The climate has definitely changed for the better since I was in college and it's not only global warming I'm talking about. Nowadays guys know exactly what they want and don't keep you dangling on a g-string. Unfortunately this doesn't always make my life simpler as I'm older but not really wiser. The needle of my sexual compass still tends to point towards jocks and twinks and they seem to get younger everyday. Lately I've been cummin into contact with a lot of them as I've been working as an interpreter at the Olympic Games in Turin. Most of them are over eighteen and therefore qualify as consenting adults but there's the 'little' problem of professional ethics.

When I met Sven, I knew he was hot as soon as I felt my eyes sizzle at the sight of him. He was working out with a football but wearing a red baseball shirt with white stripes and long red socks, which seemed to be reaching out to touch his tight black practice shorts. Something in my shorts seemed to be reaching out too. That 'needle' I was telling you about. All that red should have been a warning to me but it was topped by a friendly face and capped by a mop of fair hair. I immediately wanted to do some topping and mopping of my own and could hardly keep my eyes (and hands) off of him. He seemed to be having some trouble communicating with his coach so naturally I ambled over to offer my professional services.

It was a short visit accompanied by flashing white smiles and sparkling blue eyes and my heart was soon a whole kaleidoscope of new colors and, in spite of all the stripes on his shirt, I had spots in front of my eyes by the time it was over. I went off to get a beer to cool my impassioned ardour and was strangely conscious of his presence beside me. Introductions were not necessary. He played ball but he didn't play games. He made it quite clear right from the start that he was interested too. If it were always that easy. He said that he should be working out but had decided to work on me instead. I told him I didn't need any working on, as I'd been up for grabs ever since I first set eyes on him.

I took him back to the small apartment I'd rented for the duration of the Games. He said he couldn't stay long as he was taking part in the snowboard cross event that afternoon. He sat on the age of my Spartan bed with his legs wide apart. I was reminded what a Spanish friend had once said about some long-legged cutie he was lusting over, "If those are the railway lines, imagine the station!" It was a long time ago and of course he'd been talking about pussy but the expression seemed to fit Sven perfectly. My locomotive had already left the station and was all steamed up and ready to enter his Swedish tunnel. As I approached him with that in mind he told me he was hot for me too but was afraid that a roll in the hay would sap his energy.

He put out his leg in a vain attempt to stop me. I grabbed hold of it and slid a cool hand up the inside of his thigh until my fingers touched the base of his crotch. He sighed and opened his legs even wider. I wormed my way under his shorts and settled on the hefty mound inside like a predatory bird come to roost. At the same time I bent down and kissed him. The combination of his hard, hot tongue in my mouth and his hard, hot cock between my fingers had me creaming my pants. He kept saying no but his body said go. Still, I didn't want to spoil his chances in the sports event so, after a while, I withdrew my hand and tongue and stood back to take a good look at him.

"I'm really sorry," he said as I drank him in. "I shouldn't have come. I shouldn't have encouraged you. I'm not usually such a cock teaser. I just couldn't resist you."

I said, "Don't worry about it. We can always do something else."

"Like what?" he asked.

"Like I could offer you some liquid refreshment and you could make my mouth water by taking your clothes off for me. I'd like that."

"Water would be fine," he said ambiguously, " but why don't you undress me?"

"Why don't we undress each other? Then we'd both be happy." I said.

"Let's skip the liquid refreshment till later," he said and held out his leg to me again.

I peeled off his socks as if I was peeling some exotic fruit. His legs were hairless and the soft white flesh smelt sweeter than any banana. It was satin smooth and very tempting and creamy. I decided to give myself a banana split and ran my tongue up the entire luscious length of his thighs. I arrived at the same port of call. His crotch. He helped out by pulling down his shorts so my mouth could get a better grip. Maybe we couldn't roll in the hay but I sure as hell was going to bury my nose in his haystack. He dragged my t-shirt over my head and blinded me for a moment as I struggled to free him from the tight confines of his jock strap. His dick was honey in my mouth and his butt like butter to my touch. Cold, hard and unyielding at first, as if it had come straight from the freezer, and then oozing with desire as I manipulated it with my fingers.

Somehow he managed to get me out of my pants too and we gave each other long, horny rubdowns, using our bodies as massage tables. Our tongues and dicks almost entwined and we slithered and slushed in the wash of saliva, sweat and pre-cum we produced together. It's the hottest sex, or rather pre-sex, I've ever had. Getting our gas burners turned on to full oven temperature and then moderating and modulating the heat, as we didn't want our goose to be cooked. We both knew instinctively when it was time to stop and dived into the shower to douse the flames in our libido. Self-discipline is something you develop as an athlete but I'd never had mine put so much to the test. But that only made our first love-fest all the more exciting. I kissed him good luck, poured myself a well-deserved beer, and later watched him on the wall-panel monitor in my bedroom. He didn't win but that wasn't our fault.

He didn't waste much time finding me again and I filled his stomach before I filled his ass. He was pounding with energy when he arrived and wanted to fuck me. We didn't exactly toss for it but we fought like raging bulls and I won. Afterwards, he told me he was mad as hell as he'd lost two times in one afternoon but that he'd get my butt in the next round. And there were plenty of those in the three weeks we were together. Sex was really good, and very competitive, between us, as you can no doubt imagine from what 'came' before. Generally, I was the stronger of the two but occasionally he got me so hot I just lay back and let him have his way with me.

The best fuck we had started with him holding my hands over my head and ravaging my mouth with his dick. I snuffled and gagged and kicked but to no avail. I even brought my legs up and kneed him from behind but that only pushed him further into my mouth. Between us, we almost suffocated me but it was great none the less. My cheeks puffed up so much that I was reminded of one of my mother's apple pies and Sven certainly provided me with an abundance of thick cream topping. I've always been partial to double cream and he gave me one or two extra helpings. I wasted no time returning the favour as he collapsed in an exhausted heap on the bed only to feel my engorged cream filler enter his apple butt cheeks and fill him to the brim. It was great.

'Revenge is mine,' saith the Lord, and my revenge certainly was sweet. I ground my way into him and turned his balls to nutmeg as I rammed him from behind. We lashed and slashed, and finally crashed together as I came like thunder.

And it wasn't over yet. We both fell asleep for a couple of hours and I awoke to the feel of his tongue on my neck and the heat of his dick against my backside. He extended his tongue and licked round my neck slowly, leaving horny snail trails as he went. It was as if he wanted to wake me, and take me, by degrees but I was already rock hard and raring to go. He journeyed up my neck to an earlobe and began nibbling on it and whispering sweet Swedish nothings into it. At the same time he rubbed his extra large Swedish meatloaf between my ass cheeks and grasped my swollen dick in the palm of his firm Swedish hand. I became a puddle of goose pimples although maybe goose pate' would be a more accurate description as he made my whole body melt and spread until it felt like smorgasbord. I let out a low guttural moan of absolute pleasure that had nothing to do with geese although I knew this time my goose was going to be well and truly cooked and that I would soon be honking like one.

I felt his dick grow and flow behind me as he eased his way in, ever so slowly, using his pre-cum as lubricant. I shivered in suspended delight as I felt the moistness of him enter the soft tissue of my intimate being and the tip of his dick tease me open. It was awesome. My love-hole first pursed its lips like a blushing maiden and then fluttered like a fledging bird perched for flight and inviting him to enter. He hesitated for a moment and then pushed forward in one brazen thrust. I felt no pain. Just a soaring sensation of absolute bliss as we both took off for heaven. The room was at once spinning on an unseen axis and then quaking with an orgasm that was positively seismic. He made my ass feel like the San Andreas Fault as he slammed his pelvis into my prostrate and welded it there. He used my dick as a lever to take us to Olympic heights and we sailed, or rather flew, through timeless space before erupting in an orgasm worthy of the finest firework display ever witnessed at an international event. My whole body shuddered and shook as he seared my ass with his fire and I did indeed honk --- like a flight of migratory birds.

As I said earlier, that was the best fuck we ever had. Of course, there were many others but none of quite such Olympic proportions. The Games are nearly over now and I'm happy to say that Sven's ice hockey team won a bronze medal. I was very proud of him but it was nothing compared with the joy we felt scaling the heights of sexual satisfaction together.

All good things have to come to an end they say but I'm going to do my best to keep in touch with him when he goes back to Sweden. I surely shall miss him. Especially in winter. Maybe when we get together again we won't rekindle quite the same passion but if I may borrow the words I once saw on a chestnut vendor's cart in New York, 'I don't want to set the world on fire. I just want to keep my nuts warm.'