In Search of the Lapp Penis

Paris, July 7, 1991

My partner Lane and I arrived in Paris yesterday, on the first of the Paris-Brussels-Amsterdam jaunts that would become an annual tradition.  He'd never been to Paris before, and I had only been once, so we wanted to cram as much sightseeing as possible into our five days: the Louvre, the Musee d'Orsay, Notre Dame, Shakespeare and Company Bookstore, the Arc de Triomphe, the Eiffel Tower...

And, of course, we wanted to "share" as many men as possible.

Alan the Pentecostal Porn Star, who moved to Paris two years offered some suggestions from his long list of tricks and dates: mostly twinks and Cute Young Things but all sizes and shapes, races and languages.

"Claude is from Belgium -- a face like an angel...Michel is studying political philosophy at the Sorbonne -- kind of a nerd, but hung!..."

"What about Hanno R___?"  Lane read from the list.  The note said "Sailor, 25. From Lappland."

"Right.  He lives in Le Havre now, but he grew up in Lappland, in northern Sweden."

The Lapps, or Saami!  I had dreamed about those mysterious reindeer-herding nomads ever since I read Sonia and Tim Gidal's Follow the Reindeer in third grade.  They were the original inhabitants of Scandinavia, before the Germanic tribes moved in.  Today there are 130,000, most still nomadic, wandering the far north of Finland, Scandinavia, Norway, and Russia.  They speak a Uralic language, related to Finnish and Hungarian.

English: penis
Saami: cihppa
Finnish: siitin
Hungarian: himvesszo

By the way, the standard Saami unit of measurement, the equivalent of the English foot, is "penis-length."  They found the penis a more convenient measuring-stick than their feet.

That settled it.  We were hooking up with the Lapp!


"Hanno wasn't that good in bed, though." Alan protested.  "Nice dick, but he wouldn't kiss, and he wanted me to top him.  You know I'm not into anal."

"Besides, we only have five days in Paris," Lane said.  "I don't want to spend a whole day going back and forth to Le Havre on a train, just for a trick.  There are plenty of guys to hook up with, right here."

"Well -- what if Alan invited him down to Paris?"

Lane shrugged.  "That would be ok, I guess."

But Alan got distracted with other things, and forgot to call him.




July 8

On Monday night, Alan finally got around to calling Hanno in Le Havre.  He said that he would like to meet us, but he was tied up with work all day until the weekend.  But we were welcome to go up to Le Havre for a visit.

"That's a deal-breaker!"  Lane exclaimed.  "I've been reading about Le Havre in the guidebook.  It's the ugliest city in France, smoggy, run-down, crime-ridden, with no good sightseeing and only one bathhouse."

"It's got a beach.  Nude men with their penises lying out, just waiting for a friendly grope.  Besides, maybe Hanno has some Lapp friends, and we can have a Northern Sun bear party."

Lane considered it.  "No, I'm still going to nix the plan.  I want to go to Shakespeare and Company and the Musee d'Orsay today.  But you go ahead."

"I can't hook up by myself.  You know the rule -- the other partner has to be there to watch."

"Or a close friend can substitute."  He glanced at Alan.  "Up for being Boomer's go-between?"




July 9th

Alan planned to leave work early and meet me at the Saint-Lazare station at 2:50, in time to catch the 3:15 train that arrives in Le Havre at 5:30 pm.  We would meet Hanno at his apartment at 6:00 pm, have an early dinner and hook up, then get back on the train, returning to Paris by 11:00 pm.

Except Alan didn't show up.

The 3:15 train left.  The 3:30 train left.

I called his apartment from a pay phone, and got no answer.

At 4:00 I went to a gay bar with a dark room to kill some time. Lots of Parisian guys waiting, aroused, in the darkness, but no Lapps.

At 5:30 I returned to the apartment.  Alan was there: "Sorry, I got held up at work.  Is it too late to go now?"

"It is if we plan to get back to Paris tonight," I said dismally.

"Well, don't worry.  I'll call Hanno, and reschedule for tomorrow night."

There was no way to track down Lane, so we had to go to the train station at 11:00 pm to meet him.

He wasn't happy.




July 10

Our last day in Paris!

"I'm not going to lose track of you again," Lane told me.  "This time I'm going with you on your quest for Lapp Penis.  If Alan flakes out, we'll go alone."

Alan flaked out again, but I had come this far, so Lane and I got on the train and rode 2 1/2 hours northwest to Le Havre, a port city of 150,000 that suffered heavy damage during World War II, and depopulation during the economic crisis of the 1970s.   Glass and concrete buildings under a dark, thunderous sky, narrow streets all named after famous people (most I'd never heard of).  We took a cab to Hanno's square concrete apartment over a bakery on the Rue Aristide Briand.

Hanno looked more like a bohemian intellectual than a nomadic reindeer herder: he had a tall, thin, long face, black curly hair, scruffy beard.  Not my type at all.

Besides, his apartment was a mess: the bed wasn't even made.  Didn't he realize that he would be getting company?

Besides, he was a smoker.

But I wasn't going to come this far for nothing.  After the briefest possible conversation, we took off our clothes and fondled a bit.  We climbed on the unmade bed and fondled some more, and then Hanno went down on Lane while I went down on him. Big penis anyway, very hard, uncut.  Very nice spurt.  When he finished, he went down on me while Lane pushed his penis into my throat.  No kissing, but no anal, either.

Afterwards Hanno lit up a cigarette while I continued to fondle his soft penis.

"So...I want to hear all about the Saami language," I told him.

He blinked.  "Saami -- oh, Samisk?  Why do you think that I know about Samisk?"

"You're a Saami, right?  Alan told us you were from Lappland."

"Sure.  I am from Kiruna, in Lappland.  But I am not Lapp, I am Swedish."

See also: 6000 Ways to Say Penis.