Page 43 of The Reluctant Viking

“Condoms are thin sheaths that fit over a man’s male part—so thin the pleasurable sensations aren’t diminished, but so water-tight the male sperm, or fluid, cannot enter the woman’s vagina and join with her egg.”

A storm of questions followed then, and Ruby gave the standard high school health class lecture on menstruation and reproduction.

“But these condoms,” one young woman asked, “where might they be purchased? And of what fabric are they made?”

“I’m not sure,” Ruby admitted, “although I do think they are already being made in the Orient at this time. I think the early ones were made of a soft leather that was rinsed and used over and over, but the ones I’ve seen are thin, transparent membranes, disposed of after every use.” Ruby racked her brain to remember more about a subject on which she was not particularly knowledgeable.

“And the women can make love and not get pregnant?” an amazed Gyda asked.

Ruby smiled and nodded.

“What is a membrane?” another asked. “Is it like the thinnest silk?”

“No, because that isn’t water-tight. It’s more like the thin skin over some women’s breasts, or the skin of an animal that’s been scraped and scraped until it’s almost transparent and used for window coverings.” Ruby tried to think of a better explanation. “I know, it resembles the intestines of animals when they’re thoroughly cleaned out.”

Now the women understood.

“Does this birth control not anger the men in your country?” Freydis asked.

“No-o-o, I don’t think so. If a man loves a woman, he wants to protect her, to keep her from having a child when it’s dangerous for her health, or when there are too many for them to feed or she’s past the prime child-bearing years.”

After the women left, Gyda looked at Ruby oddly. “Who are you?” Gyda asked with a puzzled frown. “’Tis strange you know so much that we do not, even though our men trade ’round the world.”

“I come from the future, Gyda,” Ruby tried to explain once again.

“Nay, that I cannot accept. You must come from some strange land we have not yet discovered. That must be it.”

The next morning, after her jogging routine with Byrnhil, the king’s mistress demanded that Ruby return to the palace with her for a private conversation. Ruby soon learned that the Viking grapevine worked almost as fast as those in modern America. Word had spread already of Ruby’s birth control lecture.

At least twenty women crowded Byrnhil’s solar demanding that she repeat the words she’d spoken yesterday. When she finished, they asked even more questions than Gyda’s friends.

“I will tell Sigtrygg to search for some of those condoms when next his ships travel to the Orient,” Byrnhil declared confidently.

“Do women in your country care naught that those strange objects are inside them?” one young maid asked shyly.

“Humph! No stranger than some male parts I have seen!” Byrnhil joked. And that led to a discussion of lovemaking, sexual prowess and good lovers these women had known. Ruby blushed at some of the graphic descriptions the Viking women gave.

Sensing Ruby’s embarrassment, Byrnhil asked, “Do women care naught for lovemaking in your country? ’Tis said the Saxon women consider it a distasteful duty.”

“Oh, women enjoy lovemaking almost as much as men,” Ruby laughed, “especially since we’ve learned so much these past few decades about woman’s anatomy and what brings her pleasure. Females in my country expect to have orgasms, as well as men. In fact, many have discovered multiple orgasms.”

The stunned silence that greeted those words stopped Ruby short. Oh, my God! Had she really said all that?

“I think I better go home now,” Ruby murmured weakly.

But no way would she be permitted to escape so easily. The set look on Byrnhil’s face told Ruby loud and clear that she’d opened a can of worms the size of a snake pit.

“What is an orgasm?” Byrnhil demanded to know.

When she described that as briefly and succinctly as she could, Byrnhil asked, “And multiple orgasms?” Ruby’s explanation drew surprised gasps from some women and snorts of disbelief from others.

“I knew that,” Byrnhil claimed arrogantly. “I just did not know your words.” Then she bragged, “Always I come at least three times.”

Holy cow! No wonder Byrnhil held the fierce Sigtrygg in her spell.

Two days later the same group of neighbor ladies showed up at Gyda’s door with flushed cheeks and a conspiratorial manner. When they were seated in Gyda’s sewing chamber, Freydis stood up as spokeswoman. “We have something to show you.”

Was it another pattern for underwear? Some of these buxom Viking women insisted there should be a way to design a push-up bra that fit them without making them look like the masthead of a ship.