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Archive name: scandi.txt (FF, 1st, mast)
Authors name: Holly Rennick (jlrennick@yahoo.com)
Story title : Scandinavian Birth Control
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This work is copyrighted to the author (c) 2004. Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
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Scandinavian Birth Control
by Holly Rennick (jlrennick@yahoo.com)
***
Immigration not counted, Scandinavian population growth
is lagging. Why? (FF, 1st, mast)
***
AUTHOR'S NOTES: You can relocate this tale to wherever
your roots lie. We all have roots. Read Twain's
"Innocents Abroad" for a better travelogue, but perhaps
mine may do if you're hung up on sex. Or go to Tijuana.
Better yet, rewrite my scenes to speak to your own
homecoming.
Do forgive a linguistic deficiency. I could try accents
resembling English spoken as a foreign tongue, but I'd
have to use all these characters that my computer does
with SHIFT-CTRL-u or whatever. You'd have no clue what a
little dingy over the letter meant, anyway. Thus I'll
write everyone in Holly Nonexotic. If you know the
Nordic lilt, just think it in. We sell enough Pepsi and
Big Macs and Gap jeans over there that they'll sound
like me soon enough. No wonder nobody likes us any more.
TUESDAY (Named for the Norse god of war, Tiu.)
Ann looked at the bed, then back at Inge. It was a
double, not two twins. The blue comforter gave the
headboard carved with swans a fjord setting, maybe.
Maybe Ann didn't understand Norwegians, she wondered.
Women could share a bed; there was plenty of mattress.
It was just the presumption of it, she supposed.
Ann's Scandinavian preparation was the "Lonely Planet".
Her roots were here, so just the language thing would be
the issue. Norway and Sweden were totally civilized, not
like, say, Spain. Oslo and Stockholm were Lonely Planet
perfect, even to where the 20-somethings hung out. They
all spoke English, not like here on an island.
She'd met Inge by e-mail, a distant cousin, whatever
distance common great grandparents makes. Ann just
wanted some travel tips, but Inge had some holiday time
and would be happy to show an out-of-the-way spot to a
relative. For a Norwegian, a jaunt to Sweden was an
exploration for her too, she insisted. They'd go to
Gotland for the beaches, as Norway, she freely admitted,
wasn't best in everything.
Inge was great -- her English not American, but it was
quick. Inge's speaking Norwegian to the Swedes and they,
Swedish to her, sounded the same to Ann. The American
quickly realized that a local ("local" here being of
regional scope) knew more than one might find in a
paperback written by expatriates. As these places were
expensive, an insider's cost cutting translated into
more days for exploration.
Inge would kiss Ann on the cheek every morning. "They do
this in Italy, not Norway, but were cousins."
It was Inge who had booked the Visby inn -- three days
to suntan. Ann hadn't come this far for the rays; but it
would be a Scandinavian experience. She'd college
friends who visited Europe just to see how close it
could be to America.
Inge grinned as they set their backpacks by the bed. "Do
you like it?" It was already after dinner and too late
to suggest otherwise. The rosy-cheeked maid, fluffing
their pillows, offered a cheery, "Valkommen." Almost
English, actually. And they wear those little white caps
for real!
"Oh, sure," agreed Ann about the sleeping arrangement.
"I don't roll around much, I hope."
"If we roll together, we will then be warmer,"
volunteered her guide.
Tired from their journey, they slept well.
WEDNESDAY (Named to honor Odin, chief god in Norse
mythology.)
Seen from the ferry, the Gotland shore was more rock
than sand, uninviting by North Carolinian standards. It
looked cold. Inge, on the other hand, saw the sun. Even
when the sky was overcast, she sensed the sun.
So did about a million others toning their Nordic
fairness, what to Ann seemed a scrubbed-clean look. She
knew she looked the ethnicity at least somewhat, judging
from being spoken to in undecipherable syllables. Her
being blond of course helped. Probably her sensible
shoes and cotton shifts enhanced her understated
projection. No "check-out-my-tits" American halter top,
thank you. She just didn't think of her skin as so clean
looking. People smiled when they sorted her out. Ann
just wished she'd not had bangs so she'd look more like
her cousin.
After coffee at the inn, (strong stuff in this part of
the world), Inge found the bus to a beach not as close
as the one with the Mediterranean-looking sand in the
brochures. "It is popular with people from Helsinki. You
will see."
And Holy cow! Ann had never seen so many breasts.
Topless pubescents batted beach balls with their older
brothers. Even older fruens shed their cumbersome
brassieres, stiff and multi-ply. Breasts drooped like
handbags into their knitting. They'd had their perky
years, thought Ann, and she'd have her saggy ones. When
Inge shed her top, so too did Ann. Nobody noticed Ann's
blush but Inge, who grinned at it being Ann's first
time.
The cousins lotioned each other, a strange experience
for Ann, but apparently what girls did here. You burn
quickly at high latitudes, Lonely Planet had advised.
Inge didn't seem to notice how close Ann, applying the
lotion, drew her fingers near her areola. In return,
Inge stroked lotion fully into Ann's nipples, which
goosebumped. Ann inhaled involuntarily. The breeze,
Arctic, was what made her gasp, she decided.
When Inge stepped out of her bottoms, Ann held back and
Inge said that she shouldn't hurry things. "The Finns do
too much and the Americans do too little. Saunas."
Inge was tall, small breasted and her body hair was less
blond than her ponytail. Not having gone topless enough
to loose her tan lines, she retained the illusion of
wearing perfectly fit gauzy cream bra. The girl's big-
boned beautiful, thought Ann. In a photograph, to be
sure, but even more so in the way she unconcernedly
walks by the sea. Ann had seen her come out of the
shower in the Stockholm hotel (the one where their room
had more than a sink) and had seen her change clothes
everyday. Watched, not just seen. But she hadn't seen
Inge jump the stray waves.
When Inge, her San Francisco Giants bill-cap pulled over
her eyes, asked Ann to add a little lotion where she
might need extra, Ann let herself cream the tips of her
breasts. The irony, Ann realized, of who was wearing a
baseball hat! Not knowing where to proceed, she redid
the application until Inge reached down to do below her
own waist, relieving Ann of the dilemma.
Not as many women shed their bottoms, mostly just the
statuesque ones like Inge. Most, like Inge, didn't shave
what would have stayed within their bikinis, were they
on. Despite their carefreeness, Ann noted, these girls
were careful how they sat or lay. Only rarely would Ann
see a male trying to look. She could imagine the
commotion of American males shoving each other aside to
gawk up a skirt. Pigs! Her breasts were just for her
over here. Except for Inge, because she was so close,
they weren't for show.
There didn't seem to be much standard of modesty. Some
suited women wore the bottoms with curls above and
below. A few girls went without even a fluff of cover,
but the razored ones tended to lie on their stomachs and
not stroll around. "Swedish girls," explained Inge,
without being asked. "Perhaps we are to think cinema
stars," rolling her eyes.
After sufficient surreptitious glances, Ann decided
she'd seen enough penises. She'd not stare long enough
to see much about any particular one. Never, in fact,
was she sure she saw testicles -- mostly just blobs of
flesh in hairy tangles. She'd seen guys up close before,
three actually, when they were stiff and hard, much more
evocative. Swedes talking Swedish weren't as engaging.
Or maybe they were Finns.
"Cold water makes them go back as the water makes us go
out," smirked Inge, flicking a nipple.
Well, some or the ones that walked close (not the girls'
fault, they ruled) were sometimes sort of interesting.
Once, an older gentleman jogged by, flopping his proof
of manhood. "Swedish meat balls," giggled Inge.
Was that a food name over here, thought Ann? Would a
Frenchman call French dressing, "French dressing"?
"Think he gets sore, maybe?" Ann whispered back. "Think
sports bras."
"You go bump him and see if he cries."
"No you. I can't say, 'Excuse me, sir.'"
"I can not," countered Inge, "because I am naked and he
might bump me back." The two laughed at the scenario,
inventing a dialog about repeated bumping.
At the cutest little shop the woman said something in
her language that Ann immediately translated to "Come
in." Maybe having roots here helps with the ear! Ann
bought a little cap like the maid's.
At the inn, Inge ordered their dinner, demurring menu
translation. "You will like the taste, only not the
name." It was from the sea and served on noodles; Ann
was glad she didn't know more. Inge ordered them an
after-dinner drink rather incendiary. Fortunately it
wasn't large. "Cheers!"
At bedtime, Inge asked, "Unhook me, please," turning
away. It wasn't unusual to help a girlfriend with a
fastener. Inge stripped to her panties, beige and
Scandinavian minimal, poked the side of her breast with
a finger, pronounced it not sunburned and slipped under
the covers.
Ann undid her bra and pulled on her nightgown when Inge
was facing the other way. Being so public had actually
made it easier on the beach. She wasn't sunburned
because Inge had lotioned her so many times. She could
still feel the fingers still, kneading her, always erect
from the sea breeze. Ann pulled off her shorts, hit the
light switch, and crawled into the other side. The
sheets were cold.
Inge giggled. "Ann?"
"Huh?"
"Here's a joke."
"OK."
"There was a Lithuanian family, two parents and two
children, a boy and a girl. Because they had only two
beds, the children slept together. As they got older,
they began to roll together. This the mother discovered
and instructed the girl that to prevent a problem,
mother and daughter must switch beds. Nine months plus
one day later each had a child.
"'Mother,' said the girl, 'I thought that we changed
beds to prevent a problem.'
"'And this we did,' answered the mother. 'I asked your
father and he asked the Priest who said for you and your
brother to remain in the same bed would be incest."
Ann laughed.
"But perhaps it is better in Norwegian," suggested the
teller.
"No, it's funny in English, too."
Inge giggled again and in one swoop, rolled on top of
her cousin, whispering, "Skyldig i incest, far cousin,"
whatever that meant. Ann was surprised by the sudden
weight and Inge rolled off again.
"Night, Ann."
"Night, Inge."
THURSDAY (Named for Thor, Norse god of thunder.)
Ann awoke to sunlight, but it was still too early to get
out of bed. As Inge's arm was over hers, not to wake
her, Ann lay still. When Inge rolled over and wrapped
the arm around Ann's middle, Ann dozed contentedly a few
more minutes.
Ann sipped her coffee and reread tomorrow's ferry
schedule while Inge chatted with the maid. "She hopes we
have a fun outing," the explanation.
The maid giggled and added in English, "Have a nice
day." Geesh, thought Ann, hotel maids in America
sometimes don't know that much.
The beach Inge chose had a different sense from that of
yesterday. The male-female ratio leaned strongly toward
the former and lots of them were paired. "Homosexuals,"
noted Inge. "Gay boys."
Of course they were, once Ann noticed more than the
penises. Even the suited males wore spandex briefs to
accentuate their organ. She could tell who was
circumcised, a few, anyway. The boys were touching,
holding hands, some of them resting their heads on
another's abdomen as if to mark ownership. Many were
into bodybuilding, almost strutting.
Among them, however, were girls like themselves paying
little attention. They must be noticing, decided Ann,
but too well--mannered to stare.
"It is crowded," declared Inge. To Ann, this meant that
this place wasn't for them, but instead, Inge wheeled
toward the less-populated end of the sand.
The two found a spot against a rock, sunny at least for
the moment. "OK?" asked Inge, already nude and unrolling
her towel. Ann unrolled hers and bared her top. After
several freeze-thaw cycles, "bathing" to Inge, the girls
opened their basket to find the wine. Going to the shore
was so civilized here!
"To the sea! To the North Pole! To being here!" Ann
saluted.
"To Norway and America and Sweden," appended Inge.
The two sipped and lay back and Inge resumed charge of
Ann's sunburn protection. Inge drew her finger between
Ann's every toe. Ann stilled as Inge did her chest and
felt fingertips brush her suit when doing the top of her
thighs. It must have been the edge of a little finger as
Inge did Ann's right. Reaching across, it must have been
Inge's forefinger. It must have been a forefinger
because what trailed, whispering over the inner fabric,
was the hint of a thumb. Would Inge do it again? If so,
Ann sensed that the pass might be more firmly drawn,
that it would be safer to feign sleep and hope not to
tremble. Did Inge realize that so little could so
excite? A vision flashed of her in climax, a crowd
rebuking her in a foreign language.
Ann waited, not knowing. The hand drew back up, and,
yes, the thumb was on the edge of her labia. Inge would
surely stop before the thumb was over the lip. Surely
she would!
But then, "Alo!" and some babble. Two boys, college age
perhaps, squinted at them from where the water lapped
the sand. Inge babbled something in return and waved
them welcome, a hand still on Ann's leg.
"They saw our screw and wish to use it," she explained,
pulling her palm fully against Ann's suit and pointing
toward the corkscrew. Ann sensed that Inge's hand hadn't
left her suit until the boys had noticed.
The spandexed boys approached hand in hand. Thongs, Ann
thought, though she wasn't sure what the male garb was
called. Girls wore thongs, girls that had lots of dates.
The two boys said something more in whatever language, a
pleasantry, by its tone. Inge laughed something back and
the two turned toward the foreigner.
"Hi. My name is Arvid. Welcome to Sweden." His words
were separated with space suggesting vocabulary chosen
from a schoolbook. Ann couldn't have done the same in
Swedish.
"Hello, Arvid. My name is Ann and I'm from America."
Here I am, tits sticking out, talking to somebody named
Arvid who maybe saw me get goosed, she told herself.
Wow! Try to speak slowly.
"My name is Peder," volunteered the other, more
haltingly as he worked in the corkscrew. "My practice is
not large, but I read English, particularly Michael
Crichton."
"He's very popular," encouraged Ann, who found the
author's work to be formulaic, albeit lucrative.
"Thank you for the opening," said Peder, the cork
loosened. "Thank you, Norwegian girl," he added to Inge
in English. Ann realized that they didn't want to make
her feel like an outsider.
Inge winked at Ann, then replied. "Perhaps you would
join us for a pot luck?" showing them who had the better
English. The fact that Inge was buff naked didn't seem
to be a factor in the interaction.
"What we call a meal where we share the food everybody
brought," explained Ann, to the boys' relief.
"Yes. We will do that, please," agreed Arvid. "May we
place our cloth?"
"Okie dokie," Inge confirmed her rank. They guessed the
"OK" tie. Living Planet said that "OK" and "Coke" were
understood in every language.
Between the four, it was an odd potluck: wine, chips,
rolls, butter cakes, some sort of oceanic spread and
apples. Ann had seen them in the supermarket and they
looked like American apples. No sweets, but then Peder
pawed in his bag and retrieved a Hershey's with almonds.
"Why would they have Hershey's here?" thought the
American; they claim to love good chocolate!
Conversation succeeded, partly due to the boys'
inhibition about linguistic exactitude and partly due to
strategic Swedish/English clarification by a Norwegian.
The two were accountant trainees in some Swedish bank,
and, as they put it, "shared a domestication." They
seemed unsure about further explaining their
acquaintance.
They're probably aware of the issue's divisiveness in
her country, Ann judged. Well, they don't need to think
that we're all homophobes. She smiled her best, "Oh yes.
Where I live we have many gay and lesbian and
transgendered couples." A bit of a stretch, she knew,
but somewhat the case for Chapel Hill. Maybe not the
transgendered.
The two brightened. "It is right. We are two lovers."
Arvid thought a moment, then added, "But we love all
people also," as if the meaning of "love" were in
question. Often it is, thought Ann.
The boys were enchanted with the concept of a "gay
rodeo", but less of their interest seemed to be in
sexual orientation than in what manner the "cowboys"
roped and rode. Peder said that he could be the clown
who hid in the barrel.
The four chatted a bit more and then turned toward the
sun. Without comment, Inge leaned over and again oiled
Ann's bust. The two boys watched, not erotically, until
Inge rolled her over and began on her neck. Ann hadn't
minded the attention, actually, even if they were gay.
Arvid worked out, "It is good to have a friend when
bathing." Ann presumed it to mean swimming or
sunbathing, but for all she knew, maybe that's what he
intended.
"Perhaps we may remove our shorts?" asked Peder. Inge
nodded and the boys exposed themselves, tanned evenly,
Ann noted. Both had brown hair and neither penis seemed
much more than a couple of inches. It was as close as
Ann had been to one for six months when she'd had sex
with a supervisor who never got back with her
afterwards. Had she been that lacklustre? He'd been
married, but still, she'd cooked him dinner and
everything!
Inge lifted the waistband of Ann's bottoms to massage
lotion where elastic had creased the skin. Ann supposed
that it didn't matter that much if a gay boy saw just
the top of her crack.
When Inge tugged the nylon on the sides of Ann's hips,
Ann was glad she was face down, her weight keeping the
fabric triangle over her pelvis. As Inge was full-
frontal (as they say about movies), a hint of her own
pubes shouldn't count for much, Ann wondered? Maybe when
the boys exited, she could return to her back and Inge
could finish her thighs.
Arvid likewise lotioned his partner's buttocks, then
rolled him over and rubbed around his penis. Ann
pointedly gazed away, but guessed that Arvid knew she'd
peeked. Inge was smiling. Ann could see Arvid's grin
flash back as he lifted Peder's organ and squirted it
with a dab of lotion.
"Look away," Inge interrupted Ann's thoughts. "He is
preparing to masturbate his friend, but you should not
watch unless you wish."
Ann froze. Inge knew the word "masturbate", even!
Shutting her eyes for real, Ann could soon hear, or at
least imagine hearing, Arvid stroking. A girl doing it
to herself would never start so rapidly.
And Inge, never ceasing to massage, continued to coax
Ann's suit, leaving Ann to burrow self-consciously
downward. Earlier wafts of arousal had just been passing
awarenesses, but now her mind was integrating the
stimuli: the bodies she'd seen, the proximate sounds,
the breast she'd fondled, the thumb that had reached
inward, her suit slipping downward, Inge's presence.
Maybe the boys aren't looking, Ann hoped, pushing into
the towel with each of Inge's presses, for that was what
Inge was doing. Ann was no longer being massaged; she
was being rocked on the fulcrum of her pelvis. Surely
they wouldn't see how Inge was working Ann against the
ridge of sand, wouldn't know how it felt to a girl.
Anyway, they're gay; they wouldn't care. Ann herself
cared less and less. Left to her own devices, she could
climax very quietly. Being facedown with Inge beside her
made it safer. Protesting would only draw attention to
her thoughts. Nobody would know. But she shouldn't. She
mustn't.
And too quickly she heard the boys rustle and then
murmur.
Inge said something to the Swedes, and then to Ann,
"They are finished," pulling Ann's bottoms up from their
half-mast position.
Ann didn't want to turn, but being a topless toppled
statue wasn't an option. When she did flop her head, the
males were entwined, but with their trunks back on.
Peder had his eyes closed.
Arvid blushed, "The beautiful Norwegian girl said yes,"
looking to Inge for confirmation.
"No, I did not say no," corrected the Norwegian girl.
"That is why," he brightened. "We are lovers together.
It is good for American Ann to know about love,"
diplomatically adding, "You are beautiful also. You move
like a Swedish."
The boys adjusted their penises, dutifully kissed each
girl on the cheek and departed in good spirits. After
they'd gone, a more-than-sun blushed Ann asked, "They
did it where you could see?"
"They allowed us, but I helped you to not see," Inge's
voice revealing a tinge of regret.
"And you looked?"
"It is their beach where we are. And also, I liked to."
"But they let you. And you showed them my butt!"
"They are on holiday. We are from another place and
shared our meal. Perhaps it was fun with us beside."
"Perhaps."
"Many boys do it together on this beach, I think. Arvid
was gentle and the other, as you say, cast his seed on
the sand," wiggling her nose at a spot and holding her
fingers about six inches apart. "They kissed like
girls." Inge smiled. The moved her fingers an inch
closer, "Or maybe."
Ann thought a moment, "We say casting pearls before
swine, and seeds in fertile soil, and houses built on
sand, so you've covered it." After they laughed, Ann
returned to the serious. "Thanks for helping me be cool.
I'm not too used to it."
"Too used to it?"
"Used to it at all, I mean. Guys do it in gay bars or
someplace in the US, not in public."
"We are by a rock. And girls together in America?"
"In bed, I guess."
"The sand is soft too, but it is better in private, not
with boys," conceded Inge. "And naked," slapping her
hip, adding, "They wanted us to make love with them."
"They're gay."
"I mean to make love beside them." Her eyes lit at a
translation, "Scandinavian birth control." She laughed
at her joke.
"We're not lesbians."
"Lesbisk. No, we are just girls... We shall have a good
evening meal, do you agree?"
TWILIGHT
The two sipped the aperitif again after the dinner. It
was probably something evolved to stay warm. "Perhaps a
second?" and Ann enjoyed the fire.
"In Greece," Inge looked at the window, "there are
beaches where no one comes. Two friends can see only
themselves all day."
In their room, Inge had Ann unhook her as if it were
their long-held routine. Ann let Inge do the same, Inge
then lifting the straps and pulling it forward. Inge's
breath was on Ann's neck, breasts brushing Ann's back,
skin against skin. Her hand lingered on Ann's shoulder.
"Night, Inge," finally pulling away and pulling on her
nightgown. It was cold. The maid was right, they'd had a
very nice (exotic, actually) day.
"Good night, Ann." Inge's hand trailed down Ann's spine
as they parted, darting to their respective sides,
trying to hog the spread and then moving more toward the
middle.
The sheets were cold.
"Ann?" Ann felt the mattress sag, Inge leaning further
in her direction. "The Italian way, now in Norway" she
whispered, pecking Ann first on the right and then the
left. "You're Norwegian too," she suggested, leaning
back.
"The Old Norse way," conceded the American, planting
tiny busses in return. Breast touched breast, but only
for an instant. Did Inge notice?
Inge lay apart a moment, and then scooted back into
Ann's territory. "The American way?"
"We don't do anything."
"Not like this?" kissing Ann on the corner of her mouth.
"We see Hollywood."
"Well, probably in LA, maybe. We just don't, is all."
Not anybody with whom she hung, anyway.
Inge giggled and flicked her tongue against Ann's cheek.
"Really, don't!" Ann tried to roll away. She hadn't the
space to move far, but at least she was now facing
outward. She'd just had thoughts a few times that day,
silly ones. Just about the beach, not bed.
Inge moved against Ann's back and reached an arm around,
her breasts against Ann's shoulder blades.
Ann tried to sit, but the arm held her down. "Don't,
Inge." Her thoughts certainly never involved being
hugged.
"Kiss?"
"No!" The breast felt snug, soft.
Inge's hand was reaching for Ann's navel and her other
arm was working under Ann's side. Ann tried to fend off
the hand, but only succeeded in letting the lower one
curl up her ribs.
"Stop it! I don't want to." Whatever Inge wanted, Ann
didn't, not exactly, anyway. They were regular girls and
it wasn't right, fooling around in bed like this.
Inge was pulling Ann against her, her hand traversing to
Ann's collar and then back behind Ann's neck, pulling
Ann's shoulder back. "Only a little kiss."
Ann tried to break the hold, but tugging at Inge's elbow
was futile. Ann had no purchase to do much but flail
behind, trying to discourage Inge's increasing
dominance. "Please, Inge, don't." She avoided elbowing
Inge's face.
Inge's other hand was pulling Ann's gown upward.
"I'll scream," she whispered, feeling the fabric pull
free of her hip.
"Please, Ann. They would not understand you. They would
put us apart."
What would they understand? Ann struggled to extricate
herself, but to her surprise, wasn't panicked. Inge
wouldn't hurt her.
"You will like me," whispered her bedmate, exposing
Ann's breast.
"Just let me go!"
Inge began to touch, more lightly than when she'd done
the lotion. Ann told herself that she didn't want it.
But it didn't hurt.
"We did this on the beach to each other. You were
pleased."
"It was for the sun." She'd not minded it there, but
here she should. "I'm all burned and it hurts," but she
knew it rang hollow. Inge's touch didn't hurt at all; it
felt like new lotion.
Inge relaxed her lock on Ann's neck enough to confirm
Ann's failing resistance, and then drew the hand down to
Ann's other nipple, already expectant.
"You shouldn't, Inge." Ann had nowhere to go.
"Kiss?" The other hand crawled to the hem of Ann's
panties. "Tell me yes," and reached inside.
"Not now! Somebody might hear. I might start my period.
What if...?" Ann twisted, but not so much as might
squeak the bed.
Ann knew that Inge had sensed her letting the finger
trace her suit. How she'd made herself still. Had she
involuntarily rolled her thighs, imperceptibly to
anybody but Inge? She didn't remember. Now despite her
twisting, she couldn't stop the stroking, lower and
lower.
Inge's leg hooked around Ann's knee and tugged it
outward. "We know you feel it, like on the sand when you
had me touch your swimming suit. And when the boy
masturbated the other."
"I don't know," her twisting increasingly corresponded
to Inge's petting. But it was to escape.
"You know." Inge's knee drew from behind to further
spread Ann. "You are almost ready now."
It was the surprise of it that had made her moist, Ann
protested inwardly. The pushing is why. She let her legs
be further parted, the dampness seep outward.
A finger found Ann's vulva, tested her wetness and
slipped into her vagina. It was so fast.
Oh God, I'm being raped! Ann tried to resist with
renewed vigor, but was so tired. Maybe Inge just wants
to warm me and her hand slipped. Inge is her friend. The
finger wasn't savage, like being raped would be, just
strange. Ann was at least glad she was wet enough for it
to slip so easily within. But it shouldn't be there,
probing her essence like that!
"Tell me if it hurts you," a request for information.
Maybe Inge needs to know. She let Inge pull her to the
center of the bed, losing her gown in the process. Maybe
it means something different to Inge, pushing into
another girl. Maybe girlfriends are closer over here,
less inhibited.
Their bed felt warm where Inge had made them room in the
center.
"It doesn't." Ann knew she'd conceded, not even come
close to dissuading. She was supposed to lose. Inge was
slipping out of her own panties one-handedly, her other
hand still on Ann who had to twist inward to keep it
there.
Though it was late, the sky's dimness thru the
windowpanes illuminated the two as Inge pushed the
covers aside. Inge began to penetrate repeatedly, but no
faster than Ann could accept.
"You are going to orgasm." Another fact. Extracting her
finger, she raised her hand to Ann's cheek, drew it
against first Ann's chin, then her own. Then she resumed
preparing the American.
"No I'm not." But the trembles were already radiating.
She could smell where Inge had wetted their faces. "I
don't want to," wondering if Inge would be disappointed
in her.
"A Norwegian girl rape because you first pretended,"
Inge confirmed, now using an additional digit. "Lift and
I will take your panties. It is better if we can see."
"You won't tell," pleaded Ann, arms above head, hips
raised.
"No," a promise. "And you will be warm under me."
Ann hooked her heel over her lover's calf as she watched
her groin plunge against the palm. "We just came just to
see the beach," as she locked arms around Inge's
shoulders.
When Ann began to pant, Inge rolled her facedown and
ascended, fingers fluttering all the while. Ann tried to
rise on knees and elbows to afford more opening, but
then collapsed into the waiting mattress.
Inge's hips drove her again and again against the
determined Nordic hand.
Ann at last stilled, spent and known, and Inge murmured,
"You are a Norwegian girl. We fight to guard our
maidenhood.
"I didn't want to fight," Ann admitted. "But it was my
first time. With a girl, I mean..." She sought an easier
topic. "We wouldn't say, 'maidenhood'. 'Virginity',
usually."
Inge likewise tried to sound educational. "In Germany
and Nederland and Britain there are many blond people.
Each is one part Norwegian. When the Viking traders made
camp on their shore, the dark girls would come nearby to
wash so that they would be caught. 'Miste dyden,' we
call it. After they struggled and were devirginized,
their people let them return to the camp until they
became pregnant."
"Oh really?" countered Ann from the bottom. "And why is
there so much black hair in Oslo?"
Inge thought. "Because Norwegian girls always love to
holiday in Italy. I did, you know, but found the boys
too rude."
"Italian birth control, maybe?"
Inge tried to pout, but forgot and laughed.
"Inge?" It was harder to talk with a bosom now shushing
her mouth.
"Yes?"
"I don't think you made me pregnant."
Drifting off, Inge as her blanket, Ann remembered on the
opening of a poem,
"There are strange things done in the midnight sun."
Sweden wasn't the poem's Yukon, but was also where the
summer sun set late, rose early and went from twilight
to dawn between. Making love with a girl, covers astray,
was strange, but probably not as much as cremating a
buddy, what the poem was about.
Boys making love had seemed weirder. Maybe not that they
made love, but with Inge watching. Well, Inge was
Norwegian, maybe. Maybe having Norwegian roots was why
Ann went along with it, listened, talked to the boys
after. Was with Inge now.
FRIDAY (Named for the Norse goddess of love, Frija.)
When Inge at last stirred, her arm yet around Ann, Ann
was waiting. Ann stroked the back of Inge's hand. No
response more than the warmth.
Whatever time it was, it was bright thru the window, and
things can seem harsh in full light. Ann pondered.
Should she have sobbed at rape's shame? But Inge even
said it wasn't rape, how a man would rape, anyway. Inge
had wanted to love her.
Perhaps she was supposed to have done for Inge what Inge
did for her. But she didn't know, was confused.
Should she have moaned, "Oh, fuck me, fuck me?" She'd
seen a film where a girl, bound and violated by a
beautiful other, said it for the longest time. It was a
plastic penis and penetration wasn't a special effect.
She'd gone with friends on a lark and returned alone.
But a woman, nattily dressed, sat beside her and asked
her name and Ann had become frightened. Had she answered
even, "Ann", she sensed that the woman would have
offered to buy her a Coke or to meet her for a walk or
something. Ann still remembered the woman's perfume.
Maybe she had done something to deprive Inge of
conquest. She'd fully climaxed last night, but
protracted enough to reward the one who'd worked so hard
for it? Maybe Inge wanted her to taste her fingers
afterwards. What was expected? She'd just thought of her
own needs, nobody else's.
Inge would leave her. Abandoned in a foreign place
wasn't the issue; losing someone who'd loved you was.
But when Ann reached behind to touch Inge's side, warm
still, Inge pulled back just enough for the hand to fall
between until bare Yankee knuckles rested against lacy
Nordic curls. Inge had raised her knee over Ann's hip
and pushed forward, trapping Ann's fist against the bone
under Inge's soft tissue.
Cold fingers in return tweaked Ann's nipple, not in
diameter that much less than the finger that transcended
it. The girls watched it readily harden as it had done
yesterday.
Touch preceded verbalization. Finally, "Inge?"
Inge put her cheek on Ann's shoulder.
"The ferry's not till 2:30," ventured the American.
"Maybe we should not get up this early," agreed her
friend, raking her hair back and pulling the cover tent-
like over their heads. For the first time in their
sojourn, Ann realized, it was truly dark, reminding her
of being in the tent at Campfire Girls, secrets told in
stealth. "Keep doing it," Inge's cloven flesh parting.
Ann hesitated. "They might come in to make the bed or
something."
"The maid knows that we are two girls together on
holiday. She told me of our beach yesterday, to go
there. She will bring us coffee after we are together."
"Inge?"
"Don't stop."
"The way last night, with you on top?"
"That was how you wanted to be with the boys nearby,"
recalled the voice near her ear.
"I tried to lie still on the towel."
"A girl sees." Inge's voice confessed her smile.
"Homosexual boys see too. But you were not ready inside.
Besides, the boys hurried themselves."
"Girls don't have to hurry." Under the comforter, Ann
giggled and kissed Inge on each cheek, her hand gaining
confidence, "Can I teach you a line of a poem about a
cremation?"
"A fire?"
"Yes, about getting warm inside."
"Then of course. So we shall not want this blanket. The
sun is in our window and I too am not yet pregnant."
THE END
Holly on the Web
Wherever you found this story on the web, thank you to
the server. My problem is that I've no systematic way to
update the various servers. As literary errors (or just
poor word usages) are made known to me, I'll repair that
which is salvageable on
http://www.asstr.org/~Holly_Rennick/. My website's not
much graphically, I admit, but HTML isn't my native
language.
You can contact me via the site's message form, that
HTML code by the smart people at ASSTR.
I won't be changing the story significantly, so if you
didn't like it before, that much will remain the same.
But if you did like it, an update may read a bit more
cleanly.
Holly
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Please keep this story, and all erotic stories out of
the hands of children. They should be outside playing
in the sunshine, not thinking about adult situations.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 27