Chapter 5

Monday, May 14, 2018
Copenhagen Airport, Kastrup, Denmark

“There they are! Robert, Magda!” Inga rushed at me with real enthusiasm, no doubt drawing a bit more attention to herself than even she tended to have.

“Come here, you!” I held Inga very tight before she slipped me a very hot French kiss in public.

“Welcome to Denmark, lover. Your new, adopted country! You will not regret moving here, trust me! It’s a bit ... more expensive, yes, but we’ve discussed that, I believe. It will be easier in many ways for you than some others, since you know four Danes, after all,” Inga whispered with excitement as she held me very close.

“Luckily, I sold off my share of the firm, but you already know that. That should make it easier. And I sold my Ford Ranger ... and my Kawasaki. And I have rental income from the house. Some Senegalese fellow who wanted to have a place to stay for a while and could really afford to pay me. He just got married, too, and brought his new American wife into it, adding some income to help pay the bills.

“I’m not sure what he does for a living, frankly don’t care, as long as it’s legal and/or doesn’t get my house seized by the IRS or the DEA,” I informed my Danish girlfriend ... or was that mistress now?

“And now, no more stupid laws about, well, you know ... everything ... No dumb laws. Just sky-high taxes, for which at least you get government services,” Magda observed while making out with Bjorg now.

“That’s a fair trade, I think. Plus, you get to enjoy my fine company!” Frederik finally spoke with a mix of sarcasm and self-deprecating humor, “I retired from the bank now, too. Once it gets out that I’m a bisexual husband of a hotwife, cuckolded by an American, that would be bad for business, anyway. At least in my circles.”

“And to think that’s only the half of it, right? They’d really flip if they knew it all!” I shook his hand, but he took me into a very tight hug instead.

“So, where do we go next, O, drop-dead gorgeous tour guide?” I teased Inga, who giggled before kissing Frederik ardently on the lips.

“Well, you’ve finished with customs, I see, and so baggage is next,” Inga assured me while Magda held hands with me the whole way to baggage claim.

“So, as I understand it, I have ninety days to file for temporary residency, or else I’m tossed out of here, deported. I imagine that I’ll get that done as quickly as I can, mind you,” I chuckled, knowing that with my good legal mind, it should be easy peasy.

“What all did you take with you? It doesn’t seem very much. But then you always liked to travel light, didn’t you?” Inga teased me while twerking a little for Bjorg’s benefit.

“That’s one way of putting it, blondie,” I taunted her playfully about going back to blonde hair, albeit strawberry-blonde.

That was when Inga kissed Magda right in front of me. With tongue. Lots of it. My blonde ex-girlfriend and our red haired daughter made out like porn stars, no question of that. That was fine with me, even if it distracted Bjorg and Frederik from helping carry Magda’s considerable luggage. Notably, Inga then rushed to help me out with some of my baggage, as did Magda herself. The upshot was that I ended up carrying only one of my bags and one of Magda’s, a relatively easy load, much to my astonishment.

“Here’s my rental. Pricey as fuck, so I’m returning it tomorrow, and then catching the train back home. I just didn’t want to carry that much luggage home on a train. I know Magda too well. Unlike you, she doesn’t know how to travel light at all. By the way, I promised Frederik that he’d get the first sloppy seconds from you in my pussy. Poor Bjorg’s just gonna have to wait his turn!” Inga laughed as she drove us to our new, if temporary home ... we all had plans to sell it and buy a bigger place for us all.

“I think that he’ll manage, judging from the look on our sweet daughter’s face,” I pointed out how Magda already had shamelessly undressed Bjorg in her mind.

“Good girl, baby ... give that stepbrother of yours the kind of action he really needs from you!” Inga winked at our daughter in the mirror.

“Well, I just hope that I do her justice,” Bjorg blushed a bit now.

“You haven’t disappointed me, and I have a very high sex drive, darling boy,” Inga reassured him.

“Don’t worry, my son. You’ll make me proud, I know. As your stepmother said, you’ve satisfied her so far, and that is no easy task,” Frederik beamed, very much in a good mood due to the sloppy seconds that he knew that he would get.

My sloppy seconds, of course. It really struck home now, the full extent of the lifestyle to which the five of us had committed ourselves, that it was really going to happen. Frederik had concisely described himself as the “bisexual husband of a hotwife, cuckolded by an American.” He showed no resentment or anxiety about this fact, just a sadness that society couldn’t wholeheartedly and universally embrace or tolerate the idea of such an unusual marriage. Even in generally tolerant and sophisticated Denmark, there would always be the prigs, the prudes, the contemptuous kind of people. They just wouldn’t do business with an admitted stag, cuck, wittol, or whatever he was called.