From Norway with love
Posted: Sat Jan 08, 2022 7:29 am
Knarvik is a village in Norway 29 kilometers north of Bergen. I have never been there so know nothing of it, only that one of its residents is a man called Lars Olsen.
And I don’t really know him. My wife knows him.
I had always realised when I thought back. It never was an issue. We were young; it was the 1970s, just part of normal life, not defining, simply present, understood and accepted. They were friends in Oslo before we met, and they had stayed in contact. He would arrange to meet when visiting on business. His trips were regular, but not frequent. I would be working, so distanced from events. Afternoons gradually drew into evenings without protest or discussion. I didn’t feel insecure or indignant; it just seemed casual and unthreatening. Unattached and respectful, he was never unkind or intrusive, and maybe that was why his visits became a normal part of life.
Weeks earlier when she suggested inviting him to dinner, I confess I had been strangely fascinated, any ambivalence evaporating as we spoke about it. I valued her strength, independence and freedom. Maybe that was why she chose to raise it. Or was it her concern that the topic had been hitherto unspoken? Perhaps it was a simple step to rationalise something we already accepted as ‘our normal’. It was couched as a ‘would you mind if’, rather than permission-seeking, presented as a done-deal rather than an issue for discussion; and without a thought I simply agreed. Looking back now, it seems strange that I did not ask the obvious questions that you are now thinking. They never occurred to me, and making an issue was not my style. But one thing was certain - deep down we both understood that it was not simply an invitation to dinner.
Arriving home, I stumbled over an overnight bag where it had been dropped in the hall. It was after nine and dinner was over. As if I had arrived late to a party, a plate stood to one side, together with a glass of wine with a coaster placed on top. “How was your day”, she called, to which I muttered something unmemorable in a lighthearted and slightly embarrassed way. “Get your supper whilst I help Oly with his bags”, she added.
That there was only one bag did not strike me as strange at the time, for it was more of a code to say ‘we will leave you to eat’. And so it was. I pulled out a chair and sat at the table, removing the cling film from the plate to gaze at pale chicken in cream and dill sauce, and lifted the coaster to sip the wine.
Having placed three plates in the dishwasher I finished the remainder of the bottle. It was only then that I took time to consider the situation. Its strangeness dawned, and my lack of foresight made me feel ridiculous. The questions that I should have asked flooded silently into my mind.“What, how, when, what if…” Spending a lifetime of being ‘in control’ had somehow not equipped me for this moment. I stared at an empty glass wondering what I should do, and at that moment her call jarred me from my thoughts, “are you coming up to bed?” It sounded just like any other night. But I realised this night was to be very different.
From the bottom stair to the top landing seemed to take forever. The door to the bedroom was open, and as I walked the long landing I could see a scene ahead, like a Scandinavian film playing on a screen. I felt attached but simultaneously detached; present and absent, disembodied - seemingly unseen, unnoticed, unaccounted. I hesitated at the door and she looked up, rising on one elbow to pull back a corner of the duvet in invitation. I returned from the bathroom to slip in, unusually, at her side of the bed, my heart fluttering and my breath catching in my chest.
Almost immediately I felt her hand slide over my thigh and move to hold me - a moment suddenly distilled into a droplet. I felt the familiar slimness of her fingers and the firm reassuring edge of her wedding ring. It was a normalising caress that slowed my heartbeat. Time lost meaning, I waited breathlessly, neither anticipating nor thinking. Shortly, she turned towards me. I remained in the stillness of the moment until I sensed a gentle forward pressure. In an instant my breathing stopped and my heartbeat quickened. She withdrew her hand, brushing across her torso in a slow, but calculated movement over her thigh, and finally behind her. Until then her body had been pressed against me - a breast, a nipple, the curve of her thigh, her knees against the back of my legs, her toes against my heels. Contact was lost as she arched away, but within seconds her hand returned to me bringing a further shock - the wetness of her fingers as they crossed my back, silky to the touch, then encircling me knowingly - in a tentacle of time. She pushed against me, as if levering and seating for pleasure, the warmth of her skin against my back and her hot breath on my neck. Then I felt the pulse. I had not remotely imagined how this might be or feel. I had left the question unimagined, perhaps as I did not want to address it or define it. It was slow, deep and connected. I felt her hip and inner thighs move against me, almost brushing; not frantic nor robust, but of subtle exclusive tenderness. Mine was to be a presence that floated, connected in one sense, and irrelevant in another. Yet I realised its eroticism. A slow, deep movement progressed without pace or urgency - a familiar connection, naively shocking and surprising. I bit my lip. Their movement quickened with purpose, her breathing became more shallow and irregular. Her body seemed to gather, as would an equestrian preparing to trot. I felt a visceral forward thrust when she gripped, her muscles tensing. She exhaled with a sound which I strove to memorise. I listened intently to her quickening breath. She sighed, then I heard a gasp. Her hand moved to grip me firmly as if to intensify the thrusts. Like a tropical flower in time lapse, she unfurled and opened in ecstasy - prolonged, carnal and shameless in its intensity. Seconds passed, then the dam burst, shuddering and flooding in waves. With vicarious intensity, I too released, and her hand squeezed knowingly, sensitively and pityingly.
For an eternity we lay without movement or words. She turned towards him unselfconsciously and their lips met in a deep rewarding kiss, a breath shared and achievement acknowledged. Where we touched I felt the flood of wetness of
their shared passion. It had happened and was now a part of our history, our present and seemingly our future.
Their kiss suffused into a deep, silent sleep, that I followed fretfully. Waking momentarily whenever they turned, it was in the early hours that I returned to full consciousness. She must have moved so deftly as not to wake me. She was already above him. From her silhouette she was looking down, her face showing her both longing and determination. Seated, she moved her hips in a slow circular motion. His hands rose to her breasts. This was a private and exclusive moment, intended not to be shared with me. It had tenderness and deep connection, totally silent, performed covertly. Within moments she froze. For an instant I thought she had noticed my gaze. But this moment did not relate to me. It was the first grip of her climax, one which she grasped so as to perpetuate. Ripples of pleasure followed with waves of sharp inhalation to mirror repeating spasms, culminating in a smile of joy and achievement.
She slid to lie across his body, her feet towards my legs, her connection with me seemed an unintentional touch. I heard her nails on his chest, her lips returning to his, pausing for air, then descending to a deeper place, absorbing and being absorbed. In that moment I felt I was intruding on something intrinsically private and exclusive. Then I felt the reassuring rub of her toes informing me that she had seen my open eyes, that I had permission to watch, and her hand returned to explore me in a movement that was casual, without the tenderness that they had shared, but with reassurance and solace.
It was much later, as light clipped the curtains, that I awoke to feel a more determined presence. He was reaching across her. Instinctively she parted her legs. He took his weight on both arms as he pressed above her, her hand moving between them. This time his energy was visceral, as was his determination, and her participation was active and unashamed. Their connection came quickly and sharply. His pressure shook the bed which moved on the polished floor. It was unconcealed and unselfconscious - a moment of mutual desire, unexpected, positive and possessive. This was clearly their exclusive moment, not to be shared. I was just a voyeur, present but irrelevant. I found that I was fascinated by a consummation of desires - theirs and mine. It was a defining moment that could not be undone. It informed me as much about myself as it did about their relationship and shared intimacy. I found myself relating in a deeply erotic way; her pleasure strangely transmitted to me; her goal of climax defining my presence in that moment. A part of me said that it should have been me. The remainder of me embraced their ecstasy as if it were my own. I experienced a new feeling, a powerful unresentful emotion that lodged within my being. Whilst I was not part of it, I realised then that it had become part of me.
Their climax when it came was sudden, instant and simultaneous. Their bodies were to meld and unite. I felt dazed, intoxicated and unable to breathe. Secretly, I wished it to last for an eternity, as if it were my own. They came to rest only when their connection was total and complete. It presented a level of pleasure that could not be defined by words. As their breathing slowed, they held each other close in recognition. Only now did I realise the significance of this night. I had been carried unwittingly on an erotic journey of singular passion that was precidented and valued. I understood why I was present - not for my, or their vicarious excitement, but to witness its value. I was given no role, but confirmed in an existing one that had always been, that of support and life companion. It took nothing away, but added a new definition and dimension to my purpose.
Later, when he rose to leave and her fingers slipped from his, she returned to our bed and looked deeply into my eyes, speaking without words. Her gaze answered all my unasked questions about them, and about us. It called on me to define the last six hours of our lives. It spoke to my understanding of my feelings and emotions, my acceptance, my sense of self, not so as to undermine, but simply to call into question my previous preconceptions.
She smiled and we connected - now a meeting of tenderness and understanding in which no challenges were raised, recriminations voiced or insecurities admitted. It was a time for acceptance, and for celebration. A new dawn, as they say, and a new definition of the future.
And I don’t really know him. My wife knows him.
I had always realised when I thought back. It never was an issue. We were young; it was the 1970s, just part of normal life, not defining, simply present, understood and accepted. They were friends in Oslo before we met, and they had stayed in contact. He would arrange to meet when visiting on business. His trips were regular, but not frequent. I would be working, so distanced from events. Afternoons gradually drew into evenings without protest or discussion. I didn’t feel insecure or indignant; it just seemed casual and unthreatening. Unattached and respectful, he was never unkind or intrusive, and maybe that was why his visits became a normal part of life.
Weeks earlier when she suggested inviting him to dinner, I confess I had been strangely fascinated, any ambivalence evaporating as we spoke about it. I valued her strength, independence and freedom. Maybe that was why she chose to raise it. Or was it her concern that the topic had been hitherto unspoken? Perhaps it was a simple step to rationalise something we already accepted as ‘our normal’. It was couched as a ‘would you mind if’, rather than permission-seeking, presented as a done-deal rather than an issue for discussion; and without a thought I simply agreed. Looking back now, it seems strange that I did not ask the obvious questions that you are now thinking. They never occurred to me, and making an issue was not my style. But one thing was certain - deep down we both understood that it was not simply an invitation to dinner.
Arriving home, I stumbled over an overnight bag where it had been dropped in the hall. It was after nine and dinner was over. As if I had arrived late to a party, a plate stood to one side, together with a glass of wine with a coaster placed on top. “How was your day”, she called, to which I muttered something unmemorable in a lighthearted and slightly embarrassed way. “Get your supper whilst I help Oly with his bags”, she added.
That there was only one bag did not strike me as strange at the time, for it was more of a code to say ‘we will leave you to eat’. And so it was. I pulled out a chair and sat at the table, removing the cling film from the plate to gaze at pale chicken in cream and dill sauce, and lifted the coaster to sip the wine.
Having placed three plates in the dishwasher I finished the remainder of the bottle. It was only then that I took time to consider the situation. Its strangeness dawned, and my lack of foresight made me feel ridiculous. The questions that I should have asked flooded silently into my mind.“What, how, when, what if…” Spending a lifetime of being ‘in control’ had somehow not equipped me for this moment. I stared at an empty glass wondering what I should do, and at that moment her call jarred me from my thoughts, “are you coming up to bed?” It sounded just like any other night. But I realised this night was to be very different.
From the bottom stair to the top landing seemed to take forever. The door to the bedroom was open, and as I walked the long landing I could see a scene ahead, like a Scandinavian film playing on a screen. I felt attached but simultaneously detached; present and absent, disembodied - seemingly unseen, unnoticed, unaccounted. I hesitated at the door and she looked up, rising on one elbow to pull back a corner of the duvet in invitation. I returned from the bathroom to slip in, unusually, at her side of the bed, my heart fluttering and my breath catching in my chest.
Almost immediately I felt her hand slide over my thigh and move to hold me - a moment suddenly distilled into a droplet. I felt the familiar slimness of her fingers and the firm reassuring edge of her wedding ring. It was a normalising caress that slowed my heartbeat. Time lost meaning, I waited breathlessly, neither anticipating nor thinking. Shortly, she turned towards me. I remained in the stillness of the moment until I sensed a gentle forward pressure. In an instant my breathing stopped and my heartbeat quickened. She withdrew her hand, brushing across her torso in a slow, but calculated movement over her thigh, and finally behind her. Until then her body had been pressed against me - a breast, a nipple, the curve of her thigh, her knees against the back of my legs, her toes against my heels. Contact was lost as she arched away, but within seconds her hand returned to me bringing a further shock - the wetness of her fingers as they crossed my back, silky to the touch, then encircling me knowingly - in a tentacle of time. She pushed against me, as if levering and seating for pleasure, the warmth of her skin against my back and her hot breath on my neck. Then I felt the pulse. I had not remotely imagined how this might be or feel. I had left the question unimagined, perhaps as I did not want to address it or define it. It was slow, deep and connected. I felt her hip and inner thighs move against me, almost brushing; not frantic nor robust, but of subtle exclusive tenderness. Mine was to be a presence that floated, connected in one sense, and irrelevant in another. Yet I realised its eroticism. A slow, deep movement progressed without pace or urgency - a familiar connection, naively shocking and surprising. I bit my lip. Their movement quickened with purpose, her breathing became more shallow and irregular. Her body seemed to gather, as would an equestrian preparing to trot. I felt a visceral forward thrust when she gripped, her muscles tensing. She exhaled with a sound which I strove to memorise. I listened intently to her quickening breath. She sighed, then I heard a gasp. Her hand moved to grip me firmly as if to intensify the thrusts. Like a tropical flower in time lapse, she unfurled and opened in ecstasy - prolonged, carnal and shameless in its intensity. Seconds passed, then the dam burst, shuddering and flooding in waves. With vicarious intensity, I too released, and her hand squeezed knowingly, sensitively and pityingly.
For an eternity we lay without movement or words. She turned towards him unselfconsciously and their lips met in a deep rewarding kiss, a breath shared and achievement acknowledged. Where we touched I felt the flood of wetness of
their shared passion. It had happened and was now a part of our history, our present and seemingly our future.
Their kiss suffused into a deep, silent sleep, that I followed fretfully. Waking momentarily whenever they turned, it was in the early hours that I returned to full consciousness. She must have moved so deftly as not to wake me. She was already above him. From her silhouette she was looking down, her face showing her both longing and determination. Seated, she moved her hips in a slow circular motion. His hands rose to her breasts. This was a private and exclusive moment, intended not to be shared with me. It had tenderness and deep connection, totally silent, performed covertly. Within moments she froze. For an instant I thought she had noticed my gaze. But this moment did not relate to me. It was the first grip of her climax, one which she grasped so as to perpetuate. Ripples of pleasure followed with waves of sharp inhalation to mirror repeating spasms, culminating in a smile of joy and achievement.
She slid to lie across his body, her feet towards my legs, her connection with me seemed an unintentional touch. I heard her nails on his chest, her lips returning to his, pausing for air, then descending to a deeper place, absorbing and being absorbed. In that moment I felt I was intruding on something intrinsically private and exclusive. Then I felt the reassuring rub of her toes informing me that she had seen my open eyes, that I had permission to watch, and her hand returned to explore me in a movement that was casual, without the tenderness that they had shared, but with reassurance and solace.
It was much later, as light clipped the curtains, that I awoke to feel a more determined presence. He was reaching across her. Instinctively she parted her legs. He took his weight on both arms as he pressed above her, her hand moving between them. This time his energy was visceral, as was his determination, and her participation was active and unashamed. Their connection came quickly and sharply. His pressure shook the bed which moved on the polished floor. It was unconcealed and unselfconscious - a moment of mutual desire, unexpected, positive and possessive. This was clearly their exclusive moment, not to be shared. I was just a voyeur, present but irrelevant. I found that I was fascinated by a consummation of desires - theirs and mine. It was a defining moment that could not be undone. It informed me as much about myself as it did about their relationship and shared intimacy. I found myself relating in a deeply erotic way; her pleasure strangely transmitted to me; her goal of climax defining my presence in that moment. A part of me said that it should have been me. The remainder of me embraced their ecstasy as if it were my own. I experienced a new feeling, a powerful unresentful emotion that lodged within my being. Whilst I was not part of it, I realised then that it had become part of me.
Their climax when it came was sudden, instant and simultaneous. Their bodies were to meld and unite. I felt dazed, intoxicated and unable to breathe. Secretly, I wished it to last for an eternity, as if it were my own. They came to rest only when their connection was total and complete. It presented a level of pleasure that could not be defined by words. As their breathing slowed, they held each other close in recognition. Only now did I realise the significance of this night. I had been carried unwittingly on an erotic journey of singular passion that was precidented and valued. I understood why I was present - not for my, or their vicarious excitement, but to witness its value. I was given no role, but confirmed in an existing one that had always been, that of support and life companion. It took nothing away, but added a new definition and dimension to my purpose.
Later, when he rose to leave and her fingers slipped from his, she returned to our bed and looked deeply into my eyes, speaking without words. Her gaze answered all my unasked questions about them, and about us. It called on me to define the last six hours of our lives. It spoke to my understanding of my feelings and emotions, my acceptance, my sense of self, not so as to undermine, but simply to call into question my previous preconceptions.
She smiled and we connected - now a meeting of tenderness and understanding in which no challenges were raised, recriminations voiced or insecurities admitted. It was a time for acceptance, and for celebration. A new dawn, as they say, and a new definition of the future.