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 16 French Riviera Ð Paris - London (1975)
"Yes, Mama. Of course, I'm looking forward to see Ragnar in London for Christmas."
Ivar had a rather rare phone call from his mother in Norway telling him that his 21 year old brother would arrive in Tilbury Docks outside London just before Christmas.
"Yes, if he would like it, I will go with him to the Seaman's Church for Christmas Eve. It's up to him. But I promise!"
"Lonely? A bad connection here, Mama. I can't hear you. I'm not lonely. I've stayed with the Lumeau family for eight weeks now; I'm happy here."
"If I'm homesick? Why should I? I love France. I've only been away five months."
"Yes, I have money, okay! Get what I need from Monsieur Lumeau, stay free, and free food, you know."
"I'm not lying on my back, Mama. I'm working! Picking salad, and driving to the markets in Cannes and Nice."
"I can hardly hear you now. Do I share a bed with another boy, you say? Have I written that? Silly me, Mama! I share a room with another boy, Jules. He's 18 like me, Monsieur Lumeau's nephew."
Even alone with the telephone Ivar blushed. He might have written `bed' Ð the truth!
"Girlfriend? Please stop. Ask Ragnar to give you the grandchildren you talk about!"
"Maybe we should stop? Expensive for you, long distance you know. Say hello to Dad, please."
"I've got a letter from the Military Service about next year? Not allowed to send abroad? Okay! I'll call them. Yes, yes, I'll call them. Take it easy, Mama." I love you too! Take care!" Ivar hung up.
It was more than two months since Davide had brought Ivar to his parents' farm for a weekend stay. The family needed help with the salad picking, and Ivar wanted to stay, so he settled in the `old house' used by the farm workers. He was offered a single room, but loved the company with Jules.
The farm was run by Hector; a huge man in his late forties, originally from South America. Hector had been a soldier before he lost some fingers in a shooting accident.
Hector had been Ivar's boss, but most of the business was in the hands of Monsieur Lumeau, or more correctly, in the hands of Madame Lumeau, as Davide told Ivar the first weekend on the farm. She had not been happy when he moved to the city, Davide had said, but she had accepted that he had chosen a life off the farm.
"I will miss you, Ivar," Jules said the day before Ivar was to leave.
"You will miss my mouth and my cock, you mean? Nice replacement for when your girlfriend is difficult!" Ivar had his arm around his fuck-buddy for the last eight weeks.
The boy didn't answer immediately. "I shall have to pay Hector's bed a visit once a week then!" he finally said with a grin.
"That's not too bad, is it? Or maybe his cock is too big for your tiny pussy, princess!" Ivar squeezed Jules tight.
"No, but I don't take his whip like you do, you know. You have spoiled him! How can you? You are not that tough." Jules put his head on Ivar's shoulder.
"I have to prepare for a tough life next year in the Military!" Ivar sighed. "Wish I could stay!"
"You can come back next season, you know. There's little work here during winter, but we start again in February!" Jules nearly begged.
"And Davide is moving to Paris. No jobs in Nice after the summer season!" Ivar knew he would miss his fortnightly visits when the pair spent most of the time in bed. If Davide had not been home at the farm when Ivar had his day off, he had been in Cannes, staying with Will, and partying in the discos with the twins. And the same ending every weekend; on the back of a motor-bike, on the way to the farm, the driver always found an excuse to stop in a dark forest road asking for mouth service. And Ivar had never refused. "Small cocks with huge loads!" was what he told Jules.
"You leave tomorrow, kid?" Hector was a man of few words. "I'll miss you."
"I'll miss you too!" Ivar was honest. The huge man lived alone in a house behind the barn and was only in the main house for business.
"It's Tuesday today." Hector said and looked at Ivar without a smile. Ivar winked.
"Can we pretend it's Wednesday?" the youngster asked.
"Si, si!" Hector was suddenly very eager. "Like always?"
"Like always!" Ivar answered and went up to the man who undressed him with his huge hands. Naked, Ivar knelt between the man's knees and found his huge stiff weapon. After a long and intense suck Hector lifted Ivar and carried him to his bedroom.
"You choose, kid!" Hector waited. Ivar chose the medium whip, the whip that just made him red, but did not give him lasting stripes.
"I have to sit on my bum all the way to Paris tomorrow, remember!" Ivar said as he handed the whip to the man who still had his huge cock pointing out from his leather working pants.
"How many?" Hector asked.
"Ten. I will count, sir!" Ivar went up to the bed and grabbed hold of the bedposts, bent over and spread his legs.
The ten strokes followed, hard and direct; a break after five, when the man checked his skin, then the last five.
"Thank you, sir!" Ivar said in a whisper.
"All the way?" Hector asked.
"Yes please, yes please!" Ivar kept his position while Hector found a tin of grease, filled up Ivar's boy-cunt and greased his own pole. The fuck was not an act of love; it was a hard and direct fuck which Ivar loved; first the pain when the huge cockhead broke through his sphincter, then the pain when 25 cm (10 inches) cock bottomed in him, then the heat that spread around his groin which often led to a very fast spunking. Hector didn't stop because of Ivar's ejaculation. He knew that the boy would have his real orgasm after half an hour's hard fuck.
When Ivar had cum again and Hector had filled him with spunk, the man carried him to the outdoor shower, washed him, towelled him dry and carried him inside where he slept in his arms until breakfast next morning.
"You have done a great job, Ivar. Here is your bonus. It's a gift, you are not really allowed to earn money, you know. It's for the rest of your year. Maybe you will come back once?" Monsieur Lomeau gave him his hand and Madame Lomeau hugged him tight.
The elderly man drove Ivar to the station in Grasse. He would travel south from there to find a connecting train for Paris.
"Jules is afraid he had to serve your male-club alone, sir, now that I'm leaving," Ivar opened for a chat.
"Jules is like a second son to me. He will manage well on the farm. But I think I will hire some help for him next season. He has to go back to school, part-time anyway." Monsieur Lomeau did not comment on the male-club.
Every second week, when the lady in the house went to see a sister in Antibes, Monsieur gathered some friends for cards and drinks. Ivar and Jules had served them prepared food and drinks, and had been the `entertainment for the old males', as the man had expressed. In the heat of the terrace, the boys had been shirtless, dressed in shorts, and after the job they were free to swim in the small pool. Ivar had suggested to Jules that they dropped the swimwear. Monsieur Lomeau said afterwards that this was good idea. He had won most of the games because his friends had been too occupied gazing at the pool.
"Will you see Davide in Paris?" Monsieur Lomeau asked as he followed Ivar to the platform. "If so, please tell him, that both I and his mother miss him." Ivar saw a tear in the old man's eyes. He suddenly thought of his folks at home, hugged the man, and hurried inside the carriage.
(French Riviera 2017)
After the long and interesting trip along the coast, Ivar searched for a bar. He had rediscovered areas and places that had given him good memories from his youth. The American backpacker had given him an extra kick. Now he searched for the only gay bar he knew in Cannes, the Zanzibar. He couldn't find it, even after he checked his Google map. He had to make a search on the internet. Even the Spartacus Guide was digital now.
He was on the correct spot, the correct address. What he found was an ordinary ice-cream kiosk. Zanzibar closed some years earlier after 125 years. A new pub with the same name had opened, but that was not what Ivar was looking for.
"I'd better dress up for a summer party! Not bad to be invited to a 60th birthday party here in France," Ivar said to himself. He found the white suit he had bought in Paris the day before. He looked in the mirror and wondered if he should put a shirt on underneath or not. He had seen some guys shirtless in formal costumes, but he wasn't sure his body was hot enough for that. He still was hairless and well-tanned after a vacation at his summerhouse by the Oslo-fjord, and sunbathing on the ferry crossing from Norway to Denmark.
He chose a dark pink shirt. "Not too gay, I hope, and not too formal either," he thought. He let a hand run over his bald head. The loss of his fair hair very early, was still a sorrow. The Yul Brynner look was far from his Beatles-style from the sixties and seventies. The modern NY-cap was good for the open car.
Ivar took the main road in the direction of Grasse. Would he recognise the farm after more than forty years? He had closed the GPS because he wanted to test himself.
"Yes, yes!" he shouted. The brown wooden barrel with white signs; the driveway with the tall trees, the newer white house in colonial style, the old stone house behind and the group of farm-buildings, just like 42 years ago. But behind the familiar sight, was a huge area of glass, new to the visitor.
Many cars in the yard told Ivar that he was one of the last to arrive for the party. Ivar looked around. He heard the sound of soft music, and he smelled the country barbecue. The totality was overwhelming. Now he saw a man who was hurrying down the front stairs to welcome him. Seconds later the two men hugged tight. They were standing close for a long time.
"Good to see you, Old Viking! I'm not sure I would have recognised you if it wasn't for Facebook!" The man grinned.
"But you are the same Jules, damn sexy as always. No wonder the girls fought for you!" Ivar hugged the man again.
"And some boys too, I remember!" Jules, Ivar's room-mate for some hot and crazy summer months years ago, whispered.
"You will have your own room, Ivar. Our room, I mean." Jules helped Ivar with his bag and went in front to the old stone house. Ivar grinned when he came into the room and saw that the two beds had been pushed together.
Jules dropped the bag and found Ivar in a long, wet and intense kiss. One of Jules' hands was inside Ivar's shirt and found his nipples.
"Still ticklish?" Jules whispered.
Ivar let his hand cup Jules' visible erection. "Still horny all day, old chap?" He gasped when Jules used nails on his sensitive nipples, which had not been treated roughly for a long time.
Both of them woke from the hot treatment. Ivar tucked his shirt back inside his belt, and Jules tried to re-arrange his hard-on.
"The party is waiting for you!" Jules went in front. "I can't believe you are here after all these years."
Ivar was presented to family and friends and was standing in front of a man he seemed to recognise. "Davide, what a pleasure! I didn't know you would come all the way from Singapore."
The man; he must be about 75, stood up and hugged Ivar. "Meet my young partner," he said, and presented a Chinese youngster, probably in his early twenties. The youngster blushed when Ivar kissed him the French way on both cheeks.
"Let the celebration begin. Happy birthday, Daddy!" Ivar recognised Jules' youngest son from pictures on the Internet. "He has not been himself these days, waiting for his former Norwegian boyfriend!" The youngster grinned and lifted his glass. Even Jules' wife seemed to take the joke well.
A long, intense party night ended. Too much to drink, and too much food, but Ivar was very happy. He loved the cold shower in the old bathroom, and he jumped in bed and just listened to the sounds of the Southern French summer night. He was back!
"You still sleep naked, old chap?" Jules sat down on the bedside and let a hand caress Ivar's front.
"I do. You mind?" He undressed the man he had once called his fuck-buddy.
"I want to show you something, Ivar. Come with me." The two now-naked men went into a small neighbouring room. Jules pointed at a hatch on the wall. "Walk up to the wall and take a close look. I'll go back to the bed." Jules lay down on the bed and in the light from the window Ivar saw a naked man with an iron-hard cock pretending to wank.
"Guess who was watching us through that peephole?" Jules put an arm around Ivar.
"I don't give a damn!" Ivar answered. "We gave him or her a nice show anyway." Ivar found Jules' cock and squeezed his cockhead. "Nobody is watching us tonight though!" Ivar knew very well who had spied on them, and he had felt good being `on stage'.
"Our wivesÉ" Jules started.
"Are not a part of this. Forget them just now. You heard! I'm your old boyfriend! We used to wrestle about who should start as a top, but I'm too full to wrestle just now." Ivar went on.
"You have the hardest cock, you start! I forgot to take my pill!" Even in the dark room Ivar knew that Jules was grinning.
(Paris 1975)
Ivar was back in Paris. He had already bought tickets for the train to Calais next morning, and hoped to get a ferry to England from there. He had talked to Ken on the telephone and both he and his partner Henrik had invited him to stay overnight in their Paris studio. Ivar was curious to see the photos from the South of France, but Ken still waited for a message from the laboratory. Ivar was also keen to see more of Henrik, Ken's more macho partner, who he had seen only on the train from Brussels.
Ivar placed his backpack in the station locker. It was his intention to check if Col was around, and if possible say hello to Monsieur Isac in the small hostel where he had stayed during his first week in Paris. But first of all he had an appointment with Davide at his new place of employment in Paris.
Ivar found the correct metro station and left not far from the Opera. The bar and restaurant was a rather dull, smoky establishment. The people inside looked a bit tired and the atmosphere was very different from the bars Ivar had visited during his previous time in Paris.
"Good to see you, baby. Really good! I wasn't sure if you would turn up. I know you have many friends around." Davide had a huge smile. He bent over the bar counter and kissed Ivar on both cheeks.
"Good to see you too, Davide! I missed you when you left and I was sorry I hadn't been able to thank you for introducing me to your family." Ivar found a high stool and took a seat.
"You want beer or wine? Or?" Davide grinned.
"I would love a glass of red wine, andÉ are you very busy?" Ivar winked.
Ivar got his wine and cheered. He really enjoyed meeting Davide again. The man was dressed in a long black apron, very French. He looked older than what he did in the summer outfit he wore in Nice.
"Boss, please give me half an hour, okay?" Davide opened the door to the backroom. A small round man with a too long apron was seen through the door.
"I will use the office!" Davide found a key. "Drink up and follow me, please." He crossed the room and went upstairs by the narrow stairs.
Ivar started to undress the stallion as soon as they were inside the dark room. "I want to thank you, Davide!" He stripped the man of the apron, and pulled down his trousers and briefs. The 25 cm (10 inch) very rough, veiny cock pointed upwards when freed from the clothing. He was dripping erect. Ivar pulled the foreskin back and licked the wet glans and piss-slit. The man moaned.
"I'm gonna miss you, kid! Very much!" Davide put his hands behind Ivar's head and mouth-fucked him. The recent months of training had given Ivar new skills; he took more than half of the monster cock down his throat. He swallowed the cockhead again and again. To Ivar's surprise Davide started to whine after just a few minutes. He had to pull back a little and managed just before the man filled his mouth with cum. Davide shivered and shouted and continued the heavy mouth-fuck while unloading his man-cream.
"I saved the load for you, baby. I knew you would like it, eh? You have some juices for me as well I hope. No time for a fuck! I'm sorry about that, but I'll drain your balls." Davide lifted Ivar and laid him down on a desk. In ten minutes the trained masseur pleasured Ivar like the first time in Nice, and at the end he ate the boy-cream directly from the young cock.
"You are a dream, Viking. Wish you could stay with me!" Davide hurried to dress again.
"Will you stay in Paris or will you return home?" Ivar asked.
"I'm sure Dad wants Jules to have the farm, not a `faggot' like me!" Davide had the hard black eyes Ivar had seen from time to time when he was angry.
"I met a boy from Singapore earlier this summer, and he has invited me to stay with him out east. I'll try to save money for the travel. The bar here is no life." Davide sounded a bit sore.
Another glass of wine and Ivar was ready to leave; some light kisses and hugs sent him on his way. Ivar had another address in his Spartacus Guide.
Ivar was sitting between two naked men in the Paris studio. He felt the situation was a bit surrealistic, but Ken's partner, the German Henrik, had been completely nude when Ivar arrived and Ken had been preparing supper in the kitchen apron Ivar remembered from his last stay. On the huge screen in front, Ivar followed the set of pictures from his and Ken's photo odyssey some months earlier.
Henrik tried to act professional and make technical comments towards Ken. He also had some modelling comments for Ivar, but the Viking in the middle was about to close his eyes. He had had wine for supper, wine at Davide's bar, another wine with Monsieur Isac, and a beer on Col's lap. Now he closed his eyes completely, and found Henrik's shoulder.
"Let the kid get a rest!" Ivar heard Henrik as if he was far away.
"But his cock is still rock-hard!" Ken said. Ivar felt that a warm hand was playing with his dick.
"Kids are always hard. Have you forgotten?" Henrik laid Ivar down and found a light blanket for him.
It was completely dark when Ivar woke up. He heard some noise from the street, and he himself felt like jelly. One man had his cock inside his mouth sucking and the other man licked his nipples. Ivar had to piss. Without words he jumped out of bed and hurried into the tiny toilet. After a fight with his erection, he managed to get things done. Afterwards he dived into the king-size bed between the two obvious waiting guys.
"Please fuck me, boy!" Ken whispered. Ivar looked at Henrik, uncertain how to handle the two.
"Go on Ð fuck him! He's crazy to have your big teen-cock inside him again!" Henrik found a tube of lube and creamed up Ken's open arse.
"Take him doggy, Viking. Make him your whore, he's so slutty!" Henrik turned Ken around and had him down on knees and elbows. He gave his partner some really hard spanks with an open hand. Ken met the action with girl-like whimpering. Henrik gave Ivar's cock some light spanks too. Streams of slimy liquid dripped from the iron-hard cock. Henrik freed Ivar's glans, by pulling his still rather tight foreskin behind the cockhead and gave him some lube. Ivar found Ken's shoulders while Henrik placed Ivar's cockhead outside his rosebud.
Ivar pushed forward with force and bottomed Ken in a single stroke. Nineteen male centimetres (10 inches) and Ken yelled.
"That's how Vikings fuck their slaves!" Henrik said. "No mercy! I like that! But Viking. Are you ready for my pole?"
For the first time Ivar saw the real iron cock glistening with oil. He had been a bit reserved earlier. Like Ivar, Henrik's cock was partly covered by foreskin even when rock-hard.
"Let me undress that cockhead, sir. I'll be careful. I have soft lips, you know." Ivar went on fucking Ken while he played with Henrik's monster: probably not longer than Ivar's but twice the thickness.
"You think I can take that German sausage? Think it's too big? I heard you call me `kid'." Ivar was reaching a climax. Ken was a superb bottom, his arse muscles played with Ivar's thinner cock all the time.
While Ivar stayed inside Ken, Henrik opened Ivar's arse with four greased fingers. "You shouldn't have let that military guy fuck you earlier tonight. Your ass is quite red, think we need some more lube." He filled Ivar's arse with cream, then he just penetrated him without warning. The sudden reaction made Ivar ram into Ken even harder, and the two screamed in pain.
"You have been a couple of softies travelling like teenagers, haven't you? Let me show how real men fuck!" Henrik did not wait. Three hard poundings and Ivar spunked off inside Ken, five, six and seven eruptions.
"Baby, baby, already?" Henrik was far from his orgasm.
"Don't stop, sir. Go on. Go on! I'll cum again if you are the man you want to be!" Ivar still hard in Ken's spunk-filled arse took command of the Canadian now. The rhythm was intense. Henrik fucked both Ivar and Ken in hard long strokes.
"I'm cumming. Can't last any longer!" Ken yelled. Ivar used his hands to collect Ken's milk, but did not withdraw. He fed Ken his own cream, and licked the rest from his own hand. Ken pulled away and turned around to find Ivar's wet cock, and then let Henrik and Ivar mouth-fuck him. Ivar tried to keep cool, but his second orgasm was there. His fifth cumming of the day, and he felt the ejaculation squeeze his balls. Ken took it all.
"Don't swallow, whore! I want to taste the Viking milk!" Henrik roared. "And lie down both of you. Be ready for my cock-spit!" He jerked a couple of times, then placed his hands behind his hips, and sprayed the clear juice and white slime over the two faces. Ken struggled to keep the double jizz. Some ran down his chin, until Ivar helped him to clean up. The tough guy became a doll-man when he had ended his macho job, and let the two bottoms for the night play with his softening body until the daylight filled the small room.
Even tired like a newly fucked bride the morning after, Ivar was very excited when the train from Paris headed for Calais. His butt was sore, and his dick was wet, but Henrik's cooling cream had been perfect.
He had bought a combination ticket and knew he was booked on the ferry across the English Channel. Inside his Spartacus Guide he had an address in London. The YMCA! Ivar's mother was member of the local Seamen's Mission back home, and Ivar had promised her to stay at YMCA in London and visit the Norwegian Seamen's Church during Christmas.
"I have to stay at least one night," Ivar said to himself. "I'm not sure it's the correct hostel for Ragnar though!" His brother was to meet him in Tilbury, north-east of the Thames, the next day.
To be continued