Tim and Bjorn

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.