A Tiny Saga

A Tiny Saga

This story is fictional. Any relationship to any real situation or person is entirely coincidental.

Prologue

"Sigrun Harpa Sveindottir."

"Is that her real Icelandic name?"

"Sure is."

Grant Shelford, now 75 and having retired that morning was standing with his engineering colleague, some 20 years younger, Laura Sommerville. Retiring because of health he was in the mood for reminiscing. They had always been a little closer than colleagues, more like friends. Don't get me wrong, they had never been lovers, just friends. Despite their friendship Laura had never had this kind of personal conversation with him before and she was fascinated.

Grant was an enigma. He was known by his staff as Brilliant, and he was referred to as Mr. meticulous in the way he went about planning projects. He was not above rolling up his sleeves and being hands on in his work whether it was High voltage systems control to fixing a fuse. But few knew much, if anything about his personal life.

He quietly went about his work, and he expected from his staff the same level of professionalism as he gave. That said, as a boss he was good humored and warm but matter of fact. He would never bully his staff but led by example. His reputation brought many talented engineers into the organization and his inspiration would mean that nobody would jeopardize their position by performing any less than the best of their ability.

"I can see why she took your surname. And you call her Ziggy?"

"When we first married, I used to call her 'Ziggy Stardust.' The Ziggy bit kind of stuck."

"Well, I never knew she was Icelandic. I did think she was Scottish or something, there was always a hint of an accent."

"You can pick it up from time to time especially when she gets excited about something. Usually, she slips in a Nei or a Ja. I doubt whether she has thought in Icelandic for a long time. To the children she is Mamma rather than Mum."

"How did you land an exotic fish like her?"

"Didn't you know? I was in Iceland for a year. I was in Italy for a while but mostly in Iceland."

"What on earth took you there?"

"I had undertaken post graduate study in geothermal generation systems control. They were building their first Geothermal power generating plant and network. It was sort of a sabbatical for me."

"Wow, were you living in Reykjavik? That's the only city I know there really."

"Nup, I was in Akureyri about an hour and a half west of the Geothermal field we were working with. It's a town in a fjord on the north coast. I got the real Icelandic experience there. That's how Ziggy latched on to me, I guess.

She had a twin sister, Ragnheidur. They had both completed language degrees at Reykjavik and were back working in town. After the bright lights of Reykjavik life in gloomy Akureyi was not appealing. Ziggy's sister was teaching but Ziggy was a receptionist at our work and regarded the position as beneath her."

"It's a big jump though emigrating to New Zealand so far from her family."

"Oh, that was easy for her. They only had their mother and Ziggy did not get on with her mother one iota, her sister did. She just wanted to get as far away from Iceland as she could."

"What a shame."

"She liked New Zealand when we arrived. Skiing the volcanos, horse riding. The Plateau reminded her of Iceland."

"What drove her away from her family?"

"It is actually a weird story. You see, she and her sister are fraternal twins. Ziggy is short and busty as you have seen. Her sister is tall and slender. They are both blonde and typically Nordic in looks like their mother, but Ziggy in stature is apparently more like her father's family. Her sister is quite different.

Now this is where the weirdness comes in. I said they were fraternal twins; well, it appears that when Ziggy was about nine or ten her father found out the twins had different fathers; apparently that is possible."

"No! can that happen really? How did they find that out, there was no DNA testing in those days?"

"Blood groups. One parent must have had A and the other B. One of the twins had A, I think, and the other B. That means they must have had different fathers."

"Are you sure that can happen?"

"That's what they believe anyway. The mother must have known I guess, and the father did not find out for years, blew up and vanished."

"Vanished?"

"Nobody knows if he is alive or dead. Just disappeared. Ziggy blames her mother as she was closest to her father. Her sister stands by her mother. None the less Ziggy remained friends with her sister but her relationship with her mother was shocking."

"Just your luck then.

Her sister's name is a bit of a mouthful."

"Could say that. I call her 'Rags.' Sounds a bit rude but she never seemed to mind. Her mother had a long illness, it was a heredity form of Leukemia which her sister eventually died of as well. Rags stayed on to look after her mamma and when she died, she came out to visit us in New Zealand, met and married a Kiwi. They eventually went back to Iceland; unfortunately, he met another Icelandic beauty, and she was back with us. Eventually it was Ziggy looking after Rags as she had done with her mamma."

"Oh, that's tragic."

They stood silent for a while. As Grant told his tale, Laura was aware of the rising emotion in his voice.

Both were standing beside Grant's Lexus. In front of them was a geothermal field supplying steam to a powerhouse about a kilometer away. In front of them a twin barreled silencer close to a well head was belching and billowing steam.

It was a cold grey dismal early spring day; puddles lay around them stained with the pollen from the mass of pine trees to their rear. Grant's mind was back in Akureyi. Without the pine trees this could be Iceland with steam rising here and there in the cool air merging with the low hanging clouds above. There was a sudden ground tremor reminding him of the cauldron that lay beneath both Iceland and New Zealand. Likewise, a cauldron existed metaphorically inside of him, beneath that calm professional façade.

He caught his hand shaking a little, was it age or what?

Laura did not react. Tremors were common here.

Laura broke the silence. "So, you have been married 50 years. It sounds like the perfect marriage. My god that is an achievement. I have gone through 2 husbands and are wondering what's next. I am still looking for a perfect husband just like you."

"Perfect husband... no. I think to have a perfect marriage, you can't be a perfect husband."

"That sounds too deep for me. Would it be rude to ask why you say that?"

"No, that's OK. I cannot tell you much detail, but it really began when Rags was ill. I was largely looking after the kids at that time while Ziggy looked after Rags. It seemed they talked a lot about what they had missed in life. When Rags died Ziggy was devasted. They had been brought up under the strict Icelandic Lutheran Church. Their Mother was a bit of a tartar about it so they both rejected it when I came on the scene. That was until Rags was ill and they joined a local Anglican church. I have a low tolerance of religion in general, but I humored her about it. Unfortunately, the whole church thing created a distance between her and I.

Before our last child was born, I was spending most of my time in the shed working on my cars and stuff while she was socializing with her new church friends and activities. She was constantly nit picking and trying to humiliate me in front of friends. Now this sounds awful, but we simply had no intimate relations since our third child was born. I do have a libido, but no way would I stray or use a prostitute..."

Grant paused, nervous to what he was to say next. "er.. its like this, she caught me masturbating." His voice was quivering. "She had to accuse me in front to my friends, calling me depraved and ungodly. I then tried to get her to go to marriage guidance counsellor. She point-blank refused to go. It continued to go downhill from there, but I don't want to talk about that."

"I'm sorry. You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

"It's Ok. If you don't mind listening to me. I feel the need to talk about it to a woman I can trust, and you really are the only person I could ever talk about this."

"OK, fire away."

"I think that if you don't trust your wife, it is only your commitment that can save your family. Family is everything to me. I don't think Ziggy was ever really in love with me in a romantic way. Certainly, there was lust and later there was attachment but in those early days I was the best catch in Akureyi and a ticket out. How commitment goes is up to you, and what you are prepared to sacrifice.

It got to a point of crisis. I was at the time up here in digs. I was so wound up I had not slept all night and I was sitting on the porch watching the sun rise through the mist. I was listening to some music. I remember the song until this day. I am not one much for music, but I did like David Bowie. It was Warszarwa."

"Oh, it's supposed to be Polish, isn't it? That song is bleak. It's awful?"

"No, I thought of it as the opposite, especially with the sun rising in the mist. After all I had been through, I was depressed and in despair. I took it as me rising from the mist, a song of hope, of new beginnings arising from the bleakness of my life as it had recently been. To me it was a call to arms. I had come to a decision; I now knew what to do."

"....and that was?"

"I'm sorry but that I can't say. Let's just say that as a highly moral man I realized that to save my family I had to do the unthinkable. So, you see I could not be the perfect man, but I saved my family. Ziggy went to counselling on her own initiative. We started a new relationship, even went on to have our youngest daughter. Here we are after 50 years this year, growing old together, in love in our elderly way with four successful children. I only have one regret and that is what I had to do to achieve this."

"If I didn't know you, I would say it was all too good to be true. I take it you discovered the nuclear option?"

"You could say that."

"Well Mr. Meticulous, the silent knight. I think I have learnt more about you in the last few minutes than our entire 20 year working life."

*************

Thirty Years Earlier

Sigrun Harpa Sveindottir. dropped her towel and stood naked before the bathroom mirror. Her sister Ragnheidur had been the tall athletic one. Ragnheidur fancied herself as a Viking warrior princess; Sigrun? An earth mother.

All these years in New Zealand she had been Ziggy, now, at this time, she was Sigrun again for her newfound Church friends. The name Sigrun, was a little more cultured than the Ziggy she had been saddled with since she first emigrated to New Zealand.

Sigrun took pride in her figure that once embarrassed her. Her breasts were large globes punctuated by impressive nipples. They had well-nourished her three children and were a source of wonder for men and women alike.

At 5 foot two tall Sigrun was short and that chest, at 40 inches, was a statement, but her body was well proportioned from her plump globes, down her tummy roll to that fabulous wild unshaven delta flanked by her child rearing hips.

As she contemplated her nude torso, without thinking, she cupped her breasts in her hands, lifting them, let go, leaving them quivering as she pinched each nipple in turn to leave them standing.

She was not one ordinarily given to vanity but for the first time in an age she felt desired not as a mother but for her body.

There was an awakening in her. She was a sexual woman again. Surveying herself, everything was smooth and in place, an achievement for a woman in her early forties. She was desirable. Francis would approve, she thought. Francis was not her husband.

Turning and opening the shower door she manipulated the shower lever until the spray was to her liking and she stepped in relishing the warm pressure across her body.

Her mind was full of Frances Wellford. He was the organist at the church. He was short, not much taller than herself. From that first time she saw him when she entered St Paul's she perceived a similarity to her father as she remembered him. His blonde hair and his boyishness. He must have been at least 10 years younger than her.

It began to be the highlight of the week just to see him there. He was obviously a talented player. She would try and sit in a pew close to him to watch those long delicate fingers manipulating the keys. He would be lost in his playing, never really noticing her.

The loss of her mother and Ragnheidur of the same disease and the protracted nursing of her sister had taken its toll. She had become conscious of her own mortality. Would she fall for the same inherited disease? She returned to the religion of her youth to seek a meaning to it all, but it also brought dissatisfaction in her husband Grant and their life together.

She and Ragnheidur had talked about this at length as Sigrun nursed her. What they had missed, what lives they should have had, as both had been inexperienced when they married. They would both die without having experiencing ecstasy with another man. They had never explored the delights their bodies could bring nor the romance they had read about so avidly in their books and magazines.

Sigrun had never worked outside of home since she married, and her life seemed to have few highlights. It had always been about the children. Her husband seemed to care only for his work and his shed. Whether it was cars, joinery or the house. He silently worked his tasks to perfection.

What he had brought to her house should have been a point of pride, but in fact she was jealous of his skill and industriousness. She was a woman tied to her family, dissatisfied with her lot.

Referring to ancient Icelandic lore, Ragnheidur told her that all these years she had been Frigg the maternal one. She could just remain Odin's wife or she could unshackle herself from her Odin and become a free and sexy Freyja.

All Grant seemed to want from her was sex. He was disgusting. She had willfully withdrawn sex after their last child. She no longer wanted him to touch her. And when she caught him a masturbating, Ugh! He was no longer a man as far as she was concerned, he was just an oaf.

Francis on the other hand was genteel, a keyboard virtuoso of culture and gentleness contrasting with her oafish engineering husband. She thought about Francis day and night. Her infatuation idealized him. She imagined being married to him. Not yet at menopause she imagined the children they could have. They would attend church and pray together. They should even leave New Zealand and return to Europe where people such as they were appreciated.

Under the warm spray she touched her lips. Remembering her first kiss with Francis. She had volunteered to assist with the flower arranging at the church, she would do the floral refresh on the Saturday in time for the Sunday service. This was normally done on Saturday afternoon, but she changed it to Saturday morning because she knew that Francis would be there for his organ practice.

Success! Initially they just talked the time of day at the organ then one day, unsolicited he came and helped her with the flowers in the old refectory. His closeness left her tingling. She invited him to morning coffee afterward. This began a regular thing that sometimes turned into lunch.

They found so much in common. Coincidently his wife had died of leukemia, just as her Mamma and Ragnheidur. He had been born in England, although not Scandinavian he was at least European.

Usually, they didn't touch then one day as they were leaving, he gave her a quick peck on the cheek. This was a first parting kiss which in time began to linger accompanied by a touching of hands.

In the Shower she moved her hand from her lips and lifting her chin and began to caress her neck.

Then there was that day. She had become used to the tension of his closeness when he came to assist her with the flowers but this day, he approached behind her. She could feel his breath on her neck before he touched her there. He caressed her a little before he gently turned her head with those long fingers of his and he kissed her. He was pressing his groin into her, and she could feel his appendage was fully erect and rock hard.

It began with a chaste kiss, but he returned, and he lingered. Then came his tongue. Oh, that tongue. Oh, how long was it since a tongue had entered her mouth like that? She responded, her tongue letting him know that was what she desired.

In the shower she began to soap herself, cascades of suds flowing over her body. She began at the neck imagining it was he, Francis washing her in the shower. She reached her breasts.

That day in the old refectory he cupped her breasts as the continued to kiss her deeply. She had broken away slightly so that she could look down on those gorgeous delicate fingers gently manipulating her pride. She gasped at the sensations welling in her body and open mouthed rejoined her lips to his.

She was now soaping her breasts, soaping them, lifting them and squeezing her nipples. She was becoming aroused, her breath deepening as she became aware of her beating heart. She reached down to her mons just as he had done that day. She began to squeeze just as he had done.

But he had then begun to lift her skirt, and she had stopped him, "No not in god's house, you must visit me at home. I will find away." The words deflated their ardor but now, today was that day and Francis would be arriving soon.

She continued to soap her mons and stomach, finally slipping between her legs pushing her fingers into her cleft beneath her thick honey blonde mass of hair. Finding her clit, she caressed and pinched it increasing in tempo with her heart. She massaged her fleshy tabs that flanked her clit with her soapy fingers then slipped, one, two then three fingers into her dilating vagina. Moving them around and around, telling herself that she needed to be clean but becoming totally immersed in the sensation she was invoking.

With the other hand she soaped her buttocks finding her anus. She entered a finger scrubbing, scrubbing inside and around it. With the soapy manipulation of both openings, she felt her body rising as though her whole torso was about to sneeze one giant orgasmic sneeze and she stopped. She bent over panting. No! Not here. I will do it for Francis when he is here.

Sigrun now knew her sexual awaking was complete. It was as though she was a virgin anew. Her hormones were back and in place. She desired, no craved sex with the object of her infatuation and he would be here tonight.

Leaving the shower, she turned off the lever and reached for the towel. She began to dry off her skin still smarting from her soapy manipulations. She had a new floral blouse, cardigan and skirt for tonight. She would be demure, her blouse buttoned at the neck and clasped with a broach. It was something a sexless librarian might wear. Perhaps on paper not revealing or provocative but she would not be wearing a bra and she would not be wearing panties.

She had planned for this carefully. She had announced to Grant that she was planning on refreshing her own skills on piano and would be taking lessons at home. Grant had thought it was a good idea. He was eager she try anything to assist in raising her from the funk he perceived her to be in.

She would have the piano teacher over on Friday evenings as he had another client up the road. Grant thought it was a good idea for him to meet the piano teacher, so Sigrun invited him to dinner.

It was not a good idea.

She began to talk about her piano teacher with Grant a little too much. When Francis did arrive, she was conscious of Grant watching her like a hawk. She had trouble preventing herself from unconsciously glancing at Francis. She was not very successful.