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'.
If any of our readers have comments and suggestions we are always happy for feedback. All emails to colin4men@gmail.com will be answered.
Can you imagine life without Nifty? Please show your support with contributions to keep the Archive online. You can find out how at http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html
Europe with Spartacus
Chapter 9 Paris (1975)
Ivar was hot and sweating when he left the bar in Rue Saint-Anne. He had cooled down a bit after the intense stripping event and the hot dancing. The man now walking beside him had bought him both beer and stronger drinks, but he felt quite sober. The summer night was warm, but Ivar shivered a little in the tight, and slightly wet, top he was wearing. The man put a caring arm around him. Ivar, 1.82m (almost 6ft) tall, felt small beside the huge fellow.
"Thank you, sir. I should probably have brought a jacket," Ivar said as he put a hand very lightly around the man's waist. The man wasn't dressed for the outdoors either, but soon the two were in the shadow of huge trees and it felt less windy.
"Don't `sir' me, Ivar. Not here anyway. Call me Col! That's what my friends call me. I was a Colonel in the army before I went into the immigrant business, you see." The man pulled Ivar closer. The young Norwegian felt suddenly very secure. He had been afraid of being too late back to the hotel, like in Copenhagen, but now he was sure the man beside him would help him if he met a closed door.
"Okay sir, Col!" Ivar had been taught from his French language teacher at home to be very polite, but as a young Norwegian he felt comfortable using the given name, even when addressing older people.
"You want to fuck me in the park, Col?" Ivar asked. "My guidebook says that the park is locked at night and is described as dangerous Ð a lot of police too." The information was met by a smile.
"Your book is correct, all true, but..." Col had a hand down into Ivar's low-cut trousers, cupping his buttocks and playing with his crack. Ivar could hardly walk. His cock was throbbing again, and he had left his spunk-filled underwear at the bar. He felt naked. The only money he had was in his socks, while in the left shoe was a copy of his school identification card.
Suddenly most of the lights were shut down; no lighting on the riverbanks, and no lighting of the public buildings. Only the Eiffel Tower could be seen well-lit on the other side of the Seine.
"We have to save energy!" Col explained. "We close down most of the tourist floodlights during week." Ivar looked at his watch : 1:30 in the morning.
The two stopped by the fence where the park was at its darkest. No gate, as far as Ivar could see. "Take it easy, baby. I was born and raised in this city. I had my youth in these parks". He just opened the fence, and the two walked in between the tight trees.
"You ready for a little show, Viking?" Col stopped and stood in front of Ivar. "A dream for a backpacker to cruise a Paris park at night, isn't it?" He played with Ivar's still wet hair. Ivar was uncertain about what was going on, but his only wish was that this man would make love to him, and he trusted him.
"You see the bench over there!" Col pointed out a narrow opening between the bushes. A gravel-coated path went by the bench, and behind was some sparse light from an old-fashioned streetlamp. "You sit down on that bench, son. Open your legs and play with your goodies. Be a slut waiting for customers, but don't accept any man. Tell them you are waiting for your Daddy, eh? I'll be back soon. Keep your little pussy hot for me, baby!" The man spanked Ivar's buttocks with both hands.
There were no sounds except from night insects, some far away cars, and the wind in the huge trees. Ivar felt the whole situation surreal, but he was young and horny, and above all excited. He spread his legs as Col had told him to, and he pushed his trousers down a bit. Then he found the rock-hard erection he'd had for the last hour, licked his fingers, and started to play with his foreskin and wet glans. He studied the park around him. Some shadows could be seen when his eyes became used to the darkness. Over to his left was a youngster kneeling in front of a man. Ivar heard that the man was being sucked, and he heard light moans. Sounds from the leaves and from the dry grass, told him that he was being watched. He saw the shadow of a man with a cap, obviously wanking.
The strange scene was broken by the sound of persons walking, not sneaking this time, but with boots on the gravel path.
Two gendarmes in black, with hats and shoulder caps, and batons in their heavy belts went up and stopped in front of the bench.
"What are you doing here in the middle of the night?" The first officer was brusque, but polite.
"I'm waiting for my Daddy, sir!" Ivar tried his schoolboy French.
"Waiting for your daddy playing with your pecker!" the other policeman said. "You had better come with us to the station, little slut!" He placed a hand on Ivar's shoulder. The boy tried to cover up, still hard.
"You a foreigner?" the first officer asked. "Documentation!"
"Sorry, sir. I left my passport in the hotel, but I have a copy of my identity-card." Ivar tried to take off his sweaty sneaker, to find the paper. After some trouble he managed. The policemen studied the paper.
"Norwegian, eh? Backpacker? Not nice to be arrested!" the first man said.
"Not nice to be fined either!" the other man said. "Maybe we could..." He opened his belt and pulled down the zipper. The man presented a half-hard cock ready for service.
Normally Ivar should have been afraid, but he had seen that policemen in France carried guns, and not these old-fashioned batons.
"Was this a part of Col's play?" he wondered as he found the man's cock, and gave him the service he wanted. The man had soon an erection similar to what Ivar had earlier. Now Ivar was rather limp, still uncertain about the situation.
Ivar felt his trousers being pulled down and then his arse was being treated, wet and hard at the same time; not fingers, not a stiff cock.
"The baton, for God's sake," Ivar thought. "I will be fucked by a wooden baton." He saw the shadow of what was happening. While sucking and licking the groaning policeman, his colleague licked the baton and spat in Ivar's arse. The baton was placed close to Ivar's boy-cunt. He opened up. "Better than to be forced," he thought. He lifted his hips and made it possible for the man to fuck him with the wooden tool. The man was very careful, not more than 10 cm (4 inches) inside, but then a real fuck. Ivar had to breathe and make a small whimper before he again pleased the man in front of him. He felt that his cock was betraying him. He was soon hard again, and had a cock stiff as the baton which fucked him.
Ivar felt the baton being pulled out and knew that another weapon was about to enter him. He was soon to get a police-cock in each opening.
Suddenly there was a change in the set-up. A breathless giant was in the middle of the group.
"What's up, gentlemen?" Col asked with a sharp voice.
"This young man is selling sex in the park," one policeman said. They were both zipping up and adjusting their uniforms.
"So he asked to be paid for the service?" Col asked again. "Did you get money?" He looked at Ivar.
"No, sir. No, Daddy!" Ivar answered.
"Well, gentlemen. Enjoy the rest of your inspection!" Col gave the two policemen a handshake. They left in a hurry. Col hugged Ivar tight, but undressed him at the same time. He sat down on the bench with a naked horny youngster on his lap.
"They are first-timers!" Col said. "Too ambitious in service. Did they hurt you?"
"No, just opened me for you, sir. For you, Daddy!" Ivar grinned. He was not sure about this police business, but he didn't care. He helped Col to get rid of the sweaty singlet, then he opened the man's black trousers and knelt between his legs on the gravel. The huge man-cock waited for service for the second time today. Ivar had never sucked a cock like this. The job in the bathroom was a such in a hurry. This time Col tried to throat-fuck Ivar with his 25 cm (10 inch) and very thick cock. The boy struggled to take it. His boss at home had forced him to take his weapon, and he had managed Tommy on the boat. He tried now, and he did a good job, but when Col placed his hands on the back of his head and held him close to the hairy body, Ivar gagged again and again. With tears dripping from his eyes and saliva dripping down his naked body, he looked up with begging eyes.
"You are doing great, son. Great! My time to fuck you to heaven, eh?" He lifted Ivar from the path and kissed him for the first time, a deep and hot kiss. "Kneel on the bench and give me your pussy!"
Ivar knelt with his legs apart and let Col open him. The old Colonel licked and sucked the open arse, and Ivar's moaning was the only new sound. With his back to Col, Ivar could watch the park. The shadows were more than just shadows now. He counted eight men and boys watching what was going on in front of them.
Col rimmed Ivar until he was close to cumming again, but the boy wanted to do it the real way. "Please, sir, please stop. I'm going to cum soon. I'll cum if you go on!" He whispered, afraid for his own voice out here.
"Sure you can take it, baby? You are like a virgin, a beautiful virgin." While talking, Col undressed completely. In the sparse light, a hairy huge man and a well-built smooth youngster hugged. From his trousers Col fetched a tube of thick lube. With two fingers, and then three, he greased up Ivar's cunt. He gave the tube to Ivar who with his smaller hands greased the thick, veiny, brown cock. A pink glans free of foreskin received a special stroke from the Norwegian servant.
"You want me to ride you, Col?" Ivar whispered. He put his arms around the man's neck and lowered his body. Col used his hands to open the crack as much as possible. With a silent scream and dripping tears Ivar took the cockhead inside. Then he stopped.
"Take it easy, baby. Take your time!" Col kissed the body in front of him and played with the nipples. The pain was intense. Ivar was passive and about to lose his erection. He was rolling his eyes. Col changed the situation. All of a sudden he spanked Ivar on the buttocks and lifted his own hips. With one gliding movement Col was all inside, all 25 cm (10 inches).
Ivar rested for a while. Then he whispered, "Fuck me now, Col. Fuck me harder! I'm really filled up. I'm stuffed. I'm stuffed!" He moved up and down the shaft and Col fucked him from behind. Ivar's erection grew each time Col's cock passed his love-button. A long thread of clear juice dripped from his piss-slit down to Col's hairy belly. Col started a heavy pounding from below. He gave Ivar half-length and full-length thrusts, and even some rotation. Ivar was leaking pre-cum.
Ivar was close to the edge again, and now he couldn't stop. "I'm cumming!" he yelled. "I'm cumming!" Col lifted him in a rapid movement and managed to get Ivar's cock between his lips. With a youngster's force, Ivar filled the man's mouth with boy-milk, a huge load compared with the spunking in the bar earlier.
"I need more, sir. Please come back inside me." Ivar felt emptiness when the cock left him.
"Be my slut then!" Col said, "and stop whining like a girl. Show me your Viking spirit!" He placed Ivar doggy-style on the bench. Ivar spread his legs. From behind Col had full access, and from behind he mounted Ivar as if he was the mare he called him from time to time. During the next twenty minutes Col fucked Ivar most of all for his own pleasure, but then Ivar thought about some advice he had got from old Andersen in Copenhagen. He started to fuck back! He started to use his arse-muscles. It was a fight. Col called him bitch and slut and worse, but Ivar didn't care. He was about to cum again, but first Col exploded inside him. Volley after volley filled Ivar's body, while the man squeezed Ivar's balls with one hand and pinched his nipples with the other.
"I'm, I'mÉ" Ivar couldn't speak. He reached the multi-orgasm Tommy gave him on the boat with the use of fingers, even harder than the orgasm he had the day Tommy penetrated him for the first time in Copenhagen. Col now cupped the clear loads from Ivar. This time he gave the juice to the boy himself. He also collected man-cream from Ivar's dripping hole and feed the youngster. A strange sound was heard when the onlookers backed into the darkness in the park.
"You think you can manage to walk back to the hotel, baby?" Col had changed his dirty words.
"Maybe you have to call the police!" Ivar commented. Col just grinned and locked the fence.
The old landlord had waited for him in the hotel. "You are not the last one, son. A lot of partying around tonight, I think!" He smiled.
"Any possibility I could have a blanket, sir?" Ivar asked.
"Just go on up to bed. I'll bring you one!" the man answered.
Ivar emptied his socks. He hadn't used much money. He found his identification card in the left shoe and smiled. It was hardly legible. He placed three new X markings in his Spartacus guide, then he fainted on the hard bed.
The landlord went upstairs shortly afterwards. He found a naked Ivar sleeping like a baby, but when he crossed the floor the youngster moved as if it was a reflex and covered his hard-on with a hand. The old man covered Ivar with the sheet and then the blanket before he turned out the only light in the room, a single light bulb hanging from the roof.
There was some daylight in the room, but Ivar was still far away in dreamland. He couldn't see what was going on but somebody played with his dick. "Ron or Rod," he thought. "Just let him play, I'm too tired to bother."
When the visiting boy opened up his boy-cunt and tried to get Ivar's hard-on inside, Ivar grunted. "What the hell is going on?"
"We are leaving. Please fuck me before we leave, please!" The boy was already taking Ivar's pole inside.
Ivar was in need of his morning pee but he was horny as hell, so he let the American do his job. He was humping up and down, moaning and laughing.
The other American guy entered the room in a hurry. "We are leaving now, Ron. You have to hurry!" Rod did not close the door, but he pulled down his shorts and crossed the floor.
"Finish!" he shouted. "Let me have it too! Why are you always first?"
Ivar could not but laugh, listening to the American brothers arguing. He pumped the guy from underneath. His arse hurt from the fuck last night, but the cock was ready for full action.
Ron spunked off short time later. He sent young boy-milk all over Ivar's upper body. Then he withdrew and his brother, Rod, entered the bed and quickly impaled himself on the wet sticky cock. The hard fuck, and the pressure on his prostate and bladder, sent the Norwegian over the edge. He lifted the body from the bed and howled. 30 seconds after Rod had started his ride, the two shot their loads simultaneously, Ivar deep inside the American. Rod sprayed hands-free like a geyser all over Ivar's hair, face and body.
Ivar was about to piss in bed, but he closed his eyes and tried to relax. "Clean me up, you fuckers! All of it, now, or you have to take my piss!" Ivar grinned when the two used their mouths and tongues to take most of the three white loads.
Without looking for clothes, Ivar hurried naked down the ladder. A girl, probably the American lads' sister, was in the doorway.
"Have you seen my brothers?" She asked as if a naked youngster on the stairs was a daily sight. Ivar did not stop. He tried to cover his semi-hard cock and headed for the bathroom door.
"I haven't seen them, miss!" Ivar shouted. "But they must be around!" He was happy that the bathroom door wasn't locked. The morning piss was like a new orgasm. He shivered and emptied his bladder when he heard voices from two guys and a girl arguing outside. His first morning in Paris; he went upstairs and fainted on top of his narrow bed.
Four hours later and there were a knock on Ivar's door. He covered his naked body with the sheet and answered.
"You want a cup of coffee, Norwegian?" The landlord looked inside. He carried a tray with a bowl of white coffee and a chocolate croissant.
"It's lunchtime son, and I guess you had no breakfast. You okay?" The man looked a bit worried.
"I'm fine, sir. Really fine, and you are spoiling me. You're like my grandpa at home, and I love him!" Ivar didn't understand why he said that, and felt a sudden homesickness.
"You are all my kids here, you see. Please tell me if you need any help." He placed the tray on the table and left.
Ivar looked for his clothes and remembered the briefs he left in the bar. "I have to shower!" he thought. The strange French coffee, and the croissant, tasted like heaven. He was really hungry. "But first..." he thought, and found the tourist postcards he bought yesterday.
"Dear mum. As you see I'm in Paris. I have seen The Eiffel Tower and some parks. Stay in nice hotel, run by a `grandpa'. Not much more to tell. Miss your food! Love, Ivar.
(Paris 2007)
The business meeting ended early. Ivar was happy to have the whole afternoon and evening to his himself. He had declined an invitation to a common supper for the Norwegian group. He hated these formal dinners and he knew that his 50th birthday would be remarked upon. He hated that too.
Ivar looked at his own reflection in the full mirror when he undressed from the formal suit, white shirt and grey tie. He stripped off the singlet and the socks, and grinned. The underwear freak wore tight black silk boxers and there was a very visible bulge. He squeezed his balls before he pulled down the Calvin Klein underwear.
"Not bad for 50, still looking 49!" His best friend Trym, one year older, had remarked earlier this summer when the two had their weekly naked swim. Ivar was still slim, no potbelly; and the outdoor life had kept him with a young body. Now he lifted his shaved balls, and let his palm follow the dick. His 19 cm (7.5 inches) still looked like a teenager's, the only change from his youth was that the long and tight foreskin, which had given him some trouble in his wanking days, had changed into a grown-up man's.
Ivar was a bit aroused. He felt it when he touched his hardening dick. "Stupid!" he thought. Shirking the afternoon and evening events was like shirking from school in the old days. But it was 32 years since he visited Paris for the first time, and now he was back alone for the first time. He wanted to explore and remember. He opened the Spartacus Guide for 2007; quite different from the 1975 issue. Gay Europe had changed. He sipped a gin-tonic; too early really, but this was a day of freedom.
In a hurry he dressed. Red thong, white t-shirt, tight denims, suede shoes and leather jacket. He put a black cap on his head, not happy that his beloved fair hair was much thinner than before.
Montmartre hadn't changed much. The smell of chestnuts was here and in the August evening they tasted good. Moulin Rouge was the same. He knew his whole group had tickets for tomorrow night. But he searched for the strip-bar where he had his first scary experience when eighteen. He found the house, same colours, but a new door. The place had been turned into a colourful sex-shop. "Probably not so different," Ivar thought. He didn't go inside, but left for the Metro.
His hotel was gone, all the houses replaced by new office buildings. The place where the huge Farmers' Market had been, a market Ivar just had heard about, was changed into an enormous shopping mall, the Forum des Halles. Ivar looked for the small family restaurant where he had his supper almost every night for two weeks. It felt as if it wasn't very long time ago. The bars and restaurants around the new shopping mall did not tempt him. The new Spartacus guide had told him that the gay-scene had changed since he was here, moved to a new district, but he had to go back to Rue Saint-Anne where he had lived out his gay-life in those hot summer weeks of 1975.
Friday evening, eleven o'clock; Ivar had been dancing in the bar all evening. It started to be very crowded Ð time for this month's amateur strip event. Six young men, four French, a Latin boy and a Viking from Norway, waited behind the small scene for their instructions.
"You chose music from the juke box, maximum six minutes. You may strip down to your last piece of clothing. No full nudity, no sex on stage! We don't want to lose our license!" The grey-haired gentleman setting out the rules was in a formal suit.
"But Pierre showed all!" one guy said. "He even jacked his stiffy!" said another.
"Pierre is a professional. Pierre is art. Pierre is an institution! No police would stop him." The man grinned. "Now, make yourselves ready. You will draw lots."
"Number six!" Ivar sighed. He had nerves. This was far from the local music hall up north.
To be continued.