Chapter 5: Arrival in Oslo
It took a little while to get the house straightened out after our move to Oslo but I just loved it.
It was a typical Norwegian house on three floors at the end of a cul-de-sac high up on Holmenkollen with fabulous views over the fjord. The ground floor contained a den, a couple of bedrooms, bathroom and utility room. There was a large lounge, dining room, kitchen and cloakroom on the middle floor. But it was the top floor that I had been really taken by. There were a couple of spacious rooms and a large bathroom that one would normally dream about. It was palatial with a jacuzzi bath sized for two, an unenclosed corner shower area, his and her basins, WC, and what I had always wanted, a bidet with a wonderful fountain spray, oh la la.
As the bathroom was a shared en-suite for the two bedrooms the original owners must have had some pretty close friends! We, though, decided that the whole floor would be exclusively for us. Ever since I had been confronted by my mother-in-law, the morning after some rather steamy lovemaking, chastising me for the noise I had made and suggesting I show a little more decorum at least when there was company staying. I was mortified and vowed that a future house would accommodate guests as far away as possible. This house was ideal with two floors of separation. We used the room at the front with its balcony as the master bedroom and the other room would be our own private den in which we could do whatever we wanted in total privacy. On this floor there was no concern of prying eyes or ears. This would be our intimate suite.
We had met our immediate neighbors, the Johanessens, the weekend after moving in and as soon as we had the house in order we invited them for dinner. We had heard that Norwegians dressed quite formally for dinner parties so felt we should follow suit even if our norm was somewhat more casual. I looked through my wardrobe and nothing took my eye. Then I remembered a modest cocktail dress, bought for some office function or other, which was in my overspill wardrobe in the other room. I wandered through, took it out, and decided it was just the job. Once dressed I went back to the kitchen to make final preparations.
Tor and Wenche arrived precisely at eight. I'm glad we'd been forewarned. Tor was in a lounge suit and Wenche wore a calf-length skirt and matching jacket. We had a pleasant evening and found out that Tor was 38 and a doctor with a practice close to the centre of the city. Wenche was 36 and had been a nurse but had given up work several years earlier, preferring the life of a busy housewife. She had missed not being able to have children but had come to terms with it.
It was about midnight when they left. George and I cleared away a few things before going up to bed.
I slipped off my dress and went into the other room to hang it up. I knew the window by the wardrobe overlooked Tor and Wenche's bedroom so fumbled around in the near darkness so as not to risk being seen in my undies. I had just about succeeded when a light came on in their room. I was unable to resist taking a peek.
Wenche entered the room with her blouse all but undone. She walked towards the window and I imagined she was about to draw the curtains but no she undid the final button and slipped the blouse from her shoulders revealing her firm naked breasts. Just then Tor walked in wearing only a pair of boxer shorts. He stood behind Wenche and fiddled with the zip of her skirt. As the skirt fell to the floor I was amazed to see that she was nude but for a pair of hold-up stockings. She had been wearing neither bra nor panties! Who would have thought that in less than half an hour I would see what I thought was a rather demure conservatively dressed neighbour transformed into a sensuous beauty naked in her boudoir.
"George, come quickly. You've got to see this," I called quietly, "but turn out the light before you leave the bathroom."
Tor began to fondle her breasts.
"What's going on?"
