Authoress note:
Saga learned a new phrase from me the other day: "Chit-chat" she got this thoughtful look on her face after I explained it (by not explaining it, she always has wikipedia open when I'm around), then boldly suggested we replace the 'h' in 'Chit' with 'l', and asked if I wanted to do some 'clit-chat.'
You should have seen how bright red her face turned when she realized how brazen she was being, Saga, my little sex-starved fem.
Well, being a knightess in shining armor, of course I had to oblige a fair damsel's request, and the below, a work 'entirely' of 'fiction' ... 'happened.'
There are study questions following the story for Saga to answer, as, after all, she is this Sweden-famous literary critic ... You, dear reader, can peek at them, too.
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I was bored.
No, seriously, I was bored out of my mind. Back home, everybody was eating turkey and stuffing themselves with stuffing and pumpkin pie, but here in lovely Stockholm, Sweden, (which I'm sure is a beautiful place, I suppose, if it weren't pitch black by 4 pm ... and vampires move to Forks, Washington, why?), they don't have Thanksgiving, and Saga was busy.
She had this big debate she was preparing for at school -- "The brain drain in the Middle East: Is Islam a Factor?" -- and she was sweating it big time, and with good reason. These days, picking a controversial topic like that and wanting to engage in genteel debate, instead of hurling epithets and engaging in demagoguery?
Good luck with that.
Not that I'm not terribly fascinated in the topic myself. Why? Because I'm from my family, and my family always takes on controversy, and dared to speak their mind, regardless, no: despite, what everybody else thinks.
And well, my big brother's Arabic. Half Arabic. And I'm not. So he got all the brains. I mean, the Arabs and the Indians were such innovators in mathematics, and so my brother's like, okay, I'm not supposed to say what he is, but he's on this like think tank and advising, you know, 'important people' in Government on ... 'policy.'
Me, I'm an sbux barista. A failed one. I quit my job last year ... when they found out about what I am. Sbux has a no-discrimination policy for people like me: a girl fag, but that doesn't mean that people don't talk, and tease, and ...
So I quit my job, and now I find myself here. With Saga pouring over her notes, for the 27th time.
Which is my fault. If you are mine, you have to be the absolutely best you you can be, and I do not tolerate you giving anything less than everything of yourself in your endeavors. You sign up for something, like school, then you damn well better give it your all. I expect nothing less than my all from me, and I expect that from you, too.
So Saga has a promise to herself: 'Business before pleasure,' so therefore the intense study session, and not by the stacks in the back of the library, as I'd fancy right now.
Not that Saga's studying Arabic math. I'm her math tutor (among other things), she's focusing on Islam, another terribly fascinating topic for me. I read the Noble Qu'ran once. It was a ... fascinating read: surreal and scary. You're supposed to convert to Islam once you read it.
Not for me, thanks: I'm a little Catholic girl, and ... well, ... if I were a Muslim, the first thing they would do to me would to stone me. "Welcome to Islam, ... oh, you're a lesbian?" Not that they'd do that here in Enlightened Sweden, but I have enough problems going to confession already, and Islam, frankly, doesn't speak to me, it speaks to many people, obviously, but ...
... but anyway.
But I'm fascinated with Arabic culture and Islam, so why am I bored out of my mind, and not helping Saga prepare for her debate?
Well, there's the language issue, first of all. You know the joke, right? It goes like this:
What do you call a person who speaks two languages?
Bilingual.
What do you call a person who speaks three languages?
Trilingual.
What do you call a person who speaks one language?
American.
And me, speaking Swedish? I'd like to say I know a bit of Swedish. Saga and I have been pen-pals for ... wow! almost two years now? More?
But when I say anything in Swedish, the only reaction from Saga is seizures: fits of laughter where I have to pick her up off the floor. I mean, really! I try to say 'Thanks' in Swedish, which is 'tack' but it comes out 'tak' which is Swedish word for 'roof.'
Saga points this out, and I quip right back: "The roof, the roof, the roof is on fire! We don't need no water, let the motherfucker burn! Burn, motherfucker, burn!"
Which, of course, causes another spasm of laughter.
It's recoverable. I know the cure.
Fuck her brains out, right there on the motherfucking floor.
You know when you stop a girl's giggles by sealing her mouth with yours ... and your lips are pressing down on hers? Both of your lips, on both of hers?
Well, the vibrations from the giggles feel really, really good when your clit's rubbing hers. 'Really, really good' as in 'cum in seconds,' and there's nothing like making your top scream one out when she's thrusting on top of giggling you.
That's just a tip for ya there, for future reference.
So, the language barrier. I mean, Saga's sweating bullets, and my help would be to make her laugh deliriously and then fuck her brains out, which, the debate being on Tuesday (or 'Thuesday' as Saga says), that's kinda the opposite of help.
So here I am, reading a scholarly work on early futhark inscriptions, ... it's written in Swedish, and ... well, I'm really pleased when I can pick out a word I understand, which is about every twelfth word ...
... As I said, bored out of my mind.
AND I can't play Guitar Hero. That wouldn't distract her, not at all!
That's irony, by the way.
But worst than that. When I first got here, and I was like 'ooh, you've got Guitar Hero!' and she was so proud to show me how it 'verked' ...
She 'played' a song on Easy. 'Played' as in barely struggled through. Then asked if I wanted to try.
I play Guitar Hero on Hard. I play some sets on Expert.
I said something about being embarrassed. But she pressed, so I said 'no way.' Something like 'no way' I could play like her.
Which was totally true.
And Saga ...
Saga is so ... I mean, she's hard and soft, she's like a mother I never had, like a lover I've never had. She so caring of me, and so sensitive about herself. If I had picked up that guitar, I would've crushed her spirit. And she already has issues around me.
Like, feeling she's too old, feeling she's too stupid, feeling she's no good for me.
Which is all bullshit.
Okay, so she took me to the pool once, and this matron came up to her, and asked if I were adopted.
The Swedish. I swear to God. They all feel they have a right to tell you how to live your life by 'oh, but I was just asking.'
So what if I look (barely) 14. So what if she's over 30. I'm of age. So is she. She picked me, and I picked her, that's good enough for us, so everybody else can go take a long hike off a short pier.
And her being stupid?
Okay. I'm a writer. Fine. I'm in Mensa. Fine, our family is, too, and deal with that. And I write awesome stuff (humble much, 'phfina? Yup, thanks for asking, Ms. Muse), but Saga?
I fell in love with her. And how? Because when she wrote to me about what I wrote, she saw things in what I wrote that nobody else did. And 'nobody' includes me, too.
And she thinks she's stupid.
If I could, I would fuck the 'stupid' out of her brain, and, Heaven knows, I try, very hard, every day, to do just that.
Besides, a girl can't go to school with her morning tea and toast and a Good Morning fuck to get her out of bed all bright and motivated for the coming day, right?
Works for me. Or 'verks' for me.
And, coming home from school, well, there's got to be a reason to come home, right? And a good job at school needs to be rewarded, with gnocci in a red sauce with meatballs, and ...
Well, as Saga told me, 'Fuck the gnocci; I think I'll fuck you instead!'
And people wonder how I keep my girlish figure and good muscle tone.
'It's DDR,' I tell them. And that's true, too: I have to work out every day to keep that girl satiated.
Because an unsatiated Saga is a terrifying thing to contemplate.
That girl is insatiable, by the way.
I'm not complaining, in case you're wondering.
Nor am I, for that matter. I mean I am insatiable.
It's a curse. Particularly now, when all Saga wants to do is to study, and all I want to do is fuck her brains out, ... and I have to be a good girl.
I really, really have to be a good girl.
I peek over the top of the book of blurred-together words. I'm reading about the Rök runestone, but that can wait until later.
"How's it going?" I ask.
It's like 8 p.m., and It's not like she hasn't been studying all day, or anything.
"Hmmm? Fine." she responds distractedly, not even looking up from her notes.
Obviously it's not fine. And the last thing she 'ate' was a croissant with her tea at 4 pm. I say 'ate' because she left it aside, complaining of nausea.
Ridiculous, a person worrying herself sick over school and grades, and what other people think of her? I mean, seriously, it's just a fucking grade on a fucking piece of paper. Who goes nuts like that of something so meaningless?
Well, besides myself, obviously, who can't even leave her own flat in America to walk to work, scared sick that someone may look at her and say hello. Who raced through high school and college, and almost committed suicide, twice, because of stupid, fucking grades.
And then there was that whole six months when little miss lesbian had a nervous breakdown and ended up hospitalized because she couldn't answer a stupid question in class.
There was some homelife issues, perhaps with Dad leaving Mom, as he is wont to do when a daughter reaches puberty (so who's fault is it that Dad left us? Mine. That's what I said to myself over and over every time I looked in the mirror), but so what? Lots of kids come from divorced families, only one flames out like 'phfina does, so damn sensitive, and blaming herself for everything that happens around her.
I pity Saga, having me to look after. I warned her about me. And it's not that she doesn't have enough to worry about already, but adding me to her list?
What is she? Florence Nightingale?
But Saga is Saga, so damn insistent and stubborn: 'I'll have you as long as you'll have me,' she says, and how can I refuse her ... well, anything, even if that anything is 'me.'
And those big puppydog pleading eyes of hers really shortcircuit my brains. I tend to stop thinking and start fucking any and every part of her that I can get a hold of.
And it's hard to say, 'Save yourself and turn me away,' when you're cumming hard on her butt cheeks and into ass crack, rubbing her clit and grabbing that globe of flesh you're going to be suckling at as she rocks you to sleep.
Fuck. 'Mommy time.' I'm wet now.
I'm wet. And she's going to be up all night, wasting away from worry over her debate that i know she's going to ace, anyway.
