The Story of Rolf and Erik Pt. 01

The most powerful effect Rolf understood he had on others turned out to be through physical contact. Somewhat fed up with his work as a biologist and trying to find something that would stop him thinking, Rolf had followed classes to become a massage therapist. Twice a week, he would now take half a day off, and shared a practice to receive some patients. It provided him with a most welcome human contact which revitalized him. The energy was not conveyed by words, but by mere bodily touch, and he could regularly notice the effect, both on himself and on others. He did magic with his strong hands. Many people, men, women, young or old, seem to feel like electrified by his touch, leaving his practice in an altered state.

Johan's departure from the house had somewhat relieved the tension. There was no more risk to come across him, and Rolf had now all leisure to venture freely into pornography. Camilla was often away, and went to bed at early. He watched in disbelief all these women giving blowjobs, something Camilla would never do, moaning to tears as they were being penetrated in every possible posture. Inevitably, Rolf quickly found his way to gay porn. At first, what he felt was baffled curiosity. Then, he was amazed that he didn't feel so uncomfortable as he would have thought. He envied all these randy young men with perfect bodies, acting out their sexuality with each other with the same frenzy as players in a soccer game. He was fascinated by their sex appeal and energy, and it eventually occurred to him that he longed to be part of it. At the same time, the very idea felt pathetic because of his age and looks.

What was most disturbing to him at first was actually the word "gay". Rolf had remained a small town guy with a rather conservative mind, and the three letter word only conveyed negative images, going from sick to grotesque. He had of course always been aware that gay people existed. He remembered than when Johan was four years old, they had been stuck with Camilla in the Gay pride right in front of the Royal Palace. Johan was sitting on his shoulders, thrilled by the carnival atmosphere, and young enough to spare Rolf from explaining what it was all about. Camilla was amused, saying it was a waste because so many of them looked sexy. Rolf had replied tersely he had never suspected there were that many. Indeed, the whole society was represented, even the firemen and the goddam police!

Deep down, Rolf had thought that if he ever was to have desire for a male, it would be a wholesome young lad like he had been himself, certainly not a transvestite, nor even a sissy, nor any of those creatures in ludicrous attire, wagging their bodies to the bump of electro. But he wouldn't say such a thing anyway: any criticism of that weird bunch would have been dismissed by Camilla as bigotry, and he was afraid of her judgement. So he forgot about these people as long as they remained harmless, and he had blurred the memory at the back of his mind. It only came back to him as he had started to watch male porn, but refrained in his head to make any association between the two images. The guys he had started to fantasize about were not gay, they were just men, full stop.

As he was exploring deeper into male pornography, he stumbled on something that resounded like an earthquake in his mind. There were actually plenty of performers his age or even older, some of which looked just like him, with their muscular bodies and their balding or greying heads. And they were casually referred to as "daddies"! The discovery triggered a violent reaction inside him, pushing on a most achy point of his own story, and he had to refrain himself from smashing the computer. Not only these dudes were getting it on with each other, but with handsome young men as well, and these responded in sheer ecstasy. It was not just one or two videos, but hundreds of them. The comments below praised how sexy and manly the mature guys were, how badly so many fans longed to have sex with them...

After rage came astonishment. The dots assembled together on his mind. Rolf slowly started to acknowledge that he belonged to that very type, and that there seemed to be a sizeable demand for it. He made a connection with the strange looks he received regularly from young men, on the street, at the gym, at the sauna, and which he had never deciphered accurately. He started to realize that the power he was using when he was performing massage was, at least partly, his own diverted sexual energy, and that is was working wonders. Rolf's mind was going through a revolution. He almost felt like going back to see a psychiatrist, but quickly decided that there would be no one to help him but himself.

He reluctantly opened profiles on various dating apps. He put his personal picture to see for himself what effect it produced, only to cancel his account time and time again, terrified at the idea of stumbling on someone he knew. And he did receive invites from men of all ages located in the Stockholm area, very frank ones indeed, sometimes with hardcore pictures or explicit language. Although he was too nervous to concentrate, it seemed to him however, almost to his relief, that none of the guys whose profiles he had seen appealed to him. He longed for a beautiful and bright young man to eagerly want him, yet his self-confidence was too weak to believe that was even a possibility.

It had been a year Johan was living away, although he was close enough to come back regularly on weekends. Rolf was more and more often alone in the house, as Camilla traveled non stop back and forth, mostly to the U.S.A. At the beginning of autumn, Camilla announced that she had been offered a position in New York City, and that it was too much of an opportunity for her to decline. She told Rolf blankly she was sorry about that, but that he had to understand her. Even if he had tried to deter her, he knew he wouldn't have succeeded. But he already knew he wouldn't miss her anyway. Her departure was planned after Christmas.

CHAPTER 3

Erik's descent into masochism had started four years earlier. At the time he was finishing high school, he was hanging out with Axel, the wholesome popular kid whom everyone looked up to. Axel was fond of Erik, who was the more secretive and intellectual kind, and he acted with him as a bigger brother. He had turned him into his confident, and they ended up spending all their time together. He didn't seem to suspect that Erik actually cared for him far more than he did. Erik would often sleep over at Axel's, in his apartment just above the waterfront near Slussen, in front of which a stream of cars was flowing past day and night. As they shared the same bed, the two youngsters full of pulsating hormones had quite naturally engaged in sex play, namely mutual masturbation and sixty-nine. But they would never talk about it, they just did it. During daytime, they acted as though nothing had happened in between the sheets.

There had however been some gossip around their promiscuity. In the summer after the end of high school, Axel had found himself a new girlfriend. Overnight, he abruptly told Erik that he didn't want him around anymore. Erik would not believe it at first: they had been best friends, and he was now discarded without Axel giving it a second thought. But so it would remain. Erik had trusted his own feelings, and deemed them strong enough to overcome any obstacle. Now he was falling into the void, feeling betrayed, abandoned and worthless. Even if no words had been pronounced, Axel now viewed Erik as an undesirable faggot, to whom his own respectability commanded not to be associated with. Erik had gone through excruciating torments and had even considered taking his own life.

When he finally got over it, Erik came to some conclusions. He could have got back to normal if he had wanted. He actually had two girls before, but sex with them had been a mere physical performance, failing to provide him with something he felt he was deprived of. What he really needed was a caring big brother to mend his breaks and fill his gaps. He had opened up to Axel with trust, and had had found himself stabbed in the back. Behind Erik's quiet face, the initial candid attraction had turned almost overnight into a punchy urge to get fucked. Pleasure with another male could only be delivered at the price of a harsh punishment. He swore to himself he would never fall in love again.The intensity he was denied in one direction, he would catch up in the other. His life wouldn't be thrown away, but his longing for affection, his youth, his beauty, all were only there to be hurt and profaned.

The young man started working out regularly, to define the muscles of his body which he felt was too frail and slender. And at the same time, he started cruising on apps and outdoors, although hardly ever satisfied by his one night stands. He would carefully avoid young and handsome guys that looked like Axel or like himself, and pick up grown men instead. The caring brother had been replaced by a punishing father figure. Erik was turned on by blue collar immigrants, as they were likely to have a raw manhood which Swedes used to lack. He would also run by chance into celebs, including a TV host and a member of the high clergy. As he could not take anyone home, he would have sex with strangers in their cars, in hotel rooms, in public parks or on deserted parking lots. He was after the man who would crush his barriers, tame the chaotic forces held at the back of his mind, push him to the limits of his physical and mental abilities. And he eventually found him.

At daytime, Erik was studying journalism, at his University's department of media studies, and achieved well in spite of his double life. Once in his second year, he immediately spotted one of his new teachers. Kurt reminded of Mephisto's character in "Faust", and had the nefarious reputation of being a twisted pederast, who picked up his minions among his favorite students. The wicked smirks he cast at Erik from word go were unambiguous. After some superficial small talk, using the studies as a mere pretext, Erik soon found himself naked on his knees in Kurt's apartment, fully erect, being used a his willing sex toy. Soon, he could neither count how many times he had taken Kurt's long thin cock in his mouth or up his ass, nor how many times he had received his sperm in his mouth or on his face. He had learned that he would cum hardest when he felt subdued.

Kurt was the incarnation of the perverse dandy. He was an intellectual who had already published several books. His apartment was on the fourth floor of an ancient gable house on a cobbled street, in the pedestrian old town of Stockholm. The place was elegantly decorated with a mixture of ancient, eccentric and exotic furniture. There was an intriguing statue of the Greek god Pan in the entrance, with its half-goat half-man body. On the chimney was a penis shaped porcelain pepper pot found in Amsterdam. The walls were covered with mirrors, and reproductions of paintings always featuring naked men. The bookshelves contained impressive collections of male on male erotica, including everything from Greek Antiquity to Japanese, and a comprehensive archive of European pederastic pornography from the 18th century onwards.

Kurt was vicious, refined and demanding. He liked to stage his scenarios in the dim light of candles, with a background of classical music. He had a marked preference for the most thunderous composers such as Wagner, Brahms or Grieg. Several times, he had recorded their sessions together on cam, and would sit and relax with Erik to watch the result on screen. Kurt used to sip on a glass of amaretto while Erik visualized the progress of his own descent into submission. The contrast between Erik's youthful seraphic features and Kurt's mature and diabolic ones was already odd to behold, and the sight of their raw physical pairing all the more obscene. Kurt liked dominating the boy in eccentric attire, often half clad in shirt and tie, keeping garter socks or shoes on, or even a hat, while Erik was left vulnerable in a mere white or black jockstrap. He kept a paraphernalia of sex toys, some of which were collection objects, to pull the boy deeper into his masochistic quest.

Fist came the dildos, then the nipple clamps, then the handcuffs, then the dog collar and the leash. Once he had been taught to deepthroat, Erik was successively slapped, spanked and whipped. He had to participate into his own submission by being verbal, having to beg for what his master actually wanted him to do. Except when had him blindfolded or was taking him from behind, Kurt had trained Erik into maintaining constant eye contact with him, so that the penetrations would not just be physical, but mental as well. He tested the barriers of Erik's modesty: he could make him sniff his socks and rim his ass, but did not however manage to make him pee in front of him. He would introduce some friends to Erik and made the boy have sex with them. He would either participate or watch, as he was also a voyeur. The boy would get fucked from both ends, sometimes able to see his own spit-roasting in the mirrors.

Erik had the soul of a soldier or of a saint's, and each new mortification felt as climbing a new step towards ascetic self denial. When he was on his knees, worshipping Kurt's manhood, time stopped for him and he fell into an altered state. The cock filled both his holes and his mind, as though anything else was superfluous. He had gone through moments of abandon on the edge of mystical ecstasy like an Indian fakir, as he was being disposed of, semen pouring all over his youthful body. He would longer have to fight once he had reached the point of absolute surrendering. But the point was always moving further along with himself like the horizon.

Although Kurt was educated and bright, Erik could never have any personal conversation with him. At heart, he was longing for a father figure, who at least from time to time would pat or hug him, and take interest in his person. But Kurt loathed emotions like a vampire loathed the light. In his view, emotions would diminish the intensity of sexual pleasure, the only thing that really mattered to him. Whenever Erik ventured a question about the meaning of it all, Kurt would only digress in philosophical apologies of primitive sex cults, and gave him books to read to serve his purpose. The latest one had been "Eroticism" by French writer Georges Battaille, tough reading indeed. The book's point was that orgasm lay on the exact border of the filthy and the sublime. It featured anthropological descriptions of voodoo ceremonies, where participants would fall into ecstatic trance, and was illustrated with graphic pictures.

As Kurt was always pushing Erik's barriers further, the boy often had an idea of what would come next. Kurt would talk animatedly about the new fantasies he wanted Erik to fulfil for his own enjoyment. After being gang-banged in a club, Erik knew that what Kurt had in mind for him was bondage and fist fucking. Despite all he had experienced so far into Kurt's hands, fist fucking was one step beyond. Erik had seen pictures and clips of it, and found it repulsive. He somehow had to set boundaries to his carnal passion for Kurt, who always demanded more from him. In the end, his master's ultimate fantasy would probably to rip him apart in an ultimate sacrifice. Erik felt neither willing, nor even free to push it as far as total self-destruction, even less for Kurt's mere satisfaction. But he would avoid mentioning any possible limits to him, as he knew the man's automatic reaction would be to trespass them.

The situation was even more schizophrenic as Erik continued to attend Kurt's lectures at journalism school. Formally dressed in business attire, Kurt left no clue that he had any secret bond with Erik. He would cast a discreet smirk at him from time to time, but that was it. The students tended to be intimidated by Kurt's features, gentlemanly and demonic at the same time. Erik took pride at the thought some students suspected he was the pet of such a fear inspiring teacher, but he was even more afraid of him than anyone. Kurt was indeed the common denominator in each of the two isolated compartments of Erik's life: his ambitious studies on on side, and his dark sexual cult on the other.

Since he started his studies, Erik had moved to a famous student's home, somewhat secluded in the vicinity of the Finland ferry terminal. He still would often come back to his mother who lived at the opposite side of the city, in the same small flat where he had spent all his childhood. Erik's mother was a bosomy, loving woman with a total dedication to her son. He was her own reason to live. Erik was always welcome with a warm dinner, and the woman still kept care of her son's laundry, as he hated ironing. He would typically leave her house with a bag full of his freshly washed and perfectly folded clothes. The sight always provided him with a hint of guilt.

Erik had a former girlfriend from high school, Astrid, whom he used somewhat as a cover. No one around them believed in them as a couple anymore, except for Erik's mother. Astrid was a feminist, considered herself a free woman, and had one night stands with whomever she pleased. She had a regular partner though, a massive and empty headed stud called Bo, but she still liked to hang around with Erik who was his total opposite. He was handsome, stylish and clever, he liked partying and she fancied his tongue-in-cheek humor. Erik and Astrid would regularly be seen together at venues or clubs. A girl always draws more public attention when accompanied by a male partner. Erik would use these occasions to dance the night away in oblivion.

Astrid thought of herself as broad minded, and would talk animatedly about sex as though she was the expert on the topic. Erik used to listen benignly, bemused at the graphic depiction of her adventures, without a word about his own that were way more hardcore. Astrid suspected that Erik had a secret garden, as his private life remained shrouded in mystery. She only figured out that males were involved, but could never get into the details. As open minded as she thought she was, Erik was certain if that Astrid knew about the dark odyssey of his masochism, she would have not only felt like a wannabe, but possibly have recoiled or at least found herself clueless. Outside of Kurt, he had never met anyone who understood what went on his mind.

Under the circumstances being, there was no way Erik would ever come out to his mother. Sure, if he had brought a handsome young lad like him back home, he knew the reaction would have been more than just positive. His mother would burst into tears of joy, and welcome the new boy as a second son. But if she had suspected only half of what Erik was doing with such a creepy middle-aged pervert as Kurt, the brave woman not only would have been dumbfounded but also deeply scared and hurt.

Erik had grown without a father. The guy abandoned his mother six months after he was born. She had never started a new life, and had reported all her love on her only child. Erik would not often discuss the topic with his mother, but his father was described as having self-destructive tendencies. He would have drinking bouts, splurged his money, and had died in mysterious circumstances when Erik was six years old. He had fallen off a roof as he was drunk, so that it could never be determined if it was an accident or a suicide. Erik was afraid to have inherited the same genes of self-destruction.

As a child, Erik had always been very quiet, and had kept an angel face well beyond teenage. He achieved very well in school, never bragging about it, but lagged behind in sports or craft activities. He would spend time with single friends, either boys or girls, rather than taking part in groups or tumultuous games. Erik's mind was mature beyond his age, fully aware early on that his dedicated mother was raising him in difficult conditions. He hadn't ever rebelled, and the only decisive turning point he could remember was the betrayal of his best friend. After that, he would gladly have sacrificed his life for a superior cause, but he didn't feel free to do so. There was a bottom lime for Erik: the idea that his mother could suffer because of him was unbearable.