Swedish Stories

Chapter 1

Sandra felt David's gaze as she struggled to lift herself out of the pool. It was a maneuver impossible to perform elegantly and she felt silly knowing he was watching her. She fixed her hands on the edge, paused for a moment, dipped slightly, then heaved herself up out of the water swinging her right leg over the side. After some hesitation, she brought up her left knee and poked it across the blue tiles eventually gaining purchase. She winced slightly as the small ceramic squares pressed into her bony joint, caught her balance, then stood upright.

Thrusting her head forward, she grabbed a clump of hair dangling in front of her face then squeezed out a mass of water that plopped onto the pool deck. David watched the silver rivers stream down the contours of her body. Her breasts swayed like two ripe pears.

"Ouch, it's hot!" she cried out lifting-up on to the balls of her feet leaving behind a trail of wet footprints that evaporated immediately.

"Quick, quick," David said offering her his hand.

With the steadiness of his hand, she lay down on the sunbed where she wiggled around to get comfortable. After adjusting the towel underneath her legs, she rubbed the bottom of her scorched feet. Beads of water slid down the swell of her stomach and pooled into her belly button. After studying the tiny drops twinkling from the ends of her pubic hair, she ran her fingers through the translucent gold thatch then flicked some water at him.

"You're laughing at me. Stop it!" she said.

"I'm not laughing at you, you're beautiful."

"Why do you have to be so condescending whenever something bothers me? It's like you don't take me seriously."

"It's beautiful here," he said lying back and changing the subject. "So much warmer than Sweden."

Sandra did not answer, letting his comment fall between them where it was smothered by her silence. "This villa we picked is a winner," she replied after some time.

"Yes, just like in the ad. Sometimes you never know when you book these things."

The pale nub of his penis poked through a mass of darkish brown hair, which she tried to avoid looking at. "Are you sure no one can see us?" she asked.

"I'm quite sure of it. Just look around," he said pointing to the lush greenery around the property that appeared to obscure the view of any neighbors. The villa sat atop a ridge and the only opening around the property was as a gap between the trees on the opposite end of the pool offering a glimpse of the remote brown-scrubbed countryside. There were purple-colored hills off in the distance.

"Okay, I guess you're right, but I can't help but think someone is watching us."

"There's nobody watching us," he insisted.

"I still feel creeped out."

"Loosen up, we're on vacation."

"Easy for you to say." Sandra lay back and closed their eyes. With the force of the sun radiating her face, she dozed off.

She did not know how long she had slept when her eyelids opened alerting her to David's stare. She grabbed a piece of towel that hung over the edge of the sunbed and flipped it over her crotch.

She thought about their relationship and how it was all happening so fast. It was only four months ago when they first met in their master's thesis seminar at the University, and now they were sunbathing nude together in the south of France. They were both virgins, and their first attempts at sex were awkward and cumbersome. One night, after about a month into their relationship, they went back to Sandra's second-floor apartment after a night of studying in the library where she led him into the bedroom. After a few minutes of passionate kissing, they struggled out of our clothes and fell on her bed where she guided him into her.

She bit her lip against the pain.

David kept slipping out of her, unable to meet her rhythm, and his erection started to fade.

She reached down and grabbed his softening member and inserted it back into her. He grabbed her buttocks and she groaned at his thrusts.

"Don't come inside me, okay?" she whispered. Almost as if on cue, he pulled out of her spilling his seed on the flower-patterned sheet leaving a large sticky pool between her legs.

Sex continued like this for the rest of the term, quick sessions in her apartment after a long night of studying. Then, on a windy March night while nestled tightly against his side, she whispered into his ear, "Let's go away together after graduation." She rubbed her left foot up and down his calf while playing with his wilted member. He smiled at her and kissed her softly on the lips.

After some internet searches they found a private villa with its own pool on the French Côte d'Azur in a small town called Ponsot. It felt perfectly natural for them to use an advance from their families' graduation money to book the trip. David had managed to win the affection of Sandra's parents with his innocent charm when she brought him home with her to Örebro one weekend. And the fact that he insisted on clearing their driveway early Sunday morning with their snowblower after the Saturday night snowstorm, which the four of them watched through the large picture window while nursing gin and tonics, solidified their approval.

When they arrived in Nice, they took a cab to Ponsot, where they were given a quick tour of the villa by their middle-aged landlady named Margarite, then started the process of getting settled in. With sweat starting to pour from their bodies, it was time to hit the pool. When Sandra pulled her black bikini from her suitcase, David told her to forget the suit. After some initial hesitation, she peeled off her clothes, then followed him to the pool.

When she propped herself up on the sunbed his thickening penis was coming to life through its hairy nest. She walked over to him and he sat up pressing his lips to her belly marking a trail of small kisses. The feeling of his mouth on her burning skin urged her to lean into him and run her fingers through his hair. When he pulled his tongue away, wet rings of saliva circled her belly button. He leaned all the way back while she swung one leg over him and lowered herself onto his face where he lapped away at the pungent musk between her legs. She started to grind on his face with gyrating hips smearing her juices across his mouth, nose, and cheeks. She reached around and tried to stroke his penis arching up towards his belly, but the effort pulled her away from his face.

"Let's go inside," she said.

They entered the small sitting room, passed the white canvas sofa with two square black-lacquered tables in front of it, and ended up in the bedroom.

Standing next to the bed, Sandra took his tongue deep into her mouth and felt the stiffness of his prick pressing up against her belly. Then, in one move, David pulled her down with him onto the bed and started to kiss her neck and shoulders. He worked his way down her chest to her hardening nipples, then lingered there for a while taking each one into his mouth filling the room with the sounds of his sucking. He made the rest of the trip down the undulating landscape of her body eventually discovering the wetness of her sex.

He alternated between long slow strokes up and down her vulva with quick fluttering licks across the tip of her clitoris. The bedsheet started to pull off the corners of the mattress as she grabbed two handfuls of the fabric and clutched them close to her body. Just as she was losing herself in the pleasure of it, he stopped.

Sandra looked down and saw David's head rise from between her legs. His eyes had a wild look she could not comprehend. They seemed to be looking past her, fixed on something that only he could see. He grabbed her by the hips then flipped her around on to her stomach.

"What are you doing?"

He did not answer.

He raised her up on all fours then from behind, she heard the furious cracking sound of his fingers plunging in and out of her. It got quiet then she felt the tip of his cock rub up and down the entrance of her vagina and up over her anus.

"Please don't, not in there," she begged him.

Without saying anything, he brought his member back down into the area of her moist slit and slid into her like she was jelly. The swell of her sex wrapped around his cock and he grabbed her hips pushing himself hard into her. It was the first time he ever took her from behind.

He started to pump his hips with an ever-increasing fury bringing her with him into a newly discovered space of physical pleasure. She fixated on the sound of his balls slapping up against her.

"Fuck me, David! Fuck me!"

"Oh God, Sandra, it never felt this good before." His voice was shrill, almost like he was crying.

Sandra arched her back offering herself fully to him then rubbed her clitoris trying to match his pace. Chlorine-smelling sweat poured off their bodies. With the muscles in her arms burning, she dropped down onto her elbows forcing her rear end up the air. David grabbed ahold of her buttocks and spread them apart. Sandra winced as he stuck one of his fingers into her anus.

"Please, don't do that."

He took his finger out of her, then grabbed her hips and started to fuck her harder. The sound of their skin clapping together took over the room. "Let me know when you're going to come," She told him. "I want to come when you do."

"Almost now. Oh God, right now."

When Sandra felt his cock spasm inside her she imagined his torrent of sperm floding her insides, filling the cavity of her uterus, and triggering the surge of orgasm. Loud shrieks pierced the air; startled, she did not realize they were hers—primordial instincts released by the raw intensity of sex. With the last swells of pleasure squeezed from their flesh, they collapsed onto the bed and fell immediately into a deep sleep.

Chapter 2

A soft breeze blew through the window bringing with it the smell of lemon and figs. Sandra stirred, then slowly freed herself from the tangled sheets spotted by the spoor of their lovemaking. Finding David's arm, she ran her fingertips up and down the small bumps on his skin raised by the draft circulating around the room. He pulled her close and kissed her with stale breath. She reached for his swelling member and rubbed her thumb over the cleft of the tip. He caressed the top of her head and she knew what he wanted her to do.

"No" she said. "I'm not ready for that yet."

"But, I do it to you."

"I know, I just can't right now. Give me time."

He brought her face up to his and kissed her long and hard. She climbed on top of him and slid down slowly onto his prick. He played with her breasts as she rocked back and forth. It didn't take long for them to come. She fell forward onto his chest, her hair in his face.

"We need to get stuff for dinner tonight," Sandra said to David after some time and noticing the deepening sunlight coming through the windows.

"Yeah, I suppose we should. Want to walk down into town and see what we can find?"

"Sure, let's get going before it gets too late." Sandra pivoted off the bed and start to get dressed.

They started their descent down the winding road leading into town, their footsteps growing heavier with fatigue from having to constantly brace their thighs against the forward motion as they navigated the steep slope.

"This is harder than walking uphill," Sandra called out.

"We're almost there," David answered.

A narrow sidewalk ran along the length of the road framed by a decrepit stone wall about waist high forming a barrier between them and the scrubby green landscape below. Gray brick houses with weathered tile roofs sat amongst green hedges and rows of gnarly grape vines. They watched an old man in white tank top prune a scraggly old tree while standing on a creaky old stepladder. His straw hat was something out of a Van Gogh painting. After making a hairpin turn onto the main road, they felt the sudden relief of flat ground as the tension released in their burning thighs. Sandra twisted her sweaty feet inside her foam sandals.

They finally reached their destination, the town of Ponsot, a small coastal town of narrow streets and crowded shops teeming with tourists. The late afternoon sun grazed across the rooftops blanketing the alleyways in shadow while sun-worshippers, mostly Northern Europeans, retreated to the fountain in the square catching the last remaining rays of the day. Others huddled around small metal tables, shopping bags at their feet, underneath canvas marquees that swung down from the stone facades to sip coffee or drink their beers. A woman with a fluffy white dog stopped to look at the menu written in white chalk on a blackboard easel. It told of dishes scribed in both French and English that neither Sandra not David recognized. They continued down the crowded street.

"I could go for an ice cream," Sandra said turning to David.

"Shall we eat dinner here in town, or cook at home?"

"It's too early to eat out at a restaurant. People don't eat until late here, I was thinking about an ice cream to hold us over so we can shop for dinner without dying."

"Sounds good, let's grab one," David agreed.

The crowd was thickening in the narrow streets, tourists and locals finishing up a day's shopping now seeking tables in the various cafes. Pushing through the crowd they passed a table of pink-faced Englishmen sitting around a small table close to the street. The table-top was packed with an army of empty beer bottles, indicating they had been there a while. Sandra looked around, there were retired couples shuffling along, men in their untucked plaid shirts and khaki shorts and wives in polo shirts and white shorts. She watched with interest the young families with children; the parents pushing strollers ignoring their exhaustion. Sandra fixated on a mother in a gray sleeveless dress. Long blonde hair, streaked with black, fell over her tan shoulders in tight waves. She was blonde, not the creamy kind of blonde like a Swede, but a different kind that only hinted at blondeness. A blondeness streaked by the dark strands of the Mediterranean with all its intrigues and secrets; a tempting and appealing darkness that Sandra though contrasted with her own fair-haired Scandinavian innocence. Holding a sippy cup, the mother said something in French to a toddler walking at her side. The father, dark complexioned, dark-haired and wearing black sunglasses, added a comment which seemed to placate the child. The mother handed the sippy cup to the child, reached into a small purse and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. She pulled a thin white stick from the pack, put it to her lips, then lit the tip while cupping her hands; an act that she performed effortlessly in one continuous motion. The woman looked up at Sandra as if suddenly conscious of her stare. Instead of retreating, Sandra looked back at her with a slight smile. The woman followed Sandra with her eyes while expiring a wispy stream of smoke through open lips.

"Look, there's a place up there," David said breaking her spell.

"Where?"

"Right up there to the left," David said pointing to the sign that said Cascade des Glaces hanging above a maroon marquee stretching over an outdoor seating area alive with customers.

"Let's go," Sandra answered.

A teenaged girl in a black bandana filled massive waffle cones from brown cylindrical tubs behind a glass counter then presented them to anxious customers with a smile masking fatigue. Sandra watched her skinny arm dig with a metal scoop at the goopy ice cream and sympathized with her repetitive labor. When it was their turn, Sandra ordered a scoop of a la fraise and a scoop of banane and David two scoops of au café.

They found a seat crammed in between another young couple and a large party of loud Germans.

"This is really good, how's yours?" David asked her after taking a few licks off the top.

"Really creamy," she answered.

"And filling," he added.

"This should hold us over for a while until dinner I would think."

Sandra looked over at the couple seated next to them, a pair who appeared to be somewhere in their thirties. The man was dressed in a tight white t-shirt and pale jeans revealing a slender build, not athletic, but well-shaped nonetheless. He wore a pair of tan canvas shoes, his exposed sculpted ankles presenting themselves which Sandra thought to be oddly attractive. The woman, also dressed in jeans and a white t-shirt, had light brown hair framing a wide face and dark eyes which Sandra thought to be distinctly French. In front of them sat two empty glass dishes streaked with the white and brown residue from their ice cream. Sandra tried to imagine them having sex. She was certain they were more experienced than her and David. Was it because they were French? She assumed they started exploring with sex at a younger age. She heard about the French. She tried to picture his penis, a large, thick French penis, how it must hang limp like a fat deflated sausage, and how it would grow in response to her touch. She sucked him no doubt. She pictured her wide mouth opening and wrapping itself around his stiffening prick. She knew exactly what to do, and he knew exactly how to please her, where to touch her, and how to fuck her. Fuck, it was an ugly word, a vulgar word, a word Sandra always refrained from using when thinking about the act of sex. But that is what he did to her, he fucked her. He fucked her hard and fucked her French. But it was fucking not in a vulgar way, she was sure, but an impassioned act of give and take. Wild and furious leaving them both sated. It was a natural act, as natural as eating and sleeping, and as instinctive as the passion that fueled it. She was sure of it.

"Shall we go?" David asked Sandra as she finished chewing the last bit of cone. He had been watching her the past few minutes, noting her distance.

"Sure."

"Everything okay?" he asked.

"I'm fine, just a little tired. Let's go."

They found a small grocery and filled the beach bag Sandra's brought with some basic items for a couple quick dinners, a loaf of bread, condiments, a bottle of wine, and a couple beers. After checking out, they headed back up the hill where they arrived back at the villa sweaty and famished.

Chapter 3

Dinner that night was pasta with roasted red peppers and garlic, drizzled with olive oil and topped with fresh basil, which they cooked together. The wine pleased them, spicy and red. They didn't recognize the grape, but it went perfectly with the food. When the dishes were done, it was dark. With only the rectangular glow of the pool to accompany them, they sat outside and held hands.

"Do you think the French are different than us?" she asked.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, the way they live. The food, the wine, the climate and beautiful landscape. It is all so sensual, do you think it shapes who they are, the way they think."

"I'm sure it does," he replied. "They're very emotional, but they seem to know how to enjoy life."

"And we're so square, always so practical and worrisome about things."

"Do you wish you were French?" he asked.

"Stop it. There you go again. Can't you just empathize with me for once and stop brushing me off. I just think we should be able to share our feelings with one another."

"Sorry."

"Not everything I say has to be a big deal. I just want to have a conversation with you."

"But I agree, it is more in their culture that allows them to enjoy the finer things in life."

With David's last comment they fell silent, the only sounds being the occasional rustling of the nighttime wildlife stirring in the vegetation around them.

"Do you think they are good at sex?" she suddenly asked.

"What kind of question is that?"

"I don't know, it seems to be their reputation anyway. I was just wondering if it were true," she answered.