The story is written in collaboration with my friend Fred in Norway and is completely fictional. Ivar is a youngster of the writer's imagination, and so are the men he meets on his `educational journey'.
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Europe with Spartacus
Chapter 10 Paris (1975)
Ivar had been very nervous for the last hours but now the stripping contest was about to start. He was standing in a small room behind the so-called stage at the barn in Rue Saint-Anne. Six young men, the first six to apply, were to go on stage, dance, strip and have fun.
Ivar got a glimpse of the room. It was filled up with drinking onlookers, mostly grown up males, but some youngsters too who were standing close to the entrance or close to the bar. It looked as if they were too shy to watch their friends showing off virtually nude in front of an audience. Four French boys chatting with each other, one boy from Cuba and then Ivar, were waiting for the show to start.
Some of the boys were heavily-costumed and had dramatic make-up. The Cuban guy was dressed in fur. Ivar had no specific costume. He was dressed in a pair of his fashionable low-cut trousers, a glossy top and a newly-bought black harness. His arms and belly were naked, and he wore no shoes. He had just washed his hair without styling it, and now the hair was like a pale, light cloud when he moved.
Ivar had been in Montmartre the day before and found a shop selling some dirty' items and sexy underwear. He had looked for a thong, like the sports-thong his brother had once used, but had ended buying a tiny presentation pouch like the ones he had seen in American nude' magazines. When he tried it on last night at the hotel, he had managed to hide his cock inside, but was uncertain if it was stretchy enough to keep it covered if he became erect on stage.
Ivar had to choose music as well. Je t'aime' was in his thoughts, the song that was banned by the Pope and many radio stations. Col had suggested that he should strip to Edith Piaf's Milord', but Ivar was not in the mood for a French chanson. He ended up with a very new song by Abba, a song for his age and generation - the title was `Fernando'. Ivar hoped he could charm some of the Fernandos around. The song was not on the juke-box, so he had to buy a single himself.
"A perfect gift for Trym for his birthday," he thought. "He can wank and think of me and miss my hard grip!"
Ivar followed the young strippers with great interest. He thought they were good, all of them, but the Cuban guy was the sexiest. He had ended his strip with just a piece of tiger-coloured fur in front of his half-erect cock. The onlookers whistled and applauded when the boy turned his uncovered brown globe-round buttocks to them and left the stage.
Ivar was next. "Give a warm welcome to the Viking from the north!" The speaker made room for the last stripper this Friday night.
The Abba song started without lyrics. Ivar jumped up on the stage, raised his arms, closed the eyes and danced as if he was in the dance-hall at home.
The song was about to start; the speaker handed him something that looked like as a wireless hand-held microphone. If you were dirty minded, you saw the youngster place a cock-like dildo close to his lips.
"Can you hear the drums, Fernando?" Ivar pointed at the Cuban guy as he sang along. "I remember long ago another starry night like this". With a fast turn he stripped off his top. He was shirtless, with only the harness to frame his brown coronas and his erect nipples.
"There's no regret." Ivar put the mic down in his trousers and moaned. "If I had to do the same again, I would, my friend, Fernando."
Ivar lay down on the stage and managed to strip off his trousers in an elegant and very sexy manner. He sat down on the end of the stage and spread his legs, dressed in his smallest bikini. Everybody could see that there was a growing bulge inside.
Again he looked at the Cuban guy and played with his upper body. "Can you hear the drums, Fernando?" Ivar jumped off the stage.
The beautiful nearly naked youngster went up to an elderly gentleman. "Do you still recall the fateful night we crossed the Rio Grande?" Ivar played very slutty with his bulge. "I can see it in your eyes."
Ivar passed guest after guest. Some tried to touch him, but he managed to reach the stage again. The bikini just covered his arse crack now, and his round clean buttocks were shining. He opened the harness and threw it to his competitors.
The song changed intensity and so did Ivar. He used the mic down by his front now, before he placed it at his lips.
"There was something in the air that night, The stars were bright, Fernando!" Ivar used one finger to call the Cuban guy forward. Then he placed the boy's hands on the bikini waistband and winked. The boy pulled it down slowly and Ivar was naked, but for the white pouch and a thin ribbon around his waist and down his crack.
A small applause was heard, but Ivar went on. "They were shining there for you and me." Ivar raised his hand with the mic. "For liberty. Fernando".
Then he turned his back to the audience and with spread legs he let the mic follow the arsecrack and stop for some seconds outside his entrance. He moaned.
The pouch was too small for the erection Ivar felt was coming. He had managed to stay half-hard up till now, but the Latin boy's hands and his play with the pussy entrance made the hard-on grow to his full 19 cm (7.5 inches).
Ivar lay down on the stage. With one hand he covered his stiff cock, while with the other hand he stripped off the pouch. He was now naked on stage.
"If I had to do the same again, I would my friend, Fernando." He lifted his hips from the floor, and made a light copy of Pierre's bridge from the previous weekend.
"If I had to do the same again, I would. My friend, Fernando!" The song ended.
Ivar raised himself, again with one hand above his head, while the other tried to cover his crotch. He tried to bow and without thinking he lifted the arm holding the pouch. His teenage dripping cock was on full display for some seconds until he managed to cover up again.
The applause and whistling did not stop until Ivar was back on stage. He had put on his bikini now, but his cock was still iron-hard.
Fifteen minutes later the six young strippers were back on stage, in the costumes they had when they started.
"The jury has had a difficult decision to make." The speaker started. "The chairman wanted to disqualify the last stripper for breakingÉ" The man was stopped by heavy booing from the audience. Now he used his hands to stop the noise, before he went on "É but the rest of the board and the public votes give the first prize tonight to our Viking visitor." Another huge round of applause followed. Ivar got a prize ribbon and a bottle of champagne and had to take a walk among the audience.
The speaker was back on stage. "Tomorrow night our guest stripper Pierre will be back, and if young Ivar is still in Paris, he is invited to perform again with his magnificent show!"
Col was hugging his new friend, hugging him tight. "You were the sexiest ever. Will you come with me to the park tonight?"
"I have to rest now, sir. No party tonight. Please be back here tomorrow, eh?" Ivar smiled, winked and left for the backroom where the young Cuban guy waited.
"You mind if I call you Fernando?" Ivar smiled. "We can run off to `The Bronx' eh?" The two left the bar hand in hand, and were given a thumbs up by the barmen. With a bad conscience Ivar looked for Col. The man didn't look in his direction. He had an arm around one of the French strippers up by the bar. Ivar was very happy.
The atmosphere at `The Bronx' was a bit calmer than the dance-bar the guys had left. Many eyes followed the two youngsters that hurried up to the bar. The Cuban guy was probably known to some of the regulars, but the fair guy that followed him was unknown to most of the grown-up guys.
"Please look after our bags, Barraud." The Cuban guy handed their small bags to the smiling young bar-keeper.
"Be careful, guys. There are many hunters here tonight!" The barman grinned at the two who hurried through the curtains into the dark-room behind the bar.
Seconds later two young hot bodies met in the darkness. Hands searched sweaty bodies, and lips and tongues met in a wet and long-lasting kiss. Ivar found the lad's beautiful round buttocks and squeezed them, while the Cuban tried to find Ivar's cock. At the same time the two boys felt groping hands, all over their bodies, gentle but very direct.
"Please suck me, guys!" A voice was heard. "Undress, kids!" Another voice was followed by hands that tried to pull down Ivar's trousers. The situation was hot and intense, but the two youngsters were occupied with each other.
"Where do you live, amigo?" Ivar whispered.
"In Poissy, out west!" the Cuban answered, but my last bus has left. "I'll find a park."
"I have a room in a nearby hotel," Ivar whispered. "I'll talk to the landlord, come!"
Then he turned to the men around. "Sorry, guys. Another night, eh?" He showed a thumbs up and found the coloured guy's hand.
"I need your identification!" The smiling landlord at Ivar's hostel was a bit formal. "Your age, son?"
"I'm eighteen, sir! I've missed my bus, you see sir!" He handed the man his identification card.
The landlord kept the paper. "Security," he explained, then he looked at Ivar and winked. He had been occupied looking over the guy's shoulder. Again he took his hand and they hurried upstairs to the attic room that still was Ivar's Paris home.
"Carlos Rodrigues Ð my Fernando Ð welcome to my abode. I want to fuck the brains out of you!" Ivar was already undressing the youngster.
"Cool! I can't wait!" Carlos lifted his hands and helped Ivar to undress.
Seconds later they were both naked and in a 69 position in the narrow bed. Two virile boys ate each other; no careful start for this sex play. Ivar was soon in heaven. Carlos had no mercy with his foreskin. Ivar answered with a solid grip around the brown balls, and teased the pink glans with the front of his stiff tongue. The Cuban guy shivered when Ivar squeezed out drops of clear liquid from his piss-slit. Carlos had a cock a bit smaller than Ivar, but his buttocks were rounder and harder. Ivar played with the buttocks now and was about to tease the boy's cunt.
"You have to fuck me now, Ivar, or I will cum before we start. I'm so damn horny and you are crazy man, crazyÉ You promised to fuck the brains out of me, please do!" Carlos had problems talking. Ivar had been trying again to throat-fuck the young stripper.
Ivar answered by turning Carlos around, pressing his head down in the mattress, lifting his hips and spreading his legs. He was happy for the direct light that let him see the most beautiful bum; two round smooth globes, and an almost hairless arse crack with just a ring of black down around the hole. The trained Latin youngster knew how to open his ring and invite the Viking to come inside. Ivar dived into the crack, and used sucking skills to give a classy rimming, while he let Carlos suck his fingers. No need to finger-fuck this guy for a long time, but Ivar made Carlos moan when he, in the end, rotated three fingers inside.
"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" Carlos cried. "Crazy, stop! Stop! Don't stop. I'm cumming!" Carlos cried. Ivar, the athlete, turned around and had Carlos' cock inside his mouth before the Cuban started the huge eruption. "Fuck! Fuck!" was his intelligent comment.
Perhaps it was a surprise for the young Cuban, but Ivar hurried back in position, spat the spunk into the partly opened love-hole, used a hand to cover his own cockhead with spit and spunk and then he just penetrated the lad, slow and direct, without hesitation. When he bottomed him, he heard a soft whimper, and stopped. "You okay, Carlos?"
"Yes, yes, I just need a moment," he said with a soft voice. Ivar stayed inside and used his hands to caress the body in front of him. Finally he found the two erect nipples. From the earlier stripping event, Ivar knew that this boy had the biggest nipples in the show. Carlos whimpered, but Ivar felt that he received a signal to start fucking. He, the very untrained top, tried to do all old Andersen had taught him in Copenhagen; variation, teasing, hard fuck, and slower movements. The trouble was that he was about to cum himself.
"I want to see your face and I want to kiss you," Ivar whispered and helped the youngster to turn around. Then he lifted Carlos' legs and held him tight while he penetrated Carlos missionary style without the use of hands. The iron-hard cock found its own target. Carlos was hard again and wanked like crazy. He had more to give, but Ivar had no more now. He nearly collapsed upon the boy he just had met, as he sent volley after volley of his boymilk into the French-Cuban stripper.
The tough pounding brought Carlos over the edge again and with a new moaning he presented a white load all over his light brown body. Ivar was happy to clean him.
Ivar and Carlos must have slept for a while, but they were still spooning. Ivar was wakened by a finger playing with his boy-cunt.
"May I fuck you, Ivar?" Carlos whispered. Ivar's morning-wood said yes.
Again they must have slept. There was a knocking on the door and the landlord came inside. He carried a tray today too Ð two bowls of white coffee, and two croissants today!
He looked at the lads who tried to cover their naked bodies with the sheet, then he just smiled and left.
(Paris 2007)
The darkness was falling in Rue Saint-Anne. Ivar tried to remember the bars from more than 30 years ago. The street was the same, the buildings as well, some very formal, but some had changed into a very different style. He thought he was in Japan. He knew the street was called `Little Tokyo' now.
"This could be a nice place to eat," he thought, but he was also a bit confused. No bars left from 1975. He found the note in his pocket, just to check the numbers. Number eleven, yes. He had been there, in the dark backroom too, but that wasn't `his' bar. He searched for a gate leading to an entrance from the side.
"You need help, sir? Anything I can do for you?" A man in a jogging outfit was about to pass him, but stopped.
"Maybe!" Ivar smiled at the man, probably his own age or a bit older. "I'm looking for a bar. I was here more than 30 years ago."
"A lot has changed in Paris during those years; this street is completely changed. But I worked over there once!" The man pointed at number 11. `The Bronx' bar was there, New York you know?"
"What job did you have, if I may ask?" Ivar liked the stranger.
"I was a barman there for many years. No girls there as you perhaps remember!" The man grinned.
"I was there in 1975, during the summer! The barmen were shirtless models," Ivar said. "But my favourite bar was inside a gate, I can't find it. It was a sort of dancing bar."
"You mean a strip bar, mon ami. Not always applauded by the authorities around here!" The man grinned and put a hand on Ivar's lower arm. "You stripped there perhaps?" he whispered.
Ivar wasn't sure how to respond. He had neverÉ
The man went on. "The bars and clubs have moved, you know, but not that far away. Maybe youÉ?" He stopped, wondering if he was asking too private a question.
"No sir, I've not been there. It's my first night out in Paris since 1975! But now I need some supper, I'm starving. I think Japanese could be good, I love sushi." Ivar was about to cross the street.
"I recommend the second right, sirÉehÉ" He didn't know what to say, but curiosity made Ivar turn around. "I haven't had supper myself yet, and since I'm alone, maybeÉeh...we could have a meal together. I just have to change out of my jogging gear. I live just up there." The man pointed at a rather old-fashioned tenement at the corner.
"Would be nice, very nice. Maybe you could tell me more about the life in the street here. I will start with a drink and wait to order until you're back. I'm Norwegian, and my name is Ivar." He gave the man his hand and was met by a powerful handshake.
"Barraud!" the man said. I come from Bordeaux originally, but I have lived in this street since I was eighteen, in 1970. He grinned and hurried upwards.
It was two o'clock night when the taxi stopped outside the entrance to Barraud's apartment. The man placed an open hand on Ivar's upper leg. "Do you have to go back to the hotel, Ivar? I would love to serve you a nightcap!"
Ivar knew he should go to the hotel. He had no session until the afternoon the next day, but still. Barraud had showed him most of the gay bars and clubs that Ivar had printed out from his new Spartacus guide. They had ended in a club with very specific dress-code for the night; two choices: underwear or no underwear. Ivar had been happy for his red thong, small enough to feel comfortable and sexy enough to be seen.
"A nightcap is always tempting, and it's been a great sightseeing, thanks to you!" He placed his hand upon Barraud's.
(Paris 1975)
Ivar had been in Paris for nearly two weeks now, and he had not yet visited the world-famous Louvre Ð the art gallery and museum, even though he had passed it many times. He had never been a real gallery visitor; he loved art and exhibitions, but he missed Trym, his friend from childhood, who had more or less lived his life with paper and pencils. Trym would have known exactly what to see here, and would have been a cool, spiritual guide.
After 20 minutes queuing he was inside the huge building, having bought his student ticket from a young man that looked like a model himself. The two youngsters' eyes met, and again Ivar missed having a young friend. Col was great and gave him sex every time they met, but Ivar felt he had become too dominant, and almost stalked him. It was not the freedom he wanted.
A bit frustrated, he went up to the huge interior map and tried to decide where to start. He startled when a person all of a sudden blinded him from behind.
"Guess who, Norwegian?" A smiling voice in French was so close that Ivar could feel the breathing.
Curious, Ivar turned around. "Hey Ken. What a surprise! Did you recognise me?" He smiled at the Canadian guy who he had met on the train from Brussels two weeks earlier.
"A beauty like you isn't easy to forget!" The man in his early thirties found Ivar's shoulders, bent and kissed him lightly, very French, on both cheeks. Ivar blushed.
"Henrik and I have been chatting about you many times since we met you. We hoped that you would make contact with us." Ken let his hand remain on Ivar's shoulder. "But I guess you have been busy checking out your guide-book!" Ivar blushed again.
"I've been busy yes, but I have thought about you and the fantastic photos. Naked at the top of the mountain," Ivar grinned. "Crazy idea, but very hot!"
"You mean, very cold!" Ken smiled. "What are you searching for here?" He changed the topic and looked at the board.
"Wish I knew, I'm not so familiar with art, but everybody has to see around the Louvre, I guess! My best friend at home would kill me if I told him that I had visited Paris and not been here." Ivar sighed. "He would have known where to start."
"Would you let me show you some of the masterpieces here, Ivar? I have the day off, and Henrik is home in Hamburg." Ken combed his black curly hair with his fingers, and again he smiled his boyish smile. Ivar was charmed and stammered when he answered. Of course he would love to be guided by the Canadian photographer and model. When Ken went in front of him upstairs, Ivar's eyes were not on the art on the walls, but followed Ken's round butt, and as he tried to remember the naked photos.
"I will of course show you Mona Lisa' and The Winged Victory of Samothrace', but I would like to show you two marble sculptures first, both very sensual and perhaps erotic!" Ken crossed the floors and stairs like a local guide.
"What do you think, boy? A sensual kiss, eh?" Ken stopped in front of the statue `Psyke and Cupid'.
"I do like the love arrows!" Ivar knew the angels from Sunday School.
"Here's my favourite!" Ken said. He pointed at the sculpture of the `Sleeping Hermaphroditus.' "The Romans and the Greeks were comfortable with the topic, butÉ" Ken was about to start lecturing, but then he just smiled and found Ivar's arm.
"Let's take a look at the huge painting from the French revolution `Liberty leading the people'. Then I'll buy you lunch!" Ken hurried in front, and Ivar was happy. He had finally been in the Louvre.
"Will you come and see me, Ivar? Tomorrow perhaps?" Ken nearly begged the young Norwegian.
"I have an appointment with aÉfriendÉtomorrow". Ivar didn't now how to describe Col.
"Maybe I could visit you Sunday?" Two legs had been in touch during the lunch. Both Ivar and Ken seemed comfortable with that.
To be continued