Background and warnings: This is a story I have had living in my head for a few weeks now. It will be a long one, with character development and various subplots. I decided not to use any of the actual photographers’ names, as many of them are still living, but this story is inspired by the host of Japanese guys (I know of at least four) who did this very thing. In the 1990s, Japan even had a genre of erotica called “Swedish Lolita” because so many photographers were traveling to Sweden and taking erotic photos of actual schoolgirls. I am not even exaggerating. I find the topic fascinating and am always eager to learn more about this crazy era of time—I was the age of these girls when this was happening, which makes it even more interesting—they were posing in these photo shoots while I was carrying out groceries to some old lady’s car.
This story probably needs no trigger warnings, but you can expect plenty of scenes with naked girls, girls comparing and exploring their bodies, horny boys trying to catch a peek, and at least two scenes of a girl enjoying her special time alone (or is she really alone?).
If you have the patience, stick with it, and get your own “Ticket to Ride” back in time aboard the Elmstad “Skolskjuts” School Bus.
The Lost Bashō Aikō Series: Chapter 11 "Bashō Aikō" Added 10/29/25
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Sanford7727
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The Lost Bashō Aikō Series: Chapter 11 "Bashō Aikō" Added 10/29/25
Last edited by Sanford7727 on Wed Oct 29, 2025 5:44 am, edited 11 times in total.
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Sanford7727
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Re: Ticket to Ride: The Lost Bashō Aikō Series
Prologue
Nedim slouched in his chair, the soft glow of the computer screen washing over his face. Yes, that was the photographer’s name. At least, that’s who the photographer was SUPPOSED to be. Bashō Aikō files. Nedim knew it would almost certainly be a massive failure. He was not sure he could stomach another disappointment, but having the guy’s name might produce some strong leads. He clicked the hyperlink.
“In Search of Beautiful Swedish Girls.” Yes, this was definitely the guy. Nedim’s eyes quickly brushed over the lovely faces (and bodies) on the front and back covers of the previously auctioned books in the photos. He stared, his mind boggling, at the price. “$1,200 for a used photo book.”
Undeterred, Nedim kept pounding at the keyboard, copying the photographer’s name and book titles he had found into various search engines. He cursed Google, remembering the days when he actually found items he was searching for. On DuckDuckGo, he found a blog where a bunch of photos USED TO BE. “European Fairy Tales.” This post has been deleted. He slammed the mouse again. “Ugh.”
But no, he would not give up. Forums. He typed in every name for the type of content he was searching for. “Aikō files,” “Aikō Sweden,” “Aikō beautiful Swedish girls.” Slowly, small gems began turning up. Tina, Amandla, Sofia, Camilla, Helena (oh good lord), but no Emma. Then, nope, wrong Emma.
“These photos just do not seem to exist,” username Ned Neeldeslander commented. But Nedim KNEW they existed.
He went back to the most promising forums again, studying the faces of the 19 girls staring back at him. Yes. They were the peak of Scandinavian youth and feminine beauty. The memories began flooding back. Sweden. When he arrived, he was astounded by the droves of icy blonde teenage girls openly sunbathing in their underwear in the public park. He recalled the first time he saw a female classmate lying face down in nothing more than a red thong. Saga. Yes, Saga was something else as well.
The sound of creaking wood and soft dragging footsteps pulled him from his stupor. He knew he needed to get away. He should be in bed with his wife, or at least saying something to his son, who just pitter-pattered down the hall. But the pull was too strong. The pictures had to be out there SOMEWHERE. Twenty-six years had passed, and he had never seen a single one. Hundreds, no thousands, were taken that day. They videotaped the photo shoots!
Nedim tried Bing again. Aikō + Sweden + Emma. NOPE. Ugh. Wrong Emma again. But the other one really was cute. ALL of these girls were cute. ALL of the girls in Sweden were cute. Ugh. “No, I am too old to cry.” He spun around in his swivel chair, his hand brushing the long surgical scar on his knee. Emma. Emma, Emma, Emma.
In all his days playing sub-professional fútbol across Europe, he had never seen another girl with the magical aura of Emma Skog. Emma, the girl who must have descended directly from the Valkyries. Emma.
Despite the passing of decades, he could still see her. The face lingered in his mind, a picture-perfect snapshot etched in the corners of his thoughts. Nedim could still see her sitting in Bengt’s classroom as though no time had passed at all, the details of her features sharp and vivid, though the years between them had blurred.
Her skin had a warm hue that required no makeup. She seemed to reflect light, catching the sun in a way that made it appear as if she were glowing from within. The two patches of dark freckles, just under her hairline and on the left bridge of her nose, only added to her effortless beauty, like constellations on her face—small, innocent, and endearing.
Her hair was soft blonde, sun-kissed, and often swept up into a carefree blend of a bun and a ponytail. It was never perfectly neat—there was always a playful mess to it, a testament to the way she seemed so effortlessly graceful, even though her hair was a bit untamed. The soft, warm locks framed her face in a way that made everything about her seem naturally lit, as if a halo of light pursued her wherever she went.
Her teeth were impossibly white and straight, ensuring that every smile was a flash of brilliance. When she grinned, you could not help but notice the gleam. There was something disarming about it—as if she was inviting you into her world without trying. The two front teeth only further enhanced her charm, extending a bit further down than the others, like an irresistibly cute chipmunk.
She had delicate, almost imperceptible ears, the kind one would barely notice without looking closely. They were small, tucked neatly against the sides of her head, with a gentle curve to the lobe that made them seem unassuming. There was nothing remarkable about them, but they added to the allure of her features. It was as if every part of her face, even something as subtle as her ears, worked together in perfect harmony. They often had a faint dusting of pink when she was excited or embarrassed, as if they could never hide the warmth that radiated from her spirit.
Her eyes were what held his attention the longest. They weren’t quite green, nor brown, but somewhere in between, like deep moss or the first hints of leaves turning in autumn. They were lively and intense, but never aggressive. There were sparks in them, a quiet curiosity that made you wonder what secrets they held. Her gaze always seemed to pierce through the ordinary, catching moments others might miss, and in her presence, he could never quite look away.
She carried herself with an ease that seemed almost otherworldly, a quiet confidence that didn’t demand respect but somehow always commanded it. She never spoke loudly or acted out; she simply existed, and in her presence, the world seemed just a bit warmer, a little brighter.
For more than five years, he had been her classmate and witnessed her growth. He remembered her skinny legs, once covered in a light peach fuzz, that he witnessed transform into lean and toned instruments of desire. He admired them not for their shape alone, but for the way they moved, the way they seemed to belong to someone born in motion. They were long and lithe, the kind of legs that hinted at hours of dancing and quiet summers spent barefoot in the Nordic grass. Even when she was still, there was a kind of grace to her, like something inside refused to allow her to sit entirely at rest. She did not walk — she glided, or so his memory told him. And in his mind, she always would. Even all these years later, her legs came to him unbidden — the poise, the toned muscles, the smoothness, like pressed linen, as if time had never touched them at all.
Thoughts of Emma’s legs fired him up again. He began clanking at the keyboard as visions of her flat stomach, accentuated by her sculpted hips and firm grapefruit-sized breasts, flooded his mind. The ass. The firm, muscular ass. Another forum popped up, along with a stern warning from his antivirus software. He glanced down. Site includes: Bashō, Aikō, Swedish, Girls. Does not include Europe, Fairy Tale.
Nedim double-checked to ensure that his VPN was on. The site certainly seemed sketchy but proved too tempting. Visions of Emma in the schoolgirl outfit danced in his head as the page loaded. Could this be it? His mind carried him back. Back to the best day of his life. The day that somehow just kept getting better and better.
He jolted back into consciousness as his eyes scanned a lively discussion about Bashō Aikō and his lovely Swedish models. He saw the customary faces in the photos, but still no Emma (at least not the one he longed for).
“This stuff is nearly impossible to find. As are the videos,” one commenter said.
“Did he really only make two trips to Sweden? I swear I read somewhere else that it was three.”
“If there were three trips, where are the other books? Where are the other models? Where are the other photos?”
“Haven’t you guys heard of the Lost Aikō files? Something happened, and the photos and video cameras got confiscated. It ended the series, and those photos were never released!”
“Really?”
“Yes. Legend has it that one of the assistants actually got back to Japan with a bunch of floppy disks that had most of the photos on them. The videotapes were confiscated and destroyed.”
“Where are those photos then? Prove it. Put up or shut up!”
“You really should be nicer about it if you want to see any of them.”
“Are you saying you have them?” another commenter requested.
“Maybe.”
“What do you mean, maybe?”
“I don’t believe him. He would give us something if he had it. Just a teaser, to piss us all off.”
“I do have them, and I can and will prove it.”
“He’s lying.”
“I am not. The first set takes place in a school.” Nedim bolted back in his chair. “There are numerous girls in it. Then they go out to a lake. The sets are called “School’s Out” and “Swedish Water Nymphs.” Nedim suddenly became conscious of his heart pounding in his chest. No. His heartbeat was pounding in his head. “Ne mogu da vjerujem,” he muttered.
“Prove it! Or shut up!”
“Alright, but you all would surely be more polite if you wanted to see these amazing pictures. They got the ‘Beautiful Swedish Girls’ series canceled.”
AND THERE IT WAS—a single, solitary photo of Saga’s family property on the lake at Solpölen. Within the gently blurred edges of the soft-focus photo, he saw eight familiar figures. The image appeared as if it had been taken through a veil of mist, with light blooming around the five nude girls frolicking in the water, like a memory half-remembered. The colors of the elated boys’ swim trunks melted together into a warm, hazy palette, giving everything a slightly surreal, almost ethereal quality, as if time itself had smudged the image with longing. Steam rose off the clear blue water as the Midsummer sun hung above the tree line.
“I have them all. At least the ones that Takahashi got out of the country. He held onto them for twenty years before any of them leaked.” Nadim’s eyes darted to the bottom of the last post. It was dated August 1, 2025.
Nedim jumped from the chair, sending it falling to the floor behind him. He rushed to the closet, where he kept the stash of sentimental things from his school days in Sweden and his days playing soccer across Europe. There. That box. He ripped the lid away and began rummaging. There. There it is. He pulled out a 6-inch piece of laminated construction paper with colorful, bubbly writing on it: Emma’s handwriting and Malin’s cute anime-style characters in schoolgirl outfits. The ticket read, “Till Friheten” - “Elmstad–Paradiset.”
Nedim slouched in his chair, the soft glow of the computer screen washing over his face. Yes, that was the photographer’s name. At least, that’s who the photographer was SUPPOSED to be. Bashō Aikō files. Nedim knew it would almost certainly be a massive failure. He was not sure he could stomach another disappointment, but having the guy’s name might produce some strong leads. He clicked the hyperlink.
“In Search of Beautiful Swedish Girls.” Yes, this was definitely the guy. Nedim’s eyes quickly brushed over the lovely faces (and bodies) on the front and back covers of the previously auctioned books in the photos. He stared, his mind boggling, at the price. “$1,200 for a used photo book.”
Undeterred, Nedim kept pounding at the keyboard, copying the photographer’s name and book titles he had found into various search engines. He cursed Google, remembering the days when he actually found items he was searching for. On DuckDuckGo, he found a blog where a bunch of photos USED TO BE. “European Fairy Tales.” This post has been deleted. He slammed the mouse again. “Ugh.”
But no, he would not give up. Forums. He typed in every name for the type of content he was searching for. “Aikō files,” “Aikō Sweden,” “Aikō beautiful Swedish girls.” Slowly, small gems began turning up. Tina, Amandla, Sofia, Camilla, Helena (oh good lord), but no Emma. Then, nope, wrong Emma.
“These photos just do not seem to exist,” username Ned Neeldeslander commented. But Nedim KNEW they existed.
He went back to the most promising forums again, studying the faces of the 19 girls staring back at him. Yes. They were the peak of Scandinavian youth and feminine beauty. The memories began flooding back. Sweden. When he arrived, he was astounded by the droves of icy blonde teenage girls openly sunbathing in their underwear in the public park. He recalled the first time he saw a female classmate lying face down in nothing more than a red thong. Saga. Yes, Saga was something else as well.
The sound of creaking wood and soft dragging footsteps pulled him from his stupor. He knew he needed to get away. He should be in bed with his wife, or at least saying something to his son, who just pitter-pattered down the hall. But the pull was too strong. The pictures had to be out there SOMEWHERE. Twenty-six years had passed, and he had never seen a single one. Hundreds, no thousands, were taken that day. They videotaped the photo shoots!
Nedim tried Bing again. Aikō + Sweden + Emma. NOPE. Ugh. Wrong Emma again. But the other one really was cute. ALL of these girls were cute. ALL of the girls in Sweden were cute. Ugh. “No, I am too old to cry.” He spun around in his swivel chair, his hand brushing the long surgical scar on his knee. Emma. Emma, Emma, Emma.
In all his days playing sub-professional fútbol across Europe, he had never seen another girl with the magical aura of Emma Skog. Emma, the girl who must have descended directly from the Valkyries. Emma.
Despite the passing of decades, he could still see her. The face lingered in his mind, a picture-perfect snapshot etched in the corners of his thoughts. Nedim could still see her sitting in Bengt’s classroom as though no time had passed at all, the details of her features sharp and vivid, though the years between them had blurred.
Her skin had a warm hue that required no makeup. She seemed to reflect light, catching the sun in a way that made it appear as if she were glowing from within. The two patches of dark freckles, just under her hairline and on the left bridge of her nose, only added to her effortless beauty, like constellations on her face—small, innocent, and endearing.
Her hair was soft blonde, sun-kissed, and often swept up into a carefree blend of a bun and a ponytail. It was never perfectly neat—there was always a playful mess to it, a testament to the way she seemed so effortlessly graceful, even though her hair was a bit untamed. The soft, warm locks framed her face in a way that made everything about her seem naturally lit, as if a halo of light pursued her wherever she went.
Her teeth were impossibly white and straight, ensuring that every smile was a flash of brilliance. When she grinned, you could not help but notice the gleam. There was something disarming about it—as if she was inviting you into her world without trying. The two front teeth only further enhanced her charm, extending a bit further down than the others, like an irresistibly cute chipmunk.
She had delicate, almost imperceptible ears, the kind one would barely notice without looking closely. They were small, tucked neatly against the sides of her head, with a gentle curve to the lobe that made them seem unassuming. There was nothing remarkable about them, but they added to the allure of her features. It was as if every part of her face, even something as subtle as her ears, worked together in perfect harmony. They often had a faint dusting of pink when she was excited or embarrassed, as if they could never hide the warmth that radiated from her spirit.
Her eyes were what held his attention the longest. They weren’t quite green, nor brown, but somewhere in between, like deep moss or the first hints of leaves turning in autumn. They were lively and intense, but never aggressive. There were sparks in them, a quiet curiosity that made you wonder what secrets they held. Her gaze always seemed to pierce through the ordinary, catching moments others might miss, and in her presence, he could never quite look away.
She carried herself with an ease that seemed almost otherworldly, a quiet confidence that didn’t demand respect but somehow always commanded it. She never spoke loudly or acted out; she simply existed, and in her presence, the world seemed just a bit warmer, a little brighter.
For more than five years, he had been her classmate and witnessed her growth. He remembered her skinny legs, once covered in a light peach fuzz, that he witnessed transform into lean and toned instruments of desire. He admired them not for their shape alone, but for the way they moved, the way they seemed to belong to someone born in motion. They were long and lithe, the kind of legs that hinted at hours of dancing and quiet summers spent barefoot in the Nordic grass. Even when she was still, there was a kind of grace to her, like something inside refused to allow her to sit entirely at rest. She did not walk — she glided, or so his memory told him. And in his mind, she always would. Even all these years later, her legs came to him unbidden — the poise, the toned muscles, the smoothness, like pressed linen, as if time had never touched them at all.
Thoughts of Emma’s legs fired him up again. He began clanking at the keyboard as visions of her flat stomach, accentuated by her sculpted hips and firm grapefruit-sized breasts, flooded his mind. The ass. The firm, muscular ass. Another forum popped up, along with a stern warning from his antivirus software. He glanced down. Site includes: Bashō, Aikō, Swedish, Girls. Does not include Europe, Fairy Tale.
Nedim double-checked to ensure that his VPN was on. The site certainly seemed sketchy but proved too tempting. Visions of Emma in the schoolgirl outfit danced in his head as the page loaded. Could this be it? His mind carried him back. Back to the best day of his life. The day that somehow just kept getting better and better.
He jolted back into consciousness as his eyes scanned a lively discussion about Bashō Aikō and his lovely Swedish models. He saw the customary faces in the photos, but still no Emma (at least not the one he longed for).
“This stuff is nearly impossible to find. As are the videos,” one commenter said.
“Did he really only make two trips to Sweden? I swear I read somewhere else that it was three.”
“If there were three trips, where are the other books? Where are the other models? Where are the other photos?”
“Haven’t you guys heard of the Lost Aikō files? Something happened, and the photos and video cameras got confiscated. It ended the series, and those photos were never released!”
“Really?”
“Yes. Legend has it that one of the assistants actually got back to Japan with a bunch of floppy disks that had most of the photos on them. The videotapes were confiscated and destroyed.”
“Where are those photos then? Prove it. Put up or shut up!”
“You really should be nicer about it if you want to see any of them.”
“Are you saying you have them?” another commenter requested.
“Maybe.”
“What do you mean, maybe?”
“I don’t believe him. He would give us something if he had it. Just a teaser, to piss us all off.”
“I do have them, and I can and will prove it.”
“He’s lying.”
“I am not. The first set takes place in a school.” Nedim bolted back in his chair. “There are numerous girls in it. Then they go out to a lake. The sets are called “School’s Out” and “Swedish Water Nymphs.” Nedim suddenly became conscious of his heart pounding in his chest. No. His heartbeat was pounding in his head. “Ne mogu da vjerujem,” he muttered.
“Prove it! Or shut up!”
“Alright, but you all would surely be more polite if you wanted to see these amazing pictures. They got the ‘Beautiful Swedish Girls’ series canceled.”
AND THERE IT WAS—a single, solitary photo of Saga’s family property on the lake at Solpölen. Within the gently blurred edges of the soft-focus photo, he saw eight familiar figures. The image appeared as if it had been taken through a veil of mist, with light blooming around the five nude girls frolicking in the water, like a memory half-remembered. The colors of the elated boys’ swim trunks melted together into a warm, hazy palette, giving everything a slightly surreal, almost ethereal quality, as if time itself had smudged the image with longing. Steam rose off the clear blue water as the Midsummer sun hung above the tree line.
“I have them all. At least the ones that Takahashi got out of the country. He held onto them for twenty years before any of them leaked.” Nadim’s eyes darted to the bottom of the last post. It was dated August 1, 2025.
Nedim jumped from the chair, sending it falling to the floor behind him. He rushed to the closet, where he kept the stash of sentimental things from his school days in Sweden and his days playing soccer across Europe. There. That box. He ripped the lid away and began rummaging. There. There it is. He pulled out a 6-inch piece of laminated construction paper with colorful, bubbly writing on it: Emma’s handwriting and Malin’s cute anime-style characters in schoolgirl outfits. The ticket read, “Till Friheten” - “Elmstad–Paradiset.”
Last edited by Sanford7727 on Mon Oct 27, 2025 7:40 am, edited 2 times in total.
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Somebody
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Re: Ticket to Ride: The Lost Bashō Aikō Series
I wasn't expecting such a dead-on depiction of what it's like trying to use the internet these days. Everything's gone, all those memories. Totally harmless, totally legal things, straight-up art... all of it swept away. And not even just controversial things, but entire swaths of internet are just not something anyone wants to host anymore.
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Freesub
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Re: Ticket to Ride: The Lost Bashō Aikō Series
A very different story, and I really liked the premise. The desperation is palpable and very well written
My real incidents:
viewtopic.php?t=3737
viewtopic.php?t=3840
viewtopic.php?t=3843
viewtopic.php?t=4002
viewtopic.php?t=3737
viewtopic.php?t=3840
viewtopic.php?t=3843
viewtopic.php?t=4002
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Sanford7727
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Re: Ticket to Ride: The Lost Bashō Aikō Series
Does anyone have any idea what has been going on with this site? I've been all but locked out of even getting on here lately because of FOUR different error messages that I have been receiving. I fully expect to receive a message when I try to enter this telling me "You do not have permission to access this content." How do I not have permission to access my own story? It is absolutely infuriating. I cannot even like the second comment that I received because it gives me a red X "ajax" error. I cannot respond to either comment because it tells me "Access is Denied." Every single time I try to come on the the site, I get a VERY slow "Verify that you are human" message. More than half of the time, this is followed by a Access is Denied message. The site is also very fond of the "Too Many Requests" message because it keeps timing out. I get these messages, regardless of if I am on my old computer or my new computer. I get them if I am logged in, I get them if I am logged out. I get them if I am using a VPN, I get them if I am not using a VPN. It literally took me over a month, probably six weeks to be precise, to even get a membership to write and try to comment on stories because the captchas would never pop up. I have sent over a dozen messages to site administrators and never even received a single response. Is the site always like this? Do they ever try to actually fix it?
I want nothing more than to write this story and interact with the people reading it. I also want to read other stories and encourage the other authors and have great discussions on here and give people ideas to incorporate into their stories. I have four other great ideas for stories and series that I would like to write after this one. But as things have been since I posted the first chapter, I see no way I can even begin to try and do this. Can we please try to see about getting these issues fixed? I also have a suspicion that the reason I am getting so few comments is because other users are experiencing the same things? Are the administrators even active here anymore? If not, it would explain why things are so bad. The site isn't being updated or maintained. Is there another site similar to this (that has this same layout). I absolutely despise the other popular one in terms of the format that it has. It makes it too difficult to follow stories. Anyway, I am crossing my fingers and hitting submit. On the 10% chance that it goes through, there is probably a 1 in 5 chance that your response will also go through.
I want nothing more than to write this story and interact with the people reading it. I also want to read other stories and encourage the other authors and have great discussions on here and give people ideas to incorporate into their stories. I have four other great ideas for stories and series that I would like to write after this one. But as things have been since I posted the first chapter, I see no way I can even begin to try and do this. Can we please try to see about getting these issues fixed? I also have a suspicion that the reason I am getting so few comments is because other users are experiencing the same things? Are the administrators even active here anymore? If not, it would explain why things are so bad. The site isn't being updated or maintained. Is there another site similar to this (that has this same layout). I absolutely despise the other popular one in terms of the format that it has. It makes it too difficult to follow stories. Anyway, I am crossing my fingers and hitting submit. On the 10% chance that it goes through, there is probably a 1 in 5 chance that your response will also go through.
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Freesub
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Re: Ticket to Ride: The Lost Bashō Aikō Series
The website is under a virtual-siege of bots attempting to DDoS. There have been new protections implemented, but it's all still very new. It will probably take a bit of time for everything to go back to where it was because of some unfortunate idiot who has nothing better to do than spam a site like this.Sanford7727 wrote: Sun Aug 03, 2025 5:07 am Does anyone have any idea what has been going on with this site? I've been all but locked out of even getting on here lately because of FOUR different error messages that I have been receiving. I fully expect to receive a message when I try to enter this telling me "You do not have permission to access this content." How do I not have permission to access my own story? It is absolutely infuriating. I cannot even like the second comment that I received because it gives me a red X "ajax" error. I cannot respond to either comment because it tells me "Access is Denied." Every single time I try to come on the the site, I get a VERY slow "Verify that you are human" message. More than half of the time, this is followed by a Access is Denied message. The site is also very fond of the "Too Many Requests" message because it keeps timing out. I get these messages, regardless of if I am on my old computer or my new computer. I get them if I am logged in, I get them if I am logged out. I get them if I am using a VPN, I get them if I am not using a VPN. It literally took me over a month, probably six weeks to be precise, to even get a membership to write and try to comment on stories because the captchas would never pop up. I have sent over a dozen messages to site administrators and never even received a single response. Is the site always like this? Do they ever try to actually fix it?
I want nothing more than to write this story and interact with the people reading it. I also want to read other stories and encourage the other authors and have great discussions on here and give people ideas to incorporate into their stories. I have four other great ideas for stories and series that I would like to write after this one. But as things have been since I posted the first chapter, I see no way I can even begin to try and do this. Can we please try to see about getting these issues fixed? I also have a suspicion that the reason I am getting so few comments is because other users are experiencing the same things? Are the administrators even active here anymore? If not, it would explain why things are so bad. The site isn't being updated or maintained. Is there another site similar to this (that has this same layout). I absolutely despise the other popular one in terms of the format that it has. It makes it too difficult to follow stories. Anyway, I am crossing my fingers and hitting submit. On the 10% chance that it goes through, there is probably a 1 in 5 chance that your response will also go through.
My real incidents:
viewtopic.php?t=3737
viewtopic.php?t=3840
viewtopic.php?t=3843
viewtopic.php?t=4002
viewtopic.php?t=3737
viewtopic.php?t=3840
viewtopic.php?t=3843
viewtopic.php?t=4002
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Somebody
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Re: Ticket to Ride: The Lost Bashō Aikō Series
You're still getting that when you use a VPN? which one? I'm using Windscribe, which is free. Literally only got it to see if my ISP was throttling youtube (inconclusive) but it allows me in here.Sanford7727 wrote: Sun Aug 03, 2025 5:07 am I get these messages, regardless of if I am on my old computer or my new computer. I get them if I am logged in, I get them if I am logged out. I get them if I am using a VPN, I get them if I am not using a VPN.
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Sanford7727
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Re: Ticket to Ride: The Lost Bashō Aikō Series
Chapter 1
The Announcement
“I like the Beatles just fine, but can’t we use something else? We CANNOT dance to this song!” Saga flailed her well-toned arms in frustration. “I don’t even know what type of dance we are supposed to do with this. Can’t we use Britney Spears?”
Emma, ever determined, sat at one of the picnic tables in the Elmstad schoolyard as her schoolmates slowly gathered in front of the building. She watched Saga go through the motions, shifting her round hips and resting her hands on them, which caused her coconut-sized breasts to protrude under the thin fabric of her spaghetti-strap top.
“Hit me, baby, one more time,” Emma said. “That’s so last year. And that would make our dance just like any other group of girls. With this, we are combining the best of two different eras.”
Saga rolled her russet-colored eyes. As if struck by an epiphany, the auburn-haired teen looked at Malin, who had just arrived at their table. “Don’t you think we need something more modern? Something the kids are actually listening to? Something they will know the words to? Maybe Ace of Base. Skolavslutning is for the entire community.”
Malin’s icy blonde hair glistened under the sun. Her sapphire eyes, round as marbles, flitted back and forth between her classmates. Being the youngest in the group and all of Årskurs 8 meant she was rarely asked to weigh in with her opinion. She wrinkled her button nose and smiled. “I’m fine with whatever. As long as it’s not one of those silly summer songs we had to sing back in elementary school.”
Emma glanced around, noting that the contrast between the two girls had never been more apparent. Saga’s cut-off jean shorts and low-cut top were designed to flaunt her thick butt and other curvy assets. Although short, at barely 5’2”, her dynamic curves and strong thighs made her appear fully grown, or at least in her final years of Gymnasiet. Ever the sporty girl, her small, tanned nose was already peeling from exposure to the steady sun. Malin, thin and pale, wore a pair of baggy jeans and had Leonardo DiCaprio’s face emblazoned across the front of her TITANIC shirt.
Living in a town the size of Elmstad certainly made for interesting friend groups. “I just want our performance to be the best one. And not be boring,” Malin added.
“I promise you, it won't be boring,” Emma said, her green eyes blazing.
“Are we actually going to do the handing out tickets thing?” Saga pleaded.
Emma’s expression stiffened. “You pick the outfits, I pick the song, remember? And who else is going to represent our class? You want Marcus and the other boys up there doing it?”
Larger clusters of students began to form on the lawn and near the bike racks as the minutes ticked away.
“Where are Ingrid and Annegret, anyway?” Emma asked.
“Ugh, I don’t know,” Saga sighed. “But here comes Miss Sprice.”
Emma didn’t even have to turn her head. The clack-clack-clack of heels on the sidewalk and the expression on Saga’s face said it all.
“Attention, attention, everyone. I have an important announcement to make!”
The boys, being boys, quickly focused on the tall blonde in the middle of the schoolyard, despite her shrill voice. The Årskurs 9 student wore a tight red mini skirt with black platform school shoes and matching knee-high stockings that accentuated her long legs. Her dark, low-cut shirt forced much of her massive melons to hang out. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail held in place by a large, black scrunchie. She had clearly spent an hour or more on her makeup and carried herself as if she had just been crowned Miss Universe.
She smacked her chewing gum a few times before speaking.
“My fellow schoolmates, I would like to announce that here, in my right hand, is my ticket out of Elmstad.” She cleared her throat and straightened her posture before reading. “From Vilja Models in Lund. To all of our models,” she paused, spreading out the fingers of her free hand over her breasts, “that’s me.” She giggled before continuing. “To all of our models, we would like to inform you that the internationally renowned Japanese photographer Bashō Aikō is returning to Sweden to do In Search of Beautiful Swedish Girls: Volume III. This is part of a national search for fresh, undiscovered talent. Mr. Aikō will be conducting scouting sessions across southern Sweden in late May, and he is working in conjunction with Vilja Models in Lund. As you may well know, one of our models, Emma Nyberg, was selected for book 2 in 1995.”
Several boys oohed when they heard the first name. Emma nervously adjusted her silver pendant necklace as Johanna continued.
“This is a rare opportunity to become one of the very few Swedish models to appear in one of Mr. Aikō’s acclaimed modeling books. Applicants must be between 14 and 18 years of age and be comfortable with nude photography.” Emma felt herself blushing as the boys in the schoolyard went ballistic. Johanna had to pause for over half a minute before she could continue. “Excuse me, please. I was not finished.”
“I cannot wait to see these pictures,” a voice shouted.
“They only get published in Japan,” Johanna shot back. “Stop being a pervert!”
“You’re the one taking your clothes off!” the boy shouted back.
After the extended interruption, Johanna was finally able to continue. “All applicants will be evaluated on photographic presence, natural expression, poise, and versatility in movement. Prior modeling experience is expected but not required. All applicants must have photos on file with Vilja Models by May 20th. Selected candidates will receive a one-time creative grant of 25,000 SEK for appearing in the photoshoots and videos. Further modeling opportunities are likely, and a select few models will travel to Tokyo for additional photoshoots in Mr. Aikō’s studio. These models will receive free airfare, hotels, food, and an additional 25,000 SEK.”
The commotion once again boiled over.
“25,000 SEK!”
“Nude photos!”
“A trip to Tokyo!”
“Imagine girls from our school getting naked!”
Emma hadn’t even noticed Ingrid and Annegret arriving.
“She is outdoing herself this time,” Saga said.
Emma glanced up and responded, “She really thinks she is all that. You’d make a better model than she would!”
Saga laughed and jiggled her plump behind in Emma’s face. “Well, I do have this,” she laughed. But my legs are all covered with turf burn from fútbol.” She paused and seemed to consider her words carefully. “But you, you are totally the prettiest girl in the entire school. Hell, you’re probably the prettiest girl in Skåne County.”
Ingrid, a freckled girl with the ends of her hair dyed blue and a flannel shirt tied around her baggy jeans, spoke up. “Emma. You should do it. It would be hilarious when you got chosen and Miss Sprice didn’t.”
Emma looked around at her friends. “Were you all listening? She said NUDE modeling!”
Annegret, a tall girl with dark hair and steel-blue eyes, chimed in. “It’s not that big of a deal. It would be like being in Bravo magazine in Germany. Lots of girls like Johanna want to be in Bravo.”
Annegret, whose family had arrived from eastern Germany five years before, always seemed to be full of surprises. “What?” Emma asked.
“They take nude photos of you and interview you about your sex life.”
“I don’t have a sex life,” Emma said. “I’m in the Årskurs 8.”
“Well, that will change once you get into this book,” Saga chuckled. “You might even finally get a boyfriend.”
“I’m not getting in any book,” Emma said. “And what’s the point of this Bravo magazine?” Emma asked.
“They give them to students to help them feel comfortable with their bodies and the changes they are going through. It’s like sex education.”
Emma shuddered at the thought of her nude photos being given to Marcus and the other boys in her class. “You can’t be serious!”
“Yeah,” Annegret said. “My aunt was in it in 1993. We have a copy of it at home. It is a great honor.”
Johanna’s chirping brought Emma back to the chaos in the schoolyard. “He’s one of the guys who made Victoria Silvstedt famous.” She flipped her ponytail around. “Now he is going to make me famous. I will probably end up in Playboy like she did! Or living in Hollywood.”
“Hey, at least we can get our hands on that one,” a voice shouted.
“25,000 SEK is more than most people’s parents make in a year!” an Årskurs 7 girl said.
“Maybe if your parents are bums,” Johanna snapped.
Gun-Britt, the Textilslöjd teacher, was standing in the doorway, shouting for the students to come inside. Apparently, in all the commotion, they had missed the chimes that officially started the school day.
“God, please let Bengt be in the room for once,” Emma mumbled, knowing the grumpy old man with thick glasses and bushy sideburns wouldn’t be.
She entered the empty classroom and plopped down at her desk, dreading the moment Marcus would arrive. The unattended boys, who were usually pestering the quiet or refugee kids, were still buzzing with speculation.
“Yeah, she’s annoying, but she is hot.”
“Imagine seeing those knockers!”
“They said 14. The girls in our class could actually do it!”
Marcus, a boy with a narrow nose and slicked-back blond hair, glared at the Kurdish girl Shirin and said, “Well, I’d like to see all of the girls in our class do it, except for You Know Who. She’d have to take off that ridiculous headscarf. It might kill her if we saw her precious hair. She might die of embarrassment.”
“But the others. They could all do it.”
“Well, everyone but Malin could!” another said.
“Hey, Malin, when’s your birthday?” Marcus shouted.
The boys roared with laughter.
The Announcement
“I like the Beatles just fine, but can’t we use something else? We CANNOT dance to this song!” Saga flailed her well-toned arms in frustration. “I don’t even know what type of dance we are supposed to do with this. Can’t we use Britney Spears?”
Emma, ever determined, sat at one of the picnic tables in the Elmstad schoolyard as her schoolmates slowly gathered in front of the building. She watched Saga go through the motions, shifting her round hips and resting her hands on them, which caused her coconut-sized breasts to protrude under the thin fabric of her spaghetti-strap top.
“Hit me, baby, one more time,” Emma said. “That’s so last year. And that would make our dance just like any other group of girls. With this, we are combining the best of two different eras.”
Saga rolled her russet-colored eyes. As if struck by an epiphany, the auburn-haired teen looked at Malin, who had just arrived at their table. “Don’t you think we need something more modern? Something the kids are actually listening to? Something they will know the words to? Maybe Ace of Base. Skolavslutning is for the entire community.”
Malin’s icy blonde hair glistened under the sun. Her sapphire eyes, round as marbles, flitted back and forth between her classmates. Being the youngest in the group and all of Årskurs 8 meant she was rarely asked to weigh in with her opinion. She wrinkled her button nose and smiled. “I’m fine with whatever. As long as it’s not one of those silly summer songs we had to sing back in elementary school.”
Emma glanced around, noting that the contrast between the two girls had never been more apparent. Saga’s cut-off jean shorts and low-cut top were designed to flaunt her thick butt and other curvy assets. Although short, at barely 5’2”, her dynamic curves and strong thighs made her appear fully grown, or at least in her final years of Gymnasiet. Ever the sporty girl, her small, tanned nose was already peeling from exposure to the steady sun. Malin, thin and pale, wore a pair of baggy jeans and had Leonardo DiCaprio’s face emblazoned across the front of her TITANIC shirt.
Living in a town the size of Elmstad certainly made for interesting friend groups. “I just want our performance to be the best one. And not be boring,” Malin added.
“I promise you, it won't be boring,” Emma said, her green eyes blazing.
“Are we actually going to do the handing out tickets thing?” Saga pleaded.
Emma’s expression stiffened. “You pick the outfits, I pick the song, remember? And who else is going to represent our class? You want Marcus and the other boys up there doing it?”
Larger clusters of students began to form on the lawn and near the bike racks as the minutes ticked away.
“Where are Ingrid and Annegret, anyway?” Emma asked.
“Ugh, I don’t know,” Saga sighed. “But here comes Miss Sprice.”
Emma didn’t even have to turn her head. The clack-clack-clack of heels on the sidewalk and the expression on Saga’s face said it all.
“Attention, attention, everyone. I have an important announcement to make!”
The boys, being boys, quickly focused on the tall blonde in the middle of the schoolyard, despite her shrill voice. The Årskurs 9 student wore a tight red mini skirt with black platform school shoes and matching knee-high stockings that accentuated her long legs. Her dark, low-cut shirt forced much of her massive melons to hang out. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail held in place by a large, black scrunchie. She had clearly spent an hour or more on her makeup and carried herself as if she had just been crowned Miss Universe.
She smacked her chewing gum a few times before speaking.
“My fellow schoolmates, I would like to announce that here, in my right hand, is my ticket out of Elmstad.” She cleared her throat and straightened her posture before reading. “From Vilja Models in Lund. To all of our models,” she paused, spreading out the fingers of her free hand over her breasts, “that’s me.” She giggled before continuing. “To all of our models, we would like to inform you that the internationally renowned Japanese photographer Bashō Aikō is returning to Sweden to do In Search of Beautiful Swedish Girls: Volume III. This is part of a national search for fresh, undiscovered talent. Mr. Aikō will be conducting scouting sessions across southern Sweden in late May, and he is working in conjunction with Vilja Models in Lund. As you may well know, one of our models, Emma Nyberg, was selected for book 2 in 1995.”
Several boys oohed when they heard the first name. Emma nervously adjusted her silver pendant necklace as Johanna continued.
“This is a rare opportunity to become one of the very few Swedish models to appear in one of Mr. Aikō’s acclaimed modeling books. Applicants must be between 14 and 18 years of age and be comfortable with nude photography.” Emma felt herself blushing as the boys in the schoolyard went ballistic. Johanna had to pause for over half a minute before she could continue. “Excuse me, please. I was not finished.”
“I cannot wait to see these pictures,” a voice shouted.
“They only get published in Japan,” Johanna shot back. “Stop being a pervert!”
“You’re the one taking your clothes off!” the boy shouted back.
After the extended interruption, Johanna was finally able to continue. “All applicants will be evaluated on photographic presence, natural expression, poise, and versatility in movement. Prior modeling experience is expected but not required. All applicants must have photos on file with Vilja Models by May 20th. Selected candidates will receive a one-time creative grant of 25,000 SEK for appearing in the photoshoots and videos. Further modeling opportunities are likely, and a select few models will travel to Tokyo for additional photoshoots in Mr. Aikō’s studio. These models will receive free airfare, hotels, food, and an additional 25,000 SEK.”
The commotion once again boiled over.
“25,000 SEK!”
“Nude photos!”
“A trip to Tokyo!”
“Imagine girls from our school getting naked!”
Emma hadn’t even noticed Ingrid and Annegret arriving.
“She is outdoing herself this time,” Saga said.
Emma glanced up and responded, “She really thinks she is all that. You’d make a better model than she would!”
Saga laughed and jiggled her plump behind in Emma’s face. “Well, I do have this,” she laughed. But my legs are all covered with turf burn from fútbol.” She paused and seemed to consider her words carefully. “But you, you are totally the prettiest girl in the entire school. Hell, you’re probably the prettiest girl in Skåne County.”
Ingrid, a freckled girl with the ends of her hair dyed blue and a flannel shirt tied around her baggy jeans, spoke up. “Emma. You should do it. It would be hilarious when you got chosen and Miss Sprice didn’t.”
Emma looked around at her friends. “Were you all listening? She said NUDE modeling!”
Annegret, a tall girl with dark hair and steel-blue eyes, chimed in. “It’s not that big of a deal. It would be like being in Bravo magazine in Germany. Lots of girls like Johanna want to be in Bravo.”
Annegret, whose family had arrived from eastern Germany five years before, always seemed to be full of surprises. “What?” Emma asked.
“They take nude photos of you and interview you about your sex life.”
“I don’t have a sex life,” Emma said. “I’m in the Årskurs 8.”
“Well, that will change once you get into this book,” Saga chuckled. “You might even finally get a boyfriend.”
“I’m not getting in any book,” Emma said. “And what’s the point of this Bravo magazine?” Emma asked.
“They give them to students to help them feel comfortable with their bodies and the changes they are going through. It’s like sex education.”
Emma shuddered at the thought of her nude photos being given to Marcus and the other boys in her class. “You can’t be serious!”
“Yeah,” Annegret said. “My aunt was in it in 1993. We have a copy of it at home. It is a great honor.”
Johanna’s chirping brought Emma back to the chaos in the schoolyard. “He’s one of the guys who made Victoria Silvstedt famous.” She flipped her ponytail around. “Now he is going to make me famous. I will probably end up in Playboy like she did! Or living in Hollywood.”
“Hey, at least we can get our hands on that one,” a voice shouted.
“25,000 SEK is more than most people’s parents make in a year!” an Årskurs 7 girl said.
“Maybe if your parents are bums,” Johanna snapped.
Gun-Britt, the Textilslöjd teacher, was standing in the doorway, shouting for the students to come inside. Apparently, in all the commotion, they had missed the chimes that officially started the school day.
“God, please let Bengt be in the room for once,” Emma mumbled, knowing the grumpy old man with thick glasses and bushy sideburns wouldn’t be.
She entered the empty classroom and plopped down at her desk, dreading the moment Marcus would arrive. The unattended boys, who were usually pestering the quiet or refugee kids, were still buzzing with speculation.
“Yeah, she’s annoying, but she is hot.”
“Imagine seeing those knockers!”
“They said 14. The girls in our class could actually do it!”
Marcus, a boy with a narrow nose and slicked-back blond hair, glared at the Kurdish girl Shirin and said, “Well, I’d like to see all of the girls in our class do it, except for You Know Who. She’d have to take off that ridiculous headscarf. It might kill her if we saw her precious hair. She might die of embarrassment.”
“But the others. They could all do it.”
“Well, everyone but Malin could!” another said.
“Hey, Malin, when’s your birthday?” Marcus shouted.
The boys roared with laughter.
-
Sanford7727
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Re: Ticket to Ride: The Lost Bashō Aikō Series
It appears as though I am finally able to respond.Somebody wrote: Sat Aug 02, 2025 1:22 am I wasn't expecting such a dead-on depiction of what it's like trying to use the internet these days. Everything's gone, all those memories. Totally harmless, totally legal things, straight-up art... all of it swept away. And not even just controversial things, but entire swaths of internet are just not something anyone wants to host anymore.
Yes, it is tragic. This stuff, in particular, is just a void. I find countless forums full of the dreaded triangles with ! marks, where these works of art USED to be.
Anyway, the BOT attacks really did a number on us for a while, but I have every intention of continuing this story. I have it all plotted out.
However, if anyone knows more about these projects, or where to find more information about them, I would like to have more details (everything I know I found in a Spanish language blog). Please feel free to message me to provide input or ask me more about Mr. Garo's projects in Sweden, or any of the other Japanese guys who did the same thing (I know far less about them). The topic is the most fascinating thing I have encountered in years.
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Sanford7727
- Posts: 72
- Joined: Sat Jul 12, 2025 9:57 pm
- Has thanked: 51 times
- Been thanked: 95 times
- Contact:
Re: Ticket to Ride: The Lost Bashō Aikō Series (Chapter 2 Added 8/15/25)
Chapter 2
The Road to Lund
The news of Bashō Aikō’s return to Sweden had caused quite an uproar that continued to ripple throughout the school. Even Emma’s younger brother Mattius, in Årskurs 5, had come home talking about it.
“The boys in my class say you should do it!” he shouted.
The following morning, Emma sat staring at the pale walls of Bengt’s classroom, her stomach still turning at the thought of her brother’s 11-year-old classmates thinking of her in such a way.
“Where is Bengt anyway? Of all days, this is the one he should be here on time,” a boy muttered.
Marcus, wearing a Fila shirt and baggy cargo shorts, sneered as he plopped down on the desk in front of Nedim, a Bosnian boy who had lived in Elmstad since his family fled their home in 1992. “Ah, he’s probably out behind the wood shop smoking again. Or taking a nap in the teacher’s lounge.”
“But it’s almost time to go, and the teacher isn’t even here,” the concerned boy replied.
“It’s not like Super Dav is going to leave without us,” Marcus said, returning his attention to Nedim.
Nedim did his best to ignore the obnoxious boy with slicked-back hair, but it never seemed to work.
“So, Nedim, which of the babes in our class would you like to see in Aikō’s next book? Saga, Emma, or Annegret? Knowing you, you probably want Shirin in her headscarf.”
Marcus’ friends laughed, but Nedim continued doodling on the bullet-point printout for the day’s swimming certification.
“Don’t be shy, Nedim. Which girl in our class do you want to see naked?”
Nedim’s eyes shyly glanced over, and Annegret huffed audibly but said nothing as Marcus rambled on.
“Ooh, Emma. Very nice choice. They don’t make girls like that down where you come from, do they? Down where you’re supposed to be.”
Annegret finally spoke up. “Just leave him alone. He never bothers or even says a word to you.”
Marcus rose from the desk and smirked. “Ah, come on. I’m just trying to make friends with him. And you are certainly on my list.” He made a big boobs gesture by holding his hands out in front of his chest. “In fact, I wish all of you girls would do a shoot right here in the classroom. The guys and I could sit back and watch. It’d be so damned hot.”
A jolt of energy pulsed through Emma’s body as she envisioned herself stretched out nude across Marcus’s desk as her classmates watched. She felt herself blush as the door opened.
Bengt, the ever-absent teacher, finally stumbled in. The sloppily dressed man had thick glasses and disheveled, bushy hair. “Grab your bags, kids. Make sure you have your swimsuits, unless you want to do your certification in the nude.”
Many of the boys whooped, as they all had been imagining their female classmates naked for several days.
Bengt led the way into the hall without so much as a glance back at his charges. This provided an opportunity for Marcus to swat the towel out of Soran’s, an underclassman’s, hands as he walked by. “Excuse me, kid.”
Before the young Kurdish boy could even react, a voice called out from behind. “Pick it up and give it back to him! Then take the front seat right across from me on the bus. Any more trouble from you, and I’ll leave you here.”
“Ugh, yes, Dav.”
As much as it pained him, Marcus complied. Getting the yearly swimming certification was mandatory to advance to Årskurs 9.
“Come on, kids, let's get a move on,” the pot-bellied janitor urged. The massive bundle of keys that hung from the old man’s hip rattled as he waved the students on. “We haven’t got all day. We’ve got to be in Lund in less than an hour.”
As he hustled the students along, Annegret spoke up. “Thanks for getting onto him. He’s just awful to everyone, especially the refugee kids. The teachers almost never punish him at all.”
“Well, no surprises there,” Dav said, shuffling toward the door. “Let’s hurry up.”
Emma’s black platform loafers clacked on the linoleum floor as she passed the benches and shoe cubbies near the entrance of the school. She hoped there were still enough available spots on the bus that she and her friends could sit together. She climbed the steps to board the orange and white transport bus with “Skolskjuts” written on the front and looked longingly at the sea of heads rising above the seats. “Ugh.”
“What, those younger ones got your seats?”
Emma glanced down, finding Dav’s eyes peering up from several inches below the hemline of her miniskirt.
“Uhh, yeah.”
He stood, grinning for a few long seconds. “Well, let me on up.”
Dav ascended the steps and bellowed, “Come on, 9th in the back, 8th in the middle, 7th in the front. It’s not difficult.” He then turned to Marcus. “Except for you, you stay there.”
As the Årskurs 7 kids grumbled and moved forward, Emma and her friends hustled to occupy a newly vacant row of spots. Emma and Saga plopped down on the right side and slid their backpacks under the seat in front of them, while the other three, knees knocking together, collapsed into the two seats on the opposite side. As usual, Malin was pressed against the box window while Ingrid sat facing Emma, with her milky legs now blocking the aisle. After several minutes of Dav striving to organize the chaos, the bus finally began rattling down the road.
Emma peered out at the ancient elm trees that lined the edge of town and inspired the community’s name. The church, with its rugged, pinkish granite walls quarried from nearby fields over a century before, came into view. She studied the white bell tower and faded wooden shingles that somehow only became more beautiful with time.
“That’s why I can’t wait to get out of here,” Johanna shrieked from several rows back. “Everyone in this town is the same,” she huffed.
“Does that mean Miss Sprice is also the same, like us?” Ingrid asked, pulling Emma from her stupor.
“I swear, I have never seen anyone else so full of themselves,” Saga said. “How does someone’s head get so big?”
“I just wish I could see her face when she gets the rejection letter from that Japanese guy,” Annegret said, poking her head around Ingrid’s shoulder.
Emma studied the blue and gray dots in the upholstery of the seat in front of her. Somehow, the topic wouldn’t go away.
Ingrid looked around, then said, “I’m telling you, one of you three should do it. Any one of you would get chosen over her. And oh my God, if they interview her. No way she’s getting in that book.”
Emma sighed and leaned forward, reaching for her backpack. “Could you switch places with me?” she asked.
“Sure, I guess,” Saga replied.
Emma slipped on her headphones and slid under her companion as the bus passed over the winding roads toward Lund. She hit play, and the lyrics to “Strawberry Fields” filled her ears as she watched hedgerows and red-painted farmhouses pass by.
***
While Emma loved Saga’s pool and visiting the lake at Solpölen during the summer, she always dreaded the end-of-the-year swimming certifications. The hectic pace and cramped quarters stressed her out. As she slung the bag over her shoulder and approached the doors of the simhall, she peered down at the itinerary.
*Warm-up Laps - two full lengths of front crawl or breaststroke
*Distance Test - swim 200 meters without stopping
*Backstroke - 50 meters of backstroke immediately after part of the main swim
*Treading Water - timed test, 3 minutes
*Lifesaving Skills
• swimming with a T-shirt and light pants over your swimsuit
• towing a classmate using a lifesaving grip
• throwing a rescue float to a “drowning” partner
*Underwater Swim - swim through a submerged hoop or retrieve a weighted brick from the deep end.
Ingred, conscious of Emma’s growing unease, commented, “I don’t know about you, but I’m doing the hoop. I won’t be picking up any bricks from the bottom of the pool today.”
“Hustle up!” Bengt shouted. “We’re late again, as expected.”
“Crazy, that,” Saga whispered. “Doesn’t he realize it’s his fault?”
The sharp tang of chlorine met them as they passed through the glass doors of the simhall, and the coaches quickly hastened to get the girls moving. “We’re up in less than five minutes. Hustle up, but don’t skip the shower!”
Inside the changing room, lockers clanged and hinges squealed as voices bounced off the pale green tile walls. The girls found empty benches and locker space and quickly began peeling off their clothes.
“I hope that water isn’t too cold,” Ingrid lamented, popping open her pink lace bra.
Emma gazed for a moment as the large, tan nipples and melon-sized breasts flopped in the open air. Over two months had passed since their last block of swimming classes, and Ingrid’s chest appeared to have grown during that time. Emma glanced away and caught sight of Saga sliding a pair of red panties down her hips and over her strong, sporty thighs. The firm, cantaloupe-sized breasts hanging down and the curvy figure suddenly made Emma feel self-conscious. She hastened a glance at Malin, already knowing the cherry blossom buds hadn’t developed any, if at all. They were still barely more than pointy nipples. Annegret, well, Emma didn’t even bother to look, not wanting her spirits to dip all over again.
“We need to go,” Saga urged, waving an arm toward the bathing area.
The five naked girls hustled into the open showers, hoping not to cross paths with Johanna. Instead, they found Shirin, dressed in long black sleeves and slide shorts that reached down almost to her knees. Her soaked, jet-black hair hung in thick curls around her shoulders as she shyly glanced away and rushed out of the washroom.
“Poor thing didn’t even turn the shower off,” Annegret said, her butt muscles flexing as she pranced toward the flowing showerhead.
The group wasted little time before throwing on their one-piece swimsuits and scurrying out to the pools, still adjusting their twisted shoulder straps and hoping they wouldn’t be scolded for being late. Several girls had lined up near the pool in swim caps, but most had opted not to wear them. The few kids with goggles seemed to be staring out at the world through a hazy fog that had formed on their lenses.
To no one’s surprise, Johanna had skipped the cap, and her loose hair hung like a gold banner against the clear water. Her bright two-piece suit drew a few raised eyebrows from the coaches, though no comment was made.
On the deck, the echoes of shouts and splashes filled the area. The PE teacher stood with a clipboard and a stopwatch in hand while a lifeguard paced the far end of the pool. At the whistle’s sharp trill, the next group slid into the lane, water slapping against their chests. A dozen feet kicked in foamy bursts, arms sliced forward, and a chorus of cheers erupted as students urged their classmates on. Johanna’s laughter, bright and unbothered, carried across the tiles as she waited her turn, toes curled over the wet edge. The Årskurs 8 boys, standing stiff in their Speedos behind her, certainly seemed to enjoy the show.
Suddenly, Nedim caught Saga’s attention. She leaned toward Emma and whispered, “Would you look at that? The handsome Bosnian sure is beefing up. I just know he’s going to play premier fútbol one day. If he gets any better looking, I might have to gobble him up.”
Emma’s eyes locked in, focusing on the broad-shouldered teen with the solid build of someone who appeared as if he’d been tossing sacks of grain since he could walk. He stood more than a head taller than any of his pale and frail classmates, and, unlike the others, he wore a small pair of black shorts that looked like boxer briefs in a Calvin Klein ad.
His face was strong and square-jawed, with dark eyebrows that seemed almost permanently locked together, which gave him a look of quiet determination — or suspicion, depending on who you asked. His hair was dark and closely cropped, hinting that he didn’t waste much time fussing with mirrors. A faint shadow of stubble ghosted his jaw, and he had deep-set eyes, an intense shade of brown, that made him appear older than he was. When he smiled, which wasn’t often, it softened everything — but most days, he carried himself with the heavy calm of a boy who knew how to brace against the world, shoulders squared, ready for whatever came at him.
Annegret chimed in. “Those tiny shorts look mighty nice, but we’ve got to get him a proper Speedo like the other boys are wearing.”
“Don’t just stand there, ladies! You all need to be warming up! Arms rolls!”
The girls began complying as the coach sent them through a two-minute barrage of quick commands.
“Shoulder rolls!”
“Arm swings!”
“Neck rolls.”
“Torso Twists.”
“Jog in place!”
“Jumping jacks!”
Emma was almost fully gassed as she approached the water, watching as every stroke from the group in front of her sent ripples fanning toward the lane ropes. The coach’s pencil scratched on his sheet as he reminded the girls of goals they had to meet.
“Six across. Let’s go!” he shouted.
Emma took her spot, glancing over to the shallow end where those who had finished dangled their legs into the water. At the side of the pool, a lifeguard’s chair creaked as he shifted, his eyes sweeping the pool in lazy arcs. Emma crouched on the block and waited. The whistle echoed across the lanes, and her body unfolded from the block in one smooth, explosive motion.
The Road to Lund
The news of Bashō Aikō’s return to Sweden had caused quite an uproar that continued to ripple throughout the school. Even Emma’s younger brother Mattius, in Årskurs 5, had come home talking about it.
“The boys in my class say you should do it!” he shouted.
The following morning, Emma sat staring at the pale walls of Bengt’s classroom, her stomach still turning at the thought of her brother’s 11-year-old classmates thinking of her in such a way.
“Where is Bengt anyway? Of all days, this is the one he should be here on time,” a boy muttered.
Marcus, wearing a Fila shirt and baggy cargo shorts, sneered as he plopped down on the desk in front of Nedim, a Bosnian boy who had lived in Elmstad since his family fled their home in 1992. “Ah, he’s probably out behind the wood shop smoking again. Or taking a nap in the teacher’s lounge.”
“But it’s almost time to go, and the teacher isn’t even here,” the concerned boy replied.
“It’s not like Super Dav is going to leave without us,” Marcus said, returning his attention to Nedim.
Nedim did his best to ignore the obnoxious boy with slicked-back hair, but it never seemed to work.
“So, Nedim, which of the babes in our class would you like to see in Aikō’s next book? Saga, Emma, or Annegret? Knowing you, you probably want Shirin in her headscarf.”
Marcus’ friends laughed, but Nedim continued doodling on the bullet-point printout for the day’s swimming certification.
“Don’t be shy, Nedim. Which girl in our class do you want to see naked?”
Nedim’s eyes shyly glanced over, and Annegret huffed audibly but said nothing as Marcus rambled on.
“Ooh, Emma. Very nice choice. They don’t make girls like that down where you come from, do they? Down where you’re supposed to be.”
Annegret finally spoke up. “Just leave him alone. He never bothers or even says a word to you.”
Marcus rose from the desk and smirked. “Ah, come on. I’m just trying to make friends with him. And you are certainly on my list.” He made a big boobs gesture by holding his hands out in front of his chest. “In fact, I wish all of you girls would do a shoot right here in the classroom. The guys and I could sit back and watch. It’d be so damned hot.”
A jolt of energy pulsed through Emma’s body as she envisioned herself stretched out nude across Marcus’s desk as her classmates watched. She felt herself blush as the door opened.
Bengt, the ever-absent teacher, finally stumbled in. The sloppily dressed man had thick glasses and disheveled, bushy hair. “Grab your bags, kids. Make sure you have your swimsuits, unless you want to do your certification in the nude.”
Many of the boys whooped, as they all had been imagining their female classmates naked for several days.
Bengt led the way into the hall without so much as a glance back at his charges. This provided an opportunity for Marcus to swat the towel out of Soran’s, an underclassman’s, hands as he walked by. “Excuse me, kid.”
Before the young Kurdish boy could even react, a voice called out from behind. “Pick it up and give it back to him! Then take the front seat right across from me on the bus. Any more trouble from you, and I’ll leave you here.”
“Ugh, yes, Dav.”
As much as it pained him, Marcus complied. Getting the yearly swimming certification was mandatory to advance to Årskurs 9.
“Come on, kids, let's get a move on,” the pot-bellied janitor urged. The massive bundle of keys that hung from the old man’s hip rattled as he waved the students on. “We haven’t got all day. We’ve got to be in Lund in less than an hour.”
As he hustled the students along, Annegret spoke up. “Thanks for getting onto him. He’s just awful to everyone, especially the refugee kids. The teachers almost never punish him at all.”
“Well, no surprises there,” Dav said, shuffling toward the door. “Let’s hurry up.”
Emma’s black platform loafers clacked on the linoleum floor as she passed the benches and shoe cubbies near the entrance of the school. She hoped there were still enough available spots on the bus that she and her friends could sit together. She climbed the steps to board the orange and white transport bus with “Skolskjuts” written on the front and looked longingly at the sea of heads rising above the seats. “Ugh.”
“What, those younger ones got your seats?”
Emma glanced down, finding Dav’s eyes peering up from several inches below the hemline of her miniskirt.
“Uhh, yeah.”
He stood, grinning for a few long seconds. “Well, let me on up.”
Dav ascended the steps and bellowed, “Come on, 9th in the back, 8th in the middle, 7th in the front. It’s not difficult.” He then turned to Marcus. “Except for you, you stay there.”
As the Årskurs 7 kids grumbled and moved forward, Emma and her friends hustled to occupy a newly vacant row of spots. Emma and Saga plopped down on the right side and slid their backpacks under the seat in front of them, while the other three, knees knocking together, collapsed into the two seats on the opposite side. As usual, Malin was pressed against the box window while Ingrid sat facing Emma, with her milky legs now blocking the aisle. After several minutes of Dav striving to organize the chaos, the bus finally began rattling down the road.
Emma peered out at the ancient elm trees that lined the edge of town and inspired the community’s name. The church, with its rugged, pinkish granite walls quarried from nearby fields over a century before, came into view. She studied the white bell tower and faded wooden shingles that somehow only became more beautiful with time.
“That’s why I can’t wait to get out of here,” Johanna shrieked from several rows back. “Everyone in this town is the same,” she huffed.
“Does that mean Miss Sprice is also the same, like us?” Ingrid asked, pulling Emma from her stupor.
“I swear, I have never seen anyone else so full of themselves,” Saga said. “How does someone’s head get so big?”
“I just wish I could see her face when she gets the rejection letter from that Japanese guy,” Annegret said, poking her head around Ingrid’s shoulder.
Emma studied the blue and gray dots in the upholstery of the seat in front of her. Somehow, the topic wouldn’t go away.
Ingrid looked around, then said, “I’m telling you, one of you three should do it. Any one of you would get chosen over her. And oh my God, if they interview her. No way she’s getting in that book.”
Emma sighed and leaned forward, reaching for her backpack. “Could you switch places with me?” she asked.
“Sure, I guess,” Saga replied.
Emma slipped on her headphones and slid under her companion as the bus passed over the winding roads toward Lund. She hit play, and the lyrics to “Strawberry Fields” filled her ears as she watched hedgerows and red-painted farmhouses pass by.
***
While Emma loved Saga’s pool and visiting the lake at Solpölen during the summer, she always dreaded the end-of-the-year swimming certifications. The hectic pace and cramped quarters stressed her out. As she slung the bag over her shoulder and approached the doors of the simhall, she peered down at the itinerary.
*Warm-up Laps - two full lengths of front crawl or breaststroke
*Distance Test - swim 200 meters without stopping
*Backstroke - 50 meters of backstroke immediately after part of the main swim
*Treading Water - timed test, 3 minutes
*Lifesaving Skills
• swimming with a T-shirt and light pants over your swimsuit
• towing a classmate using a lifesaving grip
• throwing a rescue float to a “drowning” partner
*Underwater Swim - swim through a submerged hoop or retrieve a weighted brick from the deep end.
Ingred, conscious of Emma’s growing unease, commented, “I don’t know about you, but I’m doing the hoop. I won’t be picking up any bricks from the bottom of the pool today.”
“Hustle up!” Bengt shouted. “We’re late again, as expected.”
“Crazy, that,” Saga whispered. “Doesn’t he realize it’s his fault?”
The sharp tang of chlorine met them as they passed through the glass doors of the simhall, and the coaches quickly hastened to get the girls moving. “We’re up in less than five minutes. Hustle up, but don’t skip the shower!”
Inside the changing room, lockers clanged and hinges squealed as voices bounced off the pale green tile walls. The girls found empty benches and locker space and quickly began peeling off their clothes.
“I hope that water isn’t too cold,” Ingrid lamented, popping open her pink lace bra.
Emma gazed for a moment as the large, tan nipples and melon-sized breasts flopped in the open air. Over two months had passed since their last block of swimming classes, and Ingrid’s chest appeared to have grown during that time. Emma glanced away and caught sight of Saga sliding a pair of red panties down her hips and over her strong, sporty thighs. The firm, cantaloupe-sized breasts hanging down and the curvy figure suddenly made Emma feel self-conscious. She hastened a glance at Malin, already knowing the cherry blossom buds hadn’t developed any, if at all. They were still barely more than pointy nipples. Annegret, well, Emma didn’t even bother to look, not wanting her spirits to dip all over again.
“We need to go,” Saga urged, waving an arm toward the bathing area.
The five naked girls hustled into the open showers, hoping not to cross paths with Johanna. Instead, they found Shirin, dressed in long black sleeves and slide shorts that reached down almost to her knees. Her soaked, jet-black hair hung in thick curls around her shoulders as she shyly glanced away and rushed out of the washroom.
“Poor thing didn’t even turn the shower off,” Annegret said, her butt muscles flexing as she pranced toward the flowing showerhead.
The group wasted little time before throwing on their one-piece swimsuits and scurrying out to the pools, still adjusting their twisted shoulder straps and hoping they wouldn’t be scolded for being late. Several girls had lined up near the pool in swim caps, but most had opted not to wear them. The few kids with goggles seemed to be staring out at the world through a hazy fog that had formed on their lenses.
To no one’s surprise, Johanna had skipped the cap, and her loose hair hung like a gold banner against the clear water. Her bright two-piece suit drew a few raised eyebrows from the coaches, though no comment was made.
On the deck, the echoes of shouts and splashes filled the area. The PE teacher stood with a clipboard and a stopwatch in hand while a lifeguard paced the far end of the pool. At the whistle’s sharp trill, the next group slid into the lane, water slapping against their chests. A dozen feet kicked in foamy bursts, arms sliced forward, and a chorus of cheers erupted as students urged their classmates on. Johanna’s laughter, bright and unbothered, carried across the tiles as she waited her turn, toes curled over the wet edge. The Årskurs 8 boys, standing stiff in their Speedos behind her, certainly seemed to enjoy the show.
Suddenly, Nedim caught Saga’s attention. She leaned toward Emma and whispered, “Would you look at that? The handsome Bosnian sure is beefing up. I just know he’s going to play premier fútbol one day. If he gets any better looking, I might have to gobble him up.”
Emma’s eyes locked in, focusing on the broad-shouldered teen with the solid build of someone who appeared as if he’d been tossing sacks of grain since he could walk. He stood more than a head taller than any of his pale and frail classmates, and, unlike the others, he wore a small pair of black shorts that looked like boxer briefs in a Calvin Klein ad.
His face was strong and square-jawed, with dark eyebrows that seemed almost permanently locked together, which gave him a look of quiet determination — or suspicion, depending on who you asked. His hair was dark and closely cropped, hinting that he didn’t waste much time fussing with mirrors. A faint shadow of stubble ghosted his jaw, and he had deep-set eyes, an intense shade of brown, that made him appear older than he was. When he smiled, which wasn’t often, it softened everything — but most days, he carried himself with the heavy calm of a boy who knew how to brace against the world, shoulders squared, ready for whatever came at him.
Annegret chimed in. “Those tiny shorts look mighty nice, but we’ve got to get him a proper Speedo like the other boys are wearing.”
“Don’t just stand there, ladies! You all need to be warming up! Arms rolls!”
The girls began complying as the coach sent them through a two-minute barrage of quick commands.
“Shoulder rolls!”
“Arm swings!”
“Neck rolls.”
“Torso Twists.”
“Jog in place!”
“Jumping jacks!”
Emma was almost fully gassed as she approached the water, watching as every stroke from the group in front of her sent ripples fanning toward the lane ropes. The coach’s pencil scratched on his sheet as he reminded the girls of goals they had to meet.
“Six across. Let’s go!” he shouted.
Emma took her spot, glancing over to the shallow end where those who had finished dangled their legs into the water. At the side of the pool, a lifeguard’s chair creaked as he shifted, his eyes sweeping the pool in lazy arcs. Emma crouched on the block and waited. The whistle echoed across the lanes, and her body unfolded from the block in one smooth, explosive motion.
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