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 7 Paris (1975)
Ivar, the 18 year old `Viking' lad from a small village in Norway was on his gap-year tour of Europe with The International Spartacus Guide as his adviser. Now he had left his safe Scandinavian cities of Oslo and Copenhagen, and was heading towards Paris, a city of his dreams, but also a city he did not know from earlier visits.
His almost four weeks in Danish Copenhagen had been a daily adventure, with a job in a gay night-pub and dancing from disco to disco. Ivar had used some of his earnings to upgrade the railway ticket, so he had travelled very comfortably from Hamburg. While the other young backpackers had to fight for a seat, he had relaxed and even managed some hours sleep.
Two men in their early thirties had boarded the train in Brussels. They seemed very close and in his mind Ivar had decided they were a couple. Both of them had kept an eye on him since they sat down. Ivar felt that they eye-stripped him, but he didn't feel uncomfortable. The four weeks in Copenhagen had taught the young Norwegian that many men found him attractive and he had been used to giving positive feedback.
Ivar looked at his watch. One hour to the Gare du Nord, the main railway station for lines between the north and Paris. Just the name had a sound of `the big world'. According to the Spartacus Guide many of the gay bars and meeting places were in that area.
An elderly very polite couple that had been sitting opposite him left their seats, probably for coffee in the rail-bar. Straightaway the two men stood up and moved to the now vacant seats in front of Ivar.
"Interesting book," one guy said in a bad French accent. Ivar blushed but did not try to cover up the book. "Sorry not introducing myself, I'm Henrik. I'm from Hamburg," he said as he gave Ivar his hand for a tight handshake. "Some of my photos are published in that book."
"And I'm Ken," the other man said. "I'm from Canada, and I don't even know your book!" He grinned. His French was strange, but much better than Henrik's.
"Nice to meet you guys. My name is Ivar andÉ" He was interrupted.
"And you are from Norway." Both the men grinned and pointed at Ivar's backpack on the rack above. The rucksack was covered with the huge Norwegian flag he had got from Tommy after the night when he took his virginity; and made him a man according to his own expression.
"We arrived from Norway this morning by plane from Oslo, but we had to do a small job in Brussels." Henrik spoke English now.
"And what did you do in Norway?" Ivar had changed into English too, even if it was his intention to use his school-French in Paris.
"We are photographers," Henrik replied.
"And models," Ken added. "We are planning an exhibition of our photos in Paris and Berlin this autumn.
Ivar was curious and felt free to ask since the two had made the contact. "What are you modelling?" he asked.
"Ourselves!" Ken giggled. "Show him, Henrik. You have some Instamatic ones, I know.
Henrik passed Ivar three pictures, both of the same nude men pictured from behind. One was taken at the top of the ski-jump at Holmenkollen in Oslo, which was one of Norway's most visited places, the next at the top of Dalsnibba' showing the famous Geiranger Fjord in the background and the last one at the top of Norway's highest mountain Galdhopiggen'.
"Nice butts. Very nice butts!" Ivar commented. "And naked in the snow 2469 metres above sea level. Crazy!" The pictures were sexy and erotic at the same time, and the two had butts like classic statues.
"We are not as crazy as you think, young man. We are promoting nudity among men. No pornography, nothing scandalous. That's why we use ourselves as models, with photos taken in the greatest nature ever." Henrik put the photos back in his pocket.
"And no frontals. Our dicks are not nice enough!" Ken giggled again.
"Where will you stay in Paris?" Henrik asked.
"I have a room at a student-home in Rue des Halles," Ivar answered.
"Shame that the fresh food market there was closed down a few years ago. It's pretty much a construction site at the moment but it's an interesting district." Henrik winked at him. They left their seats because the `owners' were seen in the doorway.
"Gare de Nord!" The train stopped with a jerk inside the huge glass-roofed building and everyone found their luggage. On the way out, Henrik gave Ivar a piece of a paper.
"Our tiny Paris shelter, and our telephone number. Please pay us a visit when you have done with your guidebook." Henrik winked again and hurried after his Canadian colleague.
"Strange guys and a strange project!" Ivar thought. He headed for the metro station as he knew that his hostel was close to the Chatelet metro station. Ivar looked around. There seemed to be hundreds of travellers scurrying around. "Almost like an anthill," was his impression.
"You are far from home now, Ivar!" he said to himself. Outside one of the entrances he saw a young couple - a boy and a girl, probably students - with backpacks bearing Norwegian flags. He went up to them.
"Hey, sorry to interrupt," he said in Norwegian. "I'm really in need of a toilet." He blushed and looked at the smiling girl. "Would you guys look after my backpack for me while I find a place for relief?"
"Of course, our train is not announced yet!" the boy answered. They looked at the huge mechanical board on the wall.
Ivar hurried to find the pissoir, a huge male room with old-fashioned stone equipment. A row of men filled the piss-drain. Ivar feared he was about to piss in his pants so he hurried up and pulled down the low-cut trousers and briefs in one movement. From behind his round butt must have been like an invitation. During his piss at least two men pinched his buttocks, to some laughter from the serious-looking men around. Ivar could not do anything but finish, too much coffee and too much beer on the train.
"Admirable!" the man next to him whispered. "Je vais trouver une cabine, eh?"
Ivar managed to refuse very politely, hurried to get his half-hard dick down into the tight underwear and hurried out of the room. Some laughter followed him.
He helped the Norwegian couple with the same service and together they shared cups of coffee before the two found their train north after attending summer school in Paris. Ivar hurried towards the metro. The visit to the toilet had both embarrassed and aroused him.
Ivar had been given two `tokens' from the Norwegians, and now, for the first time in his young life, he was about to explore a city's underground system. He had studied and read for hours, but now he would have his exam. He found the correct line, he found the correct direction, and he even found the correct station to leave. "But what next?" he wondered. "How to find the exit for Rue des Halles? The young man he asked first shook his head and just went on, but the elderly gentleman he asked next led him nearly all the way to the correct street.
"This must be a mistake, sir!" Ivar was standing in a room with nothing but four metal beds in what had been called a student home in the Danish newspaper. "I asked for a single room."
"This is not a hotel. You get your blankets in the hatch downstairs at three o'clock, doors close at eleven, no drugs, and you pay for the bed in advance!" The man was a huge, dominant guy, but in a way he was nice enough, Ivar thought. He had always respected older men who gave clear orders.
"Is it possible to have a shower, sir?" Ivar was in need after a day and night on the train. He hadn't been in a bathroom since Copenhagen.
The man looked at his watch. "Okay, you can take some minutes. The horde will be back from football soon. Go down the hall, and I'll find you a towel." He placed a sort of caring hand on Ivar's shoulder.
Ivar hurried into the shower-room, undressed, found the soap he had in his rucksack, and turned on the water. He felt very relaxed in the warm water and closed his eyes while he soaped his sweaty groin.
The situation changed quickly. Three youngsters came storming into the room, dressed only in football shorts. All three were Ivar's height, with curly dark hair and coloured skin.
"Let's take the faggot!" One of them, probably the leader, dragged Ivar from the shower. With help from one of the others Ivar was held in a vice-like grip. He tried to kick, and hit the third who howled and covered his own groin. Ivar slid on the soapy floor and suddenly he had all three keeping him down.
"He's just a baby! A faggot baby!" The third boy tried to pull Ivar's foreskin. The soap made it difficult. All three shouted in a language Ivar did not understand. He begged them to stop, and tried not to hit back. One of them found Ivar's dick and pushed the foreskin behind his glans and started to wank him.
"He likes it! The faggot likes it!" one of the boys shouted.
"Let's fuck him. Let him taste real man-cock! Turn him around," the leader shouted. He tried to put his fingers into Ivar's arse.
"What the hell is going on here?" The huge host was standing in the doorway carrying a towel.
The three guys stood up immediately and Ivar tried to stand too, but ended up on his knees.
"We are just teasing the faggot!" the leader-boy said with a defiant voice.
"I'll tell you what teasing is, and I'll tell you who's a faggot here. Pull down your shorts, hands on the wall. All of you, now!" The host was to be obeyed. Ivar understood that as he rose and turned off the water. The man unfastened his black leather-belt. Three naked coloured butts got a well-placed blow. The echo in the bathroom made the strokes sound harder than reality, but no doubt this was a tough lesson.
"You go to your rooms, and you stay there until I've seen you!" He was very straightforward. The boys pulled up their shorts without looking at Ivar, who tried to cover his dick and balls, and hurried out of the bathroom.
The host looked at Ivar, gave him the towel, and talked to him like he just had talked to the boys. "Get dressed, fetch your backpack, and come to my office!" No doubt, that was an order.
Ivar did not feel comfortable when he knocked on the door to the office. A distinct answer, and Ivar went inside. The man inside seemed very relaxed.
"I don't think this is a hostel for you, Ivar." He looked at the passport Ivar had given him on his arrival. "You see, France is very much in pain these days. All these guys come from our old colonies, and they try to establish themselves here. But not all of us welcome them. I don't excuse their behaviour and they will be punished, but for you I think another hostel is better!" He gave Ivar his papers.
"I called a colleague of mine just down the street. Look for the narrow pink house to the right. He waits for you, with a room. Have a nice stay in Paris and don't let thisÉintermezzo...scare you. They will never dare to look in your direction again!" He stood up and gave Ivar his hand. He felt the handshake and searching eyes. Ivar got a broad smile.
A bit shaky Ivar walked down the long street. On the right side were old townhouses side by side, on the other side the empty halls that had been part of the famous market.
He entered the pink house; just stairs inside the front door. When he reached the second floor, he ended up in a small reception area. A smiling man in his sixties welcomed him and Ivar gave him the passport.
After some friendly chat, the man handed Ivar a huge old-fashioned key. "The attic room above the seventh floor," he pointed at the stairs.
"A strange house," Ivar thought; just the stairs and four doors on every floor. With the heavy backpack he had trouble in the narrow stairwell. When he came to the seventh floor, a door opened in a hurry, and he heard a voice.
"He's here, Bro. Fucking fun. He's here!" A guy with a crew-cut, probably Ivar's age, with a very clear American accent was beside him in the small hall.
"Hey, I'm Ivar. I've got the room in the attic." Ivar was caught by the American's broad smile. The guy pointed at something that looked like a ladder.
The key to the he door did not work, but the door was not locked. He went inside. It was a strange room; looked just like it was taken direct from an old French movie. The furniture was simple; one narrow brown wooden bed, one old table more like a desk, one wooden chair and a stool. He opened the tray in the table; an old newspaper page was the decoration.
Ivar tried the bed. "Not too bad!" he thought, but strange. There was no pillow, but a sort of hard roll for the head, placed under the sheet. He went to the small window near the floor. He saw a similar house on the other side of a narrow shaft. He felt he could look into all the windows like an involuntarily voyeur.
It was hot up here, dead air close to the roof. He put the backpack in the corner and pulled off his clothes. The tiny piece of underwear was like a second skin. "Not exactly the Paris room of my dreams," he thought. "But at least I have my own room."
A bit uncertain about his next step, Ivar heard somebody on the ladder. The door burst open, and the American boy he had met earlier stumbled into the room. He stopped and was standing silent with an open mouth. He tried to speak, but just swallowed. Ivar blushed when he saw that the guy was staring at his half-hard cock. Just a few seconds more and the excitement changed Ivar's dick to a real hard-on.
"I'm Ron!" the lad announced. "May I suck you? You are gorgeous." The guy in a rather baggy outfit fell on his knees.
It was if an electric shock hit Ivar's body. Wasn't this what he hoped for? Wasn't this what he had longed for during the winter nights at home, wanking his cock until it blistered? "Go on, Ron! You see my cock is ready for you!" Ivar shoved his hips forward like a slut and folded his hands behind his neck.
Ron grabbed Ivar's buttocks with both hands and buried his face in his bulge, searching for the top of Ivar's cock. Shortly afterwards Ivar was completely naked and the American cocksucker was showing off his skills using his lips and tongue. Ivar found the back of Ron's head and mouth-fucked him. He was close to cumming. Ron paused for breath; his face was red with excitement.
"Let me!" Ivar said. He started to undress the guy he had just met. Ron showed off a boyish upper body, all smooth, erect nipples and a hard belly. Ivar found the cord and pulled the lad's sport-shorts down. There was no underwear. What Ivar saw was a small circumcised stiffy above shaved balls. Ivar had heard that some Americans shaved their balls, and as a reflex he cupped the sweaty ball-sack and lifted it.
Ron closed his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Fuck, fuck! Please fuck me, stranger!" He turned around, bent forward, and spread his round globes. Ivar saw the pink entrance. Would this be the first time he fucked somebody? For more than three weeks he had bottomed nearly every day, but his 19 cm (7.5 inch) beauty had never been inside a girl or a boy. The mouth-fuck seconds ago had told him he was ready. Ivar spat in his palm and placed his fingers on the waiting rosebud.
The door burst open again. The guy Ron had called `Bro' just put his head inside. "Come in!" Ron called to him. "I think he's one of us!"
Ivar was caught by surprise up in the attic but he just grinned when the second youngster hurriedly removed his only two pieces of clothing - a t-shirt decorated with a `Make love - Not war' sign and American baggy sport-shorts.
"Hi, I'm Rod!" The lad kicked his clothes underneath the bed, went up to Ivar and gave the naked Norwegian a hand before he knelt in front of him and took care of his hard-on. And he was a cocksucker as good as his brother.
"Are you two really brothers?" Ivar asked Ron who was watching the sucking in front of him. Ivar had trouble speaking as this American youngster was taking him close to the edge him.
"We are!" Rob left Ivar's cock to breathe. "The nerd over there is younger though, by one hour!" He laughed then went on with his tongue around Ivar's cockhead.
"Please, give us a fuck man!" Ron begged. "We haven't had a real cock inside us since we came to Paris, only old men wanting to suck us. Not easy to find some young ones!"
"I've fucked you every day, Bro." Rod had a break. "Don't complain."
"Your baby-cock doesn't count!" Ron was teasing, wanking his own little knob.
Ivar hadn't been as horny as this since he was finger-fucked by Tommy on the boat to Denmark. Now he had the possibility to fuck for real for the first time, not only one boy-cunt but two, both begging to be filled. Ivar had loved the bottom job after Tommy's first penetration, but he still wondered how it would be to use his cock to give himself and a partner dripping pleasure.
"Stop arguing! Lie down!" Ivar let the twin brothers lie down side by side on the narrow bed keeping their feet on the floor. Two smooth bodies lay in front of him; well-built, but slightly overweight. Now he knelt in front of the boys and played with their balls and cocks. Both guys were dripping hard, with cut dicks about 10 cm (4 inches) long, ready to give Ivar a double boy-milk. Ivar started to suck Rob while using his hand to play with his brother. Then he changed over, sucking Rod and wanking Ron. He went on until the two shivered and whined.
"Turn around, give me your cunts!" Ivar tried to sound like he was well into this business. Four round globes and two hairless cracks were the target. The boys lifted their hips. Ivar was met by two boys ready to be fucked.
"Fuck me hard, stranger!" Ron spread his buttocks with his own hands and Rod did the same. "Fuck the jizz out of me!" he shouted with his head down in the blanket.
Ivar spat in one arsecrack and used his fingers to find the rosebud. With lips and tongue he gave the other one a rimming until he cried with lust. During the next ten minutes Ivar changed from one guy to the other. These boys had been fucked by rough tools before so both of them took three fingers without complaint before a dripping Ivar gave them a light spank on their white globes. He then went up to the backpack in the corner of the room and found the lube his old host had given him when he left Copenhagen. He forced the tight foreskin behind the cockhead and creamed up his 19 cm (7.5 inch) manhood that for the first time would enter a cunt, not a shy young girl's cunt, but two waiting boy-cunts that would receive him with lust.
Ivar was nervous. Could he manage to get them cum? He placed a large amount of lubricating jelly in and around the two love-holes. His cock was pointing upwards as always, but he managed to place his stiff dick outside Ron's entrance. With a light scream from the teenager beneath him, Ivar was inside. With three fingers, Ivar at the same time penetrated Rod's boy-cunt. His hole was not as tight as his brother's.
Ivar bottomed the boy and again Ron screamed, but his little knob was iron-hard and dripping. Ivar soon understood that the boys were playing with each other. He started to ride like he had seen many times in the porn-movies over the last few weeks. When he changed from one boy to the other he saw that the cunts were left quite open.
The boys started to change attitude; more muscle spasms, more trembling and more moaning. The two tried to cum at the same time, and Ivar increased the pounding.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" one twin cried.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm cumming!" cried the other. Double boy-milk shot from two stiff cocks, and landed on the attic floor.
Ivar was a bit disappointed. The two had played with each other, not with him. He had been close to cumming, but he missed the play on his prostate. Now he turned the two around and commanded one to suck his cock, and the other to rim him, and later on finger-fuck him. When Ron after a while found his prostate and when he locked Rod's head with the cock down his throat, Ivar finally spunked off. The orgasm shook the Norwegian Viking; now the lad thought his trip to Paris was well worthwhile.
With his mouth filled with Ivar's boy-milk, Rod went up to his twin-brother and kissed him.
Minutes later, shouting was heard from downstairs. "Damn! Our sister is calling!" The twins found their clothes and dressed in a hurry, gave Ivar a thumbs up, and hurried down the ladder.
Two hours later. A naked, and slightly cold Ivar woke up. He was hungry and needed to piss. He put on a pair of sports-shorts and hurried to the bathroom downstairs. The noise of tickling and laughter was heard from the twins' room.
Ivar opened his Spartacus guide. He put two X at the Paris page beside the headline `cruising'. "Who was cruising who?" Ivar thought.
"Can be dangerous! Look out for police!" Ivar read about the huge park close to the Louvre, the world famous museum. "The museum has to wait until tomorrow, but maybe a trip to the park could be made. But first I need some supper," he thought. Outside the small window he could see that it was dark already.
To be continued.