Danish is a strange language. It is a compounding language meaning that by prepending descriptive words in front of the main word without the spaces used in English, you are forming completely legitimate new words that can be very long. As in absurdly long, leaving even the famous Welsh place names way behind. Try "sporvognsskinneskidtskrabersangforeningsgeneralforsamlingsreferatskorrekturlæsning" for size. That's the proofreading of the minutes of the annual general meeting of the choir society of the tram track dirt scrapers. No, there is no such job and no such society and thus no such minutes to proof read, but the word is legit. There are unofficial "competitions" to determine the longest valid word; popular in the press during the silly season, but of little practical use.
Danish is also rich in kinship terms – having e.g. separate words for male and female cousins, separate words for your parents' siblings of different genders in addition to the generic uncle and aunt, separate words for your grandparents to distinguish your mother's and father's parents, but also the generic ones, special words for great-grandparents before the great-great- kicks in and so on. Strangely there is no word for grandson or granddaughter – only grandchildren (and some archaic ones for your sons' and daughters' sons and daughters with only "sønnesøn" – your son's son – still in sporadic use). That just goes to show that languages are strange entities and that no language is better than any other. Just different.
ANYWAY, Danish is also quite well supplied with words for relationships – including the charming "bolleven" which really means "fuck buddy," but doesn't sound harsh at all – a bit like a to-the-point one-word term for the "friend with benefits" euphemism.
Another one is "kærestekedelig". "Kæreste" is the gender neutral word for boyfriend/girlfriend – literally it means "dearest," so maybe the old-fashioned "sweetheart" would be the nearest equivalent (though not quite). Thus the male version of "kærestekedelig" would be "boyfriend boring" (to retain the alliteration), but the word very much relates to the couple and the fact that they are seen as boring by the peers because they are so wrapped up in each other that they have no time for or interest in anything or anyone else.
Been there, done that, I'm sure we'll all agree – having been annoyed with someone who turned kærestekedelig, or – gasp – been that way ourselves; usually early in a relationship.
ALL THAT waffle just to explain the title of this little story about what someone being bored with somebody wrapped up in someone else can lead to.
It all happened some years ago during an otherwise not so pleasant phase in my life when my beloved wife had decided that she didn't really want to be my beloved wife anymore. We got so far as to separate, split up our belongings, sell off the house (ouch – it was a bad time for that) and set up separate homes. We didn't actually divorce, but while my wife was adamant that "there was no-one else," and I most certainly had never broken my wedding wows, I no longer felt bound by them at the time of the episode I'll now relate. If you accuse me of post facto justification, or outright hypocrisy, I shan't hold it against you. It happened. It hurt nobody. No-one had a valid claim on my affections or sexual fidelity at the time. It did me a world of good, and – according to the other party – her too.
ANWAY: On to the story.
I was taking my son and three of his friends up to a cottage in Sweden. I (we in happier times) have done that frequently, usually taking two girls and two boys (including my son) ever since they were old enough to be away for sleep-overs – and more than once had a bawling home-sick kid on our hands. I saw no reason to stop it just because my wife had gone walk-about; the cottage belongs to close relations of me you see and I still had access. Of course as the kids got older, and they were now 16+, the dynamics of such 2+2 groups was changing and I was perfectly aware that there might be some sexual activity involved. Listen, I'm no prude and neither are Danes in general. As Groucho Marx said "Sex is here to stay". Ryan, my son, knew the facts of life, was brought up to be sexually responsible, and had unlimited access to condoms. The age of consent around here is 15 so no legal hang-ups either.
Apart from yours truly and Ryan, the party consisted of Rick – a nerdish friend of Ryan's whom he has held onto for years and years despite them being so different, a busty Barbie bimbo named Jeanette – whom I was sure was there for Rick – and Amy.
Amy. What can I say? A cuter girl you are never going to find. My own daughters included. Yours too. Amy is a "Chinese import"; her parents – close friends of ours – learned the hard way what Mumps at 18 will do to a man's gonads. Chuck was a big bear of a man; no lack of testosterone in his bloodstream – but absolutely no viable sperm in his balls. He and his wife decided to go the adoption route, and two incredibly lucky Chinese orphans got the best, most dedicated parents you could imagine.
Remember Michelle Yeoh, the Bond babe in "Tomorrow Never Dies"? Then you have Amy. Petite, strong, strong-willed, and massively intelligent – the list of similarities is long, even to doing martial arts. Ryan and Amy had been buddies since kindy. With Amy quite the tom-boy, she was considered one of the boys and Ryan suffered no derision from hanging out with her. "Girl cooties" and Amy simply didn't mix.
Now was different – the boys were busy catching up with the notion that girls were great. I was impressed that nerdy Rick had attracted the attention of Jeanette – perhaps he was hiding secret talents in those baggy pants; it can't have been the zits or the 98% of his limited conversation centered on computer games.
That Ryan should have rediscovered his childhood buddy as a perfectly matched mate in an attractive petite package made me feel proud of him. Way to go Son!
That bubble burst in a hurry! In fact, I got a hint that things were not rosy in the garden when we set off just from the seating arrangements. The boys sandwiched in Jeanette in the back seat while Amy was riding shotgun. At least it looked like it was Amy, but I was on the brink of asking who the moody silent grump sitting next to me was and what she'd done to the vivacious chatterbox Amy that I've known and loved for years.
Part of the answer came on the ferry when I saw Jeanette and Ryan in a fierce lip-lock that progressed to a mutual tonsil-inspection and groping of interesting parts. Rick was oblivious, head down in his computer game on his oversized gamer-phone while Amy stormed off in huff to the rest-rooms and didn't reappear until we were being summonsed over the PA to return to the car. Her eyes were red, and I had no doubt that she'd been as surprised as I was.
At the cottage, Jeanette and Ryan were about as subtle as a bitch in heat and the alpha dog, so the atmosphere was a little tense. I cooked dinner – that's my job, and Amy helped. Ryan was busy showing Jeanette "where everything was" and Rick was playing his game. After dinner I forced the love-birds to contribute to the housekeeping by assigning them dish-washing duty, but they made sickly sweet but quick work of that and then decided to "retire early" to "their bedroom". Great start!
Rick disappeared to the room he would be sleeping in, I settled in the lounge, Amy grabbed a book and went her own way. The house is large enough; "cottage" is really as misnomer.
"What are you watching George?"
It was Amy returning to the lounge several hours later. Kids in Denmark rarely use surnames for their peers' parents or their teachers, so don't read anything overly familiar or impolite into her use of my Christian name.
"Oh, I was just catching up on the news," I said looking up, "but it's over now and I was thinking of putting on a movie. What about you? Are Ryan and Jeanette being kærestekedelige?"
"You can say that again. They've even locked the door to their room," Amy scowled.
"Oh," I replied. "And you don't fancy Rick, I take it?"
It was meant as a gentle tease, but the face Amy pulled made me back off that line of conversation in a hurry.
"To talk to, I mean," I hedged. Interestingly, Amy blushed. That's kind of interesting on an Asian.
"Spill!" I urged. The blushing intensified.
"I, eh, kind off, walked in on him," she muttered.
"Walked in?" I inquired.
"He was, looking at his phone and, you know,..." Her voice trailed off, but she was looking downwards at her crotch and making a suggestive hand-motion.
So Rick was wanking off to porn. Better check the access-log on the Internet! I would hate having to explain to my distant aunt why the Swedish police suddenly took an interest in "her" browsing-habits.
"He didn't notice me, I think," Amy hastened to add.
I cleared my throat. "Right, that's his business." Amy nodded in agreement – and the blushing started to fade.
A pause followed. Not embarrassed as such, but a time to gather thoughts.
"You're welcome to watch a movie with me then," I offered. Amy nodded. "But I suggest you get into PJs so you can roll into bed when it's over."
The blushing instantly returned – more intense than ever. That was strange; Amy has slept over often enough and she always wears utilitarian boys' style PJs. Being so slight, her bust is very modest although she's been in trainer-bras since she was 12, so I wondered about the sudden modesty.
"Don't sweat it," I said. "You don't have to."
"No, that's OK," she replied. "It's only the two of us."
"Oh, so you're not planning to see if Rick's finished and wants to join us?" I asked flippantly.
Amy was now bright-red all the way down her neck.
"I'm not letting Rick see me in nightclothes!" she blurted out.
"Fine," I replied while starting to wonder just what young Amy was planning to sleep in – and why. "Grab my dressing gown if you like. And you can snuggle up under a blanket on the sofa."
Amy agreed, got the aforementioned garment from my bedroom and disappeared to change while I got the BluRay player ready for watching the film.
A few minutes later Amy reappeared in the lounge and proceeded to remove the ridiculously over-sized dressing gown. I am not overly tall, but Amy was drowning in that gown. I was grinning, but then I froze.
The reason for Amy's reluctance to appear in her night-clothes became apparent when the dressing gown came off – she was wearing a dusty-purple teddy and I'm sure my grin turned into a demented drool. Never in my life have I seen a sight more sexy.
"Earth to George, earth to George," Amy teased.
After a couple of unsuccessful attempts, I finally managed to croak "What, why, w..." before having to stop again and just stare.
"I wanted to look good," she said with a hint of sadness in her voice. "I wanted to seduce Ryan," she added.
"It would so have worked," I muttered almost mechanically, taking the sight of her in again in what she later described as a look more bewildered than predatory.
"Thank you. I can tell," she said with a smile and her eyes locked on my crotch. In PJs, I had no way of hiding the effect she was having on me. I'm sure so much blood had gone south it goes some way of excusing my lack of mental agility.
She then planted herself closely against me in my sofa, swung her shapely legs up, covered herself with a blanket and said "Let's watch the movie." I knew I was lost.
For starters, where was I to put my hands? She was half sitting, half lying between my legs – with my painfully erect dick poking her back. The teddy had so little material that no matter where I rested my hands, I would touch skin.
I started with my hands on her firm taunt stomach, but even that was an erogenous zone. While definitely an A or at most a small B, her breasts where touching my lower arms and trying to move further down away from them I sensed the heat from her crotch.
Additionally the movie was a sexy one, featuring a young heroine with a handsome older guy. At the steamiest point, Amy grabbed my hands and pulled one up to her breast and the other down to her crotch. As if they had minds of their own, my hands started teasing a nipple and gently stroking her pussy through the soaked flimsy material of the teddy. At that stage I gave up all pretense of watching the movie and started concentrating on the squirming girl in my arms. In just a minute or two she was coming up a storm. Quietly, I am happy to say, but violently and very very wet.
When her breathing had returned to normal, Amy abruptly switched off the TV, turned around, kissed me passionately on the lips and said "Mrs. Watersmann is such a fool. But her loss is my gain. Now take me to bed and help me get rid of my virginity."
The list of things I hadn't seen coming for this weekend just ran off the scale.
Amy was a virgin. Come to think of it, that didn't surprise me all that much. Reserved and shy in social situations, scarily bright, very small of stature and not particularly signaling "sex" to her peers, she was looking for something they probably weren't able to provide.
But she wasn't deluding herself either. "It's not like I am in love with you," she said candidly. "But the guy I do love doesn't give me the time of day, so I thought I might learn a thing or two while waiting for him to grow up."
We both knew she meant Ryan, and we both knew that he shouldn't be mentioned, and that he must never know, or any future he and Amy might have would be doomed.
Amy's proclaimed goal of ridding herself of her virginity was accomplished quickly and painlessly – in fact quite pleasurably, we both agreed. The blessed teddy was off moments after we entered my bedroom and with the fondling during the movie counting as foreplay, we went straight at it. Breaking her hymen caused her no discomfort and virtually no bleeding (many years of martial arts movements had probably thinned and stretched it); the out-and-out trip-hammering we subjected each other to brought us both to massive orgasms in just minutes.
We only rested briefly before I proceeded to lick and touch every perceivable erogenous zone on her lithe body, and – to my pleasant surprise, by the time I had her squirming with need, I was ready again. This time it was slow sensuous love-making, bringing us both to the brink, then backing down, then building up again. At one stage Amy reached an orgasmic plateau and kept coming and coming and coming until I myself unloaded in her for the second time.
The sex was easily the best I'd ever had. That may sound harsh to my wife, but frankly the comparison is unreasonable. I wasn't in love with Amy either – just in lust, and she did things to and for me that had nothing to do with what you do with your soul-mate and life's partner. That's how I still saw my wife even though she was working on becoming my ex. Besides, Amy's a top-athlete and I was easily in the best shape I've been in my life. Not that improvement was hard to come by; I've always been a lazy slob, but one of the ways I had dealt with the separation was to become a training fiend. It had paid off.
But no, I wasn't about to bring on the final divorce and having a second family. When we finally got 'round to discussing contraception, Amy said "I don't want your babies either. My period's due on Tuesday so I'm safe and I didn't want my first time to be impeded by condoms."
I could assure her that I was firing blanks following a vasectomy years ago. I also urged her not to let anyone else near her bareback, especially not my wayward son, until she was sure she was in an exclusive relationship with someone proven to be "clean".
"I'll have to use condoms even then," she said. "I'm not on the pill and Mum is urging me not to take them either. She started much too early and her fertility was so affected by it that she and Dad simply gave up trying for a natural family".