“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.
Freydis pulled an object out of her bag and shoved it into Ruby’s hands. The wrinkled, grayish-colored stuff looked like the pig’s intestines used for sausage casings she’d seen on her grandfather’s farm as a child.
“What is it?” Ruby asked, raising questioning eyes to Freydis.
“A condom,” Freydis said proudly. I made it myself.”
Ruby tried not to smile as she examined the ugly object more closely. Freydis had sewn the end of the clean casing with tiny stitches to hold the sperm inside.
Before Ruby had time to react, the other women brought forth their creations. One woman had embroidered Norse symbols in red and gold thread down the length of hers. Another had used a pig’s bladder and made it so long and big the husband would have to be immense to fill it. She looked sheepishly at Ruby and said, “My Gorm is fair like a tree trunk when the lust comes, but mayhap I did make it a mite too big.” The women hooted teasingly at her words.
When Ruby finally had time to register what the women showed her, she started to laugh. She couldn’t help herself. She laughed so hard the tears came and her side hurt, but still she couldn’t stop. Finally, Gyda clapped her hard across the back and forced her to drink a cup of water. Wiping the tears from her face, Ruby looked at the curious women, who couldn’t understand her reaction.
“Homemade condoms just won’t work,” Ruby said gently. “They’re bound to leak or break. I’m sorry if I led you to believe you could make them yourselves.”
“Well, I see them not as useless,” Freydis argued. “Aught is better than naught. I will check each of mine to make sure they are perfect, unbroken. The finest, tightest stitches I will use.” The other women concurred, ignoring Ruby’s criticisms.
“You know, you could follow the rhythm method,” she offered. “It’s not perfect, but I think it would be more effective than your homemade condoms.”
She explained the rhythm method to them, telling them how to keep a calendar and which days of the months they were most fertile. They listened attentively, but one woman summed up most of their feelings when she said, “Think you a husband in the mood will turn away when his wife says ’tis the wrong time?” Only one young lady disagreed: “Some husbands would. If the wife’s life was in danger, some would wait.”