Tim and Bjorn by Brunosden,Brunosden Tim and Bjorn Ch 01
Tim hosts a Swedish transfer student
You’re going to have to “suspend your disbelief” big time for this one, written last year and filed away until a recent edit This is a very different genre for me–so comments would be appreciated. All characters engaged in sexual activity are over 18. No AI was used in the composition of this story. © 2023, all rights reserved, Brunosden.
I parked the F-150 in the street in front of the ranch style house because a large moving van occupied the driveway. It looked like they were almost finished loading the van. Mom has asked me to pick-up an exchange student who will be spending the rest of the school year with us. I’m not entirely happy with the situation. She had made the decision to host without discussing it with me a few days ago. Christmas break is almost over, and my world is about to be upended for next year.
Bjorn Sonneborg had been at our school since September. He’s a full year exchange student. The Coopers, owners of the house in front of me, had agreed to host. They had a son, my age and in my class who was his “foster bro.” But Bill Cooper had been transferred—and would start his new job several states away on January 4. Another “host” was needed for Bjorn. Guess who was volunteered?
We are all seniors at the Dawson School in exurban Boulder, CO—actually in Gunbarrel County. (Yes, that is not a misspelling. It really does exist. And we’re all accustomed to the jokes.)
Obviously Bjorn is, duh, Swedish. He had graduated with a baccalaureate (a college-bound secondary school degree) in Gothenburg. He’s a rising hockey player, and plans to attend university in Boulder, about 25 miles away. But, they strongly suggested that he spend a year perfecting his English before enrolling. They didn’t want to risk academic disqualification for a potential star, and they wanted to extend his ability to play. Thus, we are both seniors. I’m 18; he’s 19. He’s been in several of my classes. So, I do know him. We’ve talked a few times and run into each other in the gym lockers and showers. He’s a nice guy.
So why was I “not entirely pleased”? First of all, I’m an only child. Dad died when I was young, just after Mom got her graduate degree in Education Administration. She’s actually the dean of the Middle School at Dawson. We’re not wealthy, but we’re comfortable. Because of her position, I get free tuition at this exclusive place. I’m quiet, a loner, an introvert and I really like my privacy. I’ve had a pretty good situation—up to now: two rooms and a bath to my own on the upper level of our Cape Cod. I’ve had total privacy for anything I wanted, including viewing internet porn and stroking. I’m about to lose that.
But, there’s more. I’ve discovered in the last year or so that I’m sometimes attracted to boys as well as girls. It’s really confusing. It scares me. I don’t think anyone, certainly not Mom, suspects this—although she is always on me about my infrequent dates. And, you guessed it, Bjorn is a handsome blond hunk. I’ve been perving on him since last September. Now he’s going to be sharing my house and my bathroom. I don’t need that kind of challenge in my last year at home. I was hoping to keep things under wraps until I am away at college. Then I could begin to experiment and maybe confirm my sexuality. But, I could do it anonymously, not in a small town where everyone knows everyone.
I’m pretty sure Bjorn is straight. His good looks, hockey ability, and foreign cache have made him a chick magnet. I think he’s been through most of the girls in our class and is now reaching down to the junior class where there are a few who’ve celebrated their eighteenth birthday already. Essentially, he gets whomever he wants. Girls are hanging on his words—and his shoulders, all the time. I’ve even caught a few of the younger teachers eying his butt as he leaves the classroom for a little longer than typical. He doesn’t seem to mind at all.
Mom didn’t ask my opinion. In fact, she announced the decision at breakfast on Christmas morning—assuming I would be delighted to have a “brother”—particularly since I’ve got only one more year at home, and she has been elected President of the local teachers’ union. She’s been traveling most weekends around the State. I’ve been alone—and frankly I’ve liked it. Apparently, she hasn’t noticed. She assumes I’m lonely.
My name is Tim Granger. I’m a good student (lots of AP science credits) and an All-State track team member. I will have my choice of various colleges—in fact four are recruiting me right now. All, except UColo, are far away. I’ll need to decide in a few months or less. I’m inclined to go far away.
My Dad was an Army Captain, killed in action at the beginning of Desert Storm when I was a little boy. I never knew him—and he didn’t have other brothers—so there are no extended family or proxy father-figures. But, I’m pretty sure that has nothing to do with my interest in guys.
I’m tall, about 6-4, rangy and slim with modest muscles (good guns, thighs, and glutes—all presumably related to my track training) and a flat belly, lightly cut. I have shaggy black hair—Mom, of course thinks it’s too long. I’ve been on the track team for four years—long jump, pole vault, long distance runner. I’ve also tried a bit of lacrosse, but never made varsity. Mom has commented that I like solo “cerebral” athletics, not team sports. I do like to settle into my head and zone out before competing. But, it works.
My dress (when not in the required school uniform of khakis, white polos, navy V-neck sweaters or blazers) consists of tight dark jeans, a dark hoodie worn over dark, usually black tees. I don’t like calling attention to myself. Oh, I wear contacts, but often I find that my black-rimmed glasses are more comfortable. They definitely convey the nerdy, don’t-bother-with-me look I’ve practiced.
I’ve dated some, but many seniors now have steadies—not me. And there aren’t a lot of available girls at this point. Shamefully, I’m an “almost” virgin. (By “almost”, I mean that since my last birthday, I’ve fondled a few bare breasts, pinched a few nipples, and shot in my pants when she touched me there.) Girls seem to like my serious, chiseled face, square jaw and bright green eyes, but I’m obviously not running for Mr. Personality or Mr. America. Some of them love my quiet, gentlemanly demeanor. But, more of them seem to be attracted to the bad boys.
Like me, my cock is long and fairly thin and cut. I haven’t dared any grooming, but I’m not particularly hairy—despite the black mop on top.
I guess I was daydreaming, listening to the MP—or prolonging the inevitable, while sitting in the truck cab. Just now, the front door opened and Bjorn emerged in shorts and a tee (Christ, it’s December!) with a large duffel over his shoulder. I jumped out of the cab and went to help. “Do you have much more?”
Bjorn smiled and the dull winter day lit up. My stomach flipped. He was a typical Swede: not so tall as me, but with wide shoulders and a very slim waist and hips. The short tee revealed well-cut abs. Blond and blue. Wide smile with thick luscious lips. Gleaming teeth. Milky complexion. He was dressed in silky hockey shorts—at least two sizes too small–with a straining basket (probably commando), showing off his thick thighs, and a too-short, too-tight tee. A letter jacket was thrown over the duffel. (God, I need to get this together. I’m practically drooling already.)
“Another case. A few boxes of books and some hockey gear. Thanks for the help, but I think Jerry is coming out with most of it.”
Within five minutes, everything was loaded and Bjorn went in to say his farewells to his first host family. I followed—and of course Mr. Cooper thanked me profusely for stepping in (Why me? It was Mom who offered.) Jerry took my hand and voiced his thanks, and then whispered a curious, “Good luck.
But, watch your ass, boy.”
I would soon confirm that Bjorn was my social opposite as well as my physical counterpoint. Large family (he was the middle of seven). Gregarious. Alpha. Social. Touchy-feely. A hugger. A prankster. (Very) experienced in the sex department. And of course, he looked so different.
As we drove home, Bjorn, after spending several minutes commenting on my nerdy glasses and expressing his gratitude, began several conversations, mostly non-sequitors, one quickly following another and mostly dominated by him–which suggested we had been together for years and assumed that we had similar aspirations, expectations and desires. Often to make a point, he would grab my thigh and squeeze. By the time we got home, I knew practically everything about him—but had shared little about me. As I had surmised, he was definitely a player, with voracious sexual appetites, physical and an extrovert. I was also having difficulty hiding my arousal.
We passed the drying Christmas tree twinkling in the corner and climbed the stairs to my bedrooms. Mom was shopping. There were two rooms on the expanded Cape Cod second floor with a large bath between. Mom slept downstairs in a small added wing, connecting the garage to the house. This space also housed her library and office—somewhat remote from my space—although I really wasn’t a noisy kid. In fact, we pretty much lived in our own little cocoons in the house—when she wasn’t judging or correcting or nagging in the kitchen or over meals. We dumped all of his stuff into his room (previously my study and game room).
“Do you mind if I shower? The hot water at the Coopers was not working this morning. They’ve already cut it for the move. We haven’t had any Christmas break practices yet—so I’ve not had the use of the locker room. I must really stink.” (If this was stench, in his opinion, I would need to start showering twice per day!)
“Sure, it’s through that door. We are going to be sharing the bath.”
Bjorn hung the jacket over the door handle. Then he pulled the tee off, leveraged off the sneakers and sox, and dropped the shorts, leaving them all on the wood floor where they fell. He was commando as I had guessed. I hadn’t expected much modesty—particularly from a Swede and an athlete, but this was clearly a little shock. We’d only been in the room for two or three minutes. He was definitely showing off, maybe trying to set the pace. He stood there, arms crossed over his chest, legs far apart, dick a little fluffed, seeming to say, “Here it all is. Come and get it.” (Actually, what he said was, “Thanks for picking me up. I won’t be long.”)
He was an Adonis, glowing with pink good health, unblemished, muscled—the whole nine yards: pecs, abs, glutes, delts, belt—and of course a horse dick—as big as any I had seen on the porn internet. It arched like a rainbow over enormous shaved balls, flopping from side to side as he moved and stretched. I was gratified to see that I was probably longer, but he definitely had me beat in girth. And he was groomed—with a nicely trimmed trapezoid of blond pubes. I turned away quickly. Had he noticed I was staring? I hope not. Maybe he was teasing already. I just can’t go there now.
He walked around casually—his cock swinging from side to side, ostensibly looking for fresh underwear. (Fuck, he hadn’t worn any before. Why start now?) Was he testing me? Or is that just normal for Swedish guys living together? I wish that I had asked Jerry Cooper about his experience with Bjorn over the last four months, but Jerry wasn’t really a friend—and I didn’t want to give any unintended signals. His enigmatic comment as we parted came back to mind. Finally, Bjorn went into the bath and shower, leaving the door wide open. He fisted his dick to aim (and draw it out) and pee as he continued to talk over his shoulder, totally oblivious to my discomfort. Then he climbed into the shower.
In a few minutes, he emerged, wrapped in a damp towel. I was still packing the game controller apparatus to move it to my room. He stretched out on the bed and pulled off the damp cloth, dropping it on the floor. His eyes met mine. He smirked. Then, he casually started to stroke. It was like he was doing the most natural thing in the world—and he could carry on a casual conversation at the same time!
“So what do you have planned for tonight? There’s a party at Shelley’s. Do you want to come? It’s open—and her folks are on a cruise. We’ve got five more nights of holiday before we need to buckle down again. We’re gonna rock and play a bit.”
I was totally gob-smacked. He apparently hadn’t heard my comments about being an introvert. He was jerking as he talked. His dick was definitely waking up. The hood was retracting, revealing a smooth purple plum head. It was as beautiful as I had ever imagined. Those weren’t water droplets on the tip. And I’m sure I was reddening with embarrassment. But, I was glued to his hardening dick. What had I gotten into? I felt my own dick getting uncomfortably hard in my pants. Without a word, I turned and walked through the bath to my room on the other side. I dropped onto the bed in my super-neat room, belly down, and pushed my face into the stack of pillows and my rigid dick into the mattress.
I needed time to think. I needed to hide. I was in complete turmoil. My body was clearly responding—I had butterflies in my gut; I was dry-mouthed; I was hard; and, I was speechless. The conflicting ideas that had been floating around inside were all vying for attention—and follow-through. And I was struggling to keep them bottled up.
Within a few minutes, Bjorn knocked on the door frame entry to my room. “I guess we need to talk.” He was bare-chested—his aureoles were dark brown and huge silver dollar sized, set low in square hard pecs–but he had pulled on boxer briefs which nevertheless outlined his semi with a wet spot near the tip. I guessed he had just cum. Still-wet hair hung over his deep blue eyes. He was sex on a hockey stick. “Can I sit on the bed?” He did before I could respond. Now he was less than a foot from me. He had pulled one leg under and stretched the other thigh out along my side, placing his dick on prominent display only a few inches from my eyes. “I think you better let it all out—if we’re to have any chance of being friends or bros. This could be a long six months otherwise.”
I rolled to my side, trying to hide my now fully-erect member—but without success. Bjorn clearly noted it. And my lame attempt at concealment.
In a quiet, unsure voice, I spoke, “I really don’t know where to begin.”
“Start anywhere. I can put it together myself later if I have to. My English is really pretty good. And getting better with every date.”
“Okay. The idea to have you here was Mom’s, not mine. I’m pretty much a loner. Mom really runs the show. She sets the rules and I follow. So I agreed to the invitation without discussion. I was pretty much planning to ignore you. But, you’re obviously going to make that pretty hard. Even jerking right in front of me.” He snickered and touched his semi.
“I’m not sure whether I want a friend right now, let alone a bro. You are so different in so many ways. I don’t date. I don’t drink. I wouldn’t even consider going to an un-chaperoned party without telling Mom—and she’d probably freak. She’s religious, although we never go to church. Her ideas on sexuality are all derived from her childhood lessons on Scripture—that is, everything about sex, and even the human body, is sinful—maybe even missionary sex in bed within marriage. I’m not sure how I happened.”
“Wow, as my favorite English teacher, quoting your Yogi, used to like to say, ‘Déjà vu, all over again.’ I think I had this conversation with Jerry a few months ago. All you Americans are the same. I’ll make it short. I’m guessing your freaking about my nudity—and maybe my normal teen-aged response to stimulus—stroke it out. We Swedes are very casual about nudity and sex. We start learning about sex when we’re 10. By the time we’re ready, we’ve covered conception, contraception, and STDs. But, more importantly we are drilled on the beauty of the body, the pleasure of sex, the necessity for consent and the glory in consensual sex—any consensual sex, with men and women. Sex is good, normal, and pleasurable. I’ve already had many partners, boys, men, girls and women. All of us are invited to test the waters. Solo, bi, gay, hetero—it doesn’t really matter. It’s all normal. Just part of the learning process before we have to make lifetime decisions.”
“There. That’s it. I still can’t believe you Americans. You make believe sex doesn’t exist, or that it’s ugly. Some say it’s sinful—despite the fact that most of you don’t even believe in sin. What exactly makes it sinful? Hell, Colorado is one of the most liberal places in the States—recreational marijuana, contraceptives in every public bath, an open internet, gay marriage, rugged individualism—and the lowest church attendance save Oregon in the US. Looking at it from Scandinavia, we think only one word—hypocrisy. Lots of unplanned pregnancies, lots of abortions, rampant STDs, accusations of rape all the time. We just don’t understand. Unless maybe, it’s the older folks trying to keep the best for themselves. But believe me, it is fun and it does feel really good. Take it from an expert. Jerry did. I think you will too.”
“But, I’ll try. I’ll try to keep my pants on. And I’ll try to stroke only in private. If that’s what you want. Do you? It seems to me that your own body is talking for you. Right now, you’re as hard as a steel pipe—and before, your eyes—behind those mysterious glasses–were glued to my dick as you licked your lips. Do you want to talk about it? Or have I already crossed a line?”
I went silent, breathing slowly, as Bjorn stared into my eyes. “I’ve never talked about this with anyone. Mom would die, I think. I do like girls, but I’m a little afraid of them—what happens if I can’t perform or if I “perform” too quickly? I know you’re a player. You can obviously dick just about anyone you fancy. That’s not me. And I’m not even sure if I can be your wingman.”
“But, the other reason I had doubts about you being here is that I’m also attracted to boys, particularly you. Actually, more than attracted, I’ve beaten off to a mental picture of you many times. I’m not gay. I can’t be gay. I just can’t. Now my worst temptation is in the next room, sharing the same bath and shower, probably beating off regularly. I don’t know how I’m going to handle it.”
“I sorta like being temptation. It was my preferred Halloween costume. It’s very flattering. It might even be my middle name. By the way, you’re welcome to handle me anytime. You aren’t so bad yourself. I’ve seen your bod and your dick in the showers. I’m guessing a few others may have as well. If you’ll let me, I’ll try to help.”
“We are going to Shelley’s party tonight, and I’m gonna help you find a girl and get it on. I’m pretty sure you’re gonna like it. But first, let me try this. You need to relax the tension.” He reached over, pushed me onto my back and unbuttoned my jeans. His soft hand soon had extracted my cock from the boxers. I was rigid and erect. I sucked my breath in and pushed my hips up. His hand felt so good. He reached in with the other hand and drew out my balls. They felt so good in his palm as he fondled the eggs inside. He stroked a few times and my head darkened and started leaking. “Can’t waste the good stuff.” He bent over and wiped my glans with his thumb, bringing it to his full pink lips.
“I’m gonna shoot.”
He backed off a bit. “I sure hope so. I have some skills in this department and a rep to maintain.” He sucked again and used his tongue on the corona while his other hand caressed my balls and pushed hard on my taint. At that moment, he owned me.
“Fuck, fuck. I’m coming.” My cock swelled and the head stretched his mouth. And I blasted one of the largest loads of my life. Bjorn swallowed most, but a little leaked out the sides of his lips, providing a reverse curl to his smile. Holding my dick hard in his fist, he reached up and kissed me, sharing my cum. Then he stood, removed his briefs, pulled off my jeans and boxers and stretched out beside me on the bed. He took me into an embrace, then climbed on top. And I melted into him as he frotted our two dicks together between us. I was hard again in an instant. And we blasted together just after. We had been upstairs less than a half hour, and he already had me exactly where he wanted me. We were naked in my bed. And I had cum twice.
Thanks for reading pls vote or comment I was already beginning to feel the remorse of what I had allowed him to do. It did feel good in his arms, but it also felt wrong. He didn’t give me a chance to over-think. “So it’s settled, we are going to the party. And you are going to enjoy it. I promise. Then we’ll talk again about the gaps in your education. I think the next few weeks are going to be fun for both of us. At the end, you might be a little closer to understanding who you are as a sexual man. We can talk about us then—if you still want to. You’re a good looking boy, Tim, and I’d be pleased to have your around as fuck-buddy.”
Later we redressed—of course in jeans and tees, but newer, tighter ones. We were going to a party. Mom had made a wonderful welcome dinner. And of course she dominated the conversation with questions about Bjorn, his family, his homelife, his hockey prospects. Then, Bjorn, casually mentioned that he had been invited to a “post-Christmas team party”. Practices start tomorrow. I’ve invited Tim to come. I hope that’s okay. This is a team event and we’re told to avoid alcohol and drugs—most of these guys are on strict team diets anyway. We won’t be home late.” (Note: he didn’t actually say there would be no alcohol; rather he emphasized that the team needed to test clean. Nor did he specify what “late” meant. Clever boy. And Mom was clearly snowed by this handsome young guy.)
“Of course. I’m pleased Tim is actually willing to go.”
“I had to persuade him.”
“Well, anything you have to do to persuade him to climb out of that shell is okay by me. You have my blessing. Keep doing whatever it takes to make him come with you. Anytime.”
I looked away so as not to give it all away—Bjorn’s powers of persuasion were very strong. And his promises were exciting. And now Mom had given him unknowingly permission.
********
The party was, as expected, large and loud. Fortunately, Shelley’s folks had a small ranch with a good deal of acreage. There was a barn with a large loft and an attached empty bunkhouse since the ranch was no longer active. With help from the team, she had swept the old wooden floor of the barn clean and moved bales of hay around the perimeter to create dance floor, more private spaces and some seating. Strings of Christmas lights were strung from the loft which itself was left in semi-darkness. It was pretty clear that the loft spaces were going to be very popular, and that the bunkhouse was going to see some use. There was a DJ and tubs of ice for the contributed cans and bottles. Fortunately, it was an unusually warm evening for late December—low 60s–since the barn wasn’t heated. We’d have to make our own heat.
I drove us over (stopping to pick up a few six-packs as our contribution—you can buy beer at 18 now) and found dozens of similar trucks parked along the drive. We obviously weren’t the first to arrive. Curiously, Bjorn reached up and draped his arm over my shoulder as we walked to the doors. I was his bro. He was willing to share his popularity—and get me linked. Shelley came out just then and ran to Bjorn, jumping onto him. He dropped his arm from my shoulder to grab her butt as her legs enveloped his waist. He whispered something into her ear. I moved inside to deposit the beers. Then, I turned and Bjorn was walking toward me, Shelley and her “cousin” in tow.
“This is Christi, my older cousin. She’s visiting—supposed to be protecting me and keeping me company while Mom and Dad are cruising. Christi, this tall guy is Tim, Bjorn’s host and bro for the rest of the school year. I think you may have a lot in common.” With those words, she left Christi with me and walked off with Bjorn to the dance floor. (Christi was, incidentally, somewhat older—maybe 27, maybe a cougar, but nevertheless very attractive. Bjorn apparently thought I needed someone “experienced” to introduce me.)
Her eyebrows peaked. Then she smiled and inquired, “In common, huh? What might that be?”
I was lost, but started nevertheless: “Senior, science-oriented. Only a little taller than you obviously. You are really tall. I like tall women. (Really lame stuff, Tim.) I do track: long jump, pole vault, distance runner. Not-bad dancer. Already in lust with your bod—just kidding.” (Where did that come from? Her eyes popped open and she smiled coyly. I had the definite feeling that she was the predator, not me.) “And we both know Bjorn. Is that enough?”
Christi was very attractive—tall, dark, almost black hair, creamy complexion. Slim, shapely hips ending in long dancer’s legs. Short leather skirt. Tight scoop-necked sweater barely holding her D-cups inside. Hoodie tied around her neck. Pink lipstick. And her eyes sparkled, like the blinking LED Christmas-tree lights around her neck. She did look younger than her age. I was shocked at my own introduction, but she seemed to like it and took my arm. It turned out later that Bjorn had mentioned I had a very long cock—and she really liked long cocks—so that’s what we had in common.
She took over the conversation (thanks be to God) and slowly we edged toward the dance floor. We stopped for a bit of liquid courage, and then I motioned her toward the crowd. She was good, really good—and my lame moves seemed funky by comparison, but at least I kept the beat—and I was really enthusiastic. Once or twice, I even ventured a gymnastic move and did a hand-stand, then flipped back into a moon-walk. She stepped back and clapped along with a few others. “You can be a fun guy, Tim.” I was by then hot and sweating—and not entirely from the dance. Then the music turned slow and she reached up behind my neck, plastering her body into mine. The breasts were soft and pillowy. I was already in lust. Then she pushed her hips into mine and felt my hardness. We danced a few more minutes, as she teased by pushing into me from time to time. My hands dropped to her butt, and she didn’t object. “I really like big tall boys. Shall we head up to the loft?” She was definitely taking the lead.
I couldn’t believe my luck. I had gone from loner, wall-flower to potential player in an hour! Bjorn must be a magician. I went to the tub and extracted a few cold ones and followed her swaying hips up the steep ladder. My face was so close, I could actually reach in and lick her thong-“covered” cleft under the leather mini. What a terrific ass! We found an empty cubicle. I spread the blanket, put down the bottles and pulled off my hoodie. She did the same. Soon, we were making out to the sounds of the DJ below and others all around—helped by liquid courage and aural accompaniment. It doesn’t take much more to enflame teenage lust. My hands pushed up under her sweater. No bra! I was in heaven. I pushed it higher and my lips latched on to her swollen nipples. I sucked and sucked, moving from one side to the other. She moaned in apparent pleasure and pushed up into my rock hard dick. Then she pulled the sweater off.
Soon her hands moved from my ears which she had been using to direct my “pillow talk” to my waist. She fumbled with the buckle, unbuttoned and pulled my jeans apart. I had put on a jock—at Bjorn’s suggestion to help in handling an erection and to emphasize my basket. She pulled it down and snapped it hard under my balls, releasing me to the cool night air. It stung, but I hardly felt it. She was already moving me to a high level of enjoyment. Then she grabbed the shaft—both hands. She was so soft and it felt so good. “I guess Bjorn didn’t lie You are a big one. Shelley said you were a pole vaulter. But she didn’t tell me you carried your own pole in your jeans.” She snickered at her own joke and then reached under and cupped my balls. “Nice boys, here. Soft. Hot and full.”
This was of course all brand new to me. I was eating up the compliments and reveling in her touch. No girl had ever taken the initiative with my stuff. But I had used the internet. I was only a newbie in real life; I had prepped on line for months. I unsnapped and reached inside her leather skirt, insinuated inside her silk thong, and my fingers found her moist, hot cunt. But, I reminded myself, no, don’t poke in like a dolt. Caress the clit. Delicate strokes. Soft and slow. Coordinate your necking with your petting. Slow, man, slow. She loved it and pushed into me. My fingers were doing their job. But so were hers.
“I’m cumin’, Christi. You’re just too good to me.” She pushed herself into me hard and stroked harder. And I shot and shot. I quickly pulled off my tee and used it to catch and wipe my spunk as one of my legs spread over her, opening her thighs. Then, I reached back in and continued to stroke her pussy. She pushed my finger inside and clamped her hand over my palm which was petting her clit. She wanted it a little firmer. I bent down, licked and started a slow sucking. Then I felt the spasms and she pulled me tight as I flicked back and forth over her clit. I’m pretty sure she had a really good climax. Then, she rested on me as our breathing slowed. And my cock, hardened again.
We necked and traded hickeys. Then we rose and straightened our clothes. I put back on my hoodie to cover my bare chest, balling the soaking, musky tee into the pocket. My jeans could barely hold my hard on. We sat, drank and talked more. “I really enjoyed that, Tim. You’ve obviously done this before. Maybe we can try for more tomorrow. I’ll be with Shelley for the week. When she told me Bjorn was bringing a blind date for me, I was a little apprehensive. I didn’t need a schoolboy anxious to stick his dick into me and just get off. But, you’re okay, definitely okay. Definitely tomorrow”
Later, we went back down and danced more. By now, Christi was hanging on my shoulders, glued to me—in post-coital bliss. I looked around and caught some eyes watching us—and others noting that apparently, I had joined the party! I had obviously hooked a beautiful older woman. It didn’t even occur to me that they might consider me a boy-toy. I was a man. And I had scored. I was having fun. And she was keeping me very hard and very interested. Before long, I shot again in my jeans. She smiled, I think at her power over me and whispered that she was looking forward to “seeing what my monster could do for her tomorrow in the light.”
Bjorn and Shelley were absent for much of the evening. Finally, just before 12, Bjorn approached. He looked like he had just rapidly redressed. He was hot and sexy. “Let’s not push our luck with your Mom. We’re going to have a private party with Shelley and Christi tomorrow aft—assuming you’re game. Let”s roll. It’s always better to leave them before they’re had enough of us.”
Soon we were home. “I’ve gotta shower to get rid of this spunk. Let’s save water.” So we both stripped and stepped into the shower together. We had both scored. (Okay, my score was only a field goal; he looked like he had at least a hat trick.) And we’re feeling really good. But as we soaped each other, we were both immediately erect again. “I don’t want to foul the bed. Let’s have a night cap in here.” He reached over, grabbed my dick, and started stroking. So of course, I followed. Both of us were near. Then Bjorn pulled me into him, separated my ass cheeks and inserted a gelled index finger into my butt. I was shocked. No one had ever touched me there. But it felt really good. Better than anything I had experienced so far in my life. So I followed his lead. Soon he touched my nerve center, stroked it hard, and I exploded. Monkey see (or feel), monkey do. So I once again followed. I wanted to give him as much pleasure as he had given me. He spasmed over and over and covered my thighs with his spunk. Good thing we have plenty of hot water. Then we toweled and headed off to bed. “We’re gonna be pretty good together, Tim. I’m glad I’m here.”
I was empty of cum, but swimming in emotion. In one day, I had come face to face with my idol; he had jerked me off and blown me; we had embraced; he had arranged for me to have a memorable first night with a beauty; and we had just jacked each other in the shower. I had gone from virgin loner to sex-awakened bi-boy in a dozen hours. I needed time to process, to compare the various emotions and the various pleasures that he had led me through. Bjorn wasn’t just a Swede—he was a certified sorcerer, my very own Harry Potter. My doubts about having him here were definitely gone. I was definitely addicted.
You can imagine my shock when he followed me into my room, pushed me into bed before I could put on night clothes and climbed in naked with me, pulling me into his gut in a tight spoon.
TBC BD
(Story originally written in November 2023, but recently edited for Literotica.)
Thanks for reading pls vote or comment