TUESDAY, named for Tiu, Norse god of war

I looked at the bed, then back at Inge. The blue comforter gave a fjord setting to the headboard carved with swans, perhaps, but it was a double, not two twins. Maybe here in Sweden they don’t have twins.

For travel tips, I’d contacted my cousin Inge — whatever kind of cousin common great-grandparents makes us, that is — with whom I’d forever pen-palled, and she said she’d love to show her country to a Yankee relative. As her father had already booked a flat for a beach holiday in Gotland, why don’t I just join them? Plenty of room. Just her, her folks and her brother Stefan. “Gottland is very popular for family activities. You will see.”

Well, sure, if I wouldn’t get in the way. Nice relatives, to be sure. I was to call her folks “uncle” and “auntie,” since to some degree they were. They all spoke English whenever I was around so I’d not feel left out.

Great place, not that far from the water. When they booked it, though, it was for four, not five, so Inge and I ended up sharing a bed, but at least neither of us was that wide.

“No problem,” I agreed. “If I roll around, poke me.”

“We must roll as one,” said my cousin.

Meeting me at the terminal, she’d given me a peck on the cheek, what my book said was European. Our goodnight kiss, on the other hand, was on the lips, as we’re relatives, she explained. Stefan’s delivery was the same, his hand on my back, how boys still in school check if you’re wearing a bra, which unlike his sister, I of course was.

WEDNESDAY, named to honor Odin, chief god in Scandinavian mythology

I was in need of a run — lots of places to do it, a place like this — but no one else had the energy. On my return, no one seemed to be up yet, but there were creaks from Inge’s and my room and swishes from Stefan’s. Unsure of what was going on, I jogged some more.

On my second return, Inge and her dad were working in the kitchen, and after a while, the other two came in, the two in their underwear. How was my outing, they wanted to know. Great!

The five of us were off to the beach, a bit nippy but no one was complaining. I’d never seen so many bare breasts, pubescent to granny and everything between, nipples of every size, shape and hew. Inge and her mother shed their tops, too, but my one-piece provided an out. Had I done the same, nobody would have looked twice.

Whoever was nearest took care of where another needed sunscreen, what families do over here, I guess. My book advises that one burns quickly at high latitudes.

When Inge said I might need a little extra, I said sure, not thinking she’d tug down my straps enough to daylight the tops of my areola. Once she’d finished, needless to say, I popped myself back in.

Stefan took charge of his mother, pulling out her bottoms to do so. Inge’s father’s trunks made it difficult not to see what the heel of her hand kept passing over as she did him, but it didn’t seem to matter. Why guys wear what they wear to the beach here, I don’t know, but at least it was her father’s penis she was on.

Later on, I was on his lap, and again down came my straps, my top pulled out to lotion along the edges. His head being over my shoulder. I’d little doubt what he saw, but it didn’t really matter, as soon down came my top all the way and he finished me off as if he’d done it a million times before, my nipples like the pebbles around us.

As I said before, why guys wear what they wear here, I don’t know. What I do know, though, is that it can be noticeable when you’re parked on it, particularly if you’re rocked as he does your sides.

My midriff wasn’t even exposed to the sun, but he did it anyway through my suit, the pressure of his hand guiding me even more onto what was under me. Actually, maybe it was best I was there, as if I’d not been, the bulge in his suit might have been apparent to those around us.

My aunt tossing a towel over my lap — “Holly’s legs may burn.” — was good, as well, given how low his hand was

Exploring up the beach where the rocks weren’t forgiving, our guys were gallant and piggybacked us, me, my top back on, Inge and her mom, not so. It’s Swedish.

They took me souvenir shopping to buy a flag patch for my pack to put next to Yellowstone and Grand Canyon. As nobody knows it, however, I’ll have to explain.

Inge’s explanation at the restaurant, “You will like the taste, only not the name,” while she and her brother footsied each other under the table. Their father told them in Swedish to hold it down, though I’m only guessing the translation. Inge grinned at me and gave me a thumb-to-forefinger spread which could have meant the name of our menu item was long.

Back at our flat, quick showers. My aunt and uncle taking theirs together was because they’re into conservation, though I think there’s no shortage of water. Inge and Stefan did the same, and I could hear them playing around as siblings do, ending with what seemed to be pounding on the shower wall.

Not wanting me to feel left out, shower-wise, Inge insisted on going back in with me, her breasts sliding up and down my back as she did every part of my front, no washcloth. I pretended as if I was accustomed to doing another’s breasts, but wasn’t quite up to going as far down her front as she’d done I.

If they can go braless, why can’t I, I decided. Not that the guys hadn’t seen more of me at the beach, of course, but here in our flat seemed more family. Their dad wouldn’t notice, but the possibility I found oddly pleasing. Inge noticed right away and gave me a grin. No way was I going to parade around in my panties, though.

At bedtime, though, I pulled on my nightgown when Inge was facing the other way. The sheets were cold, and when I said so, she curled around my back.

“Holly?” her hand around each of my shoulders. “Here is a joke.”

“OK.”

“There was a Lithuanian family, two parents and a boy and a girl. Because they had only two beds, the children slept as one. As they got older, they began to roll together. This the mother discovered and instructed the girl that to prevent a problem, she and her daughter must switch beds. Nine months later each had a child.

“‘Mother,’ said the girl, ‘I thought that we exchanged beds to prevent such a problem.’

“‘So we did, my dear. The priest said that for you and your brother to remain in the same one would be incest.”

I laughed.

“But perhaps it tells better in Swedish.”

From down the hall, came thumping from her parents’ room. Seeing that I was wondering, “A family holiday,” she explained, her hold moving from my shoulders to my collarbone, her wrist on my breast, her heel hooked over my ankle.

THURSDAY, named for Thor, god of thunder

I didn’t think of it at the time, but when Inge crawled out of bed — I was already reading my Lonely Planet --.she was in different panties. What made me think of it was that when I was heading for breakfast and passed Stefan’s room, there on the floor were the ones she’d had on when she headed for bed.

The mystery panties were picked up when I came back.

Several mysteries, actually, Stefan sometimes disappearing with his mom into one of their rooms, or Inge with him or her father. There could be a million reasons. Fortunately, I’d stuff to read.

Off to the beach again — the Swedish-American Family Expedition we now called ourselves — this time Stefan, the one to lotion me. I sat perfectly still as he took down my top, and even stiller when he did my legs, not that far up at the beginning, but finishing against my hem.

Fortunately, again his mother tossed a towel over my lap. Not fortunately for saving me from burning, perhaps, as he was getting everywhere, but fortunate that others couldn’t see how far that getting extended.

In doing him in return, I got up the gumption and did along the top of his trunks. Unlike Inge with her father, that was all and it was quick. Knowing that Inge was seeing what I was seeing made it fun enough.

Inge and I were then off to do some Swedish-American expeditioning on our own, this time where swimwear was more optional, but her not her telling me this until we’d arrived.

“The cold is why,” she noted as an older gentleman jogged by. Why what, she didn’t elaborate, but there wasn’t much to him. Then out of the blue, “Could you feel yesterday the excitement of my father?”

I must have misunderstood, but nodded.

The beach had another sense different from yesterday.

“So many homosexuals,” noted Inge, now entirely disrobed. I, myself, kept on my bottoms.

After a freeze-thaw ocean dip — “bathing” — Inge resumed my sun protection, here more and more up my thighs and finally onto my suit dead center. “Our boys do not know how.”

In doing her, she said, “all places,” so that’s what I was doing when, “Alo,” from two boys about our age and Inge waved them welcome. At least they were wearing trunks.

One of them said a pleasantry by its tone, Inge laughed something back, and then the other one turned my way. “Hello. My name is Arvid. Welcome to my country,” which I couldn’t have done in Swedish.

“Hello, Arvid. My name is Holly and I’m from America,” spacing out my words.

“My name is Pedar,” from his friend. “My English practice is not large, but I read it, particularly Michael Crichton.”

“He’s very popular,” I encouraged, though I found him to be formulaic.

Inge winked at me, then said. “Perhaps you would join us for a potluck?” showing off her English.

“What we call a meal where we share,” I explained.

“Yes. We will do that, please. May we place our cloth?”

“Okie dokie,” from Arvid. Living Planet says that “OK” and “Coke” are understood almost everywhere, but nothing about “okie dokie.”

The two were accounting trainees in a bank, and, as they put it, “shared a domestication.”

I smiled my best, “Oh yes. Where I live we have many gay and lesbian and transgendered couples,” as I didn’t want the US thought of as homophobic.

We chatted on as Inge oiled my front, but that it didn’t matter to gays. They were enchanted with the concept of a gay rodeo. Pedar said that he could be the clown who hid in the barrel.

Arvid worked out, “It is good to have a friend when bathing,” likewise doing his partner. I looked away, but supposed they knew I’d peeked.

Then I heard Pedar say something to which Inge laughed, “They are thinking we should make love, us next to them.”

Do what? Us?

“We’re here with our boyfriends,” Inge clarified.

After they left, I said that her claiming us having boyfriends was a nice touch, to which she said of course we did: her brother and her father.

It was my aunt who joined me in the shower, saving me from having to say thanks-but-no-thanks to Stefan who was hoping to be the one. I’d rather she’d have been using a washcloth.