Bjorn's Hookup with his High School Teacher

Reykjavik, October 2016

Yuri and some of his advanced students are in Iceland, researching the impact of global climate change on the aurora borealis, and I flew out for a visit.

We're at lunch at a gay restaurant called Jomfruin, about a block from the harbor, when a local guy named Bjorn asks to join us.

It's not just a gay thing: in Iceland, it's commonplace for strangers to walk up to you and ask to join your group.

Bjorn is a film studies major at the University of Iceland: in his early 20s, shorter than me and rather buffed, with nice hard biceps, thick hair cut in an old-fashioned 1950s style, and a cute East London accent (maybe he learned English from watching EastEnders). He wears glasses and is constantly attached to his smartphone.

Bjorn has been cruising Yuri rather blatantly, and ignoring me.  In the hopes of deflecting his attention or at least being invited to "share," I've been trying to wow him with celebrity dating stories (Nate Richert, Gregg Sulkin, Dylan O'Brien).  That doesn't work, so I shift to enormous penises: the Satyr, who had 12 inches.

"12 inches?  Is that all?"  Bjorn scoffs.  "I can do more than that.  My first time was with a guy who had 16 inches!"

"16 inches! That's impossible!"  I say.  "Porn star John Holmes had only 13 inches."

"I've been with many guys,"  Yuri says, acting as my wing man.  "Some of them very big -- like Boomer.  But only one time did I find a guy with 13 inches.  16, no way!"

"It was my teacher at the gymnasium," Bjorn says.  "Doktor Ulrich."

Akureyri, December 2012

Akuryri is a small town of 18,000 on the northern side of the island, with not much to do but fishing, hiking, and whale watching.

Bjorn, a 17-year old student at the Menntaskólinn (high school), didn't like outdoor activities.  He was quiet, shy, an introvert.  He studied, worked out, watched television, and looked at the cute guys on the street or at the Lystigarður, the botanical gardens.

During the summer, there were always German, Danish, and American backpackers strutting around.  Bjorn dreamed of being invited to their room, of kissing them, feeling their chests and bulges, going down on them, becoming an anal bottom for them.

Not in December, though, when there were only four hours of daylight every day, and the temperature was always below zero (25 to 35 degrees Fahrenheit).  The youth hostels were deserted.  The Lystigarður was too cold for cruising.

 Then one day his German teacher got sick and had to take a leave, and the new teacher was Doktor Ulrich, originally from Switzerland; in his 20s, taller than Bjorn, very muscular, with thick black hair, a beard, a piercing gaze, and an enormous bulge, visible even in slacks.

Bjorn watched it shifting as Doktor Ulrich walked around the class.  When he stopped by Bjorn's desk, it was at eye level.  He couldn't help staring.

Once he stopped at Doktor Ulrich's desk after class to ask about a grade.  He looked down, and saw the enormous bulge, so close that he could reach out and touch it.  He began to get aroused, and quickly hid himself behind a textbook.

"It's ok," Doktor Ulrich said, noticing him.  "Es ist nur natürlich.  It happens to everyone."  He took Bjorn's hand and pushed it against his chest.  "You are a very attractive young man."

The next day he "accidentally" ran into Doktor Ulrich on the way out of the school.

"Hi!"  he said, embarrassed.  "Um...I....my German needs help.  Could I...see you..."

They went back to Doktor Ulrich's house.  Without speaking, Doktor Ulrich took him into the bedroom and began kissing and fondling him through his pants.  Bjorn fell to his knees and unzipped him and pulled out his penis.

Gigantic, bigger than guys on the internet! Sixteen inches, and as thick as a beer can!  Bjorn opened his mouth as wide as he could, but couldn't even get around the head.

"It's ok,"  Doktor Ulrich said.  "Most guys can't handle it.  Let's try it this way."  He lay Bjorn onto the bed and tried to mount him from the top.

That didn't work, either.

Anal was out of the question.

He ended up pushing between Bjorn's legs while kissing him, then going down on Bjorn until he finished.

They didn't get together again: Bjorn was too worried about someone finding out.

Besides, the sex wasn't too great.

Reykjavik, October 2016

"So," Yuri says with a grin, "In the story you don't tell us how big you are."

Bjorn looks down at the table.   "I am very big!  10 inches.  If you don't believe me, come to my room, and I can show you."

"Both of us?" I suggest.

"Why not?  I have not been with two guys before."

Bjorn has a flat on Baldursgata, about half a mile away; three small rooms, a roommate who's in class, and a purring black cat named Kristoffer.

We go into the bedroom.  While Bjorn and Yuri are kissing, I unzip them both, and pull out Bjorn's...5 inches!

Ok, I know guys exaggerate, and I shouldn't complain, but I'm already a little jealous that Bjorn is paying more attention to Yuri than to me, and I want to burst his bubble.

"Bjorn, this isn't 10 inches, it's 5, maybe 5.5.  You're off by nearly half."

He looks up, confused.  "No...it is 10 inches, 14 centimeters.  I measured it."

"Um...14 centimeters is not 10 inches," Yuri says.  "It's about 5 inches."


Bjorn hangs his head.  "I'm never good with mathematics!"  he exclaims.  "I'm a poet, I'm not a scientist."

"That's ok, it's hard to do.  My students make mistakes all the time."

"So your German teacher was really about 9 inches," I say.  "That makes more sense.  16 inches would be past his knees."

"Maybe he was only 9 inches," Bjorn admits.

"That is anyway a very nice size," Yuri says.

"And you have a very nice size, too," I add, kneeling to go down on him.

See also: Fred and the Icelandic Photographer