Far From the Fjords
Copyright© 2025 by brabo1978
Chapter 10
Coming of Age Sex Story: Chapter 10 - An exchange student from Norway spends a year in Baltimore. Her host family lives in a mostly black neighborhood. This story will take more time to get to the sexy parts than my usual writings. Codes will be added as the story progresses.
Caution: This Coming of Age Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including mt/ft Teenagers Consensual Heterosexual Fiction Interracial Black Male White Female Masturbation Petting AI Generated
I can’t believe we just did that.
The thought circled in Freja’s head like a moth trapped against glass. She sat through her morning classes barely hearing a word the teachers said, the drone of lessons slipping past her like background noise. Every time her mind wandered, it went back to the boys’ bathroom—the stall, Darius’s mouth, the heat of his body against hers, his cock.
It didn’t feel like her. Not the girl she thought she was. She had never been reckless like that before. She wasn’t the kind of girl who would let things get that intense on a first date, or have sex in a public park, or have sex with someone else while still technically with Malik. And she definitely wasn’t the kind who would all but announce her intentions to the world, pulling Darius by the hand like she couldn’t wait another second.
And yet, she had done all of it.
Her skin still tingled at the memory, half thrill, half shame. How had she let herself get swept up so easily? It scared her a little—how much her body seemed to override her head whenever Malik, or now Darius, was near.
By the time lunch rolled around, the knot in Freja’s stomach had twisted tighter. She slid into her usual spot at the table. Darius was already sitting among them, back where he belonged. But instead of the usual easy banter, the air was heavy. The conversation bent inevitably toward Darius’s arrest, and the release he’d only just explained to Freja that morning.
“Whole lineup of us,” Darius was saying, his hands moving as he talked. “Every dude in there was Black, wearing hoodies. And the cashier, he didn’t even hesitate. Said no. Said the guy wasn’t Black.”
One of the boys leaned back in his chair and let out a sharp laugh, humorless. “Of course. They don’t care, long as they can grab somebody quick.”
“Same old story,” the other muttered, shaking his head. “You fit the hoodie, you fit the bill.”
Tasha’s expression tightened, eyes flicking between them. “You’re lucky that cashier wasn’t scared enough to lie,” she said, voice low but cutting. “They would’ve run with his word no matter what. That could’ve stuck.”
For a moment the table went quiet, the weight of what-ifs pressing down.
Malik broke it with a crooked grin. “Guess to them we all look like the same shadow. Black guy, hoodie, boom—must be him.” He raised his hands in mock surrender. “Better watch out, y’all. Next week it’s me.”
The joke landed the way Malik’s often did—half-laughter, half-bitter truth. A few chuckled, but the sound was brittle. Darius smirked faintly, but his shoulders were tight.
“Not funny,” Tasha muttered, though her lips quirked like she couldn’t help it.
“Hey, I’m not the one writing the script,” Malik shot back. “I’m just living in it.”
The group let the line settle, not arguing, not pushing. They all knew he was right.
Then another boy leaned in toward Darius with a grin. “Man, after all that, at least you got the kind of welcome that made a lot of us jealous.”
The table burst into scattered laughs and a few whoops. Malik raised his eyebrows, smiling crookedly. “Man, y’all really gonna bring that up?” he said, shaking his head.
Freja felt heat flood her face. Darius only chuckled under his breath, trying—and failing—to look unaffected.
Freja tried to laugh it off, but the air around her felt charged—half amusement, half awareness. The moment passed quickly enough, the conversation drifting back to safer ground. As the others went on—about school, about practice, about how messed up the cops were—Freja found herself tuning it all out. The cafeteria noise blurred into a low, shapeless hum.
Her heart was still thudding from embarrassment, the echo of their teasing replaying in her head. Malik was joking, sure, but something about his easy smile only twisted her stomach tighter. She’d crossed a line and she knew it, even if no one was saying it out loud. She needed to talk to Malik. Not later, not after school—now. The thought of waiting even a few more hours made her chest ache with guilt. Before she could lose her nerve, she touched his arm lightly.
“Hey,” she said, just enough for him to hear. “Can we talk? Just ... outside for a minute?”
He looked at her for a moment, then shrugged and stood. “Yeah. Sure.”
He grabbed his soda and followed her out into the hallway, where the buzz of the cafeteria dropped into muffled echoes. They stopped near the stairwell, out of sight of most students. Malik leaned against the wall casually, sipping from his drink. “So,” he said, watching her with a knowing look. “This about what everybody’s talking about this morning?”
Freja’s stomach knotted. “Yeah,” she said quietly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Guess word gets around fast.”
Malik huffed a little laugh through his nose. “You think? Didn’t exactly keep it low-key, Freja.”
She winced. “I know. It just ... happened.”
He let out a slow breath, not quite a sigh. “Yeah. I figured that.” His free hand rubbed at the back of his neck, like he was debating how much to say. “Look, I’m not mad, okay? We had fun. I liked being with you.” He shrugged, too casually. “But I didn’t think we were, like, official or anything.”
The words hit her harder than she expected, even though they shouldn’t have. “No, I guess we weren’t,” she said, her voice quieter than before.
Malik nodded, glancing away for a moment, his jaw tightening just slightly. “Still,” he added, softer now, “it’s kinda wild hearing about my girl—well, the girl I’ve been with—making out with my boy in the middle of the hallway.” He chuckled under his breath, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Not the best start to the day, you know?”
Freja looked down at her hands. “I didn’t plan it,” she said. “I saw him and—I don’t know—I was just so relieved. After everything that happened with the cops, I wasn’t thinking.”
Malik’s voice lost some of its edge. “Yeah, I get it. He went through hell, and you care about him. I’m not gonna hate you for that.”
She glanced up, surprised by the sincerity in his tone.
“You’re not mad at me?”
Malik’s mouth twitched, somewhere between a smile and a grimace. “Mad?” he echoed. “Nah. Not really.” He let out a short breath through his nose, the kind that wasn’t quite a laugh. “Maybe a little ... thrown. I mean, one second you’re with me, next thing I hear, you’re making out with D in front of half the school.”
He rubbed his thumb along the rim of his soda can, eyes lowering for the first time. “Guess it stung for a minute. Not ‘cause I thought you were mine or anything—just...” He shrugged, his voice softening in a way that made the words sound honest. “Nobody likes feeling replaceable, you know?”
Freja’s chest tightened. “You’re not,” she said quickly. “Malik, I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I didn’t want to hurt you.”
He met her eyes then, and for a heartbeat, all the playfulness she was used to seeing in him was gone. “I know. You didn’t,” he said quietly. “But it still kinda did.”
Freja opened her mouth, then closed it again. There wasn’t much she could say that wouldn’t sound hollow. The truth was, she had cared for Malik—still did, in a way—but not the way he deserved. Not the way she looked at Darius.
Malik let out a slow breath and straightened a little, forcing a half-smile back onto his face. “Look, we had a good time. You’re fun to be around, and I don’t regret any of it. It’s just...” He hesitated, searching for the right words.
“I just need a little time to let it settle, that’s all. You don’t gotta feel bad every time you see me in the hall.”
“I still feel bad,” she admitted.
For a moment, they stood there in the quiet of the stairwell, the hum of voices from the cafeteria echoing faintly down the hall. Malik straightened, running a hand over his hair. He stepped back, hooking his thumb toward the cafeteria.
“I should get back before Tasha steals my fries.”
“She probably already has,” Freja said, and he chuckled. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”
They walked back to the cafeteria together in silence. The silence wasn’t tense—just thoughtful, the kind that comes when both people know there’s nothing left to fix, only to accept. Mulling over the conversation, Freja wondered if it was the end of something, or the beginning of something new.
The sky was the pale blue of early autumn when the van pulled onto Route 50, the city fading behind them. The vehicle was packed to the point of laughter—two people in the front, Darius and Malik in the backseat, with Freja and Tasha perched on their laps. Between them a large sized snack bag to survive the long drive. The hum of a Bluetooth speaker mixed with the occasional shout of “who’s got the chips?”
Despite the cramped space Freja hadn’t argued when Darius had patted his thigh with a grin. Now his arm was around her waist, steadying her as the van swayed over bumps. Every so often she could feel his breath warm against the back of her neck, and she tried not to show how much it made her heart race.
The air inside was thick with warmth and motion—someone’s cologne, salt from a bag of chips, the faint sweetness of soda. Every few minutes, a burst of laughter erupted over some joke or story from the front. Freja smiled along but didn’t really listen; she was too caught up in the way Darius’ fingers traced lazy circles on her hip whenever he thought no one was looking.
It had been only two days since Darius was released, but when Malik suggested a day trip to Ocean City to celebrate victory over injustice, everyone jumped on the idea. No planning, no parents, just escape. Freja had told the Hayes’ about the trip, but almost spontaneously, she had used the names of other, white, classmates instead of her friends. She felt bad about it, but she didn’t want to argue with Deb about the safety of her choice of friends.
By the time they rolled onto Coastal Highway, the ocean flashed into view—gray-blue and endless. The van erupted in shouts and pointing fingers. Even bundled in hoodies and jackets, they looked like a group chasing summer long past its end. They parked near the boardwalk and spilled out, stretching, shoving, laughing. The air was cool and sharp with sea salt. Gulls wheeled overhead, and the sound of waves mixed with the tinny music from the arcades.