Chapter 11: End of Summer, Part III

August 1979 — Hovås, Sweden

It was the final week before I’d start school. Monday morning, after my jogging and golf, I went with Patrick to the store to buy notebooks, pens, pencils, erasers, and other supplies I’d need for school. I’d brought my TI-30 calculator with me, so I didn’t need to buy one. I also bought a small zippered gym bag to carry my homework back and forth to school. I managed to make all my purchases without speaking a word of English, but it had been fairly simple because the conversations were brief and mostly consisted of telling me the cost and thanking me.

Patrick explained that lunch was served at school each day, and because it was free, I wouldn’t need to worry about it. He did joke that he hoped I liked potatoes. I had certainly had my fill of them, but they seemed to be the staple food, so there wasn’t much to do about it except add butter, salt, pepper, or some kind of gravy and eat them. He said there was always meat or fish, as well as bread and cheese.

On the way home, we stopped at the Post Office so I could mail my letters, then after lunch I walked to Petra’s house, arriving just before 1:00pm. She greeted me at the door and suggested that we go to the café down the street. We walked there and had our coffee while we talked about what to do. It turned out there was surprisingly little to do without going all the way into Göteborg, and even then, because it was August, quite a few shops were closed.

Liseberg, an amusement park, was an option but it was already late in the day, so she suggested we go there on Wednesday or Thursday. She said she would invite Sofia to come along as well. The girls seemed to be pretty close friends, and that concerned me a bit. I didn’t want to upset either of them, but that was certainly possible, even probable, if I got involved with both of them. We agreed on Wednesday.

We finished our coffee and Petra suggested we take a walk, then head back to her house and listen to music. I took her hand while we walked.

“You know I’ve spent time with Sofia, right?” I asked.

She laughed, “Yes, she told me. Don’t worry, I’m not jealous and she isn’t either. What she does and what I do are up to each of us. We aren’t fighting or competing. You’re fun to be with and you treat us differently than the Swedish guys.”

I kept hearing that, and I had caught glimpses of it when I was at the party.

“Can you explain that?” I asked.

“Well, you treat us really nice, like a friend, not like someone to get into bed with, though because you’re a boy, you think about that, of course, but you don’t act like it!” she giggled. “Do you know the Factory song Poängsamling? It’s really like that.”

“I do know it. I have the cassette. I translated the lyrics so I could understand.”

Two verses came to mind...

Petra said, “It’s like that. For the guys, it’s all about scoring points, telling lies to each other, and keeping track of the score. The most points come from getting a girl into bed. But you don’t act like that at all, even though it’s clear to me and Sofia you’re interested.”

I chuckled, “Of course I am. I’m a guy. But it’s just wrong to treat girls like that. There are guys back home that act like that too, but mostly they are the guys on sports teams or in college fraternities. All my friends are more like me.”

“Maybe you need to get them to come here! Maybe the Swedish boys could learn something about being nice to us!”

It dawned on me that I hadn’t seen men holding doors for women, or deferring to them to let them go first, things that were very common back home. I wondered if all of this was related to the feminist insistence on equality I had read about in the guide book from YFU. It was touted as an example for the world, but if it led to guys treating girls like crap, I wasn’t sure it was actually a good idea.

“No,” I chuckled, “then I’d have competition. Maybe they can come here after I leave!”

By this point, we were back at her house. We walked inside and I greeted her mom in Swedish and even managed the short ‘how are you?’ conversation.

“«Bara bra, Steve!»” Petra said. (“Not bad, Steve!”)

“Oh, simple phrases yes, but I start school on Monday. That will be fun without fluent Swedish. But I also start a Swedish for Immigrants class the following week, so soon I’ll be able to do even better.”

“Not bad, though, really. I heard you buy your skates and, except for asking about getting them sharpened, you did it in Swedish.”

“How hard is it to give my shoe size and be told how much they cost?” I chuckled.

“It’s still good,” she said. “Do you want to listen to some music? I have the Factory album.”

“«Det låter bra!»” I said. (“That sounds great!”)

“«Mamma, vi skall gå in på mitt rum, snälla se till att Tomas inte stör oss!»”

“«Okej Petra.»”

She smiled and took my hand and led me to her room and shut the door.

“Did you understand what I asked mom?”

“Well, the first part, yes, about going into your room, but I didn’t understand the part about Tomas.”

“He likes to tease me and bug me when I have boys here, so I asked mom to make sure he doesn’t.”

“He sounds like a normal brother to me!” I chuckled.

“I suppose so, but he’s difficult.”

I could write novels about difficult brothers, but I let that pass. She turned on her record player and put on the Factory album. She sat on her bed and leaned against the wall. I hesitated for a moment, remembering that she had been somewhat shyer than Sofia.

“Well, nice boy, you can sit with me here, if you want,” she said with a twinkle in her eye.

I smiled and sat down on the bed next to her, scooting back to lean against the wall. Our shoulders were close, but not touching.

“You know the words to these songs?”

“I translated them all with some help, yes, but I don’t know the Swedish words yet. I listen to this a lot so I can get better at listening. Same with the news on TV. I don’t understand a lot, but I’m slowly getting better.”

“This song, Så e’ Livet, is about two girls who are in love and are treated badly.”

“Yeah, it’s about Suzi and Lena, who get chased out of their apartment because some old lady doesn’t like what they are doing.”

“And of course, you know Poängsamling. You’re not keeping score with anyone, are you?” she teased.

“I don’t talk about what I do or who I’ve been with except for my little sister and my best friend back home, who happens to be a girl.”

“Your best friend is a girl?”

“All my really close friends are girls, I guess. There are some guys, sure, but I get along way better with the girls.”

“Maybe that explains why you know how to act around girls and talk to girls. Most Swedish guys don’t have any friends who are girls.”

“Well, I already have you, Sofia, and Freda Röckert as friends here, and I haven’t been here that long. I also have a friend that’s a girl in Helsingborg that I met only a few days after I got here. Except for Patrick Jonsson, I don’t really have any guys I hang out with. That’s like at home, too. I’m mostly around girls all the time.”

“You talk to your sister about girls and what you do with them?”

“She and I are really, really close. Not like my brother and me, who don’t get along at all. But my little sister is pretty amazing. She’s twelve now, but we’ve been really close for a long time.”

“I wish I were closer with my brother, but he’s a jerk too often!”

“So help him not be a jerk!”

“Maybe I should let him be around you and he can see how he should act.”

“Invite him to Liseberg with us.”

“That would ruin it!”

“I don’t think so. Not if you are nice to him. Go ask him if he wants to go. Trust me? Trust the nice American boy?”

She giggled, got up and went out the door and came back a few minutes later.

“He was surprised, but he said he would like to go. But Sofia won’t like it.”

“Let me talk to her. I’m seeing her tomorrow. You just invite her, OK.”

She got up and went to call Sofia and invite her and was back quickly.

“She said yes, of course,” Petra said as she sat back down.

I noticed she had sat down close enough that our shoulders were now touching. Did being a ‘nice guy’ in her mind mean I shouldn’t try anything or did it mean she was OK if I did. I certainly didn’t want to come off as a jerk, but I also didn’t want to miss out on the opportunity to kiss her if I could.

I noticed something else, too. I had no clue if Petra was experienced or not. Come to think of it, I had no clue if Sofia was. Sofia was taking it slow, but other than that, I had no clue. Petra had seemed shy at the first kiss, but the kiss yesterday had been intense, and didn’t seem like the first time she had kissed that way. My radar was off and I was flying blind. That was a new experience.

I decided on a half-measure and I put my right arm around her. She responded by scooting a bit closer to me so that our hips now touched as well. Taking that as a positive development, I leaned over and kissed her softly. She put her right hand on my chest and then her lips parted immediately and we shared an intense French kiss. While my radar might be off, it was pretty clear that Petra was going to be a handful if things progressed.

She didn’t break the kiss, and it grew in intensity, conveying what seemed like serious pent-up desire. If there was a way to ask to make love with a kiss, this had to be it. At that moment, the music stopped, and she broke the kiss, got up, and flipped the album to the other side.

I realized that my initial assessment that day in the sauna might have been completely wrong. I had pegged Sofia as the experienced one and Petra as the innocent one. But their actions over the last few days said differently. Sofia was taking it slow, being very careful about what she let me do. Petra was clearly moving forward and hadn’t shown any boundaries or limits as yet.

When she came back, instead of sitting back against the wall, she sat sideways, smiled at me, then lay back on the pillow, stretching her legs across mine. The invitation was clear, so I lay down on my side next to her, my head propped on my hand, supported by my elbow. I leaned over and kissed her again, our tongues once again exploring each other’s mouths.

I put my left hand on her stomach and slowly moved it upwards towards her breast, stopping just below them. Our tongues continued in a furious battle and I moved my hand to cover her firm, small breast. I felt her nipple harden and applied a bit of pressure with my hand. She reached up and tugged on my shoulder and I lay down half on top of her, one leg between hers and my quickly hardening dick pressed against her hip.

Petra broke the kiss and softly asked, “Do nice boys love as good as they kiss?”

“Better,” I answered back, equally softly.

She pushed me slightly, and I moved so she could get up. She turned off the record player and turned on the radio and turned up the volume a bit, then locked the door and closed the blinds. I watched as she removed her top and shorts, then her white lace bra and matching panties. I’d seen her body in the sauna and the pool — thin, with small breasts and a small patch of thin pubic hair.

I stood up and removed my t-shirt, shorts, and underwear. I pulled the condoms from my pocket, put them on the table next to the bed, and then Petra pulled the duvet down on the bed and we climbed in.

“Condoms? Swedish guys hate to use them! Some of them would rather skip sex than use a condom.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. They expect the girl to be on «p-piller» or if something happens to have an abortion.”

“I’m really beginning to see what you mean about Swedish guys!”

“I am on «p-piller» so you don’t need to use a condom.”

The word “Becky” flashed through my mind.

“Do you mind if I use them?”

“You don’t have to!”

“I prefer to, for my own sake. OK?”

“Sure.”

I moved on top of her, and we kissed again — French kisses with white-hot intensity. Lying between her legs, I felt the heat coming from her already soaked pussy, the base of my dick directly in contact with that wet warmth. I slid down a bit to latch onto her nipple with my mouth and suck hard on it. She arched her back, and using both hands, pushed my head down into her chest. I tongued her nipple roughly, and she moaned softly and ground her pussy into my stomach. I switched breasts and continued licking and sucking for another minute.

I let go of her breast and kissed her breast bone, then slid down, trailing kisses to the soft patch of pubic hair. I nuzzled the soft blonde hair, then kissed her just above where her labia met.

“«Snälla du, slicka mig!»” she pleaded.

I could figure that one out even though I didn’t know the word «slicka» — ‘Please lick me’.

I licked her pussy from bottom to top, then top to bottom, then using my tongue, I split her labia and licked her, filling my tongue with her tangy flavor. My next lick was deeper still, and then I probed for her opening and pushed my tongue as deep as I could, my mouth covering most of her small pussy. Her hands came to the back of my head and pressed me down, and she put her thighs over my shoulders and crossed her legs across my back.

I moved my tongue in and out, left and right, up and down, probing every inch of her pussy that I could reach. She was gently rocking her hips as I pleasured her with my tongue and lips. I moved my mouth slightly to suck on her clit, continuing to make love to her with my tongue.

“«Ja, Ja, Oj»!” she hissed, and bucked hard against me.

I felt her pussy grab my tongue, and she got even wetter, soaking my face with her juices. Once the orgasm had passed, I moved back up, reached for a rubber, tore open the package and put it on. I positioned myself and because she was so wet, slid fully into her tight channel with a single, easy stroke.

No sooner than my pubic hair touched hers, she wrapped her arms around my back and her legs around my butt and started thrusting her hips against me. I matched the rhythm, and we set a furious pace. Her lovemaking reminded me of Becky’s — frantic and with wild abandonment. We French kissed, grunting and moaning into each other’s mouths, breathing hard through our noses. It got to be too much, and we broke the kiss, panting hard as we frantically moved against each other.

“Ungh, ungh, ungh!” Petra groaned softly.

She arched her back hard as her orgasm swept over her. I continued at the same pace as before, and when her orgasm passed, she matched my thrusts again. We were covered in sweat by this point, our bodies were sliding against each other. After a few minutes, I felt her pussy begin to spasm, and she tightened her grip on me with arms and legs and launched her body upwards, and groaned into my ear. I could barely move as the orgasm shook her body. I was close and after a few more strokes, I gasped and blasted cum into the rubber.

I was right, she was quite the handful! We lay there for a few minutes, catching our breath, our bodies still connected. I felt my erection subsiding, so I grasped the rubber and pulled out of Petra, causing her to whimper softly. I pulled off the rubber and dropped it in her trashcan, then got back into bed with her and pulled her to me.

“Nice boys love very, very good!” she said softly.

“I like the way Swedish girls make love!” I said quietly.

We lay cuddling for a bit in silence, her head on my chest and one arm flung across me.

“I like the way you hold me afterwards, too.”

“It’s what nice guys do!” I said.

“None of my lovers have ever done that. They almost always get right out of bed. Or if they stay the night, they just turn and go to sleep.”

Idiots! All of them! Same thing I’d thought when my girls back home complained about the same thing. Like the kisses after blowjobs, cuddling after sex made the girls really happy, and that made me really happy.

“We should get up now,” Petra said. “I hope you’ll come see me again!”

“Of course! I’ll see you on Wednesday for Liseberg.”

We got dressed, she opened the blinds, then raised the window to let in some fresh air. She kissed me hard and then opened the door. We went to the kitchen, and she got us cold water to drink from the fridge. When we finished, she walked me to the door, past her mom who said, «Hej då!» reminding me of how Melanie’s parents reacted. At the door, she kissed me again and said she’d see me Wednesday.

On Tuesday, after I jogged, had my final golf lesson of the season, and practiced, I went to Sofia’s for lunch. Like before, she was home alone and had made soup for lunch. We ate, and I let her know that Tomas was joining us for the trip to Liseberg.

“Why? He’ll make it terrible for us.”

“I don’t think so,” I replied. “Petra said she wanted to have a good relationship with him like I have with my little sister. I think I can help.”

“He bothers us all the time.”

“I’ll take care of him. All you have to do is to please be nice to him.”

She nodded, and we finished eating, then cleaned up the table and kitchen.

She led me to her room, shut the door and said, “Steve, I’m not ready for sex with you, but I want to kiss and stuff.”