Freya Being Freya by Thomas Ullman

Genre:
Supernatural/Feminist

Synopsis:
Our drifting narrator is drawn to a rune stone in suburban Stockholm. He feels compelled to lick the stone which becomes female flesh. Freya, Viking Goddess of love and sex gives him a purpose in life, a few laughs, a bit of anxiety, some wholesome food and lots of lovely sex. Freya transforms the worlds of all who meet her.

Excerpt:

PRELUDE:

Michael, the story’s narrator has lured Viking Goddess Freya back to our world and has had a few days of fun, cooking and astonishing sex. But Freya has had to return to her world of Asgard. Not before she has imbued Michael with her spirit or scent (of thyme and apples...and sex). Freya is not the covetous type and has encouraged Michael to use her scent to pleasure himself and deserving women. We begin as Michael’s sister, Anna finally persuades him to go out into the city and meet people…

“Okay, so let’s go out tonight to ‘test the waters’.”

“Can we cope with going to the same places we went with Freya?”

“We can try.”

So we did.

That evening at around eight o’clock I met Anna at our nearest commuter station and we travelled the sixteen minutes into the city centre. It was a warm and fragrant night. As much as it can ever really be night at that time of year and this far north. It may even have been a warm night with the scent of thyme and apples. But that was probably wishful thinking.

“It smells of thyme and apples,” said Anna. There was no need to say more. We had been given permission.

“Do you have times when you are unreasonably confident and gorgeous, Anna?” I expected her to reply ‘always’.

“Maybe once or twice a year. Tonight is definitely one of those nights. I’m not sure what will happen or what….I can do.”

“Stay with me, will you?”

“As long as you stay with me, little brother.” Hand in hand we walked from the central train station where folk converged on the capital from near and far and braved the city night. Even here, at the hub of the nation, these people were just not as urgent as they had been six months ago. Love was still in the air.

I half expected us to be recognised and people say to us ‘weren’t you with her on that night?’ or something like that. We were not ignored as we made our progress through the balmy city streets. When we looked at other people we were very much looked at and smiled upon.

We had deliberately chosen the bar that was furthest from our starting point. We wanted to prolong the moment and were both nervous of interacting with others of whatever gender.

But there comes a time.

The bar was perfect. It was busy but not too busy, with seating in and out of doors. Anna sat down at a small round table conveniently near the entrance and equally conveniently at this early stage of our rehabilitation, with only two chairs. I had only about a minute’s wait at the bar before ordering two strongish beers in elegant green bottles. It was tempting to down a couple of whiskies before stepping outside but I thought better of it. I didn’t want to look like a desperado of some kind. Clutching the beers I weaved my way outside and even managed a watery smile at a group of unreasonably attractive, multi-cultured and multi-ethnic women standing near the door. They smiled back then nudged each other, reverting to giggling schoolgirls. Anna was still alone, thankfully, although the chairs appeared to have mated and produced two fully grown offspring.

“Here’s to you, me and one other,” I said as I placed the bottle in front of my confident, nervous sister.

“To Freya,” Anna replied, clinking bottles with me.

“I put the extra chairs here in the hope…sort of that maybe other people will sit with us. We look too much like a couple with just the two chairs.”

“Never, you’re way too old for me.” Anna kicked me. It was extremely tempting to drink one beer and move on. I even suggested we did. But Anna was made of sterner stuff.

“Those women behind you. Don’t look! Would all bite your trousers off if I left.” She announced in her best, subtle Anna manner. She downed her beer and said far too loudly.

“I’ll be back in half an hour, little brother.” I was relieved that she would be back but genuinely alarmed to be alone in this urban jungle. And, on your own in, or just outside of a bar is always slightly awkward. I wasn’t alone for long. Good and bad.

“What did you say to her?” It was one of the ‘multi-cultured, multi-ethnic ladies.

“Who?…oh that was my sister. She’ll be back in a little while.” I hoped that might ‘scare them off’. It didn’t. These were confident city women and sisters held no fear for them. I felt like saying ‘she’s very scary or I’d rather be alone’. I didn’t. I didn’t want to be alone.

“You look like the kind of man who might need protecting…I’ll be your bodyguard.” It was a good line and made me laugh…nervously. Two of the ladies sat down on the chair opposite me. It was slightly comical seeing these mature, cultured and definitely sexy women perched uncomfortably on one small chair. It also made me warm to them. Their two friends lurked behind them. They were a little less forthright. At least for now. The words of Freya resonated this night…’women of all kinds’. It was tempting to imagine that these four ladies had been divinely ordained by her. I would have felt a little rude in asking ‘who are you and what’s your ethnic origin?’ but I was intrigued. I would have been intrigued even if there wasn’t a hint that they had been placed there by Freya’s hand. The woman who had first spoken to me was of middle-eastern, possibly Lebanese origin. She was small with hair as black as pitch and eyes as brown as a shiny chestnut. Her name was Zaina and she was beautiful. Her fellow percher was a classic Nordic lady. She was tall with blonde hair which, if let loose would have reached to her bottom and with blue/grey eyes that were bottomless. Her name was Helena and she was beautiful. The two standees’ names I discovered a little later. The one on my left was mixed race…black and white with hair in corn rows and deep brown eyes offset by her light brown skin. Her name was Lydia and she was beautiful. The one on my right was what I think of as ‘English’ looking…lovely English looking with brown hair in a ponytail and green flecked eyes and looking like she could be easily embarrassed. Her name was Louise and she was beautiful. Zaina and Helena had a good routine. Zaina was the warm slightly scatty, chatty one and Helena was the cool slightly aloof, and less chatty one, or at least at first.

“Why do you think I need protecting?” I asked.

“Because you are alone and these days…some women can be dangerous,” said Zaina, as I saw my reflection in her eyes.

“How long have these women been dangerous?” It was a strange question but fielded well by Zaina and Helena.

“Helena and I have always been dangerous.”

“No, Zaina has always been dangerous. I have only been dangerous for six months or so.” I knew their names but I needed to know more.

“What happened six months ago?”

“We were here, in the city and…we learned that we are beautiful (Helena blushed a little) but also we are powerful and that our kind of power, I mean women’s power is what this godforsaken world needs.” She spoke with passion and would have perhaps frightened some men away. It would perhaps have frightened me away a year ago. Of course I was sure I knew what or rather who had empowered them and was tempted to say ‘so you saw Freya’. I didn’t. I was feeling pangs of guilt about being with ‘other’ women and distinct longing and fear for Freya. The mention of her name in the presence of these women seemed…just not right. I must say that the attention of these lovely ladies was flattering and they were fun to be with. I did feel outnumbered though. Thankfully, help was at hand. Anna returned.

“Hiya little brother.” I was glad she had said ‘brother’ but wished that she had left out the ‘little’.

“You seem to be coping without me quite well.” She continued and smiled at my ‘coterie’. I noticed that my sister was not alone. Not only was she not alone, she was in the company of ‘don’t ever speak of our one night stand’, Tom…who apart from his intimate knowledge of Anna was also one of my best friends.

“Where did you find him?” I asked, rather inelegantly and really rather rudely.

“I didn’t. He found me. I was walking innocently down on the strand when there he was, walking innocently down on the strand coming towards me. Tom was thirty, forty metres away and our eyes met. There was no escape.” She laughed.

“You look like you need some help,” said Tom, indicating the ladies with his eyes.

“I think I might…although I know you and Anna like to be alone sometimes.” I couldn’t resist it.

“Maybe later,” said Tom, coping admirably with my cheek…but out of Anna’s earshot. And then Tom kissed me. Just a peck on the cheek. He was the ‘anti-Judas’. Where had that come from?

“Where did that come from?” I asked.

“From me. I…we know that you’ve been feeling low lately and I’m just glad to see you out and about and thriving.”

“Thank you, Tom, that means a lot.” It did. I realised how much I had missed him and my other friends and the company of men. And Tom was a good man. Tom was also different in that he did a ‘real’ job. None of this sitting around with computers and number crunching or trying to be thoughtful to thoughtless or hopeless people kind of work that the rest of us did. He had hands that said that he worked for a living. He had muscles gained not through hours in the gym, but through honest toil and sweat. He worked on construction sites and lifted bricks and drove noisy, heavy vehicles and could justify drinking heavily and eating fatty foods. He had earned it.

“I might take him home later,” said Anna, in her inimitable way. It broke any remaining ice between the three of us.

The night was turning out better than we could have possibly hoped. I was able to communicate with the world again. And the world was not too bad, populated as it was by a great friend, my magnificent sister and four other women who were smart, attractive and funny and by their very existence served to emphasise that racism is the cesspool of humanity.

“You can all come back to my apartment, if you’d like to,” said Louise. She didn’t look at all embarrassed either. I looked to Anna and Tom for some sort of guidance. Anna, whilst still speaking to Tom just nodded ever so slightly. So we did.

“Are you…a bit English, Louise?” I asked, because I like to know these things.

“How English would you like me to be?” she replied in English.

“Anything from zero to one hundred per cent is fine.”

“Well then, I guess then I’m fifty per cent English. My mum is from England. Or no, I can’t be fifty per cent as I was born here. How does twenty five per cent sound?”

“Perfect. You must be a blend of Nordic sensibleness with a hint of English unpredictability and creative genius.”

“Nah!...it just means I can drink a lot.” I liked Louise.

“I’m fifty per cent Lebanese,” Zaina butted in amiably.

“Which half?” I replied.

“Just look at me…can’t you tell?” Before I could reply, Zaina replied for me.

“If you add up my lustrous hair, my chestnut eyes, luscious lips and my gorgeous ass that makes the fifty per cent.” Fifty per cent was more than enough. I liked Zaina.

Louise, Zaina, Lydia and Helena had become something akin to a four headed beast. A warm and funny beast though. I had no desire to slice their heads off.

“I think that I am forty three per cent Senegalese,” said Lydia, cheerfully mocking Louise and Zaina.

“What is the fifty seven per cent?” I asked.

“The rest of the world.” She shouted joyfully. I liked Lydia.

“And you, Helena?” Helena looked thoughtful, as if she had known the question would come and she had to get her answer right.

“I am of the ice and snow and sunlight and darkness and pine trees and bears and wolves… But mostly meatballs and IKEA.” Helena threw back her head and that hair and laughed like a squeaky mouse. I liked Helena.

Louise lived in one of those buildings built in the 1920’s that have small lifts with a black metal gate that you pull closed before you can rise or fall. The lift was worth the rent alone

The apartment was suitably small and bijou, well appointed, tasteful and expensive to buy or rent. Mind you, compared with some cities it was a bargain. Louise did not need to be paid a ludicrous amount for her part in ruining the economies of the world and throwing those who do the ‘real work’ into poverty to be able to live there. She might even have done some good in the world?

When we had all squeezed ourselves into Louise’s tasteful living room or only room really, Tom stood up and proclaimed, bottle in hand.

“Here’s to my great friend, who is back…here’s to Anna who is real marriage material (he meant well, though I was not too sure Anna would agree) and here’s to Louise, Zaina, Lydia and Helena. They are…goddesses who give life a meaning.” Did Tom really say that? He had. Anna looked as uneasy as I’m sure I did at that moment.

“We are extraordinarily lovely, Tom but we will never be goddesses. We saw a real goddess once and she had everything we have…just more of the everything we have…and the power and goodness to change the world.” It was Louise who had spoken, taking up the mantle in her own apartment.

“To someone like me who spends his days looking at the bum cracks of hairy builders…let me assure you girls that you most definitely are goddesses.” Tom being Tom had lightened the mood with his characteristic charm…and he was a handsome devil!

The rest of the night was…fun. That’s the word. The seven of us drank a little more. Louise decided at two thirty in the morning that heating up soup was a good idea. It wasn’t. The soup was cheerfully under-appreciated, spilt and generally mocked. And we all talked, with humour, irreverence, seriousness, arrogance and modesty. Nothing physical happened other than the ‘four headed beast’ being far too impressed with the fact that Tom had rough hands and Lydia braiding one side of Anna’s hair. I knew that this would lead to the gorgeously preposterous belief that this gave her ‘ethnic credibility’ in certain parts of the city…and Helena saying.

“How do you manage to smell so…bloody lovely?” Helena’s ‘default’ appearance was that of unapproachable ice maiden. After a few drinks when she had relaxed she became gloriously blunt and a little ditzy.

“That’s just me, Helena.” I half lied.

“No it’s not. You have been…blessed.”

“Yes, you’re right, I really have been blessed.” ‘Blessed’…Helena had said it all. I resolved from that moment to stop feeling sorry for myself and use my blessing as best I could, which had a myriad of possibilities. We swapped phone numbers and hugs and laughs and then Tom, Anna and I slipped into the cool and warm night air. The air was thyme and apples.

I wondered if Anna really would take Tom home with her. She didn’t, although they held hands as we walked through the city and their goodnight kiss was full of future intrigues. Then again, my hug, and ‘man’ kiss with Tom was also full of future possibilities. Handsome as he was, they did not include kissing him in any other places.

Tom drifted away. He did drift. One moment he was very much with us and then he moved to the left as if turning off at a motorway junction and was gone. What a guy.

“Shall we walk back?” Anna asked.

“It seems the right thing to do.”

“It will take us three hours or more, if we go to yours.”

“We can do it. We will have…help.” We both knew where the help would come from and we both believed in it. Anna as a ‘prepared’ woman had swapped her heels for a pair of flats so on we walked. It was mid -May and only a month before the summer solstice.

“When is midsummer day this year?” I asked.

“Not totally sure, but it’s either the twenty first or twenty second of June…usually.”

“That’s when I or we will get a sign that she is coming back.”

“I hope so,” said Anna simply. So did I. In a three hour walk through the northern reaches of the city centre, past the enormity of the huge cemetery, past the expanding modern beauty of the world renowned hospital and past countless people asleep in their well-designed houses and apartments we strolled, happy with our pasts, presents and futures…and we talked.

“Who are you going to sleep with first?” Anna asked as Anna does. It was a question I did not want to answer or really even think about and certainly not discuss.

“I don’t want to have sex with any of them.”

“Yes, you do. And Freya wants you to.” I both liked and disliked Anna’s use of the present tense as it suggested that Freya was not gone forever but also that if I did sleep with one of them it would be an act of infidelity.

“I know she said that but do you think she really meant it?”

“Freya says what she means. I think it might even cause her a little pain but she does mean it.” Anna continued in the present tense.

“In that case; whoever calls me first. If any of them do”

“Oh, they will call. But that’s too easy, you have to choose.”

“How do I do that?”

“Well, if I go through them now, one by one, you can discover your favourite…and I will enjoy your unease.”

“Okay, but only if we talk about Tom afterwards.” Anna smiled.

“What about Zaina?” I decided to be cool, calm and efficient.

“Zaina is fun, beautiful eyes and skin…and I imagine she has beautiful dark nipples.”

“Good start bro…and lips to die for.”

“And Helena?”

“Helena is super cool, fabulous hair and with legs I would like to explore.”

“This might not be easy. And Lydia?”

“Lydia is…exotic and also sexy as hell.”

“And Louise?”

“Louise is…pert, pretty and I imagine wilder than she looks.”

“Maybe just wait to see who calls you first. But you must promise me, for your and their sakes that you will not now or ever suggest some kind of male fantasy fivesome.”

“It had never crossed my mind.” Time to change the subject.

“What about ‘don’t mention our one night stand, Tom?” Anna smiled in a slightly scary older sister kind of way.

“I really like Tom. I wasn’t sure before tonight. But he is handsome, has rough ‘proper man’s hands’, is funny and if I don’t get him, one of your ladies will.”

“What about him being my friend?”

“It mattered six hours ago. Now it means nothing. Actually it means that I don’t have to bother with that ‘introducing him to my disapproving little brother stuff’…and he’s good in bed.”

“Careful.” I smiled.

“It also means that I can tell he really has the ‘hots’ for you. I’ve known Tom for a long time and he looks at you with ‘I have respect for you…and I’d like to get you into bed’ eyes…and sorry for sounding pretentious and pompous but I have grown up a bit and can even contemplate the fact that my sister might have sex with someone. Better it is someone I…and you like.”

“That was some speech. Thank you.”

We had nearly made it back to mine. It looked like Anna and ‘handsome, manly’ Tom were to become a serious ‘item’ and my fate was in the lap of the telephonic gods…or more likely goddesses.

* * * *

Michael has a brief and highly erotic relationship with Louise. But he needs Freya and she definitely needs him. Michael returns to the rune stone from where he first enticed Freya…

There were three weeks to Midsummer. It was when Freya would come. Enhanced senses and the soul of Freya told me this. And the soul and knowledge of Louise had told me this.

Three weeks to prepare for what?

How do you prepare for what was going to be the defining moment of your life? My tactic, if I had a tactic at all was to walk a lot It helped in three ways; it passed the time, helped me think and kept my weight down.

The rest of the time, I spent with Anna and Tom. We had all matured enough to be able to cope with the fact of their ‘couplehood’. And it was great to have a little role reversal. Where I had been the only male in the brief Freya, me and Anna triangle; now I was one of two males in this new triangle. Tom and I enjoyed making fun of Anna and Anna being Anna gave back as good as she got. She also prepared for me a suitably understated outfit for the great reunion and promised to personally give me a perfect haircut. Whilst Tom and Anna appeared to be in that blissfully happy early stage of their relationship involving giggles, conspiracies and endless sex, I was aware that Tom had never met or even seen Freya.

“Do you think we’re mad with all this…stuff about Freya?”

“Yes. And I’m filming it all so I can sell it to a T.V. show and then never have to see either of you again.” What Tom had said almost sounded more rational that what I had done and was about to do.

“But apart from that?”

“I’m not a fantasist…about that kind of thing anyway…although Freya is about the kind of thing I do fantasise about…so my rational side tells me that you are all a bit mad…and lovely with it. But my other side, which is larger, knows that it’s true.”

“Really?”

“Well yes. Anna and you are a bit annoying and ‘brother and sistery’, but not mad…but that night I met Anna and then you and then the ‘beautiful, four-headed beast’ there was something in the air. It must have been magic or something strange that made Louise and her sexy friends be all over you.”

Anna was not present for this chat. She had matured enough to let her brother and boyfriend talk without her needing to listen in.

“Anna has tried her best to explain what Freya is like. The first time she did we were naked and her description of Freya had quite an effect, as I’m sure you can imagine.”

“I know…I really know.”

“Of course you do. And of course Anna knew the effect of describing Freya would have on me. She loved my embarrassment and arousal…you’re her brother…enough.” I had matured enough to know that Freya's sexuality or talking about it was something I could not control.

“Don’t say any more but I know exactly what you mean. Anna is mean to use Freya as an aphrodisiac. But I bet you had the best sex ever that day…don’t tell me.”

I was enjoying this chat with Tom. I continued.

""Sorry to be really patronising, I hope you can just be glad to be part of this…and it’s great to have you back as a friend and ‘brother in law’.”

Tom asked a pertinent question:

“When you meet Freya…what’s going to happen?”

“I’ve absolutely no idea, other than that I have to meet her…and I love her and have to help her if I can.”

“And a lot of sex too.”

“If possible.” Whilst the sexual aspect of Freya was important, it was really not what I was thinking of at the moment. I just had to see her, hold her, speak with her and for Freya to give my life a purpose.

Tom made a pertinent point.

"You said you love her. I've never heard you say that."

Time passed. It always does.

It came to Midsummer’s Eve, the 21st of June.

My day was akin to that of a boxer before a big fight. I tried to sleep, I walked, didn’t eat too much, used the toilet too often and was coached by Anna and humoured by Tom. I was glad that Anna had cut my hair a day or two beforehand as I didn’t want to look like I had tried too hard…as if Freya would really care.

I was very aware that I would have to try very hard to sleep to bring Freya’s calling into my brain.

Before I had the chance to ask, Anna and Tom had told me that they had to leave this task to me and me alone. I still had the faint hope and fear that Louise would appear to ‘hold my hand’. She didn’t.

I slept easily.

I dreamt easily.

If it could be called a dream. What swirled in my senses that ‘darkless’ night, were scenes of anger, shouts, screams, pain and the flight from danger. The visions were distinct and then not. What was apparent to me was that Freya was in danger.

She was coming.

It was not the time for wispy thoughtfulness, so I had left my car as near as possible to my house. I drove to the bumpy car park next to the stables and walked at a good pace to the rune stone. As it was Midsummer, the chances of meeting other mortals were rather more likely than on any other morning of the year. But I was alone. Any bonfires had been long since extinguished, beer cans gathered, lovemakers satiated and pagans had worshipped.

I turned off the track, beloved by hikers, runners, dog walkers, cross country skiers and horse riders and skirted the allotments. I turned the last corner and there I saw it.

The rune stone.

A few Midsummer garlands had been left around and adorned the stone. Freya would have approved.

My recent visions had most certainly banished any thoughts of sex from my brain, so I hoped Freya could be roused rather than aroused.

I placed both my hands on the stone. It was warm. Not just Midsummer warm but flesh warm. I kissed the stone. I kissed the stone with unmoving lips and waited.

Something was coming.

The rune began to shake and rumble in a way it had not done before. This was anger and fear and definitely not lust.

I kept kissing for as long as I could hold on.

I stepped back as many paces as I could so that my back was against the wooden fence, which tried to define private and public places. Nature grew all over the fence whether on the private or public side. Something wild was heading my way.

And then there she was.

It was a ‘she’ but it was not Freya. Or was it…was it a younger Freya I had roused?

“Hello. Pleased to meet you,” If it wasn’t a younger version of Freya, she was certainly cut from the same cloth and of course had just burst through a rune stone.

“Pleased to meet you. But don’t talk. Just keep kissing” She said this with a great deal of urgency. I’m not often good with urgency and thought she wanted me to kiss her. In very different circumstances that was a distinctly appealing prospect but not now. I looked at her.

“Not me, the stone, portal bridge thingy.” She pointed behind her to emphasise her point.

I kissed again.

Although I was shaking, the stone rumbled and shook as I had hoped it would. Just at the right moment I jumped back, helped by a rough tug from behind.

And there she was.

It was a ‘she’ but it was not Freya. This time I knew it was not Freya. It was another younger woman. Freya's daughters.

My need for Freya had never been greater.

“Should I start kissing again?” I asked, showing the two women who was boss.

It was them.

“Shh! Let us listen will you. I think you’ll have to wait a little while.” I thought of asking if a little while was in mine or their timescales. I decided against that question. I decided on another.

“You are the daughters of Freya?” I was pleased with my boldness.

“Keep your ear against the stone,” one of them ordered me. But I understood their anxiety. They were newly flung refugees.

“We are her beautiful daughters,” the other one said. They were undeniably beautiful…if a little arrogant. I wondered if they had their mother’s sense of self-deprecation too.

""Please just do your job.""

“What is my job?” I dared to ask.

“For now it is to sit and listen to the…stone and admire our beauty.” So I did.

I sat back, did not relax but I did observe. The girls (their behaviour so far did not merit a more mature status) had sat down a couple of metres from me and waited to be admired. The first thing I noticed or couldn’t help noticing was that they both had the ‘hair thing’ going on. Their hair changed almost constantly from blonde to flame red. They were scared. I thought I should question Freya about what she had said about her daughters…’strong women’? I had to abandon that thought.

Still, they reminded me of someone.

Their faces were slightly more angular than their mother’s. This served to add to their haughtiness and their slight sense of being ridiculous. Freya had never been ridiculous. Freya had also never suggested that her girls were twins so I assumed that one was older than the other. I couldn’t tell. They both wore robes similar to Freya’s, though with rather less subtle stitching and with brighter colours…and they remained linen and not a sort of sheer spider’s web. The robes did not become transparent. In the circumstances that was a good thing.

We could hear distant rumbling. Without the girls’ bidding I stood and kissed the rune…a little harder this time. The rumbling and shaking increased. I had to concentrate hard to keep my lips on the rune stone.

I held on for as long as was possible before the daughters dragged me off. I fell back. I fell back in what was a slapstick fashion; crashing through the fence and stumbling for a little way…and my lips were bleeding.

I stood up. A small price to pay.

And there she was. And it was Freya. And it was every inch Freya…except there were more inches.

Freya was pregnant.

* * * *

Freya and her two daughters move into Michael’s house. There Freya gives birth to William, the unexpected but welcome result of Michael and Freya’s time on his sofa. When Freya is able she encourages Michael to talk and think about the four gorgeous women he met with Anna. For both Michael’s and her benefit...

Freya returned to her favourite subject.

“Seeing as you didn’t actually do this, I will have to do it for you. I will leave Louise out. But Lydia, Zaina and Helena are there with you. They can imbibe my soul from within you.” Freya nimbly removed her light green night dress. It was beautifully made, not of this world and modest. Maternity wear perhaps. Freya’s hair was changing from auburn to flame red, natural flame red. Michael removed his underwear.

“I know those women would not be shy and would put on a show for you…and I know what you like. Lydia is wearing black boots, black stockings and a short dress, Zaina is all in red. Red shoes, bare legs, red shorts which show off her beautiful backside and a tight red tee-shirt that just about contains her wonderful breasts…and those nipples. Helena is in an electric blue dress which goes halfway down her thighs, her hair is loose. When she squats down her hair touches the ground, her legs part slightly to reveal her white knickers.”

Freya was good. She had also taken hold of Michael with her cool and warm hand. With her thumb she gently massaged its tip, helped by how sticky he had become.

Michael was not idle. With one hand he held Freya’s lower back, just where it met her buttocks. With the other he covered the whole of Freya’s sex. He left his hand still for around a minute and then his middle finger moved, slowly at first the length of Freya’s vagina. Freya was very aroused. Her eyes told him what to do. He loved that about her. Tell a man what you like and he will do it…easy. His finger gently moved inside of Freya. She shifted a little so that it went deeper. He was able to feel the slippery bumps and ridges within her. His finger moved with purpose. Michael knew to concentrate on the spot about two inches inside Freya and at the top where he could feel the pressure of her pubic bone. This spot would bring Freya to orgasm. Stopping momentarily to adjust his hand and to tantalise Freya, he was able to firmly caress the top of her vagina and at the same time rub on her clitoris. As she came, Michael could feel his finger enveloped by violent muscle spasms. He wondered if she might break it. He didn’t care. His finger was not broken but, his hand, wrist and arm were soaked in Freya’s juices. Apples and thyme and the smell of sex. Freya collapsed on top of Michael, exhaled and laughed.

“Shh.” Michael laughed with her.

“I didn’t get to finish my story.” Freya moaned.

“Can you save the rest until another time?”

“Sure honey.” Freya replied in a faux American accent. She was a lady with a great sense of fun and surprise.

She surprised him again by taking a lock of her flame hair. She tied it around the middle of Michael’s penis. Freya held it tightly in place with her right hand whilst her left thumb gently massaged his sticky tip. She had a malicious smile on her face. His cruel mistress held him tight and massaged him for nearly five minutes. Until she let him, he could not let go. He wondered if he should just stay in this kind of sexual heaven and hell forever. No, he would need to relax.

Freya removed her thumb whilst holding the hair tightly in place. She knelt over him. Michael imagined her wet sex exposed as she bent down. He could feel her breath on his tip and then very gently the end of her tongue… round and round. Freya looked up at Michael with green eyes and sat back. She wanted to see what she had created. She removed her hair from Michael’s penis and he was able to let go. His sperm at first flew straight up, hitting the purple and green lampshade; then as he laughed with pleasure it spattered his stomach, his chin, the bed sheets and Freya’s arm. What seemed like about a minute’s ejaculation was in reality only about twenty seconds. Even with Freya he had never done that before.

They lay in a sticky, sexy and satisfied embrace.

About the Author:

Thomas Ullman has flitted between Sweden and England for the last twelve years. He now lives in a lovely red house in rural Sweden surrounded by horses and cats, none of which are his. His book, Freya Being Freya was written very early on almost endlessly dark mornings when summer seemed a long way off. 

He has a partner and irreverent 14 year old son. 

Freya Being Freya is the first in a trilogy of books about Freya, her daughters and her son. Freya Being Freya is definitely erotica but also fun and inspirational.

My Review: 

What makes this erotic novelette really stand out is that it has a strong theme of feminism throughout. Erotica could often be criticized for being anti-feminist; however, Thomas has completely turned the tables with Freya Being Freya. Throughout this book Thomas shows how strong, empowered women are sexy. Thomas even manages to present his point without sounding preachy, and actually uses a quirky voice. It initially took me off guard, but ended up winning me over by the end of the story because it matched this quirky book perfectly. I was initially curious as to why Thomas paired a goddess with a man who doesn't seem terribly successful or driven, but later realized this was perfectly in step with the message of this book. I would suggest this book for the feminist who wants to get her (or his! I love that the author of this feminist piece is a man) hands on some erotica. 

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