party became a whole lot rowdier the longer the evening went on.
JT and Doc Fish excused themselves just after the clock chimed eleven and the sun had finally set completely. It was a good thing the 360-degree lighting orb lit up the space. The moonless night left the dense forest around Bathway 78 eerily dark. But before he left, Doc gave Wyatt’s aching sack a thorough once-over — with his tongue. A trick he had learned from the paramedic.
Barney and Tomas ‘left’ around the same time, too, although Chris had the sneaky impression that those two black men might end up engaged in much more intense brotherly activities later that night. Paramedic Mark Evens had just absolutely loved getting manhandled by those oversized, ebony injection needles.
Mark wasn’t the only one who got lucky. Peter, the youngest adult of the bunch, took a seat in the hot tub, and Jessie, his slightly older lover, jumped right on top of his lap. They didn’t care a single bit who watched them at it.
Neither did Drake ‘The Snake’ Wilson and Pierce. They gave the entire group a live show right on top of a pool float, moving to the deep rhythm of the music. It became quite the stripper show once that heavy trouser snake disappeared with force down the throat of the submissive equestrian show humper… Umm, no… show jumper. Pierce was certainly used to handling rowdy horse cock.
Jelmer had taken Okko into the greenhouse to steam up the windows. Meanwhile, Wyatt and Christopher lay stretched out on the old Chesterfield sofa the Millers had left behind, their legs tangled together as they humped and twisted their hips. They weren’t really screwing like the rest of the guys at this point; that could easily wait for later that night.
Chris was already looking forward to using the big sex toys Wyatt had bought on the mainland for just this occasion. What Teller hadn’t counted on was that the two of them would actually be engaged this evening. He knew all about the private skinny-dipping pool party, but the fact that the two were now slated to get married was new to him back when Wyatt ordered the mainland toys.
By the size of the boxes, Teller had bought half the oversized silicone gear he wanted Chris to ‘enjoy’.
For now, the fiancés were simply making out, deeply enjoying the rugged grunts and moans coming from every dark corner of the pool deck.
The party shifted entirely into the pool and the hot tub as Drake toppled off the pool float with a massive splash, and the rest of the guys dove right in after him. Wyatt, ever the vigilant lifeguard, grabbed him off the bottom of the pool and hauled him up over the floating mat. Chris dragged it over to the shallow end and fucked the absolute crap out of the stripper, while Wyatt aggressively rode the man’s windpipe, his large hands clamped tightly around the man’s neck.
Drake just gagged and spluttered as Chris was suddenly replaced by Peter. The short-statured hunk slammed deep inside him, using only the splashing pool water for lube. On the other end of the stripper, Pierce and Okko ruthlessly tag-teamed the stripper until his cheeks were bulging with their heavy jizz. All the while, the Snake had been wriggling and squirming like the dirty gay trouser snake ‘the straight stripper’ Drake Willson really turned out to be.
Meanwhile, Jelmer and his half-brother Jessie had made themselves comfortable in the steaming hot tub. With the water bubbling like mad, Chris and Wyatt joined the two. Chris had never seen the half-brothers screw around before, but it didn’t even feel wrong seeing them at it out here. The rowdy Orgy-party was slated to get a heck of a lot dirtier anyway.
But when Jelmer suddenly started to question the meaning of life, Wyatt pulled Jessie off his half-brother and bent the younger man right over Jelmer’s quivering knees. Chris just wiggled his eight and a half inches right in front of Jelly-Belly, and the man eagerly took all of it while Jessie got buttfucked by Wyatt hanging over the knees of Jelmer in the steaming hot tub.
Around a quarter to midnight, as the sweeping beams of the lighthouse brushed over the tops of the trees surrounding Bathway 78, the skinny-dipping pool party had turned into a full-blown orgy. Everyone was getting it or giving it. Every manhole was covered, and the pool saw plenty of heavy action — underwater and above.
Until…
It was Mark’s radio that blared a full three-chime all-stations alert. Chris immediately killed the music and raised his hand for quiet so the paramedic could respond to the call.
“I’ve got to go, guys. A French kid is missing from the weed barn. He has a serious medical condition and forgot to take his medication,” Mark exclaimed, sounding deeply worried. “Chris, get your gear together. I bet they’ll need a translator. Does anyone else here speak French? Keep close to a phone, everyone. We might need all the help we can get if we have to search the entire Island. They never found the last kid who got lost out there years ago.”
Soon after, Chris’s pager started beeping as well. But when he called the emergency number, he was abruptly brushed off by the police station operator. At least it sounded like the on-duty Chief Constable instructed her to hang up the phone. Chris had just heard the man saying that ‘they’ didn’t need the help of local Islanders for a simple missing-person case.
This deeply puzzled Christopher. His pager had gone off, and he had simply followed standard Fire Department protocol. Chris had even called in with his vehicle number CRP-19.
While getting dressed in his paramedic uniform again, Mark had overheard the frustrating phone call, too.
“Call the station back, Chris. I know that on-duty police guy. He’s a mainlander and completely full of himself. If the Chief paged you directly, it means he needs you there. Get your stuff together and head east. Wyatt, Pierce, Okko, you guys go with him, too.”
As Mark jumped into his car to race to the station, he yelled back at Christopher, “Take that drone with you, Chris. Make sure it’s fully charged and has all the searchlights it can carry. Hurry up, guys. I’ve got a really bad feeling about this call.”
Chris gave him a quick two-fingered salute and watched Mark tear up Bathway on his way to the fire station to get the paramedic van.
Christopher called the fire station directly. This wasn’t the normal protocol — all emergencies were supposed to be handled through the central switchboard at the Middelland police station. But when Chief Willson answered the phone himself, and Chris quickly explained the circumstances, he got the exact same order Mark had given him. ‘Head straight to the youth hostel and await further instructions.’
The youth hostel, situated outside the sea-dike that surrounded Easter End, was repurposed to house large groups inside an ancient structure. The barn sat right out on the mudflats.
Generations ago, the Islanders of old used the massive building to dry and collect seaweed that drifted ashore from the tidal area, selling the dried plants as fertilizer on the mainland. Islanders had always been resourceful like that. However, calling the hostel by its common local name, the ‘Weed barn,’ frequently led to some deeply disappointed realizations for the young and rowdy guests checking in.
Christopher looked at the remaining naked guys around the pool and shrugged.
“Rain check, guys. I’ve got to go, too. I guess I am needed out there after all.”
“What can I do?” Peter asked, stepping forward.
“Okay, tell your brother what’s going on. I know he’s not allowed to take his cell phone up into the lighthouse, but get the word out to him, somehow. He’s our eyes in the sky. If the guards won’t let you up the tower, get your father to call JT directly.”
Peter got dressed, jumped onto his bicycle, and raced off into West, while Jelmer took Jessie by jeep straight to Tomas’s place to spread the word. If he was off duty, Inspector Tompson might not have heard the news yet, and it sounded like this emergency needed every single eye on the Island keeping a lookout. Chris didn’t know all the details yet, but he — and his six-by-six, all-terrain, military-grade run-flat tires — was ready for absolutely anything, even if he was only being called in for his linguistic skills.
Christopher quickly deflated the three-foot illumination balloon and threw it, along with extra flashlights, into the back of his truck. As he reached the cab, he spotted his damaged CB antenna and cursed loudly under his breath. Someone — and he could already imagine exactly who — had brutally scratched the words ‘Nasi Fag!’ right into the passenger-side door. As disgusted as he was, Chris chuckled, “He can’t even spell it right. Or Noah must have been hungry for some refried rice cigarettes. But I doubt he meant to scratch a Chinese food order on my car door, either. The fucking fool!”
With his truck radio disabled and his phone battery almost dead, Chris ran back into the house to rip off his party gear. He threw on the brand-new rugged bush-fire uniform that had been on display all day: a bright yellow shirt and heavy green fire-retardant cargo pants held up by a pair of reflective red suspenders. A pair of heavy, full-leather work boots completed the rugged getup.
Christopher quickly ran into the garage to grab some tools and extra batteries. By the time he located the phone charger for his truck and grabbed the drone’s remote control, his makeshift ‘Gay Team’ was fully dressed, geared up, and ready to head out into the dark.
• Continued in part 35 •
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© StrykerJ - August 2026
