Audio & Radio > Radio & Audio: Sectors
PERFECT FOOLS, Stockholm / KRONANS DROGHANDEL / 2018
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Credits
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Erotic podcasts with parallel short stories that you can listen to together using one earbud each.
ScriptInEnglish
1
Isabelle’s Dad
I love making presentations. It feels like being a kid again and playing and drawing. Text, images,
just the right amount of special effects. Choosing the size of the bullet-points and making miniscule
changes which probably no one besides me will notice, but which will make the difference. If I had
to fight a duel for a woman’s hand, my first choice for a weapon would definitely be Keynote. The
only problem is that I’m always losing track of time, one slide, two slides, and poof! Suddenly four
hours have gone by. Christopher calls me manic. But it is important. How else are we going to get
the chance to build the headquarters for one of the country’s biggest logging companies?
“Don’t you have a meeting at the school at six?” Charlotte’s slightly throaty and sultry voice rises
up from the reception desk downstairs. I check the time. Right! I promised Isabelle that there was
no way I’d be late this time. It’s important, Dad she said and looked seriously at me from the other
side of the kitchen table. It’s a new school. I promised on my honor to be on time. If I just stay to
finish up, I’ll be done so soon. I could just play hooky and keep working here instead. Then I’ll just
tell Isabelle that I went. It’s not like I’m going to miss anything important. But no... you’re not
supposed to lie to your daughter. Especially when you’re the only parent she has.
Charlotte smiles indulgently at me as I come rushing down the stairs. Despite how stressed I am, I
notice how well her black dress fits her. It shows off all of her curves without being either too short
or too low-cut. It’s probably what they call style, I assume. All of her core-training the last few
months has also paid off. She looks fantastic, a little like that secretary from Mad Men...what’s her
name again? Jenny, Jonie? Stop! I try to make myself stop thinking about her. How cliché is it to
fantasize about the receptionist? Come on, man! Totally taboo. I put on my helmet and run over to
my bike. Unlock it and pedal as fast as I can to the school. When I finally arrive, I make a wrong
turn and end up getting lost. Damnit. Now I’m going to be late anyway. Finally I find the room and
pull open the door, out of breath. Twenty-eight other parents sitting in a circle are all staring at me.
A woman who must be Isabelle’s teacher falls silent and looks offended. “Sorry I’m late, this is 4B,
right? I got caught up with something at work. Sorry,” I say and smile a little apologetically.
“Welcome, take a seat.” The teacher points at chair, curtly and reprimanding him a little. “We have
already begun, as you can see. Where were we then?” She picks up where she left off. I bend my
legs and sit down with difficulty in the small chair she pointed at. “Right, if the class is going to go
to Kolmården in June, it’s important that we start fundraising as soon as possible. I need two
parents to take care of the finances. Any volunteers?” She looks around the room expectantly. No
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one looks up, as usual. Everyone is trying to seem like they’re not there. Or it’s like they’re
suddenly in middle school again and think that everything, including being here, is completely
useless. Seconds pass. One, two, three...“I can do it”, a woman with long, dark hair in a leather
jacket has raised her hand. She looks cool, like the kind of person who always gets invited to all the
parties. Without even trying. Maybe I should...oh what the hell, I take a chance: “Since I was late
I’ll also do it, as punishment, I mean.” I smile, looking at the teacher first and then at the woman
with dark hair. She looks back at me skeptically and raises one of her eyebrows a bit. Looks me up
and down. A bit cocky, I like it.
“Alright, great. So, Max’s mother and Isabelle’s father will take care of the finances then. You’ll
need to figure out how much everything will cost and how much money we need to raise. I’d
recommend that you rent a bus so that we go in one group together. Just make sure you remember
that a lot of the kids get carsick. But we can talk about that later on.” After that, we talk about
calling in sick, that we need more security, and another father in the class complains about the plans
for the new buildings on the school grounds. The usual stuff. The teacher concludes the meeting,
comes over to me and gives me the class roster, which was handed out before I arrived. She says
that Isabelle is already doing great, that she’s getting on so well with the others. It’s nice to hear. At
the same time as I’m listening to the teacher with one ear, I’m also looking for Max’s mother. We
have to figure out when we’re going to meet. But she’s already left. Further down the hallway, I can
see her back as she’s disappearing out the door with another mother.
“I’ll call you then, Max’s mother,” I yell. The sound bounces off the walls. She turns around, for
just a few seconds, “Sure, you do that,” she yells back. With one of her hands, she brushes away a
strand of hair that has fallen into her face as she smiles a bit crookedly. There’s a unmistakable
sound of teasing in her voice. Teasing and..I think, flirtation. And then they leave. I stand there for a
second holding the student roster. The emptiness echoes in the hallway.
I wait three entire days to contact her. Then I send a text. She answers right away. We agree that
she’ll come by the office Tuesday at five thirty, so that we can go through everything together. I
find myself looking forward to our meeting a little too much. Walk around thinking about her,
Max’s mom. That mixture of charm and cockiness. Irresistible. I don’t understand why all of the
other dads didn’t sign up to take care of the finances for the field trip. On the other hand, maybe not
all of the fathers are in the same situation as me. What do I know?
3
Our architecture firm is located in the city center. The office isn’t that big, but it’s nicely decorated
and takes up two floors. My colleague Christopher and I renovated it ourselves.
At twenty to six, I hear the buzzer ring downstairs, and Charlotte, who’s supposed to be leaving for
the day about now, answers it. “Your guest is here,” she shouts up to me. I count slowly to 20
before getting up. Then I count slowly to ten. You don’t want to seem to eager, after all.
She’s exactly as I remember her. Maybe even little better-looking. Dark curls trying to escape
from the knot of hair on her head. Boots, tight jeans, a simple white top. Full breasts. I catch a
glimpse of the faint outline of her bra underneath the fabric. After we’ve said hello, I show her up to
the conference room. We make a little small talk while the espresso machine brews her cappuccino.
I tell her that we’ve just moved into a new house. That we’re doing really well. She has a little
birthmark above the corner of her mouth on the right side. It moves whenever she speaks. I stare,
enchanted, at the mark, follow it with my eyes and find myself wanting to touch that circle on her
cheek with my finger. When I hand her the cup of coffee, our hands touch. Was it on purpose? I
don’t know. Can she also feel the electricity in the room? How it’s all of a sudden flickering and
swelling inside me? My heart is beating fast. Aaah (sighs of pleasure).
Wait a second. She maybe isn’t on the same page. Maybe this a game she doesn’t want to
play. She’s after all just here to deal with the finances. We sit down at the wooden conference table.
She sits with her back to the door and takes out her computer. I sit down in the seat opposite her.
“Here’s the Excel spreadsheet I made. What do you think of this plan?”, her voice is almost
businesslike. We discuss her plan. That we should be at least five parents going along, and about
how we’re going to raise enough money. Forty-five minutes go by. I try to focus, but...damn. I can’t
stop looking at her neck. The way it bends whenever she turns her head. The skin stretching and
pulsating, beating underneath. Her eyes meet mine. Yes, we’re on the same page.
A cell phone rings in another room. I pretend not to hear it. But it’s ringing. Again and again. I
apologize. It’s one of suppliers, he wants to discuss what materials he should use for the patio.
Should they use brick or limestone? We talk for awhile. I think about her lips and the way she wets
them with the very tip of her tongue whenever she’s concentrating.
“How’s it going?” I ask from behind her chair, a little too close. It’s a risk, but I lay a hand on her
shoulder, squeezing a little bit. Graze her collarbone with my fingertips. Listen to her breathing.
“Do you need help with that,” I ask. My voice is gruff. I can feel my abdominal muscles contact
4
and me getting hard inside my jeans. “But who am I trying to fool?” I say, “I don’t know a thing
about Excel.”
We both laugh. But then it takes over. Our attraction. And then, suddenly, we give into it. She
stands up and kisses me. First lightly, but then hungrily. Looks me right in the eyes at the same time
as she gently bites my lower lip. I moan. Kiss her back. Press my mouth against hers. We devour
each other, ravenous. As if all that existed was the here and now. My hand moves along her neck.
Runs through her hair, gets caught in a knot but then slides naturally into place. Hold her there. My
breath is heavy with desire. I can feel my body shaking. Can feel her gasp against me. She touches
me, struggling impatiently with my shirt, undoes the buttons and pulls it off me. Runs her fingers
through the hair on my chest. I reach under her shirt. Feel the weight of her breast before I work
down and find her hard nipple. Pinch it a little. Hold. Release and pinch it again. She likes that it
hurts a little bit. Her moans make me even hornier. Her hand on my dick. It gets hard and throbs
inside my jeans. I unzip them so she can get closer. She caresses the sensitive skin before she grasps
it firmly. Moves her hand up and down. Rhythmically. I’m so horny I feel drunk. She takes off her
jeans. Lays down with her back on the table, she’s pulled up her shirt so I can see the soft skin of
her stomach. She spreads her legs. Her white and blue underwear are dark in the crotch. Wet. I meet
her eyes as I push the edge of her underwear to the side. Slowly explore all of the folds and
crevices. She’s so wet. I press gently and make circles with my fingers. She closes her eyes and
moves rhythmically against my hand. We’re both ready now. “Max’s mom,” my voice sounds
faraway. “Max’s mom. I want to be inside you.”
She lifts her hips. Receives me.
5
Max’s Mom
—And in September, the children made some beautiful paper flowers out of tissue paper, the
teacher says and points eagerly towards the wall. Everyone in the room smiles enthusiastically. A
crumpled piece of paper falls loose and floats down towards the mat on the floor
I hate these school meetings. Everything that should take only fifteen minutes ends up taking two
hours. All of the businessmen with their ugly shoes seize the opportunity to tell their stories and
share their theories on childrearing. And then there’s the sugar debate. Every single time. Right,
here it is now: “I heard that the kids got cake at the school dance, why wasn’t there any fruit?” asks
Lisa’s mom. She adjusts her perfect hair as she emphatically pronounces the word FRUIT so that
everyone can hear how important it is. She’s pretty, Lisa’s mom. That kind of pretty that you get
from going to yoga multiple times a week and not eating carbs. All of the dads love her. You can
tell. They straighten up a little bit whenever she walks by. God, I know this whole thing by heart
now. I’ve been here so many times. In the spring and the fall. Tiny chairs in a circle. Excellent
teachers doing their best to teach the children and patiently going point by point through the agenda.
Gym clothes, math tests, visiting Joel’s grandma’s office, the annual school trip. A new class roster
is handed out—with all of the parents email addresses and telephone numbers...The same one every
time. Why is this so boring? I care about everything my kid does. I’m actually a great parent. But
okay, IF I had to sleep with someone here, who would it be? The game everyone plays. On the
escalator, in the elevator, in the conference rooms at work. IF, then WHO? I look around the circle
at all of the parents. Not Sebastian’s dad. He’s so boring. And Isak’s dad, he seems nice but a little
too soft, and awkward. Nora K’s dad maybe...nah. Cute but definitely a bad kisser. His beard looks
scratchy too. My train of thought is interrupted when the door opens. Someone runs in. Red in the
cheeks, hair tousled. Bike helmet in his hand. Wearing those hipster pants you see on fashion blogs.
He must be new. Is there a new kid in the class? Max hasn’t mentioned them.
The teacher looks offended. “Sorry I’m late, this is 4B, right? I got caught up with something at
work. Sorry.” He smiles a little slanted. One of his front teeth is a little crooked. “Welcome. Please
take a seat.” The teacher points at chair, curtly and reprimanding him a little. “We have already
begun, as you can see. Where were we then?” She picks off where she left off. He sits down in the
chair she pointed at. “Right, if the class is going to go to Kolmården in June, it’s important that we
start fundraising as soon as possible. I need two parents to take care of finances. Any volunteers?”
She looks at us expectantly. That embarrassing silence when everyone is just hoping that someone
6
else will volunteer fills the room. It’s always the same at these school meetings. Like that silence
game you play as a kid. The one who holds out the longest wins and doesn’t get involved. To my
surprise, I’m the one who throws my hand up first. “I can do it,” I say. I look around. Grateful pairs
of eyes meet mine around the circle. The other parents relax a little. I’m taking one for the team this
time.
“Since I was late I’ll also do it” says the guy with the crooked tooth. “As punishment, I mean.” He
smiles, looking at the teacher first, and then at me. He seems to think he’s charming. One of those
cute, hopeless guys that always gets away with everything.
Damn, I’ve always had a weakness for that kind of guy.
“Alright, great. So, Max’s mother and Isabelle’s father will take care of the finances then. You’ll
need to figure out how much everything will cost and how much money we need to raise. I’d
recommend that you rent a bus so that we go in one group together. Just make sure you remember
that a lot of the kids get carsick. But we can talk about that later on.” For the rest of the meeting we
talk about security, new policies for calling in sick, and the city’s plan for new buildings on the
school grounds. I listen distractedly. The meeting ends and I get up. Throwing on my coat as fast as
I can, I leave the room and go into the hallway. Katja, Willes’s mom, who lives in the same
direction, asks if we should head home together. We both biked here.
“I’ll call you, Max’s mom,” Isabelle’s dad yells after me in the hallway. I turn around and see him
pointing at my name on the class roster. “Sure, you do that,” I yell back. I can hear that I sound a
little too flirty. Katja turns to me with a surprised look in her eyes. She doesn’t say anything. The
streets are empty on our way home.
Three days later, I get a text. “Hi Max’s mom, does Tuesday work for you?” We agree that I’ll
come by his office around five thirty so that we can go through the plans together.
That morning, I find myself choosing my clothes carefully. Black jeans, white top. High heels.
Loosely tie my hair back, so that a few curls fall down and brush my shoulders. Pretty, but not
trying too hard. Underneath I’m wearing, as I always do, matching underwear. Sheer lace in two
shades, great fit, nice lift. An exclusive Italian brand. Underwear are my secret weapon. Even
though no one can see them, they give me confidence. Make me feel feminine, more sexy. I like
what I see in the mirror.
He works in the city center. A little architecture firm on two floors. The reception rings me in. She
has her coat and is clearly on her way out for the day. “Your visitor is here,” she yells upstairs. He
7
comes down the stairs soon after. They creak under the weight of his body. He’s taller than I
remember from the meeting at the school. Well-built. Broad shoulders, maybe he’s a surfer? We
say hello and make some small talk, as you do. We go back upstairs, into one of the conference
rooms. We pass an espresso machine on the way. Do I want a cappuccino? I’d rather have a glass of
wine, but don’t say so. God, we don’t know each other at all. We just happen to have kids in the
same class and we’re here to plan their school trip. So I say yes to the cup of coffee and he tells me
about how they’ve just moved into a new house close by the school. That’s why Isabelle has just
joined the class. His voice is a little gruff and when he grabs the cup, I can see that his hands are
tan. One of the buttons on his shirt cuff has come loose and I can see the width of his wrist inside it.
His hand brushes against mine when I grab the cup of coffee. Was it on purpose? Does he feel it
too? The desire. The game. The distance closes between us and my stomach flutters. Like we’re
dancing. Oh, I love this feeling.
But what am I thinking about? It doesn’t make any sense. That’s enough now. We’re just dealing
with the finances. It could hardly be less sexy. We sit down at the long, rectangular table. I sit with
my back to the door. It’s just us in the office now. My voice suddenly sounds a little too formal:
“Here’s the excel spreadsheet I made. What do you think of this plan?” We talk about dorms versus
double rooms, three days and two nights away. Twenty-six kids and at least five parents. Breakfast,
lunch, dinner. Day passes. We figure out how much money we have to raise. He thinks more, I
think less. Forty-five minutes go by. The whole time there’s this sense of attraction, underneath it
all. Waiting. Like an animal in the sun. Bidding its time. I try to focus on 4B’s school trip.
A cell phone rings in one of the other rooms. A persistent ringing that won’t stop. One, two, three,
four. Silence. Someone calls again. He apologizes and gets up, leaves the room. I can hear him
speaking in a low voice. A pretty long conversation. Meanwhile I enter the numbers into the
spreadsheet. Make a mistake, mix up the columns. Can’t get anything to work. Damn!
“How’s it going?” Suddenly, he’s standing right behind me. A little too close, I think. Can I really
feel heat from his body or am I just imagining it? “Do you need help with that?” His hand on my
shoulder. His fingers graze my collarbone, running along the neckline of my shirt. His touch
radiates through my body. I take a deep breath and can feel the muscles between my legs
contracting. The moisture spreads through the lace of my panties.
He’s sitting next to me now. Looks at the spreadsheet. Types in some commands on the keyboard.
“Who am I trying to fool? I don’t know anything about Excel.”
8
We both laugh, but the mood has changed. We give into our attraction. We’re laughing but it’s
serious now. Isabelle’s dad. I lean forward and kiss him. At first lightly, and then more insistently.
His tongue meets mine and his hand reaches up to my neck. Slides through my hair until it finds its
place. He holds me tight when we kiss and I love it. It feels manly, amazing. I like the dominant
men. Desire floods my body. My heart beats loudly, my breath is shallow, fast. I touch his arms,
feel his muscles moving under the fabric. Unbutton the buttons, impatiently struggling to get his
shirt off. Run my fingers through the hair on his chest while his hand reaches under my shirt and
bra. He pinches my nipple. Hard. Releases and pinches again. And again. Throbbing. It’s wonderful
and hurts a little. I moan loudly. My hand is on his zipper now. I can feel how he’s getting harder
and bigger inside. He undoes the fly so that I can come a little closer. I caress the velvety skin of his
dick. It’s wet where a little cum is already coming out. He’s loving this as much as I am. I kick off
my shoes and wiggle out of my jeans. Lay down with my back on the conference table, still wearing
my shirt and the Italian underwear. He comes closer, looks me right in the eyes. With a finger he
pushes the edge of my underwear to the side, runs it over my pussy. He touches me with his skilled
hands and smiles when he feels how I’m getting even wetter. I can barely lie still anymore without
moving rhythmically against his hand. Meeting it with my body. It’s so wonderful. Desire takes
over. Makes me feel drunk. I’m so horny. And I want him so badly. “Max’s mom,” his voice is
deep and rasping with lust, “Max’s mom. I want to be inside you.”
I lift my hips. Receive him.
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