Scandinavian Birth Control

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 we're 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, Gotland's shore was more rocks 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 departing for a beach not as close as the brochure-hyped

shore of Mediterranean-looking sand. "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 arctic breeze 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 below her 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, tentative 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 touch 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 delayed abandoning the fabric between her legs 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, drawing 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."

"I tried to come for you with the boys."

"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

her friend 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