It would be difficult to describe the trip from South End, England to Stockholm. There was so much that was entirely new for me. Just the sight of these people was a miracle, and here I was talking with them. Then there was the strange outside world. Also the sensation of flight, and the knowledge of imminent approach to a new country, a new family and way of life. Above everything else there was the new overpoweringly wonderful feeling already growing in me for Mother.
After we landed in Stockholm my senses were reeling so that the long drive from Bromma airport to Norrtalje was a blur in which I couldn't separate the beauty and rapture corning from the closeness of Mother from the great loveliness of Sweden's countryside in the spring. We arrived late in the afternoon before a large manor house where I was taken in and introduced to the rest of the household. There were two daughters, sixteen and twelve, and a pretty, red-haired maid who was just serving evening coffee.
I was so dazed by everything that I didn't fully take it all in, but I noticed that Gunilla, the older girl, had full, laughing lips and a very large bosom. The younger, Louise, was thin and built like a boy. Both were blonde and both were pretty.
They took me into the huge living room for coffee. It was really two rooms running across one entire end of the manor divided by an arch. On one side of the arch was the music room with a magnificent Bechstein piano, while the other division was used as a living room. As we entered, Louise, or Lou as she was called in the family, since she did not drink coffee, went to the piano. In the living room Mother and Father seated themselves on one of the three large divans and leaned back to rest and listen. I sat in an armchair to one side of them.
Things began to quiet a little in me and I gradually became aware of my sisters. Gunilla, who sat on the arm of the couch beside her father, was gorgeous. Her hair was lighter than her mother's, almost white, and it fell over her ample shoulders like rain. The eyes were blue and wide. The mouth was soft and full. Her skin, while obviously of the same fine texture as her mother's, was richly tanned. Her body was all lushness. At the absolute peak of ripeness. Her full blooming breasts strained her white linen blouse, and when her deep contralto laugh rang out they were live things. To prevent myself from the impossible audacity of staring at these wonders I looked at the younger girl.
Louise was very sweetly attractive with the reddish blonde hair of the mother and the same gray eyes. The face was narrower, however, and had an intense expression almost always in flux as though some internal pressure struggled in her. Except for her face she suffered by comparison with her sister. Her shoulders were thin and her body gangling and straight. She wore a blue schoolgirl's frock. Underneath it her budding breasts could be seen but they lacked the luxurious development of Gunilla. I noticed a light brush of freckles across her nose.
Abruptly I realized that I was again staring at the rich form of Gunilla. My eyes fixed themselves on the point where the tanned skin suddenly swelled as it entered the light covering. The first three buttons of the blouse were open. It seemed to me these breasts were even larger, no, twice as large as Mother's, and to my intense excitement, followed by an even more intense embarrassment, I realized suddenly that she wore nothing underneath! I stared nearly paralyzed as my eye slowly made out the precise contour: how each breast swelled put to a large round button, and these tips began to push out in sharper relief even as I looked. A strange, fine trembling which I could not halt ran over me.
Again I felt a twinge of shame. Why was I always looking at the women so intimately?
As Louise began to play an etude, Annie, the maid, brought in a large silver tray with four demitasse cups and a pot of coffee. She placed it on the low table in front of Mother and Father. Gunilla got up and, taking the cups, passed them to each of us in turn. Then she picked up the silver pot and began to fill the cups as the maid left.
Gunilla was beautiful beyond belief. She wore a tight, gray, knee-length skirt under which her body seemed to squirm as she walked. As I was watching how her skirt showed the movement of her full thighs, I realized suddenly she was coming now to serve me. As I was holding the cup in my lap, she had to lean forward to pour. The faint perfume from her platinum hair which came to my nostrils as she bent forward stunned me. I was all confusion and breathless. Then I noticed her blouse fall away from her body as she poured. I had been right. There wasn't anything underneath! Only Gunilla! I was suddenly confronted by her bare, voluminous breasts, firm, yet somehow soft. I almost passed out. How I managed not to drop the cup I don't know. I shook my head slightly, and when I realized she had moved away, put my cup down. My head was burning. Hot and cold flashes alternated in my body.
She had poured herself a cup and sat on the arm of the couch beside Father. I was terribly excited, and the shame I felt at my reaction was drowned in my desire. I gulped my coffee quickly and asked if I could have more in a small voice. Gunilla quickly rose and, with a smile in my direction, returned with the pot of coffee. This time I was looking for something. I wanted to see those tips of her breasts. She leaned down slowly and even more slowly began to pour coffee into my cup.
I was puzzled by the slowness. At first I thought she might be afraid of spilling some, but when I noticed the smile on her lips this seemed unlikely. Then I saw the blouse falling away from her body as she bent again, and I almost touched her head as I bent forward to look. I could see the tanned flesh swelling out, down in the blouse: how the skin darkened in shadow as it entered the ravine between. She must have drawn in her breath (although I did not notice), for the soft flesh rose out suddenly towards me as though disconnected from the rest of her.
)
