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Twelve hours ago I was a virgin. Sorry, not a very good way to start, let me back up a bit and introduce myself. My name is Leon and I’m 19 years old. If you had asked me yesterday, I’d have told you that I was asexual. I’d have said that I wasn’t particularly attracted to anyone sexually and that I was waiting until I fell into the right situation before I decided what I was going to pursue in terms of sexual gratification.

Yes, I know it sounds a bit, well, maybe a lot stuffy and contemptuous, but that’s just how I am I’m afraid. I’m a third year university student from Cambridge University, and was brought up in such a manner that this is just the way I am. I can’t apologise for it, and quite frankly, I won’t. Indeed this story is not starting well. Let me just go ahead and lay out the context for you.

I study sculpture and art history. I dabble in quantum physics for fun too, but mainly because I wanted the opportunity to meet an all time scientific hero of mine. Damn, there I go again, sorry. So, in the last semester of this academic year I spent a lot of time studying the lesser known three dimensional artists of the early 20th century in Europe. One of my favourites was Gustav Vigeland, a Norwegian artist who produced the bulk of his body of work in the years between 1920 and 1943.

Cutting the boring parts short now, yesterday morning I arrived on a flight from Stansted into Oslo. It had cost a whole 12 pounds and I was ready for the fantastic Vigelands sculpture park. Nobody bothered to mention to me that the bus trip from the airport to the city was going to cost me three times as much as the flight, nor that it was going to take an hour and a half to get there!

I boarded the bus feeling grumpy and it didn’t get any better when I saw that the bus was practically full. I scanned up and down the aisle looking for a free pair of seats I could stake out as my own territory. No such luck. Spotting a free aisle seat near the back I lugged my rucksack down the cramped space and hefted it up onto the luggage rack and slid into the seat. Looking to my left I aimed a shit-eating grin at my seat companion and looked into a pair of pale blue eyes that just swallowed me up.

 Now I’m not all that bad looking. I’m just over 6 foot tall, reasonably trim and have that horribly typical dirty blond look that’s so common for those of us who have descended from the British aristocracy. You know, sharp aquiline features, solid jaw, your typical sort of public school rugby player type. But this guy beside me was different. Yeah, he had blond hair too, but he was quintessentially Nordic. Really tall, long, dead straight yellow blond hair and very high cheekbones that topped off his white toothed smile beautifully.

I quickly adjusted the grin to be a little less shit-eating.

“Hello there, I’m Leon.”

I offered my hand and he took it without hesitation and shook firmly.

“Hi, my name is Øyvind. You’re here for a vacation?”

“Hi Oovend? Yeah, just here for a day to check out some sculptures actually. I’ve been studying them at uni and thought I should take the opportunity to check them out for myself.”

“Øyvind, but you got pretty close. So, I guess that means you are going to Vegelandsparken then. It is pretty impressive, and today is a perfect day to go. There will be a lot of people in the park eating grill food and playing games.”

I was impressed that he had worked out where I was going just from what I had said. I told him so.

“Oh, it’s not so hard to work out. Vigelands is the biggest attraction in Oslo. It has millions of visitors each year. If you are talking Oslo and art, it’s pretty much Vegeland and Munch, and of course Munch is best known for his paintings.”

Øyvind kept talking for several minutes about the relationship between Oslo’s two great artists. I tried to pay attention, but I was becoming very aware that I had sprouted a very persistent erection. I was surprised, but not upset by it. It did present a slight difficulty however in that it was pretty visible in my loose fitting track pants. I struggled out of my sweat shirt and piled it in my lap to cover things up the best I could.

“…So they never got on, right until the end. Yeah, getting a bit warm today. It’s supposed to be up to 30 degrees today in the city. Hey, do you know how to get to the park from town?”

“Um, well, I hadn’t really thought about it much. I guess I just supposed I could walk from the bus station.”

“Well, you could, but it would probably take you an hour to get there, and you’d be pretty hot by then! Tell you what, I’m not doing anything today, I got back a day early,  so why don’t I show you around?”

“No, surely you have a lot of better things to do!”

“Well, if you count sitting in my flat sweating and watching TV something better. No, I’d like to if that’s Ok?”

I didn’t argue. In an hour we were on the number 12 tram heading out of the central station towards the park. Øyvind was right. It was hot! Coming from the UK I was dressed for a typical English summer day, in other words, I was over dressed. I wore a long sleeved shirt and track pants. Even with the sweat shirt removed and stowed in the rucksack, I was still sweating like a proverbial pig.

Øyvind however was dressed a lot more sensibly. He wore a tight pale yellow T-shirt that hugged his trim physic fantastically and a pair of baggy shorts that showed of his almost hairless but tanned calves to perfection. I spent much of the tram ride drinking in his sights rather than the sights of Oslo in the peak of summer.

We arrived at the park at midday. The sun was pounding down on us and the park was just as full as I had been promised. I was told that it would fill up very quickly after 3pm as on Friday’s in summer office workers tended to find any excuse they could for escaping early.

We started walking through the dozens and dozens of sculptures and I was struck by the innocent beauty of them. Øyvind explained his perspective of what we were looking at, and I compared it to what I had learned in my research. His perspective was much nicer. I stopped and wiped my brow with my sleeve. Turning around I saw Øyvind pulling off his shirt and stuffing it into the back band of his shorts. He had a very comprehensive tan there as well. I looked from him up to the bronze statue of an athletic young man he stood beside.

“I have to say Øyvind, he’s got nothing on you.”

He blushed and laughed. Then slapped me on the shoulder.

“Eww! You are soaking there leon! Take that shirt off before you collapse!”

“Oh no, I’m so pale it will blind people if I take my shirt off!”

With a little coaxing, Øyvind convinced me to unbutton the shirt and let it flap around in the light breeze. I felt a lot better instantly, until I noticed he was looking intently at my chest and stomach.

“Oh, sorry, I, I just was looking at you. You look fitter than I expected. It’s nice.”

I blushed this time and turned to look intently at the next statue without even registering what I was staring at.

“Not a very big penis.”

I turned to look at Øyvind in surprise and then found myself looking down at my crotch. It was then that I realised that I had been staring at the crotch region of the statue in front of us. Øyvind followed my gaze down and then giggled.

“But that looks like it is!”

I knew I should have worn tight underwear! But I’d been a bit lazy and had none clean, so had decided to wear just the track pants. They now had a pronounced tenting in the front of them.

“Oh, fucking hell, sorry. I, well, I don’t know what brought that on.”

“Really? Oh, I was hoping it was seeing me with no shirt!”

Øyvind laughed it off and wrapped his arm around my shoulder to lead me through the rest of the park.

By three in the afternoon I had seen every item in the park, and it was starting to get very crowded. Øyvind invited me back to his flat for a cold beer and to get out of the sun for a while. I was so hot I agreed with no argument. Soon we were back on the tram and in 10 minutes we were climbing the stairs to his flat on the fourth floor of a nice cool old Victorian era apartment building.

We walked in to the apartment and the wave of heat hit us again.

“Sorry, I have been away for a week and the place has been shut up of course. Let me open the balcony doors and get some air in here.”

Øyvind opened the doors and windows wide and then stepped back in to the apartment and looked at me. He walked to the fridge and pulled out a couple of beers, popping the top of both of them before handing me one. Putting his down on the table he emptied the pockets of his shorts, tossing his wallet and passport onto the table, then throwing his sweat damp shirt into the corner of the room.

“Do you mind if I change?”

“No, go right ahead. You sure travel light!”

“Oh, yeah, I have a place in London too, I basically have what I need in both places so I can just travel with what’s in my pockets.”

Øyvind unbuttoned and unzipped his shorts as he answered me. He flicked off his shoes with his toes as he dropped the shorts to the floor. The shoes slid under the table while he artfully flicked the shorts into the corner with his foot, they landed on top of his shirt. He now stood there wearing just shear black bikini briefs. The tan was still everywhere I could see. He motioned for me to take a seat on the couch.

“Hmm, does that tan go everywhere?”

“Sure. It’s a very private balcony here.”

I sat down and pried my own shoes off with my feet. The cool breeze felt wonderful on my naked toes and I let out a sigh of satisfaction.

“Feel free to strip down to Leon. Let that shirt dry out a bit.”

I agreed that the damp shirt was gross, so I slipped it off and draped it across one of the dining chairs. Sitting back on the couch I swigged a large dose of beer and felt a lot better all of a sudden.

“How can you possibly sit there with those heavy pants on? Please, feel free to take them off! It’s a hot day!”

“Thanks, but I can’t.”

“Why not? I don’t mind.”

“Just can’t. Not a good idea, that’s all.”

“What? Have you got holes in your underwear or something?”

I laughed, almost expelling beer through my nose.

“Yeah, something like that.”

“Oh, do not be ridiculous. I don’t care what you are wearing under there. Don’t be such a British prude! You’re in Scandinavia now Leon!”

“Oh, man! I’m not wearing anything under these Ok?”

“Ok, so, I don’t care. I have seen enough cock today to last at least three weeks. Just get those things off man. You are making me sweat just looking at you!”

I could tell he wasn’t kidding, he really didn’t mind. I thought about it for a moment and then just decided to shuck them off and toss them onto the floor. As soon as my cock was free it decided to explore. Within seconds it had started to grow and as we both watched it hardened to a solid 7 inches of pale flesh.

“Hmm, now that’s an impressive sculpture there. I guess it’s granite too huh?”

Øyvind leaned over casually and wrapped his hand around my shaft. He squeezed it firmly as I gasped in surprise and delight. Without a word he leaned further and lowered his head towards my super erect penis. I felt his hot breath on my sensitive head and then for the first time in my life I felt the moistness of another person probing gently at its head with their tongue.

I groaned and then felt his lips embrace me. His head pressed down and I was enveloped in the overwhelming sensation he evoked in me.  Never before had anyone or anything done this to me. My eyes widened in surprise as I felt myself leap to the edge of orgasm and beyond. It had only been seconds since Øyvind had shocked me with his advance. It was then my turn to shock him with my immediate and very physical answer.

Øyvind lifted his head and looked at me with surprise, a remaining drop of semen shining brightly on his lower lip. He licked it away and gaped at me before speaking.

“Um, I was going to ask you if you minded me paying you this kind of attention.”

With that we both burst out laughing.

“My God man! I have never felt one like that before in my life! I now feel the very definite need to reciprocate. May I?”

My use of somewhat obscure English obviously didn’t help with comprehension, the look of confusion on his face told me to explain. I reached over to him and grasped the elastic band of his briefs and tugged at them until he lifted his hips up to let me pull them from his lithe and tanned body.

“What I mean is, I need to return the favour now. Do you mind?”

Øyvind grinned and lay back on the couch exposing his erect and dead straight penis to me. The lightly golden coloured ball sack underneath it rolled between his perfect thighs and just asked for a gentle caress. How was I supposed to ignore that invitation? My hand ran up his thigh and headed directly for his soft and luscious balls. Once there it teased through the sparse and fine hairs until it was touching the base of his silky smooth penis.

I had never really considered if I was interested in taking a penis into my mouth before, but at that moment it was clearly the most obvious thing in the world to do. I got to my knees and positioned myself between his legs on the couch. Leaning forward my head was just inches above his throbbing crotch. I could smell his sweat and musky aroma. I stayed still for a moment wondering why this was not making me screw up my nose in disgust. I looked down my own body to see that I had reached full mast once more, and knew exactly why I was fine with this situation.

My hair flopped to his flat stomach as I dived down and took his penis into my mouth. The taste was sensational. I tasted all sorts of subtle flavours that I never in my wildest dreams imagined I would taste. There was salt from his sweat, a tangy sharpness from his foreskin that I couldn’t identify at first and of course the slick salty sweetness of his pre-seminal fluid.

So many things were going through my mind in the first few seconds. First I was worried about not letting my teeth cause damage, I was then worried about what I should do with my tongue, then I was thinking about how deep I should take it, should I suck? Should I slobber onto his penis? Should I swallow what was already in my mouth? Then I realised that none of that mattered. Øyvind was purring underneath my and I was having the time of my life. What the hell, I told myself. Don’t spend the time analysing the situation, just enjoy it!

I did. My sexual response seemed to work on auto pilot. I noticed a lot of things happen in the next few minutes that I had not expected I would do. My hands found his nipples at one point and began rubbing and tweaking them. Then one hand was massaging his scrotum while the other was exploring the sweaty crack that hid beneath them. The whole time I was learning the extent to which it was possible for me to use my mouth to pleasure another man.

A few minutes in to this session one of my fingers on my left hand found Øyvind’s magic spot. I had been sliding it up and down his almost hairless arse crack and had experimented with pressing it into his tightly puckered hole. When I accidently pressed quite firmly just above his hole, he yelped and his body noticeably tensed under my ministrations. My mouth began to fill with hot salty liquid that was arriving in strong and regular pulses. Delighted that I had made him come, I happily swallowed everything that was injected into my mouth.

I lingered there with his taste swirling around in my mouth with his penis head. He wasn’t going down and I knew I was still as hard as one of those statues we had spent the afternoon looking at.

“Fuck me.”

I lifted off Øyvind’s erection to look into his eyes. He smiled and raised his eyebrows in invitation. He reached under the couch and withdrew a small brown cardboard box. From his magic box he produced several condoms and a small pump bottle of personal lubricant. Offering me a condom, I took it from his hand and ripped it open gently.  The pale yellow sheath fitted snugly over my truncheon like erection and I needed absolutely no assistance to achieve entry hardness.

I pumped some lube into my left hand and swept it swiftly into his sweaty crack. Øyvind hummed in pleasure as I began to work the lube into his arse. While I’ve never entered anyone like this before, I know from my own experimentation and from erotica that you have to make sure the lube is well and truly in place. I worked a finger inside and kept working the lube for a minute until Øyvind lifted his hips up, making my hand slip away.

“Ok, just fuck me hard. I have been ready since I saw you on the bus this morning.”

I shifted my weight forward until I could push my erection down and it pressed into his resistant cavity opening. He nodded and smiled at me, pressing in towards my pushing hips. The pressure on the head of my cock was almost too much to bare. I nearly came once again, but with deep breaths I controlled myself, and then thrust forward with more pressure. Øyvind yelped as my swollen glans popped into his stretched hole. He nodded quickly with a slight grimace on his face and I continued.

Looking down past my flat tummy I saw just the very hilt of my erection emerging from the hot tightness of his arse. The sight of my wispy pubic hair brushing against the taught and shining skin of his perineum was astounding. I felt myself get even harder and bigger than I have ever been before.

“Oh fuck you are a big English boy! That feels good. Now, fuck me until I come!”

I did as I was told. The motion really is just a natural instinct. I just knew what to do and how to make him writhe. My fears of coming too quickly again evaporated as I found myself entering a state of trance like pre-orgasm. I felt like I was on the edge of coming for the next five minutes as I kept up a constant and hard pace, but I just knew I could keep there.

Looking down I saw that Øyvind had thrown his head back over the edge of the couch and was panting heavily. Sweat dripped from my head and chest onto his twitching balls and penis and I continued the anal invasion. I lowered one hand to caress the side of his scrotum and he twitched and jolted uncontrollably as semen erupted from his erection once more. His cum flew over his head and landed with a loud splat on the wood flooring. His touch free orgasm continued, spilling a hot wet slick across his chest and abdominals.

The combination of that sight, smell and the clamping action of his muscles was the trigger to elevate my trance state to a truly orgasmic state. I thrust deep one last time and began pumping my own load into the condom as I watched the last dribbles flowing from Øyvind’s cock. Feeling suddenly very weak I allowed my body to gently lower itself onto his spread-eagled form. I now lay on his slippery torso as our breaths slowly synchronised.

Realising that I was probably quite heavy on him, I lifted myself back and carefully withdrew making sure the condom stayed on me. Øyvind sat himself up and wrapped his arms around me, bringing our faces together. We kissed deeply and passionately for several minutes.

Coming up for air he noticed that I still had the bulging condom in place and gently worked it off my slowly reducing penis. Øyvind held the now heavy sheath up to the light.

“No wonder I felt you swelling inside me. That was a huge load Leon. Thanks for the fantastic fuck. Now, let’s have that cold drink!”

***

I got to come for a third and a fourth time before Øyvind drove me back to the airport. I know now, as I sit writing this on the flight back, that I have a whole new aspect to my life. Gustav Vigeland will forever be my favourite sculptor now. And that 22 year old Norwegian who showed me the way will forever live in my heart, and, next weekend, in my bed!


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