Four blokes, two tents, neither of them big enough to sleep three ... and all they could do was shuffle their feet, look elsewhere, and expect him to be the one to wave a magic wand.
Reeling from a break-up with his long-term boyfriend, Marcus goes on a camping trip with his friends, only to find none of them are willing to share a tent with him. Angry and upset, he runs off into the forest and comes across a hidden quarry pool where he sunbathes for a while, then takes a dip.
Back on land, he finds a leech clinging to his leg and kills it without a thought. But when a strange -- and strangely attractive -- man rises from the pool, claiming to be the King of the Leeches and demanding retribution for the death, Marcus learns not all punishments are unpleasant, and nature has the power to stand up for itself.
He must have dozed off. The warmth, and the quiet, and the faint buzzing of flies over the surface of the pond had mesmerised him and sent him to sleep. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been out, but he did know what had woken him again, an aggravating tickle on his leg. He reached down idly to scratch, and yanked back his hand when it encountered something damp and soft. Ugh. It felt revolting, like week-old jelly or someone’s spat-out chewing gum. He sat up and peered down, and was even more disgusted when he saw what was clinging to his leg: a leech, fat and slimy and brown.
The sight made him shudder. He’d never been much good with crawly things or slimy things or things with too many legs. What was it Robbie had said? Something about two legs is fine, four legs is acceptable, any more than that’s just fucking unnatural? What could be more unnatural than having something, some Thing, chewing on his leg? He should have checked the water before he dived in, he thought. The pool was probably crawling with the little buggers, sitting about waiting for the next free meal. But it had looked so inviting, he hadn’t stopped to think. And now something had taken advantage of his lapse. Well, it could damn well stop feasting on his blood right now. The only problem was, how could he dislodge it without leaving its nasty teeth embedded in his veins? He’d read that salt was good, but he didn’t have any with him, not even a packet of crisps.
His next thought was fire, and there he was better prepared. His cigarettes would do just fine. The one he’d lit earlier had gone out while he dozed, but took only a second to re-light. He drew on it until it blazed, then applied the red-hot end to the back of the leech and watched with satisfaction as it shrivelled and died. It had probably screamed, too, he thought, but it was way too small to hear. The smell of hot pond water was suddenly strong, overlaying even the sharp tobacco tang. He took the cigarette away, blew on the tip and re-applied it to the leech until he was quite sure it was dead, then flicked the tiny carcass into the pond where it fell with an audible plop. The ripples of its passing spread across the pool, lapping gently at the sides, and then they were gone.
Marcus checked his legs for anything else that might be hitching an unofficial ride, but thankfully that was the only one. It had left a small red trail of blood. He dabbed that off with his thumb, then lay back down to continue his interrupted nap, but found it hard to get comfortable. He shifted and turned on the ledge, hot in the sun but chilly when he shuffled into the shade, and the feeling of being watched was back even more strongly than before. The hairs on his arms stood up on end and he tried to convince himself it was due to the cold -- there was a chill breeze ruffling the surface of the pond and the sun had finally gone behind a cloud. But he knew without quite knowing how that it was more than that. There was someone or something here. Something unpleasant, lurking in the weedy depths, ready to jump out at him. Something that might well have been watching him, skinny-dip and all, the whole time he was here. Oh God. Not a good thought. Probably he was imagining it. Too much sun, too little food and he’d started to hallucinate. But however much he tried to reason with himself, he couldn’t shake the feeling off.
Even as he sat up to peer into the pool there came a louder splash, followed by a rushing surge. It sounded like a surfacing submarine, and visions of giant leeches filled his mind. But it was no leech that parted the waters and rose from their oily depths -- it was a man, and a handsome man at that. His skin was a dusky olive and his long hair was black, and wetly plastered to the sides of his head. His chest was flat and strong, his shoulders broad and his stomach rippled with muscular power. There were glimpses of other things, too, as the man swam towards the edge of the pool. Taut buttocks, strong thighs, well-shaped calves ... With a sudden gulp, Marcus realised three things -- one, the figure was as naked as the day he was born; two, he was impressively endowed, and three, he was heading straight for the ledge.
