JAQrabbit Tales

This week’s post introduces a new feature, and marks a temporary change in the format of JAQrabbit Tales. I’ll still be doing the regular one-page story-telling pin-ups, and I’ll be supplementing those with character sketches. But instead of the usual comics, I’ll be posting illustrated short stories. These Travel Tales will be about my 2-month trip across north/central Europe back in 1995, and will feature vintage vacation photos and new drawings.

There are two reasons for this switch:

1) I’ve been trying to figure out a way to incorporate these stories into the series. Backpacking Europe was one of the great experiences of my life (and sex life). And because it’s one of the few times that I’ve carried a camera around with me, they’re some of the few tales where I can include actual photographs to help set the scene. But it wouldn’t work to go full mezzo-fumetti and try to use them as backgrounds for comics, because I didn’t take that many pictures. (Film was expensive, y’know?) This gives me the freedom to write up the stories, show off a few vacation pictures, and do some drawings to fill out the visuals.

2) It gives me and my collaborators time to work on more comics. I’ve been posting comics faster than we can draw them, and I’m close to running out. The Travel Tales aren’t nearly as labor-intensive as producing comics, so I can do these at the same time I’m rebuilding the library of sequential-art stories over the next several months. And this means no interruption of the weekly publishing schedule. I can see from the traffic patterns that there are a bunch of you out there checking each Monday, and this will give you something new to see every week until I’ve got more comics.

It’s been a while since I wrote erotic prose like this, but it’s turning out to be a lot of fun for me. I hope the results are fun for you too!

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Little Geysir

When I explained all the places I planned to go on my backpack tour of Europe, one place resulted in lots of furrowed brows. “Iceland”? Most of them had barely heard of it or knew where it was, and they had even less clue what it was like.

Which was exactly the point of going.

Contrary to what you’d think, Iceland is not icy… at least not along the coast, where everyone lives. In fact, thanks to the geothermal energy it gets from sitting on the joint between two continental plates, there’s always plenty of bubbling water available to heat things up. The landscape is a bit… bleak, but beautiful in a way that a temperate forest or a tropical jungle can’t match.

I grew up near Lake Michigan, and I’ve always been a swimmer, so I was glad to discover that Iceland’s cheap hot water had developed a culture of public bathing. Almost every city and town has a public swimming pool, where people regularly go for a dip. And to be honest: I prefer a heated pool to chilly Lake Michigan. In addition to a big warm pool for swimming laps, they’ll also have smaller “hot pots”, where the geothermal water is piped in, uncooled. I found those relaxing. But the showers were a special kind of heaven.

In the prudish and self-centered U.S., most people ignore or rush through the showers at public pools. But I was pleasantly surprised to find that Icelanders took them seriously. They’d strip naked and spend a few minutes carefully and thoroughly soaping and rinsing themselves before – and after – swimming. Bathing suits went on only for the all-ages “mixed company” of the pool itself.

I was in the northern town of Akureyri for a couple days, and decided to try out the local pool. I had the men’s showers to myself before my swim. While I was swimming laps, I noticed several teenage boys hanging out in the hot pot. They were obviously good friends, talking among themselves in Icelandic, periodically erupting in laughter. I’d had about enough swimming when I saw the boys climb out of the tub and head the for the showers. Seemed as good a time as any to do the same myself.

They’d already stripped when I walked into the showers, and they’d gathered at one end of the room, each squirting handfuls of soap into their hands and washing their sweat and the mineral-laced water away. I found a shower head a short distance from them, where I could enjoy the view without drawing too much attention to myself.

The dude nearest me was the tallest, a couple inches taller, in fact. He had muscles to match, obviously the oldest of the boys, almost my age. His voice was the deepest, a rich baritone that resonated strongly through the shower room in Icelandic. And an uncut cock that hung nearly five inches, even soft. (Circumcision is uncommon in Europe, compared to the US. It’s not something I obsess over, but seeing guys with foreskins everywhere I went in Europe came to feel a bit like “going home” to a place I’d never been before.)

Next to him was probably his younger brother, because he had the same face but with smoother lines. When he laughed it was a melodic, boyish tenor. He was a few inches shorter than me, and was more slender than his brother. His cock wasn’t nearly as long and thick, and had only a small patch of hair at its base, but it was semi-hard and sticking out a bit. No one else paid any attention to it… just a dick being a dick, I guess.

The third teenager was a red-head, and his orange pubes confirmed that it was natural. Thor – the mythic character, not the Kirby/Lee superhero – had red hair, but this kid wasn’t ready for the thunder god’s bushy beard… his sideburns faded as away they passed his earlobes. He had his back to me most of the time, so I didn’t get to see much of his dick, but the well-defined ass he showed was a nice consolation prize.

The one farthest from from me was my favorite. For one thing, had a positively adorable face, with beautiful blue eyes, a cute-as-a-button nose, and sandy-blond hair that hung down to one side of his face. He was facing toward me most of the time, so I had a clear view of him from the front.  He was thin, but not skinny. He glanced over toward me from time to time, not entirely sure what to make of the stranger who’d joined them in the showers. I thought I caught a bit of a smile.

The boys finished washing, and not wanting to be obvious about following them, I lingered a while in the shower before heading for the lockers myself. My locker was out of sight from theirs, so I could only listen to them chatting unintelligibly as they finished putting on their t-shirts and jeans. As they left the locker room together, and walked past my row of lockers, the quiet and pretty one glanced very quickly at me. I happened to be tucking myself into my briefs at the moment, and smiled. Then they were out the door.

I went back to the pool the next day at the same time, thinking that maybe they stopped there every day after school or something. I wasn’t that lucky.

I was luckier.

I left my clothes in a locker, and carried my bathing suit to the men’s shower room, as one does there. It was standing room only. Apparently the local football team had decided to go for a swim instead of practicing. Everywhere I turned there was a buff young athlete, butt naked and washing every part of his body in preparation for a swim. Best of all, there were no showers open, so I was “forced” to just stand there looking around, waiting for one.

That happened pretty quickly, and I slipped into line, surrounded by Icelandic footballers. As I was soaping up, one of the team members reached over and grabbed the bathing suit of the guy on my left. It quickly turned into a game of “keep away”, as the swatch of green nylon was tossed from one player to another, ignoring the protests of the victim. I didn’t understand a word of what they were calling back and forth to each other, but it was fun to watch.

Then the suit landed at my feet. I snatched it up and lobbed it across the room to one of the other players. From then on, I was a frequent “intended receiver” for the ball (of nylon). After a while, however, the butt of this little prank began to look annoyed, so when the suit next came to me, I gently tossed it to him. The other players howled in protest, but he smiled warmly. “Tokk,” he said in thanks, as he stuffed his cock and balls into the nylon pouch, then turned and headed for the pool. The game over, the rest of the team finished rinsing, put on their suits, and followed him.

I hadn’t actually gotten around to washing myself yet, so I got to work at that, soaping up then rinsing off, and putting on my suit. Then, out the corner of my eye, I noticed a figure lurking in the toilet area just off the showers.

“Halló?” I ventured, quickly using up a good chunk of my Icelandic vocabulary.

After a pause, a face appeared. “Hae.” It was the blond kid who’d caught my eye the day before. He was blushing brightly at having been discovered, and held his towel in front of him, obscuring the view of his naked crotch.

“Who’re you hiding from?” I asked. “The uh, ‘football’ team? I’m not with them…”

The kid laughed quietly. “No, obviously not. They speak Icelandic.” But he spoke to me in English, with a beautiful accent.

“Yeah, I guess they do,” I admitted with smile and a shrug. “My name’s Jason, by the way, from America.”

“I’m Kristian.” I figured that this was his name, not his religion.

“So, Kristian,” I slipped into small-talk, “Do you come swimming here every day?”

“No, usually just once a week. I came back today hoping… never mind.”

“No, tell me.”

“I thought you might be back.”

“Same here.”

“For really?” he asked, apparently not quite daring to believe it.

“Yeah. I think you’re cute.”

Suddenly he opened up. “So are you! I thought so when I saw you yesterday, but I didn’t want to say or do anything because… well, I was with my friends and I didn’t want them teasing me. They know I’m gay, and it’s OK, but it’s a small city which makes it hard to find someone you like.”

“You shouldn’t have any trouble finding someone who likes you,” I flattered him honestly.

“Not yet.” Kristian fell silent and disappeared back into the lavatory.

I followed, getting increasingly turned on by his shyness. “So, if you don’t have a boyfriend, have you ever fucked?” Kristian shook his head. “Not even a blow job?” Another shake. “Kiss?”

“Would you?” He looked hopeful. “Please?”

I took him by the shoulders and planted a soft, sensual kiss on his lips. After a moment’s hesitation, he began to kiss back, practically devouring my lips. “Wow,” I thought, “This kid’s motor is really revving! Do I dare put him into gear?”

I dared.

I led him into a toilet stall, in case anyone came in. Prying the towel from his hands, I saw that yesterday’s few inches had grown to six, not especially thick, but beautiful nonetheless. The foreskin had rolled most of the way back, revealing a tender and pink, but large head. I sat on the commode, and started gently running my fingers up and down his cock. He gasped quietly.

I looked up at him to ask for confirmation that he wanted to go through with it. But it was clear from the look on his face that I had his eager consent. I licked my lips, pursed them, and in one slow motion slid them down the full length of his shaft. He whimpered in pleasure.

I tried to take it slow from there, wanting his first blow-job to be gentle and special, but the kid’s pent-up hormones had other plans. After half a dozen times up and down, I felt his hips jerking forward, awkwardly a first, but quickly getting a rhythm that put him on a fast track to a happy ending. I stopped bobbing, and concentrated on maintaining a steady target for him to slide in and out of. The kid was fucking my face like a maniac, clearly shooting for the fastest possible release. Sure enough, within a minute the boy gasped “Oh!” and something I didn’t understand, and unloaded stream after stream of hot cum into my mouth. I nearly choked on the volume – clearly he’d been stewing about this all afternoon – but managed to swallow it all.

I stood up and kissed him, first passionately, then gradually easing off. I figured Kristian needed some winding down before we parted, and a little afterglow kissing should do the trick. But as I started backing away, Kristian asked him please not to go. “No, I want to finish. I kissed, I had a blow job, now I want to fuck.” I stood amazed at my luck. “Please?” Kristian begged. “Would you please fuck me?”

I sneaked out to the showers and came quickly back to the toilet stall with a handful of soap. (I know, I know… but there wasn’t any Astroglide handy.) I smeared my cock with it, then reached between Kristian’s cheeks and fingered his ass. The kid was tight as a snare drum at first, but gradually relaxed enough for me to fit a finger in, then two, then the tip of a third. “I can work with that,” I thought.

I maneuvered him into position, bending him over with his hands on the commode. I started by nudging his crack with my dick, then pressed the head of it just barely into his hole. Kristian turned his head around, expectantly, and when he made eye contact with me, grinned from ear to ear, a smile warm enough to melt butter.

At that, my hormones took over, and I pushed into his ass. He cried out “Oooh!” quietly, and I stopped, but another sidelong smile – a little forced, but proud of himself – gave me the go-ahead to bury it.

Slowly at first, but with growing speed, I squeezed my cock in and out of his ass. From time to time, Kristian wiggled his slender hips a bit, which kinda drove me wild. I tried to keep to a slow, gentle pace, both for his sake, and because I wanted to make it last as long as I could. But that was easier said than done, and I had to distract myself a couple times to keep from going over the edge.

“Wait!” cried Kristian. “Not like this. I want to see you.” He pulled away from me, and sat down on the commode. Rolling backward on his hips, he spread his legs and offered his ass to me the other way around. I squatted lower, and eased my cock back into his hole. I liked this. It gave me more leverage, and I did like being able to see Kristian’s beautiful face, now contorted with a mixture of pain, pleasure, and pride. I could see his chest muscles tense up and relax, and could watch as the cock I’d recently sucked off again grew long and hard. But my attention was repeatedly drawn back to Kristian’s eyes, which stared intently at me.

It took me a few minutes to work my way back toward the brink of climax. Whenever I thought I might be going too hard, the look of satisfaction on Kristian’s face – and the increasing hardness of the kid’s cock – reassured me that I should keep at it.

As I was getting close to shooting my load, I noticed that Kristian’s expression had changed. It was if he were choking, his eyes grew wide, and he began to whimper again. He grabbed at my arms and wouldn’t let go. At first I was alarmed, but then he realized what was happening, and thrust harder. Goaded only by my pounding from within, an ongoing rush of hormones, and the intensity of what he was finally doing, Kristian’s cock erupted again, quivering by itself as it splattered his smooth tummy and chest with jizz. Unable to hold back, I let loose with a grunt and flooded his ass with cum.

I slumped to the floor. Kristian sat up, and looked positively triumphant. Despite his earlier concerns about his friends’ teasing, I was sure he’d be calling them to brag about this landmark achievement before the day was out. I watched as he strode away, with manly dignity. But before he disappeared from view, Kristian turned, pantomimed a kiss, and called, “Tokk fyrir!” (Thank you very much!)

One of the volcanic pits of northern Iceland, filled by a lake.