One thing you should know about the Icelandic sagas is that some of them are not only sexually charged, they’re utterly fucking pornographic. And equally pun-ographic. There’s no other way to prepare you for what you’re about to read, so let’s just get it on with the Saga of Bosi and Herrauður.
As with any porn, there is an awkwardly long and formulaic introduction sequence. (“Did anybody order a pizza?”) And as with any porn, we’re just gonna skip that. Basically Bosi and Herrauður are on a quest to find some magical vulture’s egg so the king, Herrauður’s father, will pardon Bosi for some shitty thing he did. They wander into some farmer’s house in the woods of Permia, now Perm in Russia, where they’re treated to nice ale with the farmer’s family, including his attractive daughter. See where this is going?
After everyone is asleep, Bosi sneaks to the daughter’s bed. Normally at these points, the sagas say something like “and they enjoyed themselves” and I then translate that as “they boned their brains out” or something similar. But this one really has to speak for itself, so I’ll just quote the published English translation wholesale:
“‘What do you want to do here?’ she said. ‘I want to temper my warrior,’ said Bosi. […] He gave her a gold ring and got into bed beside her. She asked him where the warrior was, and he told her to feel between his legs, but she pulled her hand back and said he could keep his warrior and asked why he was carrying a monster like that on him, as hard as a tree. He told her the warrior would soften in the dark hole, and then she said he could do anything he wanted. So now he set the warrior between her legs. The path before him was rather narrow, and yet he managed to complete his mission.”
I wasn’t kidding. So basically they keep at it, during which he asks her where they can find this vulture’s egg and she tells him all about how Hleiður, a noble king’s sister, has been kidnapped by an evil priestess whose temple is guarded by a vulture. So Bosi and Herrauður kill the slave of the temple, shove a spear up his ass and use him as bait to spear the vulture through the face. Then they kill the priestess, take the egg, and rescue Hleiður, who agrees to marry Herrauður. Unlucky for him, her brother has already given her hand away in marriage to someone else.
In order to make a plan to rescue her, Bosi has to do a little reconnaissance in Permia. So he drops in on another farmer’s daughter. This time, however, it’s his “horse” than needs to “drink” in her “well.” She’s skeptical that his horse can handle a “well” like hers, but consents anyway. Eventually she asks where all the fluids in the bed had come from, wondering if maybe his “horse” drank too much and puked it back up. She comments that she’s never ridden such a good-tempered “horse” before asking Bosi who he is, thus proving that Nordic dating culture has not changed in basically 700 years.
So she gives him the information he need to hatch a plan to save Hleiður from her wedding. This involves Bosi and Herrauður killing two men attending the wedding, skinning them, sneaking in wearing their faces, and smuggling Hleiður out inside a giant harp, because apparently that’s inconspicuous. As they flee, Bosi says he has some important business to attend to on the way. You know, in Permia.
So Bosi and Herrauður just pop into another farmer’s house. That night, Bosi asks the daughter to put a “ring” on his “stump.” He offers to “plug” her “bunghole,” thrusting so deeply that she can feel it in her ribs. She is shocked and he offers to pull out, but she says she liked it “as much as a fresh drink of mead.” She asks him to keep going and he does until she feels too hot, when she asks him to stop. And he does! Take note, bitches. During their break, she tells him how he can abduct the princess of Permia, which he immediately does and then convinces her to marry him.
Then there is a big stupid battle with Hleiður’s rival suitors who turn into giant bulls and dragons and shit, which of course Bosi and Herrauður win anyway. Then they each marry their princesses and become kings and spend the rest of their days tempering their horses or watering their bungholes or whatever forever. Yes, their bungholes.
Morals of the story:
1. Sex. Lots of sex.
2. Well, nobody did order that pizza but I’m sure someone here would be willing to pay for it somehow. Someone always does, don’t they?
Find more tales and legends from Icelandic Sagas here.
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