Story. Homoeroticus

Story by Roberto Cantos.

Translate by Luismi McGregor.

 

Nobody remembers what the young man’s name was, or in what settlement he grew up, or why he disappeared a day, soon after his voice grew deep.

During long days of thirst and burnt skin by the sun, the young man toured the Red Rocks land. His shadow was already thin; his breath, barely a whistle when the great silver-back Mongolongo found him and, with snorts of satisfaction, dragged him to his filthy lair, but unusually nice.

In the first days, the great Mongolongo fed and took care of the young man. He gave him water with his calloused hands and grains and roots that he softened by chewing them in his own mouth. But when the young man was strong again, the great Mongolongo began to torment him. Five, ten, fifteen times a day. Hundreds of times in each moon. Thousands every year. At first, the young man cried, moaned and made a fuss. He cursed his luck and he wanted to die. But slowly he learned to relax. One day he was able to sit down again. A bit later, to walk well. At night, between visit and visit of the great Mongolongo, he remembered the words that his father once taught him: “What does not destroy us, makes us stronger”. And his determination grew.

One night, the great Mongolongo was delayed. The young man, expectant and ready, even frightened in case his master had suffered any misfortune. To such a degree of his fate acceptation he already had, so good he was bearing the fate charges… Finally, at dawn, the great Mongolongo appeared. With his two big hands, he grabbed the young man and led him outside the den. He kicked and threw him out on way. He was releasing him!

The young man, confused, shaken, happy and terrified; fled, ran, howled with fear and happiness while he walked away towards the rising sun. If he had looked back, he would have seen the first light of the morning tearing a glint from the great Silver Back Mongolongo cheek.

 

During a moon, the young man survived by prowling around the sad Villariver of Suckpit, near the beast’s den. He was eating whatever he found, stealing, begging and offering his talent just for leftovers. Just for hunger, but also because of a certain nostalgia. Until one day he felt a terrifying sharp pain in the right ball. Frightened, writhing, he went to the barber, a famed and gifted man. Stiff Blowjobs nothing less: barber, tooth-puller, quack, diviner, usurer, hitman on weekends and mindfulness coach, among others. But we will speak about the origin of his vast wisdom another day.

Stiff, after examining the young man’s ball, ventured a verdict: “You, young vagabond, have contracted the worst of the curses for balls, one that only punishes those who give their flesh to the Mongolongo with pleasure. You young licentious, you have crabs! And really big! You must have joined with the Great Mongolongo, who has tormented these lands for years”.

Why the barber Stiff spoke so old and so fine, we will also explain it another day.

“What?” – the young man asked, confused.

“You have crabs, fucking filthy” – Barber Stiff answered. “To treat them – and if you do not do it their rot will poison you until they kill you – you must perform a metonymic transubstantiation of the evil source”.

“What?”

And the barber Stiff explained, in mundane terms, the ritual to recovery the young man.

The reddish gaze of the Silver Back Great Mongolongo crossed with the young man’s one, who, trembling, he did look down. Slowly, step by step, as tense as crossbow springs, they approached each other. The great Mongolongo, breathing intermittently, put his huge claws on the young man. He tried to spin him around. “No!”, said the young man, firmly.

Holding the iron gaze with the great Mongolongo, the young man bent down and began his task. While the great Mongolongo suffered spasms, the young man felt the pressure in his head. But he could not stop; he had to continue if he wanted to save himself! Finally, they both succumbed. The great Mongolongo, for the ecstasy. The young man, for the cervical fracture. And cranial.

 

When he woke up, the young man was different. A riveted cervical collar encircled his neck. He hasn’t got face anymore. The girths and a mask held the fragments of his skull together, shatter by the passion of the great Mongolongo, and hid his skin, covered with scorched scars due to friction with the monster’s powerful pubic hair.

“You misunderstood me, you depraved monger”, said Barber Stiff, sitting by his bed, annoyed. “You had to eat his dick, not to do a blowjob, do you understand it?, you had to get it off and fried, boiled or grilled it. Do you understand? Dirty!”

But the young man had also changed inside. He did not remember the daydreams of his prostration; only about confused images of power and l unleashed lust, about entire bands rising above the dust to the firmament, about himselve driving them and about enormous hamburgers, titanic!

Now he felt strong, determined, aware of everything. No fear. Free. Unique.

Without answering to the barber Stiff, but still looking at him, he put his feet on the floor, got out from bed and straightened up.

“Oh!”, said the barber Stiff.

The young man was now taller, more beautiful. His muscles shone under the oil lamp’s yellow light like freshly oiled. He was also handsome: his gesture was firm, but sinuous and elegant; wild. The barbarian seed of the great Mongolongo had found a fertile substrate in the young man’s steel character and had been fruitful.

The young man left the dark dump and went out into the shining world.

The way that the young man got the Daymaker is a reason for speculation and legend among many bands of the Wasteland. Some of them say that he snatched it from the feared mercenary Clit the Handsome after fighting against him for thirteen days and thirteen nights. Others talk about a scrap dealer who treasured the knowledge of the Old World and he built it and then he used it on him so no one else had access to them.

The fact is, when, after living innumerable adventures as a thief, bandit and mercenary, and lead the dreaded band of the Blue Oyster, and frighten the area of ​​Crapbridge, arrived at the lair of the Great Mongolongo for the third time.

The young man wielded the prettiest, blackest and tackiest pistol of Wasteland: the Daymaker. It was said that the Daymaker had killed in a single day the entire band of Mong the Cruel. It pierced the Tannhauser Gate, which was fucking thick, and it gave to Tannhauser, who was behind it and pissed him off. That it could hit the target of a well beast from… fucking far away.

“Admit it, you are not coming here to hunt”, those were the enigmatic words that Homoeroticus heard in his mind. “I am the source you feed upon”, he continued listening, while the creature, licking himself, posed once again on the young man’s shoulder.

He still hesitated for a moment. Hot, sweaty, tempting and comfortable memories interposed for an instant between he and the future. But suddenly his gaze hardened again, like ice. He lifted the Daymaker and shot in the Great Mongolongo’s face, unknowingly perpetrating one of the most embarrassing phallic-Freudian metaphors in the history of the wargames backgrounds.

Then he devoured the wiry limb of the creature, which laid lifeless at his feet and left with vigorous stride to Suckpit.

When he arrived to the miserable town, he exclaimed, “I have killed the Great Mongolongo! Reign the enthusiasm! This is now called Bangingpit!” and, exultant of libidinous energy, he began to chase everybody, giving his best to anyone he could reach, man, woman, animal or vegetable without distinction. And they, at the same time, infected with the furious joy of the hero, chased others and others and soon the whole Bangingpit was a fucking party.

Meanwhile, two men were watching it from distance. One of them was an insignificant grey little man. Joe, an irrelevant man like so many others in the Wasteland. “I thought this young man was queer and he was going to get Mongolongo’s dick”, he said.

“The one you see there is no longer a young man, and it’s not queer. He does not tell the difference between genders for the sake of screwing, it has transcended those minutiae. This is Lord Homoeroticus, called to very high destinies. He is pansexual”.

“How weird you sometimes speak, Stiff.”

 

Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply