Midsummer in Finland

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Magnus stretched his legs, resisting the urge to check his shoelaces for the twentieth time. He was beyond nervous and didn’t know where to direct his gaze if not to his feet. He was standing in the loosely gathered crowd, waiting for the start signal, and, like everybody else, he was practically naked.

A balding, middle-aged man in a blue sweatsuit was talking on a megaphone. The sound was abysmal, but Magnus would’ve been hard pressed to make out the words in any equipment. His Finnish wasn’t as fluent as he had thought it was, and some dialects he couldn’t even begin to decipher. About the only word he could distinguish was “Nakukymppi”, the name of the running event he was partaking in. The largely pale-fleshed crowd around him cheered, and he guessed it was some kind of welcome speech.

“Haluutko lainata?”

Magnus turned his attention to the woman standing beside him. She wore the same as him: running shoes, socks, and absolutely nothing else. Her skin was maybe even more pale than the average Finn, a hard feat to accomplish, but her hair was dark as were her eyebrows and lashes, even apparently without any makeup. Her eyes were the blue Magnus had started to think of as “average Finn blue”, and she was maybe forty, lines of wrinkles spreading on her forehead as she raised her eyebrows questioningly. She was gesturing to him with a jar of lotion.

“Lainata?” he repeated. It meant “borrowing”, but he wasn’t certain what the lotion was for.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the woman said. “English?”

Magnus cursed to himself. Part of the purpose of this trip was to improve his Finnish, but people switched to English so easily here he seldom got the chance to conclude a conversation in Finnish.

“Amateurs use Vaseline,” the woman said and gestured around. “Professionals use Tummeli. Try it.”

Magnus scooped a glob of white lotion with his fingertip. He must have looked quizzical, because the woman laughed and gestured to his crotch. “Spread it on your privates,” she said. “It’ll chafe otherwise. And maybe armpits.”

For good measure, she took out a generous blob herself, and spread it on her inner thighs with brisk motions. Magnus couldn’t help noticing how the movement shook her tits, which were a bit on the ample side for her to be running naked. Well, okay–they were a lot on the ample side, her nipples sticking out a bit, and…

Magnus busied himself with the lotion before his body had time to betray him. He would be turning fifty in September, and had long forgotten what it felt like to develop spontaneous erections that were so uncontrollable they made him embarrassed. Now he had been traveling around his ancestral country, Finland, for four weeks, hadn’t gotten laid once, and hadn’t thought things through before deciding to take part in this naked event. He had concentrated on the idea of being naked himself, how it would feel to run in the sun with his balls hanging, how cool and weird a story it would make to tell back home; he hadn’t extrapolated to the fact that everyone else would be naked, too, and that some of them would be women.

The woman stashed the lotion back in her pile of clothes. “There,” she said merrily. “All set.”

“So what lotion is that?” Magnus asked, wiping the excess on his thighs.

“Tummeli. It’s meant for cow’s tits,” she answered, eyes twinkling.

He raised his eyebrows, but didn’t have time to comment, when a make-shift starting pistol sounded out and the crowd moved forward. Finally! Running helped, concentrating on his pace, his breathing, getting to the groove of the exercise. He lost the woman in the moving, bouncing sea of wobbling flesh and, on rare occasions, sleek muscle. His thighs felt slippery and smooth, and as weird as it was, he could see the point of the lotion. He relaxed his shoulders, fixed his gaze in the middle distance, and let his thoughts go.

The Nakukymppi running event was for a ten kilometer distance, but it was run on a small loop of about three kilometers, supposedly for easy dropping out. It was very informal for a sports event. All the participants who even started in the required attire were considered to have completed it, and the winners would get a diploma. Participants jogged along lazily, mostly in small groups, talking and laughing with each other.

The day was sunny and warm, which was fortunate. Magnus hadn’t anticipated how cold and miserable Finland would be in mid May, when he’d arrived. He’d had to stock up on weatherproof clothes and wooly socks. Now it was June, almost midsummer, and the nature around him was green and lush, filled with birdsong and buzzing insects. Trees cast a dappled shadow at the edge of the road. Dust from the dirt road rose from their stomping feet as their way wound gently up and down hills, skirting lakes, fields, and meadows. In some places, herds of cows lay in the shade, lazily chewing and twisting their ears, watching the runners pass them by.

After the first round, the crowd had stretched out. Şişli escort bayan Magnus felt sweat trickling down his chest, twisting this and that way by body hair, and how his breathing was heavy and full. He followed a group of young men at a respectful distance. They were going so fast he didn’t want to overtake them, and he didn’t want them to think he was eavesdropping on their banter, which included a lot of innuendo about the female participants and who would try to score with whom afterwards. On a gentle upward slope he let them get away from him, enjoying a brief stretch of solitude on this remote country road.

The downward slope, descending into a shadowy old forest, was much steeper. Magnus almost skipped downhill, enjoying the coolness of shadow on his sweaty skin, when he heard a voice from ahead. It was female, and he could guess the purpose from its tone before he could make out the curse words.

“Vittu perkele vittu perkele vittu!”

The road twisted around a forested lake, and after a few steps Magnus could see her. The young men were just disappearing on the other end of the small straight, and the woman was grinding to a halt approximately at the middle, hopping on one foot and cursing.

“Hey, hey there! What’s wrong?” Magnus shouted and sprinted to her. His first thought was that the young men had done something to her, and his blood boiled at the idea. When he got closer, he deduced that most likely she just had a cramp in her leg. She limped, turning to see who had shouted. Magnus recognized the lotion woman.

“Cramp, ah, fuck,” she said, grimacing with pain and trying to stretch her leg. She almost fell, and Magnus hurried to steady her. He spotted a mossy rock a little off road and helped her to it. She sat, still cursing under her breath, then reached to massage her calf carefully. Magnus followed the line of her back, how perfect her white ass looked framed with the deep green of the moss, how her shins were striped with mud where the dust of the dirt road had mixed with her sweat.

“Thanks,” she said, straightening her back again and sighing. “You don’t need to wait. I’ll be okay. I’ll wait until it passes and limp back the way we came.”

“You sure?” Magnus wasn’t sure if she was just offering him an out or if she wanted him to leave. It was so hard to tell with these Finns. “Mind if I stay? I mean, I could help you back. And hey, everyone passes the run anyway, right?”

The woman shrugged. She tugged on a bit of moss and tossed it aside, her shoulders slumping. “Well, okay, I’d like that. That hill is kind of steep.”

They were quiet. A few rays filtered through the thick canopy of fir trees, but mostly it was dim and relatively cool in the shade. Magnus listened for the voice of the next group of approaching runners and yelped in surprise when the woman slapped him sharply on the butt.

“Mosquito,” she said, grinning up at him mischievously. He laughed, delighted by her impish humor. Finnish people were serious and in most cases uptight, but she had a spark of something he couldn’t quite pin down. Just as he was about to point out there were no mosquitoes by day, he heard the tell tale high-pitched whine near his ear and turned. Indeed, in the husky dim of the forest, a few mosquitos were hovering about.

“Huh,” he said. “Well.”

He swung his hand to get one off her back, and not wanting to slap her like she’d done to him, he picked up a fallen branch and waved it about her.

“Ooh, a true gentleman,” she said, not entirely mockingly. “So, what’s your story? Where did you come from? How did you end up in this godforsaken forest?”

“Well, I’m from Canada, and I’m… well, I’m used to saying I’m Finnish, which means my grandma was Finnish. My dad’s mom. So now, when I had a chance, I thought I’d come and dig deeper into my ancestral roots. I’m here for the summer. It has been… interesting.”

“Interesting, huh?” She laughed, and for the first time he noticed she had dimples. She stopped laughing, but the dimples remained, she was smiling so widely. “May you live in interesting times. So, what’s your name, mister Canada?”

“Magnus McDonagh.”

“Mc… Donagh? That’s not very Finnish.”

“Well, my grandma married into this Irish-British descendant family. Her name was Helena Kääriäinen.”

“That’s Finnish alright,” she admitted.

A group of runners galloped downhill, their various body parts swinging merrily, and scooted past without even slowing down. Magnus considered it rude that they didn’t stop to ask if everything was alright, but the woman didn’t seem to think anything of it. She stretched again, twisting her foot in a slow circle. Magnus noticed that her calf was a fine specimen indeed, somehow more dainty than the rest of her. Her thighs were rounder and more… middle aged, but her shins were smooth and slender like a young girl’s.

Magnus pulled his eyes up and concentrated on keeping watch for mosquitoes.

“So, Escort Sultangazi are you from around here?” He asked. “And what is your name?”

“Not permanently, no, we have a summer cabin nearby. My name is Katja Omenalehto.”

“Katja Omenalehto,” he repeated slowly. “Apple…grove? That is beautiful.”

“Thank you! Made it up myself,” she said, and he couldn’t tell if she was joking. She glanced up at him, and only then did he realize she had been eyeing his crotch. He shifted his weight from one foot to another, vexed. She grinned and looked back down, unashamedly checking him out. “You all cut like that in Canada?”

“Oh!” He exclaimed, totally flustered that she didn’t pretend not to notice his nakedness, the way he was doing to her, and that she would blatantly ask something like that. “Oh, you mean circumcised? It is customary in Canada and the US, although not as much nowadays as when I was born. Um, I have to say, the Finnish are sometimes blunt, but–“

“But I am something else?” She completed, flashing her dimples at him again. “Yeah, I have heard that before.”

Katja stood up tentatively. She took him by the arm to steady herself, then put her weight on her bad leg. “I think I’m alright to go,” she said and looked up at him. “Did I insult you? I’m sorry.”

“No, no,” Magnus said, even when she kind of had. “I was just… surprised.”

“I am just curious. I haven’t been with anyone who is cut like that. You want to check me out in return?” She asked, again with the impish smile. He didn’t know what to answer, and was saved from it by the next group of oncoming runners.

They moved back to the road and walked slowly back the way they’d come. Katja could walk, but the way she clenched her jaw told Magnus it wasn’t as easy as she let out. They started up the hill, and she leaned heavily on his arm.

“Are you sure you can walk?” Magnus asked. “I can go and get help if you want.”

“Ah, fuck,” she snorted. “I’d never hear the end of that.”

“Okay, well, would it be better if I carried you up the hill?”

He tried to remember back along the route. This hill was the steepest there was, and the rest of the way towards the start/finish was relatively level. She snorted again and glanced up at him.

“Carry me? Well you’re not a small man, but I’m not a small woman.”

“Want to try?”

He crouched a little and gestured to his back, and to his amazement she climbed on. She was right that she wasn’t exactly lightweight, but he was stronger than he looked, and piggybacking her was easy enough once he got her balanced. What he hadn’t considered was how it felt to carry her. Her warm skin against his, the unmistakable touch of her pubic hair against the small of his back, the heat of her crotch against him. Her breasts, the way they pressed against his upper back. How she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. How her breath swept his cheek.

He felt a strong wave of the surreal overwhelm him. What the hell was he doing here, in this distant corner of the world, carrying someone he’d just met, both nearly naked? If my mom could see me now, he thought and bit back a hysterical laughter. He concentrated on the movement of his feet and tried not to pay attention to the overwhelming female presence on his back. He could feel his arousal, so ready to ignite, so unwelcome, and he tried to think of anything that would dampen it.

Ice hockey, he thought. A hockey team’s dressing room. The smell of a hockey team’s dressing room. Chess moves in that game against the computer that the Russian fellow lost. What was his name? Russian, Russian, the Russians had occupied Finland, didn’t they? When was it again that they got their independence, and then they were occupied by the Swedish, was it before or after… I wish she didn’t move like that… Hockey! Chess!

“So, why Finnish?” She asked, too close to his ear for comfort, but at least the question was distracting.


“Why would you say you are Finnish, if your grandmother was Finnish? Why not, what were the others, Irish? Or English? Or why any of them, why not Canadian? You were born in Canada, right?”

“Oh, that. Yes,” he said. He could see the top of the hill already. A loosely joined line of solitary joggers passed them, and none of them said a word. The sense of the surreal came and went again. Finnish were masters of minding their own business. “Yes, I was born in Canada. But many of us emphasize some part of our ancestry. It’s a way of standing out. And well, everyone is British, or Scottish, or Irish. Finnish is more interesting.”

“Ah-ha,” she said, sounding like she didn’t get it. Maybe she didn’t. Magnus had traveled in Europe enough to know that on this side of the pond, ancestry was regarded differently.

They reached the top of the hill. Relieved, he maneuvered to ease her down. His erection felt closer to sprouting than ever, but at least he wouldn’t be in such close contact Taksim escort with female flesh anymore. The blue-sweatsuit man approached on a bicycle, and exchanged a few words with Katja. Magnus could follow enough of it to deduce that the man offered Katja a ride back, but she refused, not wanting to sit bare ass on the bike’s back rack. The man nodded and continued along the route, leaving them walking slowly upstream against runners.

The feeling of absurdity still hovered over Magnus as he watched the oncoming traffic of different body types. All were red faced and sweating, the sun blazing down on them. Some of them were running with a funny gait, and from the redness on their inner thighs Magnus deduced they hadn’t applied Vaseline or the magic lotion the woman had given him. He felt a twinge of gratefulness for her generosity. Cows watched from the meadow, eternally unmoved, and occasionally the breeze carried a whiff of their warm big animal smell. Bees hummed and flies buzzed. A few butterflies fluttered from flower to flower in the roadside ditch’s tall grass. Summer breeze felt soft on his sun-warmed skin. He wasn’t sweating now that he’d stopped running, and being naked felt only comfortable, much more natural than he’d anticipated. He wondered if he should embrace nudist life when he was this comfortable with it.

“So,” Katja said, stretching the word, “now that you’ve rescued the damsel in distress, what’re you going to do with her?”

There was laughter in her voice. Magnus glanced down at her dimples, and just like that, he was again struggling to suppress his arousal. Katja walked much better now, with only a slight limp, but she rested her hand on his forearm anyway. He was acutely aware of her fingers gripping his skin.

“Well, I would have to see her safely back to her father’s castle, of course,” Magnus said, trying for the same light tone she had. Was she flirting with him?

“Father’s castle, so very… patriarchal,” Katja said dismissively.

“Very well, her own castle, then,” Magnus said. “But isn’t this rescuing damsels business horribly patronizing on principle?”

“Maybe it is! Still, I thank you for your kind help, sir… Mc… what was it again?”

“McDonagh. D-o-n-a-g-h.”

“McDonnaghh,” she repeated, painstakingly. “That is kind of difficult.”

“Well, in university my friends called me McDonkeydick, maybe that’s easier for you.”

Magnus was horrified by his juvenile quip. They had indeed, but it was so stupid he had barely remembered it after they all grew out of it. It seemed to hit Katja’s funny bone, anyway, because she erupted in a fit of giggles so severe she had to stop to wipe her eyes and gasp.

“McDonkeydick!” She repeated, and laughed again so that by the end of it she was hiccuping. “I see where you got that from! What was your first name again? Magnum?”

“Magnus,” Magnus said. Her overwhelming response made him reckless, and he added, “My friends call me Gus, or Max, but those same friends called me Moose.”

“Moose McDonkeydick!” Katja almost shouted, and another fit of giggles burst forth, this time so joyous it caught on to Magnus and they laughed together.

“Moo,” suggested one of the cows, lazily swishing its tail.

“Oh, shut up, you,” Katja said and started forward again. She wiped her eyes and sighed happily. “Oh, man. Moose McDonkeydick. That’s not a proper name for a knight, even for one as endowed as you.”

Magnus felt heat creeping up his neck, heat that had little to do with the sun. He cleared his throat. “So, where is your home castle? Will you get there okay?”

“Yes, yes,” Katja said. She sounded absentminded. The starting point was visible already, and when they approached the place where their clothes and other belongings were, she let go of his arm. It registered as a loss, and Magnus was surprised with himself.

Katja bent down to get her clothes, and Magnus spent a long second staring wistfully at her perfectly full ass framing, and from this angle subtly revealing her vulva. Magnus jerked his eyes up, made a horrified observation that he absolutely could not hold it back any longer, and felt his cock spring to attention. He turned quickly towards his own pile, heart thumping in his ears as he scrambled for his underwear and shorts. His hands were shaking, and he didn’t dare look around as he hopped on one foot on uneven, grassy ground, trying to get his clothes on without having to remove his shoes. He stuffed his dick into position and felt a little better when it was safely tucked away, even when he knew its bulge could be seen if anyone bothered a second look. He took a deep breath, then another, and concentrated on slowly turning his t-shirt the right way round before pulling it over his head.

When he turned, Katja was sitting on her pile of clothes, still as naked as she had been. She was sipping from a water bottle and lazily removing her shoes and socks. Magnus sat down as well, glad for an excuse to arrange his body in a position that would hide his throbbing cock, and reached for his own water bottle. Katja didn’t make a comment on Magnus’s dressing maneuvers, she just started to slowly put her own clothes on. Other runners had started to arrive, and some of them were already heading for their clothes.

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