Study Abroad
"Semester abroad, living with a host family. Dad travels for work. Mom and daughter have a very European attitude about pleasure. They've been waiting for him to catch on."
The Bergmanns have a very different approach to nudity.
I realize this my first morning in Stockholm, when Ingrid—my host mother—walks through the kitchen in nothing but underwear. She's fifty, blonde going silver, with a body that's all European abundance: heavy breasts, soft belly, wide hips. She pours coffee like being mostly naked in front of a stranger is the most natural thing in the world.
"Good morning, Lucas." Her English is perfect, barely accented. "Did you sleep well?"
I try not to stare at her breasts. "Yes. Thank you."
"Good." She hands me a cup. "Astrid is in the shower. She'll be down soon."
Astrid is her daughter, twenty-two, here for the summer from her university in Paris. Athletic, blonde, with a runner's body and a smile that makes me forget how to speak.
I'm here to study Swedish literature.
I'm beginning to think I'll learn other things too.
Week One
The Bergmann household operates on different rules.
Ingrid sunbathes topless in the backyard. Astrid walks around in sports bras and tiny shorts. They think nothing of changing with doors open, of appearing in towels, of casual physical contact that would be intimate in America.
"You Americans are so repressed," Ingrid laughs when I avert my eyes for the dozenth time. "The body is natural. Beautiful. Why hide it?"
"It's just... different."
"Different can be better." She leans close, adjusting my collar. Her breasts graze my arm. "You should try loosening up."
Week Two
Henrik, the father, leaves for a business trip. Three weeks in Tokyo.
"Just us now," Astrid says at dinner that night. She's wearing a tank top with no bra, her nipples clearly visible. "Are you ready?"
"Ready for what?"
Ingrid and Astrid exchange a look.
"He still doesn't understand," Ingrid says.
"Give him time." Astrid pours more wine. "Americans are slow. But he's worth the wait."
I don't ask what they mean.
I'm afraid I already know.
Week Three
Astrid corners me in the hallway after her run.
She's drenched in sweat, her tank top plastered to her body, her athletic curves on full display. She presses me against the wall.
"I'm done waiting."
"Astrid—"
"My mother wants you too. We've discussed it. The only question is whether you want us back." She presses closer, her thigh between my legs. "Do you?"
"This is—your father—"
"Has his own arrangements in Tokyo." Her hand cups my cock through my jeans. "We have a very European marriage. Open. Honest. He knows exactly what we do when he travels."
"And what do you do?"
She smiles. "Whatever we want."
She leads me to Ingrid's bedroom.
Her mother is waiting, draped across the bed in a silk robe. At my entrance, she sits up, letting the robe fall open.
"Finally," she breathes. "I was beginning to think you'd never understand."
"I understand now."
"Good." She opens her arms. "Then come here."
They undress me together.
Astrid from behind, pulling off my shirt. Ingrid from the front, working at my belt. Their hands overlap, coordinate, move with the ease of practice.
"How long?" I manage.
"How long have we wanted you?" Ingrid laughs. "Since the moment you walked through our door. The way you looked at me. The way you tried so hard not to."
"The way you stared at my ass during my yoga," Astrid adds. "Did you think I didn't notice?"
"I thought you'd be offended."
"Offended?" Ingrid pulls down my jeans. "We were flattered. A young American, trying so hard to be proper. It made us want you more."
Ingrid takes me first.
She lies back on the bed, spreading her thick thighs, showing me a pussy that's trimmed and wet.
"In Sweden, we don't waste time," she says. "Take me. Now."
I climb over her, push inside, and she moans like she's been waiting months instead of weeks.
"Yes. Yes, just like that—"
Astrid watches from beside us, stripping off her running clothes. Her body is everything her mother's isn't—lean, toned, small breasts with hard nipples. She touches herself while I fuck her mother, providing commentary.
"Harder. She likes it harder."
"Pull her hair. Just a little."
"Make her come, Lucas. Show her what Americans are good for."
Ingrid comes with a scream, her nails raking my back.
"My turn," Astrid says immediately.
She pushes her mother aside and climbs on top, sinking down in one smooth motion. Where Ingrid was soft and welcoming, Astrid is tight and demanding.
"Fuck," she gasps. "You're big. Mom wasn't exaggerating."
"She talked about my—"
"We talk about everything." She starts bouncing, her small breasts barely moving. "Size. Stamina. Whether you'd be able to handle us both."
"Can you?" Ingrid asks, recovered now, her hand finding my balls. "Handle us both?"
"I'm going to try."
The semester becomes a blur.
Days in class, studying literature. Nights in the Bergmann bed, studying something more primal.
Ingrid teaches me about patience—long, slow sessions where she rides me for hours, edging us both to the brink again and again.
Astrid teaches me about intensity—quick, fierce encounters against walls, in the shower, on the kitchen counter.
Together, they teach me about abundance—how to satisfy two women at once, how to pace myself, how to give and receive pleasure without guilt.
Henrik comes home for a weekend.
I expect awkwardness. Instead, he shakes my hand warmly.
"I hear you've been taking care of my girls."
"I—"
"Relax." He laughs at my expression. "I told you. Very European marriage. Ingrid sends me videos. You're quite impressive."
"She—videos?"
"How else would I know you're treating them well?" He pats my shoulder. "Keep up the good work. I'll be back in Tokyo by Monday."
The semester ends too soon.
My flight home is in two days. Ingrid and Astrid have been increasingly clingy, increasingly demanding.
"Don't go," Astrid whispers one night, wrapped around me while her mother sleeps beside us.
"I have to. My program ends."
"Transfer. Apply to Swedish universities. Stay."
"Astrid..."
"We're serious." Ingrid's eyes are open now. "You fit here, Lucas. You belong with us."
I think about it.
My life in America: a shared apartment, a part-time job, a future that feels smaller every day.
My life here: two women who want me, a country that embraces pleasure, a family that accepts the unconventional.
"I'll apply," I hear myself say. "No promises. But I'll try."
They tackle me, cover me in kisses.
"That's all we ask," Ingrid murmurs.
"For now," Astrid adds.
Six Months Later
I'm accepted to the University of Stockholm.
Henrik offers me the guest room permanently. Ingrid clears out space for my things. Astrid helps me unpack.
That night, we christen my new life with a marathon session that leaves all three of us exhausted.
"Welcome home," Ingrid whispers.
"Welcome to the family," Astrid echoes.
Study abroad was supposed to be a semester.
It became the rest of my life.