Far From the Fjords
Copyright© 2025 by brabo1978
Chapter 2
Coming of Age Sex Story: Chapter 2 - 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 Teenagers White Female Masturbation AI Generated
The kitchen smelled faintly of coffee when Freja came downstairs the next morning, her hair still damp from a quick shower. Chuck’s jacket was gone from its hook by the door — he had already left for his early route — and Deb was bustling around, though not in her usual hurry. “I’ve got a late shift today,” she explained, sliding a brown paper bag across the counter toward Freja. “So you two are on your own for dinner tonight. There’s leftovers in the fridge.”
Jason was sitting at the table, slouched over a bowl of cereal, scrolling on his phone with one hand and spooning with the other. Hearing his mother address Freja, he looked up, he looked up, his expression showing that universal morning teenage mood — half asleep, half annoyed.
“Morning,” he muttered, before returning his attention to his phone. She poured herself some cereal and joined him in silence.
A few minutes later, they stepped out into the humid morning, walking side by side down the block. They started in the same direction as her walk the day before, but the neighborhood looked different today. The poor maintenance of several houses seemed more obvious, and Freja noticed the graffiti on several walls. The looks she got from the few other people in the street didn’t appear to be merely curious. It was as if she could feel their hostility towards her, the outsider.
“We gotta catch the next 78,” Jason explained without looking at her. “Miss it, and the one after’s packed. I hate standing there with a hundred people breathing down your neck.”
Freja nodded, quickening her pace to match his. Riding on a fully packed bus wasn’t an experience she was looking forward to.
They reached the corner where the bus stop stood, a battered metal sign leaning slightly and the paint on the pole flaking away. A handful of students were already waiting, most in groups of two or three, their voices carrying easily in the morning air.
Among them, one boy stood out, the first white face she had seen in this neighborhood outside the Hayes house. He grinned when he saw Jason. “Yo, Jase!” he called, stepping forward. The two bumped fists in an easy, practiced greeting.
“This is Freja,” Jason said, jerking his thumb toward her. His voice sounded lighter, more animated than she’d heard so far. “The girl from Norway.”
The boy’s eyebrows shot up, and he gave a low whistle. “No kidding. I’m Matt. Guess Baltimore’s gotta look pretty different, huh?”
Freja smiled politely, nodding. “Very different. But I like seeing something new.”
Jason smirked, nudging Matt with his elbow. “Told you she talks funny,” he teased, but his smile towards her showed that his remark wasn’t meant to be mean, but rather playful. For the first time, Freja noticed a warmth in him, a side she hadn’t seen yesterday.
When the 78 hissed to a stop, Jason gestured for Freja to get on ahead of him. Inside, the bus smelled faintly of exhaust and damp upholstery. Students filled most of the seats, their voices rising and falling in a rhythm Freja couldn’t quite follow. She slid into a spot by the window, Jason dropping beside her and Matt on the seat in front of them.
“It’s about thirty minutes,” Jason muttered, stretching his legs into the aisle. Then, after a beat, he added, “Not too bad. Gives you time to wake up before class.”
Freja nodded, watching the city crawl past the window — rowhouses, corner stores, the occasional vacant lot dotted with weeds. The bus jolted over a pothole, and Matt twisted around in his seat, grinning.
“Yo, Freja. What’s Norway like? Cold all the time?”
Freja laughed softly. “Not all the time. We have summers too, though maybe not as warm as here.”
Jason leaned back, arms folded, but there was a flicker of interest in his eyes. “You guys get, like, snow for months, though, right?” he asked. “That’s kinda wild. Last year, they canceled school for just two inches.”
Matt snorted. “Two inches and the whole city freaks out.”
Freja smiled, surprised that Jason was making an effort to keep the conversation going. “In Sandnes, it’s normal to get a meter of snow on the ground — sometimes more. We still go to school, of course.”
The boys blinked at her. Jason frowned. “Wait. A meter? How many inches is that?”
Matt shook his head, laughing. “That’s like ... what, three feet? Nobody’s going to school in that. Baltimore shuts down for two inches.”
Freja shrugged, a little amused at their disbelief. “We’re used to it. If school closed every time it snowed, we’d miss half the year.”
Matt’s eyes widened. “That’s crazy!”
Freja smiled. “Crazy or not, it’s home. What about you? Have you ever been out of the city?”
Jason shrugged. “Just the beaches on the Eastern shore.”
“Don’t forget that school trip to Washington,” Matt interjected.
Their conversation continued in fits and starts, drifting from snow and travel to music and food. Freja found herself relaxing, the steady rumble of the bus beneath them almost soothing. After about half an hour, the bus lurched to a stop, brakes squealing as they pulled up outside Edmondson-Westside High.
Through the smeared glass, Freja saw a sprawling brick complex that looked more like an oversized government office than the kind of school she’d imagined from American movies. Broad stairways led up to sets of glass double doors, where clusters of students lounged on the steps or leaned against railings, their voices carrying across the pavement. Cars idled along the curb, horns blaring as buses tried to pull out into traffic.
As Jason and Matt stood to get off, Freja followed, clutching her bag a little tighter. Teenagers swarmed in every direction, some laughing, some shoving, others drifting toward the entrance in groups. The movement reminded her of an ant hill suddenly disturbed, bodies spilling and scattering with noisy purpose. It felt chaotic and overwhelming, especially compared to the peace and quiet of the small school she’d left behind in Norway.
Inside, the flow of students bottlenecked at a checkpoint. Two security guards stood by the doors, and everyone passed through a metal detector before being waved along. The sight made Freja pause for half a second — in Norway, her school hadn’t even had a fence, let alone guards and machines to scan for weapons. Here, it seemed normal; no one else batted an eye. She clutched her bag tighter and hurried through, the low beep of the detector ringing in her ears.
She got separated from Jason and Matt, and followed the signs to the administration office first, where a secretary handed her a printed schedule and gave her quick directions to her first class. It seemed as if every hallway was just as filled with students as the previous one, with slamming lockers and a cacophony of voices filling the air. When she finally found her classroom, a sigh of relieve escaped her lips.
Her first class was English. She slipped into a seat near the back, the unfamiliar hum of the room settling around her. As the other students filed in, she noticed that, here as well, the majority of them was black. The teacher, a brisk woman with glasses perched on her nose, clapped her hands for attention. “Before we begin, we have a new student with us today. Everyone, this is Freja Olsen, an exchange student from Norway.” Dozens of eyes flicked her way, some curious, others indifferent. Freja offered a small, nervous smile.
The teacher clapped her hands lightly to quiet the chatter. “Alright, everyone, I know it’s the first day back, and yes — I can hear the groans. But let’s get to work.” She smiled briefly, acknowledging the collective teenage complaint. “For the next couple of weeks, you’ll be working in pairs on a short creative writing project. Think of it as co-authoring a story — fiction, dialogue, whatever you like — but it has to be original, and it has to show both of your voices.”
A few students rolled their eyes, others nudged their neighbors with a sigh. The teacher raised a hand to cut through the noise. “I promise it won’t be torture, and yes, you’ll get to pick your topics ... eventually. But first, I’ve assigned pairs to make sure everyone works with someone new. No taking the easy way out.”
Freja’s stomach tightened as the teacher read off names. Then: “Freja Olsen and Darius Ellison.”
A black boy in a dark hoodie turned in his chair to glance at her. His expression gave away nothing — neither welcome nor resistance — just a quick look before he faced forward again.
“Go ahead and sit with your partner,” the teacher instructed. “Use your time to make practical arrangements, maybe start discussing a topic, themes, an angle if you have time for it. Tomorrow we’ll start with an analysis of some poems by Robert Frost. You won’t have time to discuss this assignment anymore during class then.”
Freja gathered her things and crossed the room. Dropping into the seat beside him, she offered a tentative smile. “Hi. I guess we’re partners.”
Darius tapped his pencil against his notebook, eyebrow slightly raised. “Guess so. Hope you’re ready to write something worth reading.”
She caught herself staring for a moment. Darius was tall and handsome, with medium-brown skin and a lean build that hinted at countless hours on the basketball court. His eyes were strikingly expressive, and when he moved his hands to adjust his notebook, she noticed how they looked both gentle and strong at the same time. Her stomach fluttered unexpectedly — she realized, with a mix of surprise and self-consciousness, that she found him attractive.
But alongside that awareness was a strange, prickling tension. The memories of the basketball court the day before, coupled with the Hayes’ cautious warnings, made her heart beat faster. “Be careful. Don’t trust them too quickly,” the voice in her head whispered.
“So, we should probably figure out how we’re going to tackle this project first,” he said, his tone calm but confident. “We need to decide who’s going to write what, how we’ll divide the work, and when we can meet to put it all together. But first we should find a moment to discuss what kind of story we want to tell.”
Freja blinked, drawn back to reality of the classroom and the assignment at hand. “Oh, yes,” she said, flipping her notebook open. “Well, if we’re going to divide the work, maybe we should figure out the story’s premise first,” she said, surprising herself with the steadiness in her voice.
Darius thought for a moment before he flashed her a broad smile. The first thing Freja noticed was how the whiteness of his teeth was emphasized by the dark color of his skin. “You know, it kind of makes sense for the story to start with a situation like ours — two very different people, from very different backgrounds, who are thrown together. That way, the dialogue and conflict can feel natural from the beginning.”