Eria

Please don't reproduce this copyrighted work without written permission.

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Another note of personal thanks to Bernard Lyons, a dear friend in Dublin, Ireland who provided me with his generous and timely editorial insight. Thanks B!

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Characters identified in this script are of legal age, but may portray maturing young adults. This is a work of adult erotic fiction and contains descriptions of sexual acts between consenting adults. If you're under the age of consent where you reside, delete this file immediately. If it is illegal to obtain adult literature where you reside, delete this file immediately.

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This is the first in what may (or may not) be a series of stories involving one of the central characters from the Jordan series. If you haven't read any of the installments in that series, I recommend you do so first, since it will help you better know the characters.

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Just a final comment about the sex scenes and other relevant stuff. If you’re searching for a story that’s full of non-stop sexual activity on every page with very little plot or character development, this story will probably not appeal to you. I write erotic stories about women loving and caring for other women. The characters in the story are portrayed in great detail and the story line – not the sex, is what it’s really all about. If that’s why you’re here, then I believe you will enjoy the story.

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With total clarity I can recall the day my father initially brought up the notion of moving to America. At first I thought that I had died and I was going to heaven.

It wasn’t that I didn’t love my native country. But it seemed the more I thought about it, there just wasn’t a tremendous amount of potential for a young gay female living on an island about the size of Kentucky, that had an average annual temperature of about 42º F and that was situated in the North Atlantic, one of the harshest oceans on the planet.

My name is Erika Einarsson and I was born eighteen years ago in Keflavik, Iceland. I was my parents’ only child and just like all daughters, I thoroughly enjoyed being the center of attention all the time, as well as being spoiled rotten by my father. I loved him dearly and I guess secretly I always envied my mother.

As with most Icelanders, we’re able to trace our family’s history back to the original Celtic and Norwegian settlers who arrived in the early tenth century A.D., although why anyone ever wanted to settle on the island has always remained a bit of a mystery to me. The country virtually has no trees, it’s covered by volcanoes and glaciers and the summers are marked by nearly unbroken daylight, while conversely the winters are comprised of nearly total darkness. Just think for a moment about the havoc that would reek on your biological clock, not to mention your typical North American sleep patterns.

For more than fourteen years my father had been the head of the Oncology Department at the National University Hospital in Reykjavik, with a tenured faculty appointment at the University of Iceland’s Medical School. At six feet, four inches tall, with light brown hair graying slightly at the temples and wire-rim glasses over a usually predictable stern expression, he always appeared much more like a professor to me than a father when he was outside of our house. However, when he crossed that threshold at home by the end of the day, he always remembered to leave that detached persona at the door.

Around our home my father was a kind hearted and thoughtful man who frequently provided medical care to anyone in our neighborhood without any expectation of payment. But outside that little neighborhood his reputation was well known all over the continent and he was frequently invited to speak at the most prestigious medical schools and conferences about his tremendous strides in cancer cell research. It was eventually that research that resulted in our move to the United States and for the first year we were here I made a point of thanking him every single day.

Living on a small island of about three hundred thousand people has its pros and cons. I was always aware that I was attractive and I guess for the most part that was certainly a pro. But the truth was, I knew I was not that terribly different from many of the other women in my age group. I’d heard that the mainland Europeans had a saying about our country that went something like this: if you throw a rock you’re likely to hit at least five blue-eyed blonds and four of them would be beautiful. Of course, for me percentages like that was definitely a con.

My day-to-day existence on our little island remained fairly unremarkable until I finally turned twelve years old. That was the year that I started to develop my feminine shape and develop it I did. By the end of the year I was looking more like an eighteen year old than most eighteen year olds and certainly much older than my peers. It was also during that time that my secret weapon that had remained dormant during those many years began to finally emerge. That secret weapon happened to be none other than Kristinn Einarsson, my mother.

My father met and married my mother when he was in his last year of medical school in Oslo, Norway. At the time she was barely nineteen and was already one of the most popular commercial models in Scandinavia.

Like all great love stories, my mother willingly gave up everything she had accomplished to be my father’s loving and devoted wife and from the colorful stories told to me by my grandparents it seemed as if she never really missed it.

When I was a very young girl my mother would often take me aside and show me the many photographs her parents had collected of her during her nearly five year career. Like most young females, I was in awe of such things and I was suitably impressed by her many accomplishments. I felt truly blessed that such a beautiful woman was my mother.

It was easy to see why my mother was so popular during her career. At six feet tall, with long flowing platinum blond hair, beautiful blue eyes and high cheek bones, the woman was absolutely stunning. How my mother could ever think that I could look that incredible had always been a mystery to me, but to my surprise her years of infinite patience would finally be rewarded.

In retrospect, I can see she always hoped that one day I would follow in her footsteps and perhaps even achieve the measure of success she had walked away from to marry my father. I suspect that every morning she would awaken hoping to see something finally emerge in me that she would quickly recognize as ‘the look.’

Of course, at twelve years old I had absolutely no idea what ‘the look’ was and whether I had it or whether I even wanted it, but I knew that something had caused my mother to wake up one day and suddenly spend thousands of kronur – sorry, that’s Icelandic money, to create an impressive portfolio of me. Within a week she had taken that rather thick packet of 18” x 24” glossies of me in various stages of dress and undress to London to meet with interested executives of the Elite Agency. I think it’s safe to say that from that day forward my whole world began to change and the innocent girl I once was would never be again.

Two years later my name was listed each month in the industry magazines as one of the top ten models in Europe. Amazingly, I was earning more money in two months than my father typically earned in an entire year trying to save humanity. I suspect that’s a rather sad commentary about the world in general, but I won’t complain too loudly.

By the time I turned fifteen I had more than one hundred magazine covers to my credit, dozens of product endorsements and I began doing television commercials in London and runway modeling in Paris. I was being booked at such an incredibly demanding pace that the entire lifestyle was no longer much fun for me, but it didn’t escape my attention that the more hectic things seemed to get, the more my mother seemed to be in her element.

By this time she had needed to hire a personal tutor for me, because as you might imagine I was no longer able to balance my demanding shooting schedule with my school schedule. That year I spent more that ten months on the continent and I even went eight months without ever seeing my father, which left me feeling terribly sad and a little depressed. If money was the sole determining factor for measuring success as a model, then that year was my most successful in the industry by far, as I earned the equivalent of six million American dollars.

Sadly, the more pleased my mother became over my burgeoning success, the more it seemed to take its toll on me. She became committed to keeping me focused on my career to the exclusion of everything else, and that included discouraging my repeated efforts to try and enlist her in any discussion about going to college and then eventually on to medical school like my father. She grew very displeased whenever I entertained such wistful notions, calling them foolish and an utter waste of my god-given looks and abilities.

In retrospect, it was also clear that she really enjoyed returning to celebrity status, even if it was in the role of my manager. I was beginning to suspect that she could never again be happy returning to the more sedate and normal life she had with my father before this fairy tale began and that made me even sadder.

That particular year will always remain fixed in my memory because of several incidents that occurred which would forever change everything in my world.

Early in the year my mother was killed by a relentless fan while I was shooting a commercial in Amsterdam. After returning to Iceland to bury her, and after grieving her loss for several weeks with my father, I was left alone to complete an arduous shooting schedule that my mother had negotiated for me only several months prior to her death. By the time I had been to fourteen countries in just twenty-one days I was convinced that she had truly been the more fortunate one of the two of us.

According to local police reports it was never clear whether the man was actually stalking me or my mother and I guess in the end that didn’t really matter, since she happened to run into him first. I loved my mother dearly and I miss her every single day, but I always wished that she didn’t push me into that career as hard as she did during those earlier years; it might have all turned out so differently.

My fifteenth year was very special to me for another, much more personal reason. That was also the year I refer to as my period of sexual awakening.

It seemed that after a number of delightful and incredibly satisfying encounters with three other international models hailing from France, Italy and Russia, I came to the unwavering conclusion that I definitely preferred female company to that of men. Of course, the operative word was ‘preferred.’ I really wasn’t exactly certain whether I was gay or merely bisexual, but since I was getting more than my fill of models to satisfy me, I was in no real rush to reach that ultimate determination any time soon.

Without hesitation I can say that up to that point, no other revelation had ever impacted my life as much as the one concerning my sexual orientation. As time went on my sexuality became an important part of who I was and who I would become and I’ll certainly talk much more on that rather spicy topic shortly.

Anyway, I continued dutifully meeting all my professional obligations and then halfway into the following year, about a month before I celebrated my sixteenth birthday in late July, my father telephoned me just as I was finishing up a three-day photo shoot in Greece to ask me if I would like to accompany him on his relocation from Iceland to America.

I never imagined my father would consider leaving his home and the University, so the question took me totally by surprise. I didn’t need any time to make up my mind, however, and I immediately jumped at his offer. Two days later I caught a Lufthansa flight to Berlin and then a most familiar Icelandair jet the rest of the way home.

I knew that the dreadful job of packing or storing everything that we owned in preparation for the move across the ocean was awaiting me once I finally arrived, but I did not seem to mind it too terribly. I was more excited than I could ever remember being during any other time in my life.

Unfortunately, the relocation to the U.S. did not mean a nice clean break from my modeling career. There were still dozens of assignments that I was committed to for the next eighteen months, but when the contract with Elite finally expired before the beginning of my senior year it was an easy decision not to renew it. Now, for better or worse, I simply became just another high school student living in Houston, Texas, a place with more than twenty times the population of Icelandic.

Although I had certainly heard of Texas before, I had never heard of Houston prior to our move, so one day I decided to look it up on the internet. Within minutes I knew that I was living approximately 3,900 miles from Keflavik, Iceland as the crow flies.

‘As the crow flies’ was a rather curious expression that was actually taken verbatim from that website and I found it totally unbefitting my own situation. There are not a tremendous number of birds on our island anyway, and there are definitely no crows. Furthermore, I suspected that no self respecting crow probably would ever choose to live in Iceland either, so the metaphor was totally lost on me.

Between the use of a tutor and the fact that the school system in Iceland is just different enough to have caused problems for me, it was decided by all-knowing school district officials, who repeatedly claimed to have the best interest of the child at stake, that I was to be enrolled as a sophomore at Memorial High School at the commencement of the next term. That decision was made with me sitting alone in the school district office surrounded by three ISD officials and my father conferencing in from somewhere in the medical center via the telephone. I realized that it was the shape of things to come for me with my father’s new position.

Initially I felt I should have been classified as either a senior or at least a junior, but I seemed to be the only one in attendance championing my cause. My courses in math and the sciences had all been advanced and my scores were always perfect in all of my classes. And if that wasn’t enough, my I.Q. had been recently tested at 179 and I spoke four languages fluently and I was working on a fifth, thanks largely to the hands-on tutoring I was receiving from Sasha, the Russian model I had gotten to know all too well.

Despite those lofty accomplishments, however, school officials weren’t swayed. I think that my age might have actually had something to do with it. Anyway, I think I would have considered finishing secondary school with my tutor back in Europe if it hadn’t been for Lisa Cruz. Lisa was the first person I met when I arrived in this country and we developed an instant attraction for each other. It just so happened that she was also going to be a sophomore, so I finally relented. That was when I began to settle into life in America.

Beautiful Lisa and I had a wonderful monogamous relationship for my first two years in Houston. It was my first monogamous relationship with any woman, as well as hers, and we grew very close during that time and she was a tremendous help getting me fully acclimated to the area. She even helped me pick out and furnish our new house and was also going to help me find a housekeeper, since my father never seemed to have the time for such trivial concerns. Things were moving along so well that after our junior year I actually thought that I might be falling in love with her.

Ironically, my mother used to tell me that “allt gerast fyrir a ástæða.” For those of you who aren’t fully conversant in Icelandic, she said that everything happens for a reason. It was about that time that Lisa surprised me when she told me that although she really loved me, she also wanted to see other people.

At first I was terribly disappointed and not sure that I wasn’t going to start crying my eyes out in front of her. But after a few minutes I regained my composure and I was finally okay with it. Sure, it was the first time I heard that from anyone, but I knew that Sasha was only a plane ride away. So at the beginning of our senior year we went forward in what I referred to as a part-time relationship of mutual convenience.

Initially, I felt awkward about our new relationship, but when school finally started it wasn’t hard to see that there were also many benefits to it. I still had Lisa all to myself anytime I wanted her, but I also became much more familiar with the world around me and I realized there were so many wonderful opportunities out there.

So even though I may share with you some of the things we do together, this story isn’t really about me and Lisa. For the most part it isn’t even about me and Jordan, although I have to admit that our times together would certainly make for some very interesting reading as well. This story is about me as I continue to mature as a woman. So strap yourself in, keep at least one hand free, and enjoy the ride.

If you don’t already know me from one of Jordan’s earlier descriptions, let me tell you that I'm approximately 186 centimeters in height, which translates into about 73 inches, more or less. I usually weigh about 58.5 kilos or just under 129 pounds and my weight never varies by more than 2.5 pounds in either direction.

I was fortunate to get my mother’s crystal blue eyes and long platinum hair which is very thick and has a soft, natural curl to it. I like to keep it long and at the present time it falls just past my breasts. I really love it when I’m naked and my hair completely covers my breasts in the most sensual and seductive manner.

My measurements are 34.5-23-33, and I have a natural ‘D’ cup size. I normally have very little body hair anyway, but what little I did have in my pubic area I had removed through electrolysis in Copenhagen. It was pricey and it even hurt a bit, but you never have any unsightly stubble or razor burn to worry about ever again. For those female readers who give that little thing a frequent work out either alone of with a partner, I highly recommend it.

I maintain a strict exercise regimen and I did so before I started my modeling career. That typically includes running sixteen kilometers or the equivalent of about ten miles a day, not less than six days a week. My running is supplemented by a fairly rigorous weight program designed to maintain my legs and upper body. I like the firm look on me, but I have no desire to start building muscle mass, which normally attracts the wrong kind of females for my personal taste. Sorry ladies, I’m not trying to offend anyone, but I really want my women to look, dress, act and smell like women.

I have multiple body piercings, which were more the result of too much time on my hands between multiple day shoots, rather than a desire to mutilate my body. In each ear I usually wear two diamond studs and a large four inch gold hoop. I have a much smaller three-quarter inch gold hoop in the top of my left ear that I added on a whim.

My tongue is also pierced and everyone seems to think that it improves kissing a thousand percent. I don’t disagree with that at all, but it also works wonders when I slowly drag it across a sensitive clit.

I also have a one inch gold ring through my clitoral hood and believe me when I say that it intensifies the pleasure for me by tenfold. I’m still undecided about my nipples, mainly because I think it would be painful as hell whenever they get caught on my tops.