The Bath: Annika & Marten - Foster Orphans

[dunbarbarian0]

There's a lot more to be written, but I'm astonished at how far its come. There's a lot of exposition to be written... at the moment it jumps straight into the story and I want to introduce the setting and characters, and add even more buildup than there already is. If you want to know how sick of a person I really am, you only need to know that I was inspired to write the following story by the scene in the link below. If you want to know more about my sickness, read this post to the end.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9H1IzBf4JnQ

The scene is totally innocent, and those who don't speak the language won't know but the girl tells the new foster dad that she wants to be a whore when she grows up, prompting his perplexed reaction. As the scene goes by, it becomes clear the girl despite being wise beyond her years does not know exactly what being a whore entails (she claims paid to give hugs). There is no nudity, you only see the young boy's bare chest, but the lack of nudity is because of the timing of the scene. In the film (English Title A Summer Tale, but I'm pretty sure the Swedish translates to The Best Summer) the two kids Annika and Marten, 11 years old, are taken in by a foster father over the summer in 1958. It was a real government program in Sweden back in the 50s! And I do wonder if it ever created a situation like the one in this clip. I have a feeling most normal people will ask, what's the problem with the 'situation' in this video? I noticed it the first time I ever saw it years ago and have been fixated on it ever since: the boy is naked in the bathtub while the girl dries her hair. Not only is a naked boy bathing in the presence of a clothed girl (if you ask why this isn't in ENM I'll explain why in a minute) but this means that the girl got in the bath first... and both of them did so in front of their foster father and their opposite sex tween-age foster sibling who they (and this is 100% true if you watch the film) just met THE DAY BEFORE. This scene is implied to have taken place after the 11 year old girl bathed in front of her new 11 year old foster brother while being attended to by a man who is essentially a stranger.

I can understand accepting there's no choice, but I find it very hard to believe this girl or the boy for that matter would have been so calm and indifferent about this.

Why are these kids so nonchalant??? They chit-chat with their brand new foster father like this is totally normal. I get that people familiar with Sweden will be like nudity is very casual and I'm sure it is but 11 is such a sensitive age... and I'm sorry to point this out but it's completely and simply a fact: the girl is developing breasts. She wears tight clothing throughout the film but follow the link below to another clip where she's wearing tight orange pajamas.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M0tk8r1Bpe0

It's simply unmistakable. It's clear to see multiple times throughout the movie. I'm not saying she's an A-cup or anything but she has visibly developing budding breasts. The story I have put together is one that examines what might have happened before the scene above with the boy in the bath. The part where the girl had to bathe first, and by extension take off all of her clothes to show off her fully naked and newly pubescent body in front of a boy her age she met the day before and a grown man she met just as recently. While the boy is in the bath the girl is drying her hair at least focused on something else. What did the boy do while the girl was bathing, sit back and enjoy the view??? I cannot wrap my mind around the idea that this situation would have been acceptable in 1958 Sweden despite the relaxed, so I wrote a story about it, ended up being a long one, and as time goes by I intend it to be much longer. This is written as ENF because it is mostly from the perspective of the girl, although I do want to develop the boy's character as the story develops as a whole (and the girl's more as well). Without further ado, here is my summer tale about the foster orphans Annika & Marten. The only thing I'll say is it gets pretty dark...

THE BATHTUB, THE ANTICIPATION, & THE HUMILIATION

The morning sun filtered weakly through the kitchen window of the funeral home, cutting through the thin glaze of steam rising from the empty breakfast plates. Mårten and Annika, having arrived only the night before as newly minted foster siblings, sat stiffly at the wooden table. The air was heavy with the smell of rye bread and old wood, but the quiet routine of the morning was shattered the moment Yngve leaned back in his chair and adjusted his spectacles.

With a firm, absolute authority that brooked no negotiation, Yngve delivered his decree. He informed them flatly that while living under his roof, their hygiene would be strictly regimented. They were to be bathed in each other's presence, under his direct, full supervision, and he expected full, unyielding cooperation from both of them.

An immediate wave of anticipatory anxiety crashed over the kitchen table. The initial shock of learning about this submissive routine sent a visible jolt through both eleven-year-olds. For children on the very cusp of adolescence, the announcement was a sudden, staggering boundary violation.
Mårten’s face went entirely pale, his eyes widening in pure, unadulterated dread. Annika felt a cold knot twist violently in her stomach, but her survival instincts, honed by a long history in the foster care system, immediately took over. She deployed her armor of tactical obedience and active stoicism, hardening her expression into a blank mask of total indifference.

Yngve didn't pause to let them digest the news. He fixed his calm, clinical gaze on the girl first.

"Do you understand, Annika?"

Annika kept her chin steady, swallowing the rising panic in her throat. "Yes, sir."

He turned his heavy torso toward the boy.

"Do you understand, Mårten?"

Mårten swallowed hard, his voice barely audible as he looked at the wooden table legs. "Yes, sir."

Yngve offered a small, rigid nod of approval. "That’s a very good start. On some days I’ll only wash your hair, but I want to start right off with a full-body wash. For now, Mårten, make some coffee. Annika, wash these dishes with me. When we’re finished, it will be time for your bath."
The kids could hardly believe what the man had just said to them. They silently thought that surely, at eleven years old, a boy and a girl couldn't possibly take a bath in front of each other. They had just met twenty-four hours ago; they were complete strangers. Yet, the crushing weight of their powerlessness kept them entirely silent. Neither dared to express their profound discomfort verbally.

For Annika, the anxiety was deeply rooted in her emerging development. Having recently hit puberty, she was more sensitive about her changing body than ever before, and the thought of being exposed was mortifying. Mårten, naturally a shy, internalized boy, felt a parallel panic about having his own privacy stripped away in front of a girl his own age. As the two children began completing their assigned chores, their eyes briefly met across the kitchen sink. It was a fleeting, heavy look of shared terror before they both snapped their gazes away, realizing with absolute certainty that Yngve was entirely serious. Within the hour, they were going to be stripped naked in front of each other, and him, while he attended to their bath.

When the dishes were stacked dried and the coffee pot had finished its low, rhythmic brewing, Yngve rolled down his shirtsleeves with a definitive snap.

"Alright kids," Yngve said, his voice carrying the flat weight of an administrative order. "It's bath time. Walk down that hallway to the bathroom."
The escalation of their anxiety was immediate and physical. As the reality of the situation loomed right in front of them, their internal panic spiked to an agonizing peak. Annika hesitated for a split second, her body freezing as her heart began to hammer, but she forced her feet forward, doing an impeccable job of bottling up her emotions to protect her dignity.

Mårten, however, stopped dead in his tracks, his breath hitching as his mind reeled from the impending vulnerability. Recognizing the stall, Yngve stepped forward and placed a heavy, firm hand on Mårten's shoulder.

"Come along, Mårten," Yngve told him calmly, leaving no room for a refusal.

Keeping his hand heavily anchored on the boy's shoulder, Yngve walked him down the narrow, dimly lit hallway directly behind Annika. Mårten kept his eyes fixed on the back of Annika's head as they walked. He watched the rigid, unflinching posture of her shoulders and wondered, with a sense of desperate awe, how she was not completely terrified. He felt utterly broken by his own passive compliance, entirely unaware that beneath her frozen facade, Annika was experiencing an identical, agonizing dread.

They reached the threshold and stepped into the small, tiled washroom.

"Both of you, sit down right there," Yngve instructed, gesturing to the low wooden bench against the wall. "Just be patient with me while I get the bathtub filled."

The children sat down side-by-side, their bodies tense and small. Objectively, they could both see it was the nicest, deepest porcelain tub they had ever encountered, but the luxury was entirely hollow. They silently wished they were experiencing it while afforded even a shred of privacy, or with any minor regard given to their intense feelings of modesty.

Instead, they were completely powerless. They sat locked in the final stage of anticipatory anxiety, listening to the loud, echoey roar of the rushing water filling the tub. It was a literal countdown to being seen naked. With every inch the water rose past the halfway mark, they felt a profound, desperate thankfulness for the clothes still covering their bodies, and an overwhelming dread for the exact moment those clothes would have to come off.

Annika’s mind raced in a frantic, unmoored stream of consciousness. She looked over at Mårten out of the corner of her eye and thought about using him as a scapegoat—maybe she could say the shock was too much for him, as if it weren't an absolute shock to her own system. But the thought immediately derailed. How could Yngve not know this would be shocking for both of them? Why was he acting like this invasive routine was completely normal?

She realized then that they had been effectively shocked into full compliance with an arrangement they didn't consent to, and they hadn't even found the agency to express that lack of consent. But a bitter truth settled over her: nobody had ever asked for her consent. For anything. In all her years in the system, no caregiver had ever asked how she really felt about a single rule. She knew only one protocol for foster children like her: command, comply; order, obey. The alternative was always punishment, and she had no idea what Yngve's punishments looked like.

They had no choice but to submit to the humiliation. But as the water neared the rim and she watched Yngve reach for a harsh block of pine soap, a sudden wave of fierce, defiant modesty activated her fight-or-flight response in full. She needed to work up the courage to say something. She wasn't a little girl anymore. Can't he see that just by looking at her chest? She had to speak before she was forced to reveal her naked body to a boy she just met yesterday, before she was treated like a toddler when she absolutely was not one. She opened her mouth—but the words completely failed her. The sheer authority of the room paralyzed her voice.

Yngve was the next to speak. He looked up from the tub, his clinical eyes focusing on her. "Annika, stand up and turn off the faucet. The tub is full."
To her profound shame, her body obeyed before her mind could protest. She stood up, marched to the handles, and twisted them shut, silencing the roar of the water.

With the tub full, Yngve patted his pockets and frowned slightly, realizing something was missing. "I've left my apron in my bedroom," he said flatly, untroubled by the dense silence in the room. "I'll be back in just a minute or two. Go ahead and sit back down next to Mårten, Annika. You will go first when I return. Do you understand?"

With a split-second freeze, the blushing, pink-faced girl forced out a quiet, obedient whisper. "Yes, sir."

"Good girl," Yngve replied as Annika walked back to the bench and sat down next to Mårten. "Mårten, you’ll go after Annika. Both of you, stay there."
Annika silently thought that last command was entirely unnecessary. There was nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. The reality crashed down on her with full force: she was going to be the first one forced to be naked. She would be bathed by this strange man right in front of Mårten, and she did everything in her power to force a look of bravery onto her face as Yngve turned and walked out of the room.

The bathroom door clicked shut, the heavy thud of Yngve’s boots echoing down the hallway until the sound faded into the quiet geometry of the house. Now, the artificial order Yngve maintained had vanished, leaving behind a volatile cloud of anticipatory panic. Annika’s mind raced. Her eyes darted to the small, frosted bathroom window, then to the lockless door, briefly calculating a map of escape before the heavy reality settled over her: they were in an unfamiliar rural village, orphans with absolutely nowhere to run. They were completely powerless. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.

The children sat in silence, neither willing to acknowledge the reality of their impending nakedness in front of each other. They were children old enough that their chests didn't quite look the same as they would have just a few months prior. Children old enough to feel modesty, but also children not old enough for their modesty to be regarded at an age where their body consciousness was like never before. They were foster children. Virtually any consideration of their feelings was an unknown concept to Annika, having spent many years in the system.

The only sound in the bathroom was the drip... drip... drip... of the faucet as the children sat there next to each other, not daring to look at one another, both about to see everything the other had to show, powerless to do anything about it, not even speak.

All they could do is wait for Yngve to return and issue Annika the fateful, mortifying order to undress. Mårten's confusing inner thoughts were a mix of shame and excitement. He had never seen a girl his age naked before in his life. He had also never been seen naked by a girl. The anxiety was overwhelming.

The steam rose in slow, humid curls, carrying the sharp scent of pine soap and damp tile. The kids sat frozen on the wooden bench, their shoulders drawn inward, staring rigidly ahead. They were eleven years old, strangers who had met only twenty-four hours prior, now trapped in a two-minute countdown to a total loss of privacy. Annika looked at Mårten. The boy from Stockholm looked entirely crushed. His forced composure had collapsed the moment the door shut; he was slouched deeply, nervously biting his lip, blushing, his hands clenched into tight fists against his knees.

Annika’s defense mechanism kicked in. She refused to let Mårten see her break, and she certainly wouldn’t let Yngve see it. If she couldn't control the situation, she would control the narrative. She would strip the moment of its taboo power before it could humiliate her. Breaking the heavy silence, she let out a sharp, blunt, and entirely manufactured scoff.

“I guess you’re going to see me naked,” she said.

Mårten flinched, his head snapping up, his wide, anxious eyes filled with terror. The sheer, mature deadpan of her words caught him completely off guard, and he swallowed hard, entirely unsure of how to respond to a declaration that felt so profoundly forbidden.

Annika didn't wait for him to answer. She deployed her shield of reverse psychology, keeping her voice casual, almost bored. “It’s okay. Clearly we’re not getting out of this and I’m going first. I just want to tell you if you look at me I will not be mad... but when you have to get in the tub I just want you to know I will not look at you.”

Mårten stared at her, his voice a timid whisper against the roar of the running water. “Can’t we just tell him we can wash ourselves?”

“I’m sure he knows that,” Annika replied sharply, her tough exterior locking back into place. “He’s showing us who’s boss. Just obey him and it will be over quicker.”

She shifted her weight, locking her gaze near the ceiling to avoid meeting his eyes too directly. “And remember, when I’m finished I’ll go dry her hair in the mirror and I won't look at you. I guess you’ll just be sitting here while I’m in the bath, so if you look at me, I get it. I won't be mad. Just do what he says and let's get this over with.”

Mårten nodded frantically, an overwhelming sense of relief washing through his panic. He understood the unspoken transaction. She was offering him a guarantee of safety for his turn, and in exchange, he would honor the same silent boundaries for hers.

But as he looked at her face, he saw through the armor. Annika could control her deadpan tone, and she could control her vocabulary, but she could not control her own body. A deep, burning crimson blush had rushed up her neck and flooded her cheeks. Despite her indifferent expression, the involuntary flush betrayed the intense, acute anxiety vibrating beneath her skin. She was mortified.

Seeing that blush, Mårten felt a sudden, profound wave of empathy that overrode his natural eleven-year-old curiosity. He knew she had recently entered puberty; he knew she was the only girl, and he saw the immense bravery it took for her to construct this facade just to preserve a shred of their dignity. He resolved right then to look exclusively at the floor tiles.

The heavy click of boots returned. The bathroom door swung open, and Yngve stepped back into the room, shaking out a heavy linen apron. He didn't acknowledge the thick, calculated silence that the children had built in his absence. He simply stepped up to the tub, tied the straps behind his back, and fixed his calm, clinical eyes onto the girl as the tension in the room reached it's zenith.

“Alright Annika,” Yngve commanded flatly. “Stand up. Take off all of your clothes.”

Annika’s body stiffened for a micro-second, the heat in her face burning a deeper red. But keeping her hands firmly at her sides to resist the biological urge to cover herself, she took a ragged breath, forced the defiant mask back onto her face, and stood up to step into the trap. She moved with a calculated, robotic efficiency, refusing to look down, stripping away her garments and stepping out of them until she stood fully exposed in the harsh glare of the bathroom bulb. The cool, damp air of the room hit her skin, causing an involuntary shiver, but the defiant, stone-cold mask on her face never wavered. She stepped over the porcelain lip and sank into the warm water.

Beside the tub, Mårten abided by their secret bargain with a desperate, terrifying intensity. The moment Annika had stood up, the loud, distinct rustle of her clothing had triggered a physical panic in him. His heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird. A powerful, involuntary instinct—the natural curiosity of an adolescent boy—had caused his eyes to flicker upward for a fraction of a second as she rose.

But the moment he saw the absolute rigidity of her spine, the burning flush on her cheeks, and the agonizing bravery of her posture, a crushing wave of secondhand shame and profound empathy slammed into him. His eyes snapped instantly back down to the floor tiles. He sat completely frozen on the wooden bench, his shoulders drawn tightly up to his ears, his chin tucked so deeply into his collarbone that his neck ached. He stared unblinkingly at the pattern in the linoleum, clenching his fists until his knuckles turned white, silently communicating through his absolute stillness that he was not a witness to her humiliation.

Yngve remained entirely detached from the silent war being waged between the two children. To him, this was a logistical task on a strict checklist, completely devoid of social taboos. He rolled up his sleeves, gripped a block of harsh pine soap, and began the routine.

His actions were brisk, clinical, and mechanical. He worked with the efficient, non-negotiable pace of a supervisor organizing inventory. He lathered a rough washcloth and began scrubbing Annika’s shoulders and arms, his touch firm and completely devoid of maternal gentleness, yet entirely empty of malice. When it came time to wash her hair, he didn't offer a soothing word; he simply tilted her head back with a practiced hand and began working the soap into her scalp, the rhythmic, wet splashing of the water echoing loudly in the small room.

For Annika, the water provided a small, desperate baseline of psychological comfort, acting as a physical shield that allowed her to tuck her knees tightly toward her chest beneath the waterline. She kept her chin up and her jaw clenched, enduring the clinical scrubbing by pretending her body belonged to someone else. In that moment, she didn't really have to pretend.

Then, the mechanical rhythm broke. Yngve set the soap down on the porcelain edge with a sharp click, and gave the budding girl the command she was hoping he wouldn't give her, but was inevitable... the only command that could have been worse than him telling her to strip naked.

"Ok, Annika. Stand up."

The order hung heavily in the steam. Annika looked up at Yngve, with a second of noticeable vulnerability betraying her face. The not so little girl's stomach twisted into a hard knot of pure, acute anxiety as her heart began to beat faster and her face blushed a darker shade of red. This was really the moment of truth. She knew that the water would fall away, leaving her newly developing full-frontal nudity completely exposed to the room once again. She didn't look at him, but her thoughts were on Mårten, and although she had said it would be ok, she deeply hoped he would not look at her. Either way, there was nothing she could do about it. In order to maintain her bravery, she forced down the feeling of abject humiliation, took a deep breath, and obeyed Yngve's command. She stood up, the water rushing off her skin in a loud, cascading splash.

The sudden, heavy sound of the water hit Mårten like a physical blow. His head bowed even lower, his eyes squeezing tightly shut as he forced himself to dissociate from the room, counting the cracks in the floor from memory, enduring the agonizing countdown until this unyielding routine turned its clinical spotlight directly onto him.

Yngve, entirely unmoved by the thick wall of emotional tension, picked up a heavy zinc pitcher. He scooped clean, warm water from a reservoir and poured it systematically over Annika's shoulders, rinsing the soap suds from her back and torso. His movements were brisk and professional as he used the washcloth to quickly scrub her shins and feet—handling the parts of the hygiene routine that were impossible to complete while she was seated. He maintained the illusion that this was a completely ordinary household chore, entirely blind to the silent bravery filling the small room. During this invasive procedure, when he commanded her to turn Annika obeyed. When he told her to lift up her arms she obeyed. When he ordered her to lift her leg up, she obeyed, and again when he ordered her to lift the other one. Full, unconditional obedience and submission by the girl, and outright domination by her foster father.

Annika's heart was beating faster than it ever had but she cooperated with the intrusion of her new caregiver who clearly had no regard for her modesty or body autonomy. This was despite the fact he could clearly see Annika was blushing beet red, and that she was no longer a little girl. As minor and small as those upper body physical signs of growing up might have seemed, they were a very big deal to Annika, and they were not brand new small bumps. Annika's breast buds were visibly developing cones, unmistakeably those of a girl well on her way to womanhood. Nobody had ever seen them but her... but Yngve had ordered their exposure not only in front of him, but in front of Mårten. It was clear to Annika that the only logical way to proceed with even a shred of dignity under the authority of a man like this was, ironically, complete submission.

Yngve poured a basin over Annika's head one more time, rinsing all the remaining soap off of her naked body. Yngve gave Annika a final, clinical evaluation, during which Annika could see him take a quick look at her vulva, still bald as a baby, which made her uncomfortable although he did not stare. She was self conscious about what she had between her legs in a different way, as since she had not sprouted pubic hair it meant that her genitals were fully visible, which contributed to her current feeling of full exposure and did not reinforce the notion that she was now a big girl, despite her developing breasts. Yngve stepped back and grabbed a rough, line-dried towel from the rack.

"Bra. Ut. Handduk," Yngve declared, his voice flat and final. (Good. Out. Towel.)

Annika stepped dripping wet out of the tub and onto the stone bathmat. The cool air of the room hit her skin, causing an immediate, involuntary shiver. Yet, true to the fierce stance she had chosen, she refused to fold inward. She did not cross her arms over her chest or attempt to shield her developing body. Having endured the entire ordeal with her hands dead at her sides to preserve her pride, she maintained that rigid posture now, standing completely exposed in the harsh light.

It was in those precise, unprotected seconds that Mårten’s defenses fractured. The sudden, heavy splash of her exiting the water, combined with the raw tension in the room, broke his concentration. An involuntary, adolescent reflex overrode his guilt. His head tilted up, and his eyes darted directly toward her, taking in her full, uncovered nudity as she stood on the mat.

Annika caught the movement. Her eyes snapped to his for a fraction of a second, her burning crimson blush flaring even hotter. She didn't scold him or break her stoicism; instead, she reached out and snatched the heavy towel from Yngve’s hand with a sharp, aggressive tug that betrayed her suppressed fury. She wrapped it tightly around her torso, burying her shoulders beneath the rough fabric, and immediately marched toward the mirror to begin drying her hair, turning her back to the room.

Without a single second of pause to let the room breathe, Yngve turned his calm, heavy torso away from the tub and fixed his clinical eyes directly onto the boy on the bench.

"Din tur," Yngve commanded flatly, picking up the block of pine soap. "Klä av dig." (Your turn. Undress.)

Mårten’s heart stopped. A wave of intense shame for his lapse in judgment, compounded by the sudden shift of the spotlight, crashed over him. For a moment, he thought he was going to cry, right there on the spot. His shoulders hitched toward his ears as his posture slumped into total defeat. His hands shook as he reached for the first button of his shirt, his movements agonizingly slow as his brain tried to delay the inevitable. He kept his chin tucked tightly to his chest, staring exclusively at his own lap to avoid seeing the room or his own impending exposure.

Behind him, the rustle of Mårten’s clothes hitting the floor triggered an immediate response in Annika. Standing at the mirror, she accelerated her pace. She dropped her towel just long enough to frantically scramble back into her undergarments and clothing, pulling on her armor with desperate efficiency, wary of Marten's gaze although he was not focused on her at this point.

By the time Mårten was down to his final layers, Annika was fully covered. She stepped directly into her defensive position, locking her eyes onto her own reflection in the glass and keeping her back firmly turned to the bathtub. The aggressive, rhythmic sound of her towel rubbing against her wet hair created a deliberate acoustic shield, offering Mårten the exact dignity and privacy that Yngve had denied them both. Despite the fact that Marten had seen her full frontal nudity and a bit resentful about it in the moment, she intended to keep her promise to him, consciously sparing him the mortification of bathing naked in front of an opposite sex peer, a humiliation the poor girl would remember for the rest of her life. Annika did have a slight curiosity about Marten's genitals, but she wanted to make a good gesture to him despite the fact that he had looked. Not even that deep down, she knew that he really didn't mean to and he had tried very hard to be respectful of her modesty. It was absolutely not his fault that Yngve had put him in such an awkward position. The two of them would have to live together, and if it really was going to be like this then Annika figured she'd have no choice but to see Marten's penis before the end of the summer. Little did she know, the opportunity would be served to her on a platter minutes later.

For the time being, Annika stared into the mirror drying her hair, giving Marten whatever privacy she could and sparing him the humiliation of being bathed naked in front of a girl. In fact, putting her eyes on his naked skin would remind her more of his eyes on her, and her forced nudity, than any excitement she would get from seeing the boy's naked body. She focused on her face staring back in the mirror, trying to dissociate, separate herself as far from the situation as possible, not participate... the trauma was over, she was fully clothed again, but it had happened and the man who was responsible was right behind her watching Marten take off his clothes, waiting to enforce his humiliation. She stared into the mirror as she dried her hair and tried to distract herself from the situation, a defensive tactic against the trauma that had just been inflicted upon her.

Left with no choice, Mårten stepped out of his underwear and stood naked in the chilly air. He shivered violently, his body hunching inward as he quickly scrambled over the porcelain lip and sank into the warm, shared water. The water line brought a massive sense of psychological relief, hiding his body from view, but the countdown was over. He was trapped.

Yngve didn't waste a moment. He stepped up to the edge of the tub, gripped the washcloth, and picked up a small basin. Before Mårten could mentally prepare himself, Yngve scooped some clean water and poured it directly over the boy's head. The water cascaded over Mårten's face and shoulders. He didn't flinch, jump, or protest. He closed his eyes tightly, clenched his jaw, and simply endured the feeling of the the water and the brisk, clinical scrubbing that followed. He sat rigidly in the tub, his face frozen into a mask of passive dissociation, copying Annika's bravery by shutting down his emotional responses entirely to survive the routine. His coping mechanism was different however. Annika had exhibited stoicism and bravery in the face of this dehumanizing treatment. Marten was visibly distressed, eyes completely shut half the time,

Behind him, Annika continued to stare rigidly into the glass, her expression tough and indifferent, using the mechanical friction of the towel to repress the residual heat of her own embarrassment and the memory of the glance they had exchanged, the feeling on Yngve's eyes all over her body, his hand sliding across her back, dow her shoulder, up her leg.

The mechanical rhythm of the scrubbing continued until Yngve set the washcloth down on the rim with a wet, heavy slap. He looked down at the boy with the same calm, unyielding expression.

"Stå upp," Yngve said flatly. (Stand up.)

Mårten’s jaw tightened. The massive sense of psychological relief he had found beneath the waterline vanished instantly. Rising meant facing the exact same vulnerability he had just watched Annika endure. Again, he thought he was going to cry, but he somehow held back the tears. He wondered if it really would make the situation any more humiliating if he started crying. It really wouldn't make it any worse... it can't be any worse. He forced his shaking legs to extend, pushing himself up out of the shared water, but as the water line dropped, his frantic panic overrode his composure. His hands instinctively snapped down to cover between his legs.

Yngve frowned slightly, looking at the boy’s defensive posture with utter clinical indifference. "Stop that, Mårten," Yngve admonished him calmly. "Nobody is even looking at you."

Mårten’s face burned a deep crimson. A bitter thought flashed through his mind: while it was true that Annika was mercifully facing away from him toward the mirror, Yngve was standing right there and could see him entirely. It was blatantly, categorically false that nobody was looking at him. Still, he lacked the will to rebel. He dropped his hands to his sides and stood fully exposed in the damp air, shivered violently as his body naturally tried to shrink from the open room. He silently wished he hadn't covered himself in the first place; it had only drawn attention to his panic and made the moment infinitely more embarrassing. He suddenly realized that Annika had chosen not to cover her body while being bathed for this exact reason, including when she had seen him looking at her.

Yngve remained entirely clinical as the bath continued. As he lathered the soap, Mårten couldn't help but note that the man was a bit more hands-on and attentive than he had been with Annika. Yngve was far more meticulous about washing his back and chest, scrubbing firmly with the rough cloth. Mårten quietly concluded that this was simply because he was a boy and Annika is a girl, making Yngve feel less of a need to rush his touch. Also, while Annika had hit the early stages of puberty, Marten was not there yet, the only hair on his body being on his head.

As Yngve rubbed the soap over his smooth skin and Mårten mechanically obeyed his commands to turn or move his limbs, the boy thought about how Yngve must be able to see the obvious physical differences between the two kids. A rare, quiet spark of defiance flared inside Mårten, wondering why their new foster father was forcing them to submit to this when he must know they were perfectly capable of bathing themselves and should not do so in each other's presence, supervised by him or not. The anger rose higher... and then it was over.

Finally, Yngve stepped back and grabbed the second line-dried towel from the rack.

"Bra. Ut," Yngve declared, holding it out. (Good. Out.)

Mårten stepped dripping wet over the porcelain edge onto the stone mat. But in his cold, shivering haste to reach for his underwear and escape the spotlight, his coordination faltered. He took two steps forward to grab his clothes while drying himself frantically, moving directly into the visual trajectory of the mirror. When this happened, Marten had the towel behind him and briefly exposed his frontal nudity.

At the glass, Annika was still rhythmically drying her hair, her eyes locked onto her own reflection. As Mårten stepped into the frame, her gaze flickered down. For just a couple seconds, she saw his full frontal nudity reflected clearly in the glass before he could frantically pull his undergarments back up. Mårten froze, a fresh wave of heat rushing to his face as he realized where he was standing. Annika didn't flinch or look away in shock; she kept her tough, unreadable facade perfectly intact, but secretly she was excited to have seen his penis bobbing around for a couple seconds. It wasn't big, by any means, and she had seen he was still hairless like herself, but Marten's penis had an impressive length for an 11 year old boy. She didn't mean to embarrass him Only after he had successfully pulled his underwear back on did she slowly turn around from the mirror, her expression entirely neutral, though she made quick eye contact with him deliberately. Both of them knew exactly what she had seen. A shy boy with a sense of modesty, an hour before he would have been embarrassed to be seen by a girl in his shorts but at this point it just didn't matter. No girl had ever seen his penis before. Other than his parents, and now Yngve along with Annika, nobody had.

Yngve rolled down his sleeves, smoothing out the heavy linen of his apron as he looked at the two kids before him, Annika fully clothed once more and Marten pulling his clothes back on. He had demonstrated his total authority over his two foster children, and they had exhibited complete submission. Whether or not it was intended, the humiliation of the two youngsters was complete. To Yngve, this had been an important first step in their relationship. For the first time, a small, rigid nod of approval appeared on his face.

"You both behaved very well," Yngve said, his voice carrying the flat weight of an administrator praising a successful drill. "I am pleased with your obedience and your maturity. As I mentioned earlier, bathing of the body head to toe will be overseen by me three times a week. Washing of only your hair will take place two times a week; on these occasions, the two of you need be only shirtless. I will announce what is to take place every morning at breakfast, including if bathing will not take place that day. Needless to say, full obedience like you both exhibited today is expected. As long as you cooperate, we don't need to discuss punishment."

He paused, adjusting his stance as he looked directly at the girl. "Do you understand, Annika?"

Annika didn't understand. She had heard him say something that she wanted clarification on. Immediately. She bravely replied "I have a question, sir. When it's time to wash our hair where will this be? And when you say we'll be shirtless, does that mean..." Annika trailed off, not knowing how to finish her question.

Yngve did not give her the chance to finish. He looked her in the eyes and clarified exactly what he meant.

"Washing of your hair will also take place here in the washroom. You will sit patiently and obey any orders I give, same as in the bathtub, and again I'll have you go first, Annika, then Marten."

He briefly paused his speaking and glanced down below her neck before again looking her in the eyes and speaking with authority.

"Shirtless means just that: bare chested. Skin exposed from the waist up."

There was a brief silence and a staredown between the tween girl and her new foster father, one of those silences that lasts only a few seconds but feels longer and says so much with no words.

Annika didn't know what to say. She had seen him glance at her upper body. He know what the problem was as well as she. Even Mårten, who Annika saw look at her out of the corner of her eye in response to this declaration, knew this put Annika in a vulnerable position... but protesting it out would be pointless.

She accepted her fate. Annika would have to bare her newly developing upper body to the eyes of Yngve and Mårten. The anxiety of the next blatant disregard of her modesty began to bubble when she hadn't even recovered from her full frontal exposure in the bathtub. The physical sign that Annika was no longer a little girl would not be acknowledged by Yngve, rather Yngve was going to order Annika to bare her chest and it was going to be seen in full view, as if because her budding had begun recently she had no right to have a sense of modesty about it. She began to breathe heavily, chest heaving, feeling Mårten's eyes on her even though his gaze had returned to the floor and seeing Yngve stare her down as if daring her to protest. Her heartbeat quickened, her face blushed in shame again, and she felt tears begin to form at the back of her eyes. She had to be brave, she could NOT cry, she had to say something... but Yngve was the next to speak.

"Do you understand, Annika?" he firmly repeated.

Annika swallowed the knot of defiance in her throat, somehow swallowed the tears, bottled up the emotions, took a deep breath, and kept her chin high. "Yes, sir."

"Good girl, I expect your unconditional obedience while I'm caring for you" Yngve nodded, speaking with a notable sincerity. Annika was actively plotting his death. 'Caring for me, he says' she thought to herself, feeling almost as helpless as when she was standing up naked in the tub a few minutes before.

He turned his heavy gaze to the boy. "Do you understand, Mårten?"

Mårten kept his eyes glued to the floor, his voice small. "Yes, sir."

Yngve didn't accept the downward gaze. "Look me in the eyes, Mårten," he requested gently but firmly.

Mårten’s throat tightened. He forced his head up, his face still blushing intensely from the embarrassment, and met the undertaker's clinical eyes. "Yes sir, I understand," he repeated.

"Good boy." Yngve began untying the straps of his apron, his demeanor shifting back to his usual detached small talk. "I promise you will get used to it as time passes. Both of you are free to go. I'll call you to the table for lunch later."

The children didn't wait. They moved out of the humid bathroom with quiet, disciplined speed, the heavy wooden door clicking shut behind them.
Annika marched down the hallway toward the quiet parlor, grabbing a book from her satchel and dropping onto the window sill. Finally, she allowed herself to cry. Gentle tears. The whole ordeal was such a sudden shock and felt so violating. At least he hadn't touched her chest or between her legs. Unfortunately, Annika had been molested before by someone who said they were her caregiver, and to find a positive in the whole thing Annika was thankful he had at least not touched her private parts... instead he had made her private parts public.

The brave, resilient girl stared down at the pages as a couple more tears escaped her eyes. Her mind was racing, unpacking everything that had just occurred. That thing he had said at the very end...

I promise you will get used to it.

He had known. The realization hit her with a strange mixture of anger and validation. Yngve had finally acknowledged he had been fully conscious of their acute embarrassment the entire time; he had seen right through her stoic, nonchalant facade and Mårten's terrified dissociation, yet he had enforced the routine anyway. She had known he couldn't be that naive about their modesty! It didn't matter at all to him. She briefly wondered what the punishment he had threatened would even be for disobedience, but she quickly realized that her and Mårten's compliance earlier was the best-case scenario. Saying "yes sir" was simply the result of them having absolutely no choice in the matter. They didn't even have a choice regarding being seen by an opposite-sex child.

But this was the reality they lived in now. Looking around, she had to admit the home was nice, she could tell they would be well fed, and her new foster brother seemed gentle—although she was secretly looking forward to confronting Mårten later about his eyes being on her when she stepped out of the tub. While she had been deeply embarrassed by his glance, she knew she couldn't reasonably be mad at him given the impossible position Yngve had put him in and the tall task she had asked of him... and she had technically told him it was okay before the bath started. Not to mention, she got a quick look at him as he stepped out of the tub, so they were even in that regard. She would try not to tease him about it, it was plain to see he was the type of boy that was fragile about that kind of thing.

What weighed on her more was Yngve's new schedule. He had almost broken her when he firmly and directly informed her of this impending humiliation. On the days they only had their hair washed, she would be required to be shirtless, again in full view of both Yngve and Mårten. Bare breast buds on full display, and as they continued to grow over the summer and hopefully grow from the cones they currently were and become round and more filled in. Having this process exposed 2 days a week would make her feel vulnerable in a way Mårten couldn't possibly understand as a boy, especially now that her body had begun developing, and he would no doubt get an eyeful of something that should be very private to her. This would be an event disproportionately affecting Annika. She had seen him take a glance at her chest, and she deduced that Yngve was fully conscious of this gender dynamic too, but she decided she would just take it on the chin and bear it. She had adapted for years to different abusive situations. There was absolutely no use protesting someone who would suggest this arrangement, let alone enforce it with such absolute authority. It would be deeply embarrassing, but she vowed to keep a straight face every single time and... try to get used to it. Yngve had said she would.

Thinking back on the harsh foster group homes she had lived in before, Annika conceded that this might actually be a good-case scenario. Despite the total disregard for her modesty in front of a boy, Yngve had at least been gentle and efficient while washing her. Her blase act had been her only real weapon to make the humiliating experience end as quickly as humanly possible, and fighting him would have only led to a less dignified situation.
Flipping the page of her book, she internally vowed to follow through with her promise of total submission to the bathing routine. Yngve was probably right; she would become more comfortable with it as time went by, and as she looked out the window into the quiet rural afternoon, she knew her and Mårten's alliance was the only armor they had left.

"Speaking of which," she thought to herself, "where did my new foster brother run off to cry? We might as well do that together."

TO BE CONTINUED AND HOPEFULLY REVISED

[Somebody]

To take something so simple, common, and innocent, and make it feel so... _dark._
Do you really have that much difficulty wrapping your head around different norms existing, or was that a sort of embellished intro to establish the mood? I feel like that's become a pretty modern mindset, inability to conceive of the recent past. Which is funny since modern norms change every couple months.

[dunbarbarian0]

To take something so simple, common, and innocent, and make it feel so... _dark._
Do you really have that much difficulty wrapping your head around different norms existing, or was that a sort of embellished intro to establish the mood? I feel like that's become a pretty modern mindset, inability to conceive of the recent past. Which is funny since modern norms change every couple months.

Different norms existing? Of course not. Those specific norms existing for these specific characters in that specific context… EVER, for basically any reason? Yes.

I literally feel gaslit by this scene. It’s brilliant how unrealistic it is but portrayed as if it’s completely normal.

[Somebody]

It is normal, though. You are indeed being gaslit, that's why it's so bizarre to you.
Watch more old European movies. Talk to some people, read some forums. Thankfully translators work great now, so we can get real insight, and it is eye-opening, let me tell you. Old Germans are not at all cool with this shift in culture.

[dunbarbarian0]

It is normal, though. You are indeed being gaslit, that's why it's so bizarre to you.
Watch more old European movies. Talk to some people, read some forums. Thankfully translators work great now, so we can get real insight, and it is eye-opening, let me tell you. Old Germans are not at all cool with this shift in culture.

I want it to be normal, believe me. The bath scene in the film is something out of a kinder world I don't know. My culture is very repressive with very bizarre attitudes toward nudity. I think it comes from Christianity even though my country is much more secular than it was when I was a kid. There is objectively nothing wrong with what happens in the scene, but particularly in the girl's case, how can the two kiddos be so comfortable being naked in front of each other when they just met the day before? I know Swedes are fond of a sauna and these are often mixed gender areas, not to mention in 1958 there might have been no other choice but the bathing setup seen in this film, but none of that quite accounts for how nonchalant both the kids seem to be about this situation. I will always be stuck on what happened before this scene, the moment when it was time for Annika's bath how she reacted and while she was washing how Marten behaved while waiting his turn. Was Yngve making small talk while she was bathing the way he does in this scene while Marten in in the bath? The scene is so brilliant not only because of the innocence it betrays, but because of what it leaves out.

[mars357]

I for one think this is brilliantly, cleverly, beautifully written. Whether the kids in the movie were, or are these days or should be as shy as described is another matter. Each story creates a mini-universe and I loved this one we were offered a glimpse into.

The tension palpable. The character psychology excellent. The level of detail delicious. From the soft stories that don't really touch on anything explicit or overtly sexual, this might be one of the best I've read in a long while.

I'd very happily read chapter two where her boobs are revealed even more "unfairly", and her feelings around that, or a one-off situation where one of the children, maybe angry/out of spite intentionally ogles the other to take revenge, exacerbating the humiliation.