Why does the restaurant have to empty all its old empty bottles in the morning? The sound of glass being thrown into the bin echoes between houses. Makes it hard to sleep. The hammering in your head doesn't make it any better. What a day and evening yesterday!
Yesterday was the end of a long journey. The journey began four years ago, but it was really in connection with the pie throwing, the seminar where everyone had the mission to act as devil's advocates, in March that the misery began. It was probably the worst seminar in the department's history. All the work should have been finished when the thesis was presented to teachers and doctoral students. Of course, it had been daring to use Pierre Bourdieu's The Field of Cultural Production to describe banks' development of products on the Internet, but Fiona had had to rearrange the entire work, as the professor had demanded to let her through. Moving just one part of a thesis means that many references must be redone, and all parts build on each other. Fiona had to move large parts, almost like rewriting the whole thing together. Both the supervisor and the professor were satisfied when they saw the final result.
The opponent, who had come from Oxford, was also very satisfied, having asked some questions and then discussed the content in a positive way. It didn't take long for the examining committee to announce that Fiona could now call herself a PhD. She was one of the youngest graduates in Economic History.
Then came the release, all the excitement she had been living with for the last six months flowed out of her body during the party afterwards. Well, almost anyway. There was still the other need. Left, maybe not the right word, as the need now came out. Fiona needed, she had to get laid. It was a long time ago; the whole body completely boils over. There was nothing after the party, everyone was too drunk and tired. Besides, it was almost all couples, no loose stallions. No one she wanted, anyway.
Outside it is late summer. Okay, early fall then. Fiona feels that she can't stay in bed. She gets up, showers, and gets ready. Puts on a pair of faded, slightly ripped jeans, a white cotton top, which is tight around her small but firm breasts. She turns around in the mirror. Sees that the jeans fit well, highlighting her butt, which is the part she is most pleased with. A pair of white rubber-soled shoes and then her hair in a ponytail, which can be easily removed if she wants to let her hair down.
She goes out into the street, unlocks her bike and cycles the short distance from Karlaplan down to the marina at Djurgårdsbron. Unlocks the gate and puts the bike inside. Goes out on the dock to the apple of her eye, a Chris Craft from 1965, 32 feet long with twin V8s. When the engines have started with the glorious sound that only V8s have, she casts off and slowly creeps out of the dock. She fills up with gas at the gas station on Strandvägen and then leaves Stockholm.
She inherited the boat from her father, along with a large fortune. She was her father's daughter and his death hit her hard. Now she had shown that she could perform, at least academically. She was offered a position at the department as a post-doc with both research and teaching. She had also received a good offer from one of the big banks. She had not yet decided what she wanted to do. She didn't need to work, she had a livelihood, but doing nothing was not her style. She needed challenges.
Right now, the challenge was to find a big beautiful... she didn't usually use the word in her mouth, but she wanted a cock with a big juicy glans. And she knew where to find it.
She thinks of Per at Sandemar outside Dalarö. She and Per had experienced many beautiful, hot moments when they grew up in the archipelago. For Fiona, it was mostly in the summers while Per lived there. His parents had the farm, and he was also going to be a farmer.
They had spent several summers together. Taking the boat and going out to some island in the archipelago, swimming naked and making love in the open air. If anyone saw them, it wasn't their problem. On the contrary, it was part of the excitement. Sometimes they had just turned off the engine out on the water and fucked. It had happened on more than one occasion that another boat had driven up and asked if they had engine problems and needed help. They had politely said that help could be good, but not with the engine. However, no one had taken up the suggestion.
Now she was heading out through the archipelago to Sandemar and hoped that Per was there. They had not been in contact since the pandemic, but Per was always there. Always there to help. And he had the best tool Fiona had ever seen and knew how to use it. Fiona had tried a lot of different things during her years at university, and Per was outstanding. The only problem was that he was not available when he was needed. It had happened before that she had come to him just for sex, and he usually thought it was okay. They were friends, helped each other, liked each other but didn't want a relationship. Now she doesn't just want to see him, now she needs him, like she hasn't needed anyone else before. Except for her dead father, but not in that way.
The weather is calm, the sun sparkles in the small waves on the bay. Almost no other boats are out, it's a weekday and a bit late in the season. Fiona lets the engines run freely; the boat easily reaches 45 knots. She drives on the outside of Dalarö and after an hour arrives at Sandemar. She docks at the jetty she has done so many times before. Then walks up to the big house. Everything seems calm, she sees no one. Per and his father are probably out in the fields.
Up at the manor house she walks around to the front. There she sees a woman sitting with a small child in her arms. Breastfeeding it. She doesn't recognize her but goes over and asks if she knows if Per is home.
"At home? No, he must be out working, he doesn't have time to be at home."
"Oh, sorry, I should probably introduce myself. Fiona Ulfsparre, an old friend of Per's."
"I know very well who you are, Fiona. I am Chania, Per's wife. And if you come as a friend, you're welcome, but if you come for what you used to do, I don't think that's relevant anymore. But that's for him to decide. I don't know when he's coming."
"I had no idea, excuse me. And I must congratulate you. How old is your child?"
"She's three months."
"What's her name?" Fiona asks cautiously. The conversation doesn't feel very good, more like two competitors, neither wanting to give more information than necessary.
"Her name is Elsa."
"Just like Per's mom. Nothing has happened to her, right?"
"You don't seem to have kept up at all. She died a little over a year ago. She and Nils when they collided with an elk. He drove a bit too fast, and they had been at a party a bit away. Per was completely disintegrated. We got married shortly afterwards."
"So, the farm is Per's now? I can understand if he has a lot to do. A big farm and being alone is tough."
"Yes, it is tough. But we have some help, had to hire a help. If the farm is his? Well, some of it anyway. We had to buy out his sister, so half the farm is actually mine, I had the money."
"How sad. Not that you own half, but the whole story with his parents. I knew them well. They were friends of my parents too. My father passed away a while ago and I haven't kept up with the obituaries. I've been too busy with my own. When do you think Per will come back?"
"Shouldn't be too long. We're having lunch in a while, and they usually come then."
"Do you mind if I wait. I don't want to be any trouble." Fiona realizes that she is not welcome to stay. Chania obviously doesn't like her. Per has probably told her about what they have been doing earlier.
"You stay. Per probably wants to see you too. He's talked a lot about you, I know he used to like it when you came. We'll see what he says when he arrives. Should be interesting, hmm."
