Scandiivian Birth Control

SCANDINAVIAN BIRTH CONTROL

by Holly Rennick

TUESDAY, named for Tiu, Norse god of war

I looked at the bed, then back at Inge. The blue comforter gave a fjord setting to the headboard carved with swans, perhaps, but it was a double, not two twins. Maybe here in Sweden they don't have twins.

For travel tips, I'd contacted my cousin Inge -- whatever kind of cousin common great-grandparents makes us, that is -- with whom I'd forever pen-palled, and she said she'd love to show her country to a Yankee relative. As her father had already booked a flat for a beach holiday in Gotland, why don't I just join them? Plenty of room. Just her, her folks and her brother Stefan. "Gottland is very popular for family activities. You will see."

Well, sure, if I wouldn't get in the way. Nice relatives, to be sure. I was to call her folks "uncle" and "auntie," since to some degree they were. They all spoke English whenever I was around so I'd not feel left out.

Great place, not that far from the water. When they booked it, though, it was for four, not five, so Inge and I ended up sharing a bed, but at least neither of us was that wide.

"No problem," I agreed. "If I roll around, poke me."

"We must roll as one," said my cousin.

Meeting me at the terminal, she'd given me a peck on the cheek, what my book said was European. Our goodnight kiss, on the other hand, was on the lips, as we're relatives, she explained. Stefan's delivery was the same, his hand on my back, how boys still in school check if you're wearing a bra, which unlike his sister, I of course was.

WEDNESDAY, named to honor Odin, chief god in Scandinavian mythology

I was in need of a run -- lots of places to do it, a place like this -- but no one else had the energy. On my return, no one seemed to be up yet, but there were creaks from Inge's and my room and swishes from Stefan's. Unsure of what was going on, I jogged some more.

On my second return, Inge and her dad were working in the kitchen, and after a while, the other two came in, the two in their underwear. How was my outing, they wanted to know. Great!

The five of us were off to the beach, a bit nippy but no one was complaining. I'd never seen so many bare breasts, pubescent to granny and everything between, nipples of every size, shape and hew. Inge and her mother shed their tops, too, but my one-piece provided an out. Had I done the same, nobody would have looked twice.

Whoever was nearest took care of where another needed sunscreen, what families do over here, I guess. My book advises that one burns quickly at high latitudes.

When Inge said I might need a little extra, I said sure, not thinking she'd tug down my straps enough to daylight the tops of my areola. Once she'd finished, needless to say, I popped myself back in.

Stefan took charge of his mother, pulling out her bottoms to do so. Inge's father's trunks made it difficult not to see what the heel of her hand kept passing over as she did him, but it didn't seem to matter. Why guys wear what they wear to the beach here, I don't know, but at least it was her father's penis she was on.

Later on, I was on his lap, and again down came my straps, my top pulled out to lotion along the edges. His head being over my shoulder. I'd little doubt what he saw, but it didn't really matter, as soon down came my top all the way and he finished me off as if he'd done it a million times before, my nipples like the pebbles around us.

As I said before, why guys wear what they wear here, I don't know. What I do know, though, is that it can be noticeable when you're parked on it, particularly if you're rocked as he does your sides.

My midriff wasn't even exposed to the sun, but he did it anyway through my suit, the pressure of his hand guiding me even more onto what was under me. Actually, maybe it was best I was there, as if I'd not been, the bulge in his suit might have been apparent to those around us.

My aunt tossing a towel over my lap -- "Holly's legs may burn." -- was good, as well, given how low his hand was

Exploring up the beach where the rocks weren't forgiving, our guys were gallant and piggybacked us, me, my top back on, Inge and her mom, not so. It's Swedish.

They took me souvenir shopping to buy a flag patch for my pack to put next to Yellowstone and Grand Canyon. As nobody knows it, however, I'll have to explain.

Inge's explanation at the restaurant, "You will like the taste, only not the name," while she and her brother footsied each other under the table. Their father told them in Swedish to hold it down, though I'm only guessing the translation. Inge grinned at me and gave me a thumb-to-forefinger spread which could have meant the name of our menu item was long.

Back at our flat, quick showers. My aunt and uncle taking theirs together was because they're into conservation, though I think there's no shortage of water. Inge and Stefan did the same, and I could hear them playing around as siblings do, ending with what seemed to be pounding on the shower wall.

Not wanting me to feel left out, shower-wise, Inge insisted on going back in with me, her breasts sliding up and down my back as she did every part of my front, no washcloth. I pretended as if I was accustomed to doing another's breasts, but wasn't quite up to going as far down her front as she'd done I.

If they can go braless, why can't I, I decided. Not that the guys hadn't seen more of me at the beach, of course, but here in our flat seemed more family. Their dad wouldn't notice, but the possibility I found oddly pleasing. Inge noticed right away and gave me a grin. No way was I going to parade around in my panties, though.

At bedtime, though, I pulled on my nightgown when Inge was facing the other way. The sheets were cold, and when I said so, she curled around my back.

"Holly?" her hand around each of my shoulders. "Here is a joke."

"OK."

"There was a Lithuanian family, two parents and a boy and a girl. Because they had only two beds, the children slept as one. As they got older, they began to roll together. This the mother discovered and instructed the girl that to prevent a problem, she and her daughter must switch beds. Nine months later each had a child.

"'Mother,' said the girl, 'I thought that we exchanged beds to prevent such a problem.'

"'So we did, my dear. The priest said that for you and your brother to remain in the same one would be incest."

I laughed.

"But perhaps it tells better in Swedish."

From down the hall, came thumping from her parents' room. Seeing that I was wondering, "A family holiday," she explained, her hold moving from my shoulders to my collarbone, her wrist on my breast, her heel hooked over my ankle.

THURSDAY, named for Thor, god of thunder

I didn't think of it at the time, but when Inge crawled out of bed -- I was already reading my Lonely Planet --.she was in different panties. What made me think of it was that when I was heading for breakfast and passed Stefan's room, there on the floor were the ones she'd had on when she headed for bed.

The mystery panties were picked up when I came back.

Several mysteries, actually, Stefan sometimes disappearing with his mom into one of their rooms, or Inge with him or her father. There could be a million reasons. Fortunately, I'd stuff to read.

Off to the beach again -- the Swedish-American Family Expedition we now called ourselves -- this time Stefan, the one to lotion me. I sat perfectly still as he took down my top, and even stiller when he did my legs, not that far up at the beginning, but finishing against my hem.

Fortunately, again his mother tossed a towel over my lap. Not fortunately for saving me from burning, perhaps, as he was getting everywhere, but fortunate that others couldn't see how far that getting extended.

In doing him in return, I got up the gumption and did along the top of his trunks. Unlike Inge with her father, that was all and it was quick. Knowing that Inge was seeing what I was seeing made it fun enough.

Inge and I were then off to do some Swedish-American expeditioning on our own, this time where swimwear was more optional, but her not her telling me this until we'd arrived.

"The cold is why," she noted as an older gentleman jogged by. Why what, she didn't elaborate, but there wasn't much to him. Then out of the blue, "Could you feel yesterday the excitement of my father?"

I must have misunderstood, but nodded.

The beach had another sense different from yesterday.

"So many homosexuals," noted Inge, now entirely disrobed. I, myself, kept on my bottoms.

After a freeze-thaw ocean dip -- "bathing" -- Inge resumed my sun protection, here more and more up my thighs and finally onto my suit dead center. "Our boys do not know how."

In doing her, she said, "all places," so that's what I was doing when, "Alo," from two boys about our age and Inge waved them welcome. At least they were wearing trunks.

One of them said a pleasantry by its tone, Inge laughed something back, and then the other one turned my way. "Hello. My name is Arvid. Welcome to my country," which I couldn't have done in Swedish.

"Hello, Arvid. My name is Holly and I'm from America," spacing out my words.

"My name is Pedar," from his friend. "My English practice is not large, but I read it, particularly Michael Crichton."

"He's very popular," I encouraged, though I found him to be formulaic.

Inge winked at me, then said. "Perhaps you would join us for a potluck?" showing off her English.

"What we call a meal where we share," I explained.

"Yes. We will do that, please. May we place our cloth?"

"Okie dokie," from Arvid. Living Planet says that "OK" and "Coke" are understood almost everywhere, but nothing about "okie dokie."

The two were accounting trainees in a bank, and, as they put it, "shared a domestication."

I smiled my best, "Oh yes. Where I live we have many gay and lesbian and transgendered couples," as I didn't want the US thought of as homophobic.

We chatted on as Inge oiled my front, but that it didn't matter to gays. They were enchanted with the concept of a gay rodeo. Pedar said that he could be the clown who hid in the barrel.

Arvid worked out, "It is good to have a friend when bathing," likewise doing his partner. I looked away, but supposed they knew I'd peeked.

Then I heard Pedar say something to which Inge laughed, "They are thinking we should make love, us next to them."

Do what? Us?

"We're here with our boyfriends," Inge clarified.

After they left, I said that her claiming us having boyfriends was a nice touch, to which she said of course we did: her brother and her father.

It was my aunt who joined me in the shower, saving me from having to say thanks-but-no-thanks to Stefan who was hoping to be the one. I'd rather she'd have been using a washcloth.

In doing her in return, her shifting such that what I thought I'd be washing wasn't necessarily what I ended up washing caused me some surprises, but I don't want to act as if I'd a problem with it.

After dinner, Inge parked herself on her father's lap, leaning back and wrapping his hands around her belly, his hands disappearing up her top before she pulled a cover over them.

Their mother got the same way same on Stefan, but when she caught my stare. "Please take my place, Holly," hopping off and sitting me there. "He makes a pleasing chair. Perhaps a covering?"

"It's so late for me," she then decided, turning off the light in her exit.

It wasn't so dark that I couldn't see Inge turn to face her father, her legs around is, their cover beginning to rise and fall, her breathing quickening.

What's going on here?

As the button of my jeans seemed to be Stefan's interest, I thought it best to head for bed, myself, leaving Inge and her father to themselves.

When Inge later joined me, she was all apologies. "Relations require time."

As I was already a relation, I said so, so she added, "Special relations."

FRIDAY, named after goddess Friga, goddess of love, wife of Odin

It was my aunt who knew to sunscreen my nipples before the rest of my breasts. The other three would run onto the bottom of my suit, but it was she, once there, who'd run over it up and down. Once you get used to it, you don't mind. Of course I didn't do her back the same way, but I tried to be at least a little less American.

And whom did Inge and I run into later that day? Our two gay friends shopping for new swimsuits.

"We shall make a trick," suggested Inge before they spotted us, grabbing me and planting a kiss designed to impress.

"As was out thought," announced Pedar, "but we will not say to your boyfriends."

"We chose for each other," Arvid added, showing us what amounted to little more than a spandex fig leaf.

Why bother, I wanted to ask, but maybe they want to leave a little something for the imaginations of new friends they might meet on their beach.

When my aunt announced that Stefan's dream of an American girlfriend had at last come true, Inge chimed in, "And we all know his of his dream," and everyone laughed and I took his hand, a little play-acting, myself.

And not only that, when his mother suggested that American girlfriends must be kissed American style, he was onto it, me as well because it was supposed to be American.

"American, not French," his mother told him when she realized what he was up to, but as she smiled, he ignored her. Sunscreening me, he'd been rather friendly, but being his girlfriend made it more romantic.

My aunt said we were doing great, but I thought perhaps too romantic. It wasn't that easy to stop, however, and they all saw when he felt me up, but maybe my being in the family made it more permissible. Being in a foreign country gives you a degree of daring.

Finally, though, I pulled his hand down, to which he pulled my hand lower to where my knuckles could tell how boyfriendish he was. Of course I didn't stay, but it takes just a second to know.

"Binational cooperation," chimed Inge.

It was good that their mother suggested the American might need a break, but surprised when she assumed my place as "another of his girlfriends," as if she was American.

Inge had an idea along the same lines. "Mother and Stefan can play their pretending and we three can play ours," Her father would be an American businessman and she and I, his assistants. We'd just flown in to close a deal.

My uncle thought that would be a great charade, as we marched to our important business meeting, Inge's breast on his left arm, mine on his right. How shall we celebrate closing the contract, I joked.

When Stefan wasn't with us, my aunt remarked that when she'd stepped in, he'd been "so much ready." Had I noticed it, as well?

Back at the flat, it was my aunt who said the Swedish-American Lovers Team got the first shower. Stefan was for it, but I said I'd take one later.

My acting came up again in bed when Inge said I'd looked like quite a kisser. It was actually her brother, I pointed out. "For that you can thank my mother," her comment, which I didn't get, followed by a giggle. "Plus perhaps me, also," even more confusing.

Then to my surprise, she said I should show her something American. "As my girl cousin, you can do that," as she locked onto my lips. Actually, we did more than just kiss, as she said that our relationship allowed it. You get naked because it's OK. You kiss, and your nipples rub. Your nipples rub and so does your hair. You have to stop before you get too far, though.

She said English is so confusing, "feel" vs. "feel up," for example. "Make" vs. "make out," another.

SATURDAY, named for Saturn, not Nordic.

I woke up from the strangest dream, one in which I was naked and with Stefan and then everything became more involved. When you're unsure what was dreamt and what was actual, your mind can tell you one thing; your body, another.

When I told Inge that I'd had dream, but couldn't remember what it was about or who was in it, she said it must have been very sexual, as she'd been beside me when I'd had it and felt me up, using her improving English ability. Was it about her brother?

I wasn't sure how to answer, but she did so herself. "You and Stefan were a very sexual girlfriend and boyfriend is why I say that. It was good, yes, to progress with him in your dream?"

I said it was just a dream.

"I think he had a dream like you."

Later on, my aunt thanked me for helping her boy increase his confidence, him being young. I didn't ask, confidence in what? Perhaps Stefan could take me on a "domestic date," whatever that means. "You will like it very much."

To be polite, I said perhaps, but I wasn't going to let it happen.

Inge insisted I must have a massage, a Swedish one, of course, to become more Swedish. It was something her father could give me.

"Do not hurry," my aunt told us as she and the kids departed. "This is not America."

As my uncle knew I'd be shy, he had me undress under the covers of his bed -- it the best mattress, according to my aunt -- and there I was, a sheet over my panties.

I was surprised when he stripped to his undershorts, but as he explained, the one giving the massage should be dressed the same as the one receiving the massage. Straddling my behind, he began with my neck, then my shoulders, then my back, then my ribs.

I'd been aware of more of him than met the eye at the beach, rocked on it, actually, when he'd lotioned me, but us being on the bed gave it a different sense, particularly as the massage involved a lot more up-and-down motions.

"This is not necessary," he decided regarding the sheet, rising to extract it before resuming his position, without it, now just his cotton against my cotton.

Getting me up on my elbows, he explained something about Swedish history as he reached under. He'd done my breasts on the beach, of course, but unlike applying a dob of lotion, a massage takes more time.

As he moved me forward and back, the poke of his shorts dropped more towards the bottom of my panties, and not only that, when his hand dropped down, I thought he'd stop above their top, but actually, it became pretty confusing whether he was inside or out.

I wasn't worried that he'd put his penis into me on purpose -- he was my uncle after all, even if he had an erection -- but what if he accidentally slipped out the leg of his shorts and into the leg of mine?

"A massage can exchange roles, if you wish. Perhaps I lie and you take the place above. You are our guest," as he hooked his thumbs around my elastic. "Our massage should be fully natural," as he began easing my panties down.

As perhaps, however, I should not be doing what might be fully natural in Sweden, I thought it best to wrap things up before I went native.

Not long after I returned to my room, Inge joined me.

"It began face down and ended face up?" she asked, to which I said no, "It was why we were shopping for a long time," she explained, acting perhaps somewhat disappointed. "Do not worry. Next time he will have your face to him. You will feel more receptive."

Clearly I was missing something, but in any case, I had to ask. "Inge, just where were you last night?"

"You do not know? With Stefan"

"Oh."

"He is more multinational because he learned from our mother, but still knows so little about our clitori," her plural, I guessed. "That is why she decided that my father should be first with you, to be Swedish."

"She bought Stefan a box of condoms for your visit," she went on, "but he lacks experience with them as she and I do not require them. You may wish to remind him"

This took some thought. "She wants me to sleep with your dad and your brother?" to make certain I understood.

"She is the planner. She is not the boss. You already sleep with me. The one who first had a family relationship with you, you must choose."