Out Hiking - An Autofellator's Dream - AI

[Eddie]

Here's another fun story I created in Google AI Studio. Hope it's fun for you!

Out HIking

The coastal hills of Big Sur were Leo’s cathedral. He was nineteen, a solitary soul whose only true companion was the rhythmic crunch of his boots on the dusty trail and the secret, aching ambition in his own body. He wasn't just a hiker; he was a pilgrim. For years, in the privacy of his bedroom, he had pursued what he called "The Project"—a clumsy, frustrating, yet deeply compelling quest to achieve the perfect, closed circle. He was an autofellator by instinct, with no teacher and no guide, and he was convinced he was the only person on Earth afflicted with this beautiful, impossible madness.

He’d been hiking for two days, the salty air and strenuous climbs loosening his muscles. He found a secluded clearing overlooking a cove, a perfect spot to practice. As the sun began to dip towards the Pacific, painting the sky in fiery strokes of orange and purple, he laid out his small mat. He moved through the familiar, self-taught stretches, his body warm and pliable. He was closer than ever before, the connection a tantalizing, breathless possibility.

It was then that he heard it.

It wasn't the sound of the surf or the cry of a hawk. It was singing. A chorus of male voices, rising and falling in a strange, melodic harmony from a grove of Monterey pines just over the next ridge. The lyrics were faint, carried on the wind, but the words he could make out sent a jolt of pure electricity through his spine.

"...the spine, a bow, the self, a vow... the sweetest fruit upon the bough..."

Leo froze, his body locked in a deep forward fold. It couldn't be. He scrambled to his feet, his heart hammering against his ribs, and crept towards the sound. As he peered through a thicket of manzanita, his jaw went slack.

Below him, in a large, communal campground, was a scene from his wildest, most secret dreams. Around a large, crackling campfire, a dozen men were gathered. But they weren't sitting on logs, drinking beer. They were on mats, blankets, and bare earth, all in various stages of the familiar, sacred contortion. Some were in deep plow poses, others in graceful forward bends. And they were singing.

A man with a silver beard and a powerful baritone led them, like a choirmaster.

(Leader) "Who needs no other for the art?"
(Chorus) "THE MAN WHO KNOWS HIS OWN TRUE HEART!"

Leo watched, utterly transfixed, as several of the men achieved their goal. There was no shame, no furtiveness. It was a celebration. A big, burly man let out a triumphant laugh as he made the connection, his voice muffled. A young, lithe man moved with the grace of a dancer, achieving a deep-throat position that made Leo’s own throat ache in sympathetic awe.

He felt a profound, dizzying sense of vertigo, as if the ground had fallen away. He wasn't a freak. He wasn't alone. He had a tribe.

Gathering every ounce of courage he possessed, he stepped out from behind the bushes. The singing faltered as heads turned. A dozen pairs of eyes, all clear and calm, fell upon him.

The silver-bearded man, who they called Alistair, stood up slowly. "Lost, son?" he asked, his voice kind.

Leo’s mouth was dry. "No," he croaked, his voice barely a whisper. "I think... I think I'm found." He took a deep breath. "I heard your song. I... I do that too. I'm one of you." The words tumbled out, a confession and a plea. "I'm an autofellator."

A slow smile spread across Alistair's face. A ripple of warm, welcoming laughter went through the group. The burly man, whose name was Marcus, clapped his hands together. "Well, pull up a patch of dirt, kid! The choir can always use another voice!"

The relief that washed over Leo was so immense it almost buckled his knees. He found a spot near the fire, laid out his mat, and for the first time in his life, he began his practice surrounded by his brethren. Alistair sat beside him, not coaching, but simply offering a quiet, supportive presence.

"You have a natural gift for the fold," Alistair noted. "But you're fighting your breath. Let it guide you."

With that small piece of advice, something clicked. As the men began another song—a rousing, explicit sea shanty about "swallowing the captain's treasure"—Leo let go of his tension. He breathed into the stretch, and with an ease that felt like magic, he made the connection. It was deeper and more profound than ever before. He held it, a wave of pure, ecstatic joy washing over him as his own warm, salty taste filled his mouth. He was home.

That weekend became the cornerstone of Leo’s life. He learned that this group, "The Circle of the Coast," had been meeting in these hills for years. He learned from Alistair, the spiritual elder; from Marcus, the boisterous hedonist who taught him about diet for volume; and from Kai, the quiet gymnast who showed him stretches that unlocked his hips in ways he never thought possible.

He sang their songs, shared their food, and listened to their stories. He heard tales of solitary practice in lonely apartments, of breakthroughs and frustrations, of the same deep, driving need that had defined his own young life. In the evenings, they would sit around the fire, tired and deeply satisfied, sharing techniques and philosophies. It was a university, a support group, and a family reunion all in one.

Leo returned to that campground every year. The bonds he forged there became the most important of his life. He and Kai became like brothers, challenging each other to new feats of flexibility. He saw Alistair as the father figure he never knew he needed, a source of quiet wisdom. He and Marcus shared a bawdy, infectious sense of humor, often leading the group in the most outrageous and spermy of their songs.

He was no longer a solitary pilgrim on a lonely quest. He was part of a tradition, a member of a loving, eccentric, and beautifully obsessed brotherhood. He had hiked into those hills as a boy with a secret, and he had walked out a man who had found his people, his purpose, and a lifelong circle of friends who truly, deeply, and completely understood.