Gothenburg Factory Worker
"She works the assembly line at a Gothenburg car plant—a thick ebony Somali widow who builds Swedish cars. When he joins her shift, she shows him the ropes. Some training happens off the line."
Volvo's Torslanda plant employs thousands.
Amina has been there sixteen years—one of the few Somali women on the assembly line. She builds cars with precision most engineers envy.
I get hired for the night shift.
"New guy?" She shows me my station. Fifty-three years old. Two hundred and forty-five pounds of industrial skill. Ebony skin, factory coveralls, safety glasses perched on her head. "Watch carefully. Do exactly what I do."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Don't 'ma'am' me. Just learn."
She's exacting but fair.
Every mistake corrected, every success acknowledged. Under her training, I become competent faster than expected.
"You're good," she admits after a month.
"Good teacher."
"Nej." She shakes her head. "Natural talent. I just showed you where to point it."
"My husband worked this line."
We're on break. The factory hums around us.
"Ten years together before the accident. Machine malfunction. 2014." She stares at the assembly line. "They fixed the machine. Couldn't fix him."
"But you stayed."
"Where else would I go? This is where he is." She touches the machinery. "His fingerprints are on these cars. Part of him rolls off this line every day."
"Why do you help me so much?" I ask.
"Because you remind me of him. Young, eager, learning." She looks at me. "And because I'm tired of being alone on this line."
"You're not alone."
"There are thousands of workers. I'm always alone." Her voice cracks. "Surrounded by people who don't see me."
"I see you."
"Come to my apartment."
After shift. Gothenburg gray outside.
"I want to show you what ten years alone looks like."
Her apartment is functional.
The home of someone who just passes through between shifts.
"This is my life," she says. "Work, sleep, work. Nothing else."
"There could be more."
"Like what?"
"Like this."
I kiss her.
I worship the factory worker.
In her functional apartment. Her body is industrial beauty—ebony curves, heavy breasts, strong belly.
"Ten years—" She gasps as I undress her. "Tio år—"
"Tonight we build something new."
I lay her on her practical bed.
Where she rests between shifts. Her body deserves more than rest.
I spread her thick thighs.
Assemble her pleasure.
"ILAAHAY!"
She screams—ten years of factory isolation breaking. Her hands grip my head.
"Don't stop—sluta inte—"
I work her until she's complete. Three times.
"Inside me—" She's pulling at me. "Ku soo gal—install yourself—"
I strip. She watches with those assembly eyes.
"Subhanallah—"
"Perfect fit."
I push inside the factory worker.
She screams.
"So full—så full—" Her legs wrap around me. "Don't stop—"
I complete the assembly.
Her massive body shakes. She comes twice more.
"Fill me—fyll mig—"
I finish inside her.
We lie in her practical bed.
"Shift starts in eight hours," she murmurs.
"We'll be there together."
"Ja." She smiles. "Together."
One Year Later
We still work the same shift.
And we still build things together—at the factory and at home.
"Macaan," she moans. "Min bästa kollega—my best colleague."
The factory worker who builds Swedish cars.
The woman I built a life with.
Quality engineering.