Hop in Then!

by Ulla Bolinder

  When Gert comes, he drives into the yard (or backs in, rather), and then he hoots so that I can hear that he is here. It feels nice to be fetched like that, and he doesn’t have just any car, either. Even mamma and papa seem a little impressed. But it’s a little problematic with him, because he wants more than I do when it comes to the physical, and I don’t really know what to do about it. I like to kiss and hold him, but I don’t want to do more, and he doesn’t think that’s enough. He has an egoistic manner and he becomes surly when he doesn’t get what he wants. I’m the one who is supposed to adapt myself to him and not the other way round, he thinks, and that makes me feel that he doesn’t care about me enough. But he for his part, may feel the same when I don’t want to go along with what he wants.

  On Saturday when we were on our way to Gävle he told me a little about himself and his earlier life. When he was 16 years old he went to sea. Before that he had worked at a restaurant, so he started in that career path and worked on the boat as a mess man. Then he became second cook. But when he returned from sea he messed up. Partly because of a burglary, partly because of an abuse. He was 18 then. He and some military guys got into a fight at a kiosk near Svandammen. And when he was supposed to do his military service, and was on his way to Karlskrona and the ship he was assigned to, he and his mate made a little detour and robbed a service station, or whatever it was. Then he reported to the ship and was to be an officer cadet, when the police turned up and put a stop to it. So he hasn’t done his military service. Because you can’t serve if you have been convicted of a crime.

  Thursday, 17 September 1964

  I’m staying at home instead of going to school today. I’m not sick, but I’m thinking of Kjell and feel sad. And why do I do that? Well, it’s because it ended with Gert yesterday evening. In that case you would possibly think that I should be thinking about him, but now it feels like he was only a parenthesis and that it’s Kjell I have been interested in the entire time.

  I was at home with Gert yesterday, in his apartment, and he wanted me to touch him in a certain place. Not that he wanted me to give him an ejaculation possibly, but he wanted me to touch him, and I just couldn’t do it. I felt such reluctance. We are talking about under the belt here, and he had a belt with a large buckle on it, and below the belt I just couldn’t do it. With his upper body it went well, to hug him and so on, but I didn’t want anything further down. We lay on his bed and ate grapes, and he wondered how my sex life would be, just because I didn’t want to do it with him. He felt sorry for me because I wasn’t able to do it.

  So it ended because he didn’t think I was showing enough interest in sex. But I didn’t want it his way, and he didn’t understand my way, so he dumped me. He gave me some money to take a taxi to the train station in Märsta, and then I walked home from Central Station in Uppsala. And I felt sad, but not because it was over actually, but because he had been so uncaring about my feelings. I thought it was rotten and I started to think about Kjell and wished that it hadn’t turned out the way it did with him.

  Saturday, 19 September 1964

  I had such mixed feelings for Gert. Most of the time I felt I was in love with him, but sometimes I just thought, no way! Because he had rough edges, or how to say. He wasn’t romantic anyway. I think he was one of those types who is used to slovenliness with girls in cars. And there was nothing on the intellectual level either, so what was it, really? I suppose it was just that I was impressed with his car and flattered that he wanted to see me. If he had come by in an old Volkswagen Beetle, there might not have been anything at all.

  This evening I intend to go dancing at the Star (or is it called the Galaxy?). Les Vagabonds will be playing there. I have bought a new blouse that I will wear with my black skirt. It’s black and white striped with a white collar and white cuffs. This will make me glamorous (no, it won’t). I always feel that I’m badly off with clothes compared to others. My classmates, for example, go around in their chic dresses and neat skirts and never seem to have any problems with wearing the right thing. And their hair mostly looks like they have just come out of the hairdressers. I usually go to the beauty salon on Bangårdsgatan to have my hair done. I try to have it as flat as possible with only some waves, so they put my hair up in big curlers. But what good does it do to have beautiful hair if you don’t have a nice face as well? And I have problems with pimples around my nose and on my chin. It makes it worse to squeeze them, but I do, and then I put on a salve that is supposed to be good for them.

  E-L is going to ask Lasse if I may buy a bottle of spirits that he already has bought for them, and then she and I will go out and drink it together. But she’s the one who is going to pay for it. We intend to do it on Wednesday if Lasse doesn’t want to meet her then. It will be fun going out with her again, but for my part I could just as well do it without the spirits. I don’t think it’s necessary to drink. The spirits are some kind of rum, and I have heard about rum and cola, but I have never drunk it.

  I asked Lasse if Kicki could buy the Silver Rum that he and I were supposed to drink before, and he went along with it. Kicki and I are going to share it, but he didn’t seem suspicious. On the contrary, he probably thinks that I don’t want to drink anymore now when I’m seeing him, and that’s why I thought that Kicki could buy the rum from him. We will meet her at Radiohörnan tonight and hand it over to her.

  We went to his place, and when we were lying almost naked on the bed he got an erection and asked if I wanted to do it. I didn’t know, and I told him so, but he rolled a condom on and laid down between my legs and tried to get in.

  “Promise you will tell me if it hurts,” he said.

  But I didn’t feel anything special, and finally he got it in and started to frig.

  “Are you sure it doesn’t hurt?” he asked several times.

  “I could never forgive myself if I hurt you.”

  He panted and got red and sticky on his face because of sweat.

  “Little woman,” he whispered. “If you only knew how wonderful you are!”

  I thought he was ugly and acted silly. When I watched him, he began to avoid my eyes and looked like a shamefaced dog, so then I just closed my eyes until he was done. The bed creaked and squeaked so it must have been heard in the living room downstairs, where his mom and dad sat and watched TV, but it didn’t seem to bother him. He just bumped on so his sweat ran. The door wasn’t even locked, so anybody could have come in while he was carrying on.

  Finally, he started bumping more rapidly. Then he groaned and collapsed and lay still.

  “Have you had enough now, my little horny one?” he asked and smiled.

  “Yes,” I said. Have you?”

  “Yes, for now. But it’s just as important that you have.”

  When he had pulled out he checked to see that the rubber was unbroken. His semen looked like snot.

  Now it’s going to be like this all the time, I thought. I’ll never be able to say no again.

  He offered me a pack of Meils that he had gotten two for the same price – 2.50 kronor – as for one.

  “Are you sad?” he asked.

  “No, why should I be?”

  “If you regret what you have done.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  A little later I asked him how many girls he has laid before me.

  “Why do you ask?” he said.

  “Because I want to know.”

  “And if I don’t answer?”

  “Then I’ll wonder why you don’t want to answer.”

  “How many have you laid?”

  “You know. Nobody else.”

  “Now the maid is lying!”

  “Do you think that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then why do you think I wanted to wait?”

  “I don’t know. But now we’ll sleep.”

  Why didn’t he want to tell me how many girls he has laid? Is he ashamed that he has laid too many or too few or that he hasn’t laid anybody at all? It would not s
urprise me if I were his first. That’s perhaps why he wasn’t in such a hurry and could wait. No, I don’t know. Anyway, when I met him I was raggarbruden who had made out with one hundred and three guys without going all the way.

  We handed the rum over to Kicki and went to Lasse’s home and had coffee. Afterwards, when we lay on his bed, he wanted to do it again. First he took off my skirt and panties, then he pulled my legs apart and started licking me down there. I felt foolish while he carried on and didn’t know what I ought to do. Didn’t he think it was disgusting? I would have.

  “You are so fine my little one,” he said and changed his position so that he could stick a finger in. “Well, what’s this? Is the maid possibly horny?”

  I didn’t know what to say, and he smiled, got up and dropped his pants. When he saw that I noticed his distended underwear he said:

  “Well, now you see what you cause!”

  Then he laid down beside me again and carried on.

  “Oh, little troll, you are one great YES, all of you!”

  And while rock ’n’ roll was playing on the radio I let him do it again. He wanted to wait for me before he let it come, but I said he didn’t need to, because I knew that nothing would happen.

  “But it isn’t just one person who should have the pleasure of it,” he said. “I think that’s wrong. So now we are going to take it easy so that you can catch up.”

  But finally he couldn’t hold it back any longer. He grunted and became red in his face and got fixed eyes when he came.

  “Forgive me, forgive me!” he said and pressed his head against my shoulder. “This isn’t how it was meant to be.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I just said.”

  Then he lifted his head and gazed at me with that warm and tender look he sometimes has and said:

  “What did I do to be lucky enough to meet you?”

  “But there’s nothing special about me.”

  “Yes, it is, my little one. And I promise you it will be better next time!”

  Then he fell asleep, while I lay listening to Radio Luxemburg and thought about what I am going to do on Wednesday. I have a bad conscience when I think of it. Why can’t I love him as much as he loves me? Why am I so hard and cold? I lie to him and use him while he loves and trusts me. It isn’t fair. But I’m so glad that Kicki and I are going out. It has been such a long time since I was drunk, and I want to be that way again. Just thinking of spirits makes me crave drinking. I see the bottle in front of me and imagine how it feels taking a swig and swallow, knowing that it will soon hit me. Getting that numbing feeling in my head and body is so wonderful.

  Monday, 21 September 1964

  Nothing special happened at the Star (no dream prince turned up), but I did get to dance a lot.

  The Social Democrats won the election, though they lost a little support. All the parties lost support, except for the Communists who gained. The Conservative Party lost the most support.

  Yesterday, I got the spirits from E-L and Lasse in town. I’ve put the bottle in the storage room and I will fetch it when mamma and papa have gone out on Wednesday. E-L will come here before we go out, and we will sit here and drink first.

  On Saturday E-L let Lasse take her virginity. I was a little surprised when she told me, because I have gotten the impression that he doesn’t especially turn her on, but I suppose she knows what she is doing. But I doubt that she is really in love with him. I think it’s more like it was for me with Gert.

  I have the cinema ads in the newspaper here, and there is a lot about love in them. At Röda Kvarn there is a film called “To Love” with Harriet Andersson, at Fyris there is one called “A Kind of Loving” with Alan Bates and at Fågel Blå there is a film called “Love with a Proper Stranger” with Steve McQueen and Natalie Wood. Though at the Saga and Skandia there are other films (“Rebel Without a Cause” and “Bullet for a Badman”).

  I might see “Rebel”, because James Dean is sweet, and I haven’t seen it yet. When Anita was younger, James Dean was her greatest idol. She has seen all his films “(East of Eden”, “Rebel Without a Cause” and “The Giant”). He starred in only three films before he died in 1955 when he was 24 years old. He died in a car accident when he and a friend of his were on their way to a race that he would participate in. They rushed off in his new silver colored Porsche, that he had bought especially for the race, and he didn’t notice, before it was too late, that another car was about to turn out onto the highway from a smaller side road. The last thing he said before the collision was: “That guy must see us. He’s got to stop.” But he didn’t and James Dean died in the crash.

  Before we went into town we sat at Kicki’s home and drank, because her parents weren’t at home. She had bought Coca-Cola, which we mixed the rum in, and made ice cubes that we put in our drinks. It was so pleasant to sit there and smoke and drink and listen to music, knowing that we would soon be out in town again. When we were ready to leave, we poured the cola into the rum that was left and took it with us. I had the bottle in my purse.

  And then we were there. I don’t know what I had expected, but it felt like I didn’t belong there as much as before. I couldn’t forget that I was only there temporarily and that I wouldn’t continue to come and walk there. And I thought about how sad Lasse would be if he found out that I was out.

  We rode with two guys in an Opel. Kicki sat in front with a guy named Jörgen and I was in back with the other one who was called Roine. After a while he tried to kiss me.

  “What’s wrong?” he said when I turned away. “Why don’t you want to?”

  “I shouldn’t have come.”

  “You shouldn’t have come?”

  “No, I shouldn’t have gone out this evening.”

  “So what should you have done instead?”

  “Sat at home and watched TV.”

  “Well, that sounds damn fun.”

  “No, but I’m not being honest now.”

  “You’re not?”

  “No, it isn’t fair to you that I’m sitting here.”

  Then he sighed and threw himself back against the backrest and said:

  “What’s his name?”

  “Lasse.”

  “How long have you been together with him, then?”

  “A month.”

  “A month?”

  “Yes. Are you angry?”

  “No, I’m sad.”

  “Sad? Why is that?”

  “Because I like you.”

  “I like you, too,” I said.

  “But not in that way, right?”

  “Yes…”

  And when I had said that, it was so strange, because then it felt as if I liked him more than I like Lasse. How could it be that way?

  We had not drunk any rum and cola in town, so when Roine and Jörgen came we had sobered up a little bit, and they didn’t notice that we had been drinking. But now I took the bottle out of my purse and took a gulp.

  “Do you want some?” I asked Roine when I noticed that he was watching me.

  “What does your guy think about you being out like this?” he said as he shook his head.

  “He doesn’t know.”

  Everything felt so awkward. How could I like him better than Lasse, though I didn’t know him? Was I just imagining things or was it true? It couldn’t be true. It’s probably because I’m not quite sober I’m feeling this way, I thought. But I didn’t stop drinking.

  “When this is finished, I’ll be drunk,” I said and held up the bottle.

  “Yeah, that’s for sure,” Roine said.

  “But this will be the last time.”

  “That you drink?”

  “Yes, I can’t ever do it again. I can’t ever drink, and I can’t ever go out again.”

  “Then you will be a serf?”

  “Yes, a serf.”

  We rode and rode and Jim Reeves sang and sang. Kicki sat with her head against Jörgen’s sh
oulder and sang with the music, and I smoked and drank. It’s so good to smoke while drinking. Roine didn’t do anything, except watch me.

  “I wanna see you again,” he said.

  “Yes, but that’s impossible.”

  “Why?”

  “I’ve already told you.”

  “But it’ll be over some time.”

  “No, it’ll never be over.”

  Then he threw his head back and laughed so his Adam’s apple bobbed.

  Thursday, 24 September 1964

  E-L came and we sat here and drank before we went into town. We mixed rum and cola that I had bought. Before Coca-Cola was banned in Sweden because it has an ingredient that they didn’t think was good. But it was released in the 1950’s.

  If you add Magnecyl to Coca-Cola and drink it, you can be drunk, it’s claimed. But we didn’t need to try such tricks, because we had access to real spirits. E-L said that even from the first time she was drinking she knew she would do it again. She felt immediately that it appealed to her. If she had known how it feels to be drunk she would have started drinking earlier. But she didn’t think she would have begun if she hadn’t been out so often on her own this summer. For example, she wouldn’t have said to me, if I had been there also and we had been offered spirits: “Take some, of course you should take some!” She couldn’t have said that if she hadn’t tried it herself first, she said.

  Yesterday evening, we didn’t walk especially long on Svartbäcksgatan, and E-L wasn’t that slack and disorderly, either. We went with two boys in an Opel, and E-L drank more in the car, because she had the bottle with her in her purse. But I didn’t take any and neither did the driver. His name was Jörgen and he seemed nice. I sat with him in front and played records. I sat and sang a little to the music. “I love you because you understand dear, every single thing I try to do!” That one I sang, and I leaned my head against his shoulder, like you often do in cars when sitting next to the driver. He asked me if he could call, and I said he could, because I liked him. He was much more my style than Gert, for example, and I really hope that I will hear from him again.