Commodities

Christmas Cockie Exchange: Part 1

HUSBANDS AND COOKIES ARE EXCHANGED, TO ADD HOLIDAY CHEER. Based on a post by SandyMarl [https://www.literotica.com/authors/SandyMarl/works], in 4 parts. Listen to the ► Podcast [https://archive.org/download/680754058065264640/ChristmasCockieExchange1.mp3] at Steamy Stories [https://feeds.feedburner.com/steamy-stories]. [https://64.media.tumblr.com/838e89e09d771bf21dbd4e15ac0a1753/d4c4193cedd5afc0-ec/s640x960/c58e76b444442e919b2b5575063de3df0e25a3ed.jpg] THE CHIX ANNUAL CHRISTMAS COOKIE EXCHANGE McNally topped off each of the four glasses, then tipped the bottle to her lips to make sure she’d drained the last sweet drop of Gewürztraminer. McNally smacked her lips before inserting her tongue into the brown wine bottle’s narrow orifice. “Umm, a sweet little rim job before I recycle this dead soldier,” she announced to a kitchen packed with a few of her long-time friends. “This dark guy is so sweet, I just love him,” she said as she continued her fellatio pantomime by wrapping her lips around the narrow neck as she encircled her fingers and made a couple of strokes up and down the bottle like she was finishing a masterful blow job. Her friends watched her risqué display and giggled, except for Patricia. Patricia picked through the array of Christmas cookie cutter shapes laid out at the edge of the counter, dropping her eyes as she scolded, “McNally, you should be more thoughtful of Dana. Your tipsy little joke is in poor taste in front of our hostess, especially at this time of year.” Patricia meant it as a sobering rebuke, as if any of the girls present needed to be reminded of Dana’s recently widowed status, especially around Christmas. McNally pulled the wine bottle’s phallic dimensions from her lips, setting it down and turning to Dana, “Oh crap, I’m sorry. You know I had no intention of opening painful memories; I was only trying to lift the holiday spirits with a little bawdy humor… I was just thinking…” Dana turned to McNally, “I know. I know you McNally – boy do I know you. You’re always thinking we Chix should loosen up our inhibitions and take a walk on the steamier side of life; and boy are you always ready with a risqué joke, a steamy story or a naughty pun.” Dana broke into a smile, and then spoke to her closest friends, “Hey Chix, you guys are so great! You’re the only reason I’m able to get through this time of year. Without y'all, I’d be nothing but a blubbering mess this Christmas. Facing the painful first anniversary of Sander’s passing is really hard. It’d be unbearable if I had to go through it alone. The support of my Chix means everything to me right now.” Dana forced a cheery voice and continued speaking after dusting the flour off her hands. “I insisted y'all come into my kitchen this year and fill it with holiday cheer, so it’d be like the good times we had before. I want everyone to make a big sugary mess for me to clean up and keep me busy. Our annual Chix Christmas cookie exchange is our tradition; it’s now more meaningful to me than ever. I’m dreading the holidays…” Dana paused to collect her emotions before continuing, “… as the holiday season approaches, I fear being all alone, left to deal with the memory of Sander’s skiing accident by myself. I need my Chix more than ever right now. I need something to keep my mind from dwelling on the anniversary of the accident.” Dana gave a congenial but forced looking smile to the women in her kitchen. “McNally, you go right on giving your Gewurztraminer boyfriend’s long, brown glass cock a good sucking, it’s fine with me and the rest of these kitchen voyeurs. Keep it up, all of you, be merry and I’ll find a way to get by.” Annie wiped a tear off her cheek as she stepped to Dana, wrapping her arms and her baggy, ugly Christmas sweater around Dana, managing to get cookie dough crumbs in Dana’s hair in the process. Annie hugged Dana tight, embracing her in a prolonged hold to convey her sympathy and shared grief at the loss of Dana’s husband last year. Annie teared up again as she remembered gathering with McNally and Patricia to take down the tree and put away all the festive Christmas decorations in Dana’s house as Dana planned Sander’s funeral. It was all so sad, so hard to deal with. Annie admired McNally’s flair to disregard the implicit sadness hanging over their annual Chix Christmas cookie exchange; but didn’t want to get between McNally and Patricia as they scuffled over the proper decorum in Dana’s kitchen under the circumstances. Annie let go and pulled away from her embrace, and as she did, she gasped, “Oh Dana, I’m sorry. Look what I’ve done, my dirty apron made a mess on your top. I’m sorry.” Dana laughed, “I should’ve expected this would happen, wearing black when I’m in the middle of a hen party with flour flying all over my kitchen. I thought I’d feel and look slimmer wearing black, a self-deluding effect to counteract my debauched cookie sampling today. I might as well just drop these little Santa cookies down my pants and let ‘em stick right there on my hips,” smacking her hands on her ass for emphasis. Annie, trying to make up for the accidental flour dusting, began to brush her fingers across Dana’s boobs, fussing and worrying she’d ruined Dana’s pullover. Dana laughed it off, “Annie, stop fretting, it’ll wash out, no problem. Relax. Let’s all have a good time making a mess as we bake and decorate our cookies. There’s something festive about a busy and messy kitchen. I just love it.” McNally watched from the other side of the counter as Annie dabbed and wiped the front of Dana’s chest, “I know what you’re getting for Christmas - one of those cordless hand vacuums; they market it as a bust duster.” Everyone cracked up at McNally’s pun, even Patricia. The timer went off; Patricia stepped to the oven to check on the first batch of cookies. She pulled out the cookie sheet and put it on the cooling rack. “Those look perfect,” Annie announced. “They’re not perfect until they’re decorated,” responded Dana. “They’re just plain-Jane naked right now. It’s our job to get them all dressed up in their Christmas fancy-pants.” “Oh, Patricia, can you grab the box of sprinkles and glittery decorating doo-dahs from the cupboard next to the oven?” asked Dana. Patricia set the full box of decorating doo-dahs on the kitchen table. McNally burst into song, “Doo-dah, doo-dah, Camptown ladies sing this song, all the doo-dah day!” McNally’s three friends joined in a final chorus, “Doo-dah, doo-dah, all the doo-dah day!” “Now things are starting to sound festive,” declared Dana as she mixed bowls of red and green frosting. “McNally, there’s a bottle of Riesling in the garage fridge – I know I don’t have to ask twice to get you to bring that one in and pour another round.” Annie said, “This is sounding and feeling like old times; like back in the beginning when we worked at Dix Chix. Who remembers which of us four started waitressing first at Dix?” “Wasn’t me,” was McNally’s contribution from the hallway, “I’m the youngest of the Chix.” “It could’ve been you; you’ve always had a reputation for starting early McNally,” was Patricia’s retort. McNally laughed at the ribbing. “I seem to recall that Annie got hired a few days ahead of me.” “So, when did we become collectively known as 'The Chix?’” was Dana’s follow up question. Annie answered, “It was Patricia. She advertised to all the boys that there were some interesting Chix to be found in the backroom of Dix Chix Family Restaurant after closing. If a boy had the right stuff, he could find his way into the place and get a few drinks, no ID required.” “That may be true, but I got the idea from that new girl,” said Patricia in a defensive tone. “The new girl suggested it was a crying shame that us four Chix had to close up on Friday and Saturday nights without having any cocks around to make it fun,” was Patricia’s recollection. “Being the studious college girl, Mrs. Dix trusted me with the keys and the liquor inventory.” “And who might have been the corrupting 'new girl’ who put that idea of letting some cocks into the back room with those chicks?” asked Dana with a smirk. “I hear she’s still tending bar somewhere, perhaps more corrupting than ever,” Patricia offered in an offhand guess. McNally, a seasoned barmaid, filled the wine glasses scattered around the kitchen, “I just thought it was false advertising to have a big neon sign that flashed Dix Chix, yet only the Chix half of the attraction was available. I merely suggested to the old timer running the show that if we were working to close the place on Friday and Saturday nights, we owed it to ourselves to have a crew of Dix to go with the Chix. Like the sign said.” Annie asked, “Patricia, I’ve always wondered, how did you choose which boys got an after-hours invitation to the backroom?” “I delegate,” was Patricia’s reply. “That’s why I’m management material. I consulted a trusted source.” McNally gave a curtsey acknowledging her role, and then filled in the story line, “Guys are pretty simple. I’d give the cute ones a line; 'Winner, winner, chicken dinner - Would you prefer a breast or a thigh?’ I then slipped 'em an offer, 'Come on by Dix Chix late some night this weekend for a chicken tender special – tell 'em McNally sent you.’” The three ladies exploded into hearty whoops at McNally’s explanation. Dana took a sip out of her glass, thinking for a moment, “McNally are you responsible then for introducing each of us to our future husbands? I’d never thought of it like that.” “Ultimately the Chix chooses the Dix. At least, that’s how I’d look at it. In collusion with Patricia, I merely helped sow some wild oats in that Dix Chix backroom. But I only sowed the seeds. It was the others who reaped the harvest. I must admit, I did have to run a lot of lame-cock also-rans through that backroom before some of them ended up sticking around for a while.” “Well, however you did it, Sander and I hit it off - after Patricia passed on him and I scooped him up, as I seem to recall. I guess I never thanked you for your fine work.” Dana raised her glass in a salute to McNally. “I’m happy it worked for you Dana,” said Patricia, “I had my eye out for one of those solid, basic models, a kind of nerdy, engineering type. My philosophy was that those low-key kinds of guys wear well. I seem to recall McNally telling me that she didn’t usually fish in those kinds of nerdy-fish ponds, but she promised she’d expand her repertoire to see if she could toss such a specimen my way.” “I remember when Will showed up at the backroom, he looked a little dazed and confused. McNally had to act fast to ease Will into the situation and then gently hand him off to Patricia,” recalled Annie. “So, how’d McNally’s low-key, nerdish fish land in your lap then Patricia?” Patricia made a wistful smile as she rolled out a sheet of dough, “I guess I got what I wanted. Though, I’ve wondered some days if I should have dropped my line into a different pond. There’ve been some days when I wonder what life would’ve been like with a spicier, adventurous man… but that’s normal, right? Don’t we all have some days where we wish things were different?” Annie, Dana and McNally were quick to assure Patricia that they all had their moments when they had a twinge of doubt about their choices in husbands. “Yeah, that’s pretty normal I think,” added Annie. Annie went back to the mixing bowl where she was making rounded, nut-filled Mexican Wedding Cake cookies and dusting them with flour. “Nelson has always been supportive of me, I have to think that our marriage is better than some that I know of, but over the years some of the spark has dimmed. Maybe it’s me, but honestly, if he wanted more sex, I’d consider letting the ol’ boy find a fling with another woman, as long as she agreed to clean my house in exchange for Nelson’s services.” Dana gave up a small squeak, “Serious?” “Oh, just a quirky idea. It’s not like we’d be on the brink of a divorce, we’re perfectly compatible. It would merely be a convenient arrangement, Nelson the ol’ goat, would get more action and stop pestering me and I’d get a clean house and more time. I think it’d be a fair exchange.” Annie shrugged as she spooned out a lump of dough and patted it into a little ball. Dana sighed, “Oh Annie. Annie, you should enjoy the little things from Nelson. You know what I miss most from Sander? It’s little things like tangling our feet together in bed, I really miss the feeling of when Sander would reach across the bed and pull me over close to him. It didn’t have to be sex, sometimes it was so good just to have him spoon into my backside and reach over to caress my breasts.” Dana took a deep breath, “I’m just here to remind The Chix, like they say, 'You don’t know what you got 'til it’s gone.’” Annie’s eyes moistened again, “I’m sorry Dana, I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. I’m so sorry.” “They’re good memories Annie, I don’t feel bad. Just sad at Christmas now. Get back to making cookies and a mess; it’s the only thing that’ll save me, girl.” Patricia began pressing the cookie cutter into her sheet of dough while pressing this girl-talk topic a little further, “McNally, I’m kind of surprised you and Orlando have made it work so well all of these years. It has always seemed to me that you two traveled in different orbits.” McNally laughed as she put down her half-empty wine glass, concentrating on mixing up some chocolate frosting. “It’s a beautiful cosmic dance between me and Orlando. We’re a pair of heavenly bodies sharing our orbits when the gravitational attraction pulls us close. Otherwise, we each have our own interests as y'all know perfectly well. Orlando has his poetry, music and writing projects. I love lending my graphic and artistic vision to Orlando’s projects when it fits. When we collaborate, we make beautiful art. When we’re not collaborating on something, that’s when I fill my orbit with my animals and other pets.” Patricia raised an eyebrow, “Do you care for your 'pets’ as much as you do your animals?” “Me and my pets share a sensual bond and an understanding. I will never abandon one of my animals. But my pets come and then my pets go, every pet in his own season. I enjoy a wide orbit in this life Patricia.” McNally took another sip, becoming introspective, “Hey you know what? I’d have to say that The Chix is my longest held orbit. It’s so good to have you gals around for me for all of these years.” McNally raised her glass in a toast, “To The Chix. To the long and strong bond of three great gals who have kept me in their orbit as the rest of this crazy world spins out of control. Merry fucking Christmas, to one and to all!” McNally gave a swift motion with her hand, directing her three friends to join her in her toast. Everyone stepped to McNally’s end of the counter, touching their glasses, creating a resounding chime as the glassware clinked. “Here! Here!” said Dana, “Let’s make this a Merry fucking Christmas for one and for all!” “I’ll drink to that,” offered McNally. “Of course, you will,” noted Patricia. Annie gave her signature tipsy laugh, “I’ll drink to that Patricia!” and took a gulp. “May I join you?” asked McNally. Dana laughed, “Wait for me! I’ll drink to that too!” McNally turned and walked away from the circled Chix. “Where are you off to McNally?” “Time for the Pinot Noir - any arguments?” “Yeah. What about the Pinot Grigio?” asked Dana in a mock argumentative voice. “No blow back from me. I’ll get both.” With that McNally disappeared into the garage. The cookie production line clicked into gear as The Chix rolled out a pile of baked cookie shapes and an assortment of buttery spritz cookies, chocolate drops, nut bars to go with the gooey lemon bars and shortbread. “My favorite thing in this whole kitchen, other than maybe the wine, is doing the detailed decorations with colored frosting and sprinkles,” announced Dana. “Here you go then Dana,” said Patricia as she set two hot cookie sheets on the cooling racks, “you’ve got your work cut out for you with all of these shapes.” Patricia brandished a pair of cookie cutters, “You have me to thank for 'cutting your work out for you’; you’ve got Mr. and Mrs. Claus, Christmas trees, wreathes, ornaments, stockings, snowmen, reindeer and candy canes galore.” “'Work cut out for you’, I see what you did there,” observed Annie. “You’ve been hanging around McNally too much.” McNally grabbed a couple of the round Mexican Wedding Cakes from Annie’s station and then a candy cane shaped cookie off the pile of undecorated cookies. “What are you working on McNally?” was Dana’s question. “I’ve been inspired by Annie’s earlier comments and her idea of exchanging Nelson’s candy cane for housework.” Annie chortled, “What? Something creative for me? My, my, what could it be McNally?” “Avert your eyes; I’m making you a little surprise.” Annie laughed and pretended to look away, but she and the others watched to see what culinary form McNally’s inspiration took. McNally coated both sides of the candy cane in pink frosting and then covered the straight end of the candy cane with a thin white glaze. She grabbed two pecan halves from the bowl, placing them on top of the round Mexican Wedding Cakes and then wedged the decorated pink candy cane between the two, projecting upward. McNally handed the 3D cookie sculpture to Annie on a small paper plate. “Here you go girl, a little something sweet to enjoy stuffing into your stocking while Nelson is out with your domestic help.” The Chix all laughed, applauding McNally’s skill at coming up with a naughty little cookie. “See, he comes with a pair of real nuts, and I’ve given his sweet candy cane a condom coating of sugar glaze. And if you’ve been feeling pressure to put out Annie, be assured that he only wants to cum in your chimney once a year.” Annie was laughing pretty hard, “You’re so thoughtful McNally. But I’ve been a good girl all year; I think I deserve to get a bigger candy cane.” “Ho, ho, ho,” chuckled McNally, “What you’re asking for is reserved for the naughty girls on m

Christmas off Campus

YOUNG WOMAN FINDS LUST AND LOVE AT CHRISTMAS. By JagFarlane [https://www.literotica.com/stories/memberpage.php?uid=210396]. Listen to the ►Podcast [https://archive.org/download/summer-2023_202306/ChristmasOffCampus.mp3] at Steamy Stories [https://feeds.feedburner.com/Steamy-Stories]. [https://64.media.tumblr.com/6d4b30c42fabfcf1cfebad9aa12d1edd/3ce1e0ced16cc78b-ad/s640x960/0d238dbf084a442f61d2814af18c7869bdb47f27.jpg] Mel swiped the credit card along the terminal, waited for the receipt to print, stuffed it into the restaurant’s portfolio along with a couple of Ande’s mints, and turned to stroll towards the table. She dropped it off to the table’s occupants and hurried off to the kitchen, trying to look busy though probably fooling no one. It was Christmas Eve after all and the bulk of the town’s part time residents, university students and staff, had all scattered off to home days ago leaving behind the few full time residents to keep the place from looking like a ghost town. She was a student at the university too, but had elected to remain behind this year much to the restaurant manager’s relief. Not that the money had been very good, with the vast majority of the students gone there were only a few souls that made it into the building each night and sometimes she wondered if it had even been worth it to the management to even turn on the lights. Stepping out to pick up the signed receipt and bus several dessert plates away, a glance was given to the tips section and a bit of a relieved sigh at the decent tip. At least the residents routinely tipped, she smiled a bit to herself. After taking a look around and finding no one else at any of her tables, Mel leaned up against the entranceway to the kitchen and allowed herself a quiet moment. Another Christmas Eve alone; not that she hadn’t gotten used to it during her stint in the Air Force. But they still were never easy to take. She’d gotten out and took the chance to move to the one area she’d dreamed of living ever since she was a little girl, Boise, Idaho. Shortly after arriving, she’d invested most of her savings into a condo figuring that not having a monthly house expense was the best route. From there she had enrolled in the local community college and after graduating moved to Boise State University. Between the part time gig as a waitress, her G I Bill money, and a couple small grants Mel was living a fairly comfortable albeit Spartan lifestyle. Still, it hadn’t left a lot of time for romance and it didn’t help that she spent most of her time around people who were a few years younger than her. Just finding someone she could sit at the bar with, legally, was a challenge sometimes and often the grad students were either too busy or in a serious relationship already. Fingers played in the curls of her long, dark red hair as she mulled over her current state in life. That is, until the snapping of fingers in front of her face brought her back to reality. “Hey, you’ve got one on table six.” Sandy smiled to her as she ducked into the kitchen. Shaking her head a little to clear the daze, frowning for a moment as she realized that Jingle Bells was playing for fourth time tonight, and then putting on her best smile, Mel made her way over towards table six. A quick glance at the clock revealed closing time was drawing near and she said a silent thanks to her shift being over soon. She just hoped this last customer wasn’t someone who had gone out to get drunk, and then stopped here on the way home. Phil looked up from the menu as the waitress approached, still mulling between the hickory burger and the spicy chicken sandwich. A moment was spent admiring the waitress’ legs, shown off by the green and black plaid skirt she was wearing. Slowly his eyes moved upwards, the thought of the hickory burger fading as he looked over her full chest and the red curls lying upon it. It had been a long day of travel then in the barn tending to the mare and the approaching woman was a welcome sight indeed, both for the eyes and the promise of getting a decent meal at some point today. She rolled her eyes a bit at the stare she was getting, some days she didn’t mind getting ogled but over the years it had grown quite annoying. So annoyed she was that she didn’t even notice that he appeared to be familiar. “Good evening and welcome to Terry’s. Can I start you out with a drink and perhaps an appetizer?” She put on her best server smile and hoped that perhaps his eyes would move up from her chest to at least her chin. “Can I get a Miller Light and a half order of mozzarella sticks?” He waited for her to write down the order, “And I’ll take a umm, hickory burger, medium rare.” Phil put down the menu to fish out his driver’s license and passed it to the waitress. She scribbled down the order and took the license as it was passed to her, glancing down at the date of birth then at the picture and passed it back to him. As Mel made her way back to the order station, the nagging thought of the familiar face in the picture was bugging her. She hadn’t red the name, and for once regretted not doing so. A glance over her shoulder as she input the order didn’t reveal much as his head was down to play with his phone. The sound of a skirt swishing as the waitress came up to the table caused him to glance up, just long enough to take the pint glass and take an appreciative sip of the amber liquid. Sure, it was a little watery but after the last two days it felt like heaven. Eyes glanced up to watch the waitress walk away, her red hair swaying behind her. Her shape reminded him a bit of someone else but he wasn’t fully sure who and made a note to try to look at her face the next time she came around. Sandy had taken the mozzarella sticks out to him so Mel stood off to the side; taking note that closing time was coming up in a few minutes. Of course the handful of customers still in the joint would be allowed to finish their meals but not to place any more orders after the doors were locked. Mel was fairly sure she’d figured out who her guest was, but wanted an up close look at his face to be sure. If he was the person she thought he was, it was to be a pleasant surprise, particularly since he’d never paid her figure that sort of attention before, even with there seeming to be a mental connection. A cross of her fingers, perhaps Christmas was looking up after all. Phil sipped at his third beer of the night, glad that the town bus system was still running through the holidays. The redhead hadn’t been by him since bringing the latest beer, a little more than he was used to consuming on a normal evening but it did mean she was coming by more often. He still hadn’t worked up the courage to look her in the face yet, or maybe he was just enjoying the other views, he wasn’t quite sure which one it was. The debate became moot when his head snapped up at the voice behind him and his eyes finally looked at Mel’s face. “Hey Phil, long time!” She was finally certain it was Phil Clauser, who had been the Graduate Teaching Assistant for the Intro to Equine class she’d taken to minor in equine studies. Mel could still remember how the muscles of his forearms threatened to tear the rolled up cuffs of his flannel shirt when he was teaching them out to do groundwork with a stubborn mare. There had been a couple of jokes among the girls about how they wouldn’t mind taking a roll in the hay with him but as far as Mel knew none had done more than chatted about it. For a moment he regretted having finished three beers already as it seemed they were fogging his brain. The face attached to the tall redhead was vaguely familiar. He thought he could place it in a classroom setting. What seemed like an eternity passed before he imagined her hair tied back, a pair of jeans instead of the skirt, and a sweatshirt; finally placed her as a former student of his. “Hey, Melissa. It has been a couple of years, hasn’t it?” She let out her breath a bit, in relief. Sometimes the red hair was nice in that it often helped people to remember her. For once that was playing into her favor. She set down the burger and another beer, “Merry Christmas Eve! I hope it’s going well for you.” “It’s going good now,” he gave her a faint smile and proceeded to tell her about how one of the mares under his charge had come down ill and he’d come back on short notice to oversee her care. He’d only gotten back this morning and had spent most of the day at the barn, only getting enough time to shower the barn smell off, change his clothes, and come in for dinner. “Such of the life of working in agriculture, but it’s worth it to me,” he offered a smile to her as she stole a fry from his plate. The sound of a lock clicking brought him back to the restaurant, “I guess I should eat up, don’t want to keep you late on Christmas Eve of all nights.” “Oh, it’s okay,” she looked up as the manager called out for the waitresses and slid from the table, “I’ll be right back.” Off to the backroom she went, leaving him to work on his meal. He looked up when she rejoined him at the table, sliding herself back into the chair. She placed a glass of eggnog in front of him with a little smile, “On the house. So, what are you doing for Christmas since you’re back on short notice?”  He watched as she tilted her head and seemed to be anxiously awaiting his answer. “Oh, I’m not sure. I guess just go home for the night, have to spend some time with the mare, tomorrow and otherwise maybe I’ll just catch a few movies on the tv.” He took a sip of the eggnog and noted a hint of Southern Comfort. When he looked up, she just gave him a little smile. “You?” “Probably about the same thing, except for the mare part. Just catch up on some Christmas movies, have a couple of drinks, sleep in, and do the same tomorrow I suppose. Or,” she paused, grinned a bit at him, “or, maybe you could join me and at least we would have some company to enjoy during our movie watching.” Mel wagged her eyebrows just a bit in excitement. He watched her eyebrows in a bit of amusement, and chuckled softly “I think I would be a fool to turn down the offer. I would be glad to join you.” She smiled widely at that, and rose up to go retrieve the check and complete the formalities of shutting down the restaurant for the night. He watched her dart from spot to spot, helping with cleaning up tables and putting away silverware. A bit of wonder got to him, how different she was here, than in the classroom, where she had always been a bit formal. He wondered briefly if that had to do with her being a veteran. Perhaps it was because of how she’d lived. It wasn’t long though, before she popped up to the table and gently grabbed his arm to signal that it was time to go. Getting to his feet, he realized just about how much alcohol he’d had, but made it out the door and onto the metro bus, to her place. They walked the two blocks from the bus stop to the complex, where Mel’s condo was. Phil looked up, blinking, “I didn’t know anyone rented these out.” Mel just smiled and shook her head, “I own one. Much better than living in the apartments near campus, and especially much quieter and more private. Plus, I don’t have to compete with the younger women at the pool.” She gave a little wolfish grin at that last part and led him towards the door of her condo. Inside, he found the place lightly decorated for Christmas. Little figurines placed here and there, a few window decorations, Christmas cards taped above the entranceway to the kitchen. The condo itself was cozy. From what he could see it seemed like a two bedroom place and he smiled a little at the fireplace in the living room with a stocking hung to one side. The place had a very homie feel to it; something he hadn’t felt except at his parent’s place, in a long time. She ran around in the background, picking up a few things here and there. None of her plans had included company being over for the night. Normally she would have just come in, poured a glass of wine, stripped off her work uniform and caught up with her TiVo in panties. Obviously that wasn’t going to happen tonight though she stifled a little giggle as she imagined what his reaction would have been to that. “There’s beer, eggnog, and soda in the fridge and the cabinet above the freezer has the liquor in it. Feel free to help yourself, so long as you make me an eggnog with spiced rum in it. I’ll be out in a minute.” She pulled off the top and the skirt, throwing them into her laundry basket. After a moment thinking it over, her bra followed shortly afterwards, letting a heavy chest hang freely. Deciding to go all in and fully change, panties were thrown in last. Into the master bathroom she wandered, taking up a warm wet washcloth, and using it to wipe some of the sweat away from underneath her breasts, around her thighs, and a few other places. Fingers ran through her curly red bush. It was a little overdue for a trimming and there was a bit of a wish that she had the time to, but she figured if it came to that he probably wouldn’t mind terribly much. A few pats with a towel to dry off and she put on a stretchy sports bra, tee-shirt, and a pair of university sweat pants. Two spritzes from a bottle of warm vanilla sugar body spray then quick brushing of her hair and out the door she came. Phil had taken a seat on the end of the couch, having made two of the eggnog and spiced rum drinks. Slowly he sipped at one, just admiring her place and the country style décor she seemed to prefer. A smile crossed his face as she came out, a little surprised at how she could make even sweats and a tee-shirt look sexy. He was just content to watch her as she went over to the fireplace and got a compressed log lit, admiring her rear as she bent over to do it, then as she put a movie into the player and came over to the couch. They chatted idly during the first movie, discussing career goals, college experiences, and general background information. Phil purposely kept only slowly sipping away at his eggnog, making the drink last the entirety of the first movie and giving the alcohol time to course its way out of his system. As they chatted he found himself becoming more intrigued with this young woman, her variety of interests and the passion she brought to life. He liked how her face lit up as she talked about taking an internship at a dig in the Badlands and at having found actual dinosaur bones. Even if he wasn’t so interested in what she was studying, he just liked being around someone who was so happy doing what she was doing. The topic slowly turned towards their shared love of horses. He’d grown up on a horse ranch a few hours south of where they were and she’d only just started taking lessons after moving to Boise. He knew more of the technical side but she had the passion beyond that of someone who had just gushed over ponies as a little kid. When she came back from changing the DVD’s and accepted her second drink, he took note that she was sitting much closer to him than at the beginning of the evening. Each time she came back from getting up it seemed she moved a few inches closer till it was shortly after one am and upon coming back from putting in a new movie she was cuddled up against his figure. He could smell the faded scent of vanilla spice on her, it felt inviting, it just felt right. She knew it was the alcohol. She’d been making hers stronger than usual just so that she’d have the excuse to blame the alcohol. But now she found herself spooned up against Phil and having decided that she’d already crossed the line of no turning back. Mel gently guided his arm to rest over her stomach, snuggling herself fully against him, closing her eyes and just savoring the feeling. It had been too long since she’d last felt the comforting warmth of another person pressed up against her, this time with the bonus of his muscles giving her the protective feeling of being wrapped up. Through her sweats she could even feel the gentle pressing of a stiffening cock. She smiled to herself and gave a tiny wiggle just to get a better feel of it then pressed softly against him feigning snuggling in more. By about halfway through the movie and all of the way through her glass of eggnog curiosity and hormones couldn’t be contained much more. Her hand gently drifted to his pants and upon finding no resistance she unzipped the jeans and slipped her hand in, seeking the opening of his boxers. Fingers gently caressed the head of his swollen member and slowly she began to guide it out into the open. Slowly and gently she caressed him, just enjoying the feeling of his hard cock throbbing in her hand. When she felt his fingers touch the edge of her sweats, Mel arched a little to urge him to seek further. A contented sigh slipped from her lips as she felt his hand gently cup her swollen mound and fingers softly rub upon her clit and external lips. He had been hoping that there might be a little fun after she had been wiggling and adjusting against him during the movie. When she reached for his cock, it felt like he’d stiffened even more at the anticipation. The stroking was pleasant but it hadn’t compared to reaching within her sweats, finding her not wearing a pair of panties, and that she was already damp from the little bit of play they’d already gotten into. Gently he played with her clit, loving the little moans coming from her throat. When she felt wet enough he slipped two fingers within her and began to massage the inside of her cunt while caressing her clit. When he felt her fingers leave his cock for a moment he internally sighed at the loss, but seconds later he felt her sweatpants slip down and the soft skin of her rear caress against his stiff member. As much as Mel was enjoying having her cunt caressed by his fingers what she really craved was the stretching that only a thick cock could give her. Twisting her body a bit, she wiggled upwards till she could stand and straddle his feet. Facing away, she slowly lowered he beautiful ass into position. He guided her down with his two hands on her ass cheeks. Then he gently spread her cheeks until his cock head rubbed against her wet, swollen lips. She reached between her legs and gently grasped his shaft. Then she slowly rubbed the head against herself, enjoying the feeling and giving it enough time to get thoroughly wet. She had taken larger cocks, but he was up there in size and she knew that plenty of lube was her key to really enjoying the experience. When she felt she had gotten his cock wet enough, she pressed his head against her tight hole and slowly she began to wiggle herself down, allowing him to enter. A soft groan slipped from her throat as the head popped within, slowly followed by the thick, veiny shaft. Only when she finally felt her ass begin to press against his body, did she finally breathe out and just waited, feeling him within her.  Phil then slid both his hands upward. Very slowly, his manly hands slid around her ass. Then he slid them forward to her navel, sliding one finger into her tender dimple. She had goosebumps for a moment, and he waited until her body calmed. Then  he resumed his slow upward journey, maintaining a contstant firm contact along her narrow waist. Mel rested her back on Phil’s chest. Tucking her head on one of his shoulders, she leaned her head alongside his. Finally, his hands slid up, under her tits. He turned his wrists to cup each of her tits, and her ass continued to gyrate on his lap. Her cunt continued to c

Christmas In Norway: Part 4

POETRY AND BARING THE SOUL. Based on a post by Jorunn [https://www.literotica.com/authors/Jorunn/works], in 4 parts. Listen to the ►Podcast [https://archive.org/download/680754058065264640/ChristmasInNorway4.mp3] at Connected [https://feeds.feedburner.com/connected-podcast]. [https://64.media.tumblr.com/8ff8aeff66aed259582e98a5cd413e74/f25c7e6a9c3e6807-84/s640x960/74b14f7e7c3ede805876a602377b83215dfb08c6.jpg] Arriving at her house, Leah and I carried my clothes up to the spare bedroom. I thanked Leah once again, then kissed her. Leah softly whispered, “Jorunn is downstairs!” I replied in the same whisper, “Then kiss me quietly.” And she did. I spent the remainder of the day doing my laundry, once Leah showed me how to use her Norwegian washing machine. Leah opened the clothes drying rack, and when done, I laid my clothes out to dry. For dinner, Leah prepared salmon fillets with boiled potatoes. As Jorunn and Leah washed the dishes, I sat on the center seat of the sofa, reflecting on the day. When they finished, both Jorunn and Leah rushed into the living room, extremely excited, and sat down on either side of me. Jorunn turned on the television and switched to Norwegian National Television. I wondered what the fuss was about. “Five more minutes,” yelped Jorunn. After a brief introduction, an old black-and-white movie started. Both Jorunn and Leah snuggled up tight against me and I put my arms around them. It felt great. The show, called “Dinner for One”, featured a 90-year-old countess celebrating her birthday. She invited four friends but outlived them all. Her butler decides to impersonate each of the four missing guests. As he slips into each of the roles, he drinks a toast, and quickly becomes intoxicated, leading to numerous sight gags. It felt good to laugh along with people again. It was rather short, and when it ended, Leah told me it was the most repeated television show of all time and is quite popular in Scandinavian countries and northern Europe. Leah and Jorunn went around rearranging and straightening Christmas decorations, then announced it was time to make Julekurver. I heard of them, but never actually made one. Made of paper, they are heart-shaped and filled with sweets. We quickly cleared the dining room table, then covered it with red and white paper, a plastic rule, a plastic circle, and scissor. Leah and Jorunn both moved quickly, folding a sheet of paper of each color, and I followed their action. Then it was time to measure and cut, and fortunately, they slowed down to allow me to keep up. Using a circle, we marked a half circle and cut the excess away. Then cut strips into the paper, not going all the way across. We wove the red and white papers together in a checkerboard pattern and unfolded them into a perfect heart shape. I thought the process rather inefficient and decided to show off my engineering skills from 3M by making a fancier one. As I unfolded it, Jorunn and Leah laughed, and a moment later, I discovered one way not to make a Julekurver. After a long and active day, I was tired, so I went to bed. Both Jorunn and Leah were talking softly in the living room as I drifted off to sleep. A NOCTURNAL VISITOR December 23rd - Just Before Midnight I was startled awake when I heard my bedroom door close, followed by a soft, “Shush!” I listened closely in the total darkness for footsteps and heard someone approach my bed. Leah must be ready to resume what we started back at the hotel! A hand pulled back the covers, and instinctively I slid toward the middle of the bed to make space. Leah slid in next to me and drew the covers back over us. Leah moved and shifted, and a hand found the back of my head. I expected her lips to follow, and they did. Soft and gentle, a wonderful way for my nocturnal visitor to say hello. Leah told me at the hotel she did not want to feel rushed, so there was no urgency. Her lips retreated, and her hand slid down to caress my cheek, as delicate fingers gently stroked me. I reached out and found her left shoulder as Leah faced me, then marveled at the smoothness as my hand traced her arm downward. Approaching her hand, I extended further to touch her hip. I began softly rubbing, but her ass beckoned, and my hand moved to cup and squeeze her firm cheek. My fingers began shooting sensations of warmth, softness, and inner firmness directly to my brain. I pulled Leah tight against me and discovered she was already completely naked. Leah swung her left leg over me and moved to an upright position, straddling my crotch. Beneath my boxer shorts, my erect cock fought for release. Her hand found my cock within its shelter but did not liberate it. Instead, her hand pushed my cock flat against my lower stomach, and she slid forward, trapping it with the swollen outer lips of her pussy. Leah began slowly gyrating, and even through the fabric of my boxers, I felt her pussy lips spreading as they slid along either side of my hidden cock. The hushed sounds of Leah cooing and moaning barely reached my ears, as dampness built between us. I reached up with both hands, found her small breasts, and used my thumbs to tease her nipples to an erection. A heavy breath followed by a long ‘uh. Oh; Ah!’ brought me close to premature orgasm, but this was not what Leah wanted, so I held back. Leah must have sensed I was close. She stopped gyrating, lifted herself, and then began inching herself up my torso. She paused for a moment and sat on my chest, then her hands reached out to touch my face. Two fingertips began touring my facial features as if Leah wanted to memorize every feature of my face. In the darkness, my senses heightened, her fingers swirled, and circled, and glided over me. I never would have imagined how erotic it felt. Leah resumed moving higher, her knees passing over my shoulders until they rested on either side of my head. I reached up to confirm what lay just inches above my face and grazed the same hairy splendor I sampled back at the hotel. Inhaling deeply, I picked up traces of the same body wash on her thighs. I was ready to dive back in, so I reached up and grabbed Leah’s hips, then pulled her pussy down toward my awaiting tongue. I paused as her short curly hair began painting her scent onto my face. The scent of arousal overpowered my senses. But? Something strange? I froze. The contradiction awoke my twilight dream state. “Why did you stop, Gunnar?” From the darkness came Jorunn’s voice! The dream of Leah’s nocturnal visit was replaced by the reality of a beautiful young woman revealing her devotion and desire to this 56 year old guy. I was stunned. I couldn’t reveal the real reason I stopped; was uncertainty. Jorunn’s pussy smelled different than Leah’s! I hadn’t noticed any difference between Leah’s and Jorunn’s tall, fit bodies. If there were any, they were undetectable in the darkness, especially with only my brief exposure to Leah. “I can’t do this with you, Jorunn.” I softly and sincerely spoke. “I want to make love to you tonight, Gunnar. More than anything in the world. Am I not pretty enough? Has not enough time passed since your wife’s funeral? You are the only man in the world I can love to, without fear of being hurt.” “Jorunn, you are an incredibly beautiful woman. For months, I fantasized about holding you in my arms, kissing you, and wishing to be exactly where I am now. But yesterday, I met your mother.” Jorunn asked, “Did she order you not to have sex with me?” I replied, “It’s not that. I think I’m falling in love with Leah. We spent a wonderful day together, and she swept me off my feet. If that love turns out to be mutual, I am prepared to pledge my heart totally to her and her alone. A lifetime commitment, one I will never dishonor. The only reason you and I got this far tonight is that in the darkness and my dream state, I thought you were Leah. I never would have done it otherwise.” But you are a lovely and desirable woman. I respect you and Leah. So much that I cannot be false to either of you. And I cannot dishonor myself, by doing what I know is dishonorable.” Jorunn shifted positions and lay next to me in the bed. In the darkness, Jorunn whispered, “You are so unlike my father. He always put himself first. I was ready to give myself to you tonight. You could have kept quiet and let it happen. Then lied about it to my mother in the morning. But you didn’t. You are a better man than my father ever was, and I know you will make my mother happy. Please don’t be afraid to give her, and yourself, a chance. She really needs someone like you in her life.” I heard a soft sob and reached out to touch Jorunn’s face. She was crying. Jorunn came into my bedroom tonight, looking for someone to love. She didn’t know about Leah and me, or what happened between us at the hotel. I very much doubt her mother would have told her. I admired what Jorunn just did. She was sacrificing her chance at love so that her mother might have one. Jorunn knew that she bore the duty to initiate affection, after so harshly rejecting my romantic advances, last week. Silence followed, before Jorunn finally said, “What you have shown me, Gunnar, is that there are still good men in this world. But I am still afraid to look for them.” I thought back to the day Jorunn and I went sledging. “Remember what you told me at Korketrekkeren? You don’t need to be afraid of looking for a man, Jorunn. What you need to be afraid of is being too afraid to try looking for a man. Promise me that you will push off, just like riding a sledge, and start looking. When you reach the bottom of that scary hill, you will no longer be afraid, and someone you love will be waiting there for you.” “I will, Gunnar. I promise. And thank you.” Jorunn climbed out of my bed and closed the door as she left. CHRISTMAS EVE December 24 - Morning I woke up in the guest room bed. Hearing noises and holiday folk music in the kitchen, I dressed and went downstairs. Leah smiled and said, “God Jul!”, Norwegian’s way of saying merry Christmas. Then she made me scrambled eggs with smoked salmon. Afterward, I enjoyed a slice of fruited Christmas Cake with coffee. “Leah, there is something I need to tell you. Jorunn came into my room last night looking for a man to love. In the darkness and my dream state, I thought it was you. It took a moment for me to realize it was Jorunn, and I stopped myself before going too far. Jorunn and I talked, and I confessed my love for you, to her. She understood, and asked that I give that love a chance. I want to do that. I asked Jorunn to no longer be afraid to look for love, and she agreed.” “Thank you for telling me, Gunnar. I have struggled to get Jorunn to go on dates after her father hurt her so badly. You must be a special man to find a place in her heart.” Leah sat down at the table with me, and continued; “I trust Jorunn, and now I trust you. So you will know, I will come to you tonight, bearing a lighted candle.” I said, “That sounds romantic.” My cock jolted to attention, under my trousers. I smiled and winked. Leah replied, “Wait until you see what I will be wearing.” She stood and returned to her baking, as the soft holiday music filled the busy kitchen. Leah’s hips softly gyrated to the soft beat as she hummed with the lyrics. Jorunn came down later for breakfast, and after eating, she announced she would be working on edits and voiceovers for her recent videos. Since they were related to Christmas, she wanted to finish them to post them later tonight. Just before lunch, Leah led me back to the television and as we snuggled on the couch, she turned on “Tre Notter til Askepott”, a 1973 Czech reenactment of Cinderella, dubbed into Norwegian. The story was familiar, with Cinderella granted three wishes. It was enjoyable, but the dubbed dialog did not quite match the lips of the actors, so I needed to concentrate on what they were saying. Leah mentioned that this show is so popular in Norway, that storms of protest arose one year when they decided not to broadcast it. They ended up sending it out later in the holiday. Jorunn joined Leah and me for lunch. We ate Risengrynsgrot, which is rice porridge cooked with milk, sugar, and vanilla. We each had a bowl, and hiding in one of the three bowls was an almond. I suspected possible cheating such that I would be the one getting the almond, but as it turned out, Jorunn got the lucky bowl. As her prize, Leah gave Jorunn a chocolate-covered marzipan pig, an oddity for certain, but part of the tradition. There was porridge left over, and Leah said she would use it to make Riskrem, the delicious rice dessert eaten after tonight’s dinner. Solveig’s Riskrem was one of my favorite parts of the holiday season, and I was looking forward to tasting Leah’s. Leah turned to me and said, “If you want to eat, you must help in the kitchen.” Cooking was not something I knew very well, and after Leah led me into the kitchen, I let her know that. But since we were alone, I moved behind her, pulled her blonde hair aside, and nuzzled her neck. Leah said, “If you don’t stop, Gunnar, it will take longer before we eat.” But she wiggled her hips into my crotch before spinning out of my embrace. I helped Leah remove a large roasting pan from the refrigerator and put it in the oven. “That’s a strange-looking piece of meat,” I said. Leah replied, “It is called Ribbe, or roasted pork belly. It is one of the most popular Christmas meals in Norway. I scored the fat layer on top two days ago into a checkerboard pattern. Once cooked, the bottom meat stays tender while the cracklings on top get crispy.” Leah handed me a vegetable peeler and pointed to a bag of potatoes. I needed no further instructions on this. While I worked, Leah flittered around the kitchen, preparing the side dishes. She looked genuinely happy, and we talked and laughed and told tales of Christmases long ago. Just as we pulled the Ribbe from the oven, church bells began ringing from multiple sources. It was 17:00. “It seems like an odd time for church bells,” I said. Leah replied, “In Scandinavia, a new day traditionally starts at sundown, not midnight. Following the old ways, Christmas Day has arrived. It is time to eat.” Jorunn joined us in the mad flurry of activity as places were set, and food moved from the kitchen to the dining room. On the table was Ribbe, boiled potatoes, meatballs, gravy, sausages, sauerkraut, prunes, and lingonberries. Leah poured each of us a tall glass of juleøl, a dark spiced ale, brewed during Christmas all over Norway. She said at one time, a Norwegian king made it illegal to Not brew Christmas Ale. Everything was delicious, and I ate until I could stuff in no more. After dinner, we cleaned up and went into the living room to enjoy coffee, cookies, and a small bowl of Riskrem. I wondered why Leah brought out four bowls of Riskrem. Three topped with whipped cream and a berry sauce, one with only a blob of butter in the middle. Leah said, “We set out a bowl of porridge every Christmas for the fjøsnissen. The tradition evolved from the days when farming families would offer porridge to their barn elf, or nisse. The nisse takes care of the animals in the barn during winter so they don’t get sick. If you don’t do this, the fjøsnissen will play tricks on you.” As we nibbled, Jorunn set the bowl of porridge outside the front door for the fjøsnissen. Then we sat and watched an American Christmas movie on television. After it ended, Leah announced it was time to open the presents. I suspected this would happen and was glad I bought a gift for both Leah and Jorunn. We each dispersed, returned with our packages, and placed them under the Christmas tree. As expected, Leah and Jorunn shared the most gifts for each other, opening the usual mix of chocolates, clothing, and kitchen items. Then Jorunn handed me a gift from her. I opened it and found a DVD labeled, 'Christmas in Norway Tour’, along with a link and instructions to download the video if I preferred. Jorunn told me she made an hour-long video of all the things we did together over the past week, adding music and voiceovers so I would remember the now-completed tour. In exceedingly small letters, at the bottom of the instructions, I saw a link for a story with a similar name and suspected it might be one full of adjectives. Jorunn then opened my gift to her. I remembered the small camera she used this past week and bought her a new top-of-the-line digital camera. From her reaction, I did well. Leah then opened my gift to her. I purchased a genuinely nice Advent star to hang in her window, since she did not have one. It was large and electrically lit and after opening it, she wanted to hang it up right away, which we did. Then we went outside to see how it looked. Leah kissed me and whispered that the Advent Star possessed a special meaning for her this year, a sign of brighter days ahead. Seeing us standing outside, a Julenissen crossed the street and came up to us. The man, dressed in a red jacket with a matching pointed red hat, carried a cloth sack. He was older, and his white beard looked genuine. Jorunn yelled, “God Jul, Julenissen!” As the Julenissen joined us, Leah said, “Nice to see you again, Mr. Bjornstad.” The Julenissen opened a small cloth sack, pulled out a straw goat wrapped with red ribbons, and handed it to Jorunn. Leah explained that the Julenissen come around to houses on Christmas Eve to hand out presents and chocolate to the children. Often, more than one Julenissen would knock on your door during the evening. Unlike America, children get to meet the Julenissen in Norway. “It wouldn’t be the same this year without one of your julebukk!” said an excited Jorunn. Mr. Bjornstad had been coming to Jorunn’s house for a long time, and told us he likes to keep alive the old Norse traditions, such as the julebukk. In addition to handing out hand-made gifts, he tells folklore stories and tales from the days of the Vikings. What a wonderful thing to do to preserve the ancient Norse legacy of sagas and storytelling. Leah excused herself as Mr. Bjornstad started telling such a tale to Jorunn and me. He described Valhalla, where Odin and the brave warriors would train by day, and feast on roast boar and ale at night. Leah returned a moment later with four glasses of Aquavit. We toasted the season and sipped our Aquavit with the Julenissen after the story ended. We then sang a Christmas song together. Then we went back inside and watched the DVD that Jorunn made. The tour sounded exciting and full of fun, which indeed, it was. It also gave Leah another chance to see me in action. It was a full evening, and close to 23:00 when the DVD ended. We were all tired, and it was time for bed. Jorunn told us she was going upstairs to take a shower. Leah and I followed her up to our two bedrooms. A SINGLE CANDLE December 24th - Late Evening Five minutes later, there was a knock on my bedroom door. Opening it, Leah stood there, holding a single candle, and wearing a lavender-colored silk nightgown and robe set. The half-sleeve wrap robe only partially covered her nightgown, leaving the lace-trimmed bustline and hem of her nightgown exposed. She put a finger to her mouth and whispered, “Shhh!” Then she led me by hand to her bedroom. The only light inside came from her single candle. My eyes quickly adjusted, or perhaps it was just my intent stare, “You look incredible.” Leah

Christmas In Norway: Part 3

SKANDINAVIAN FOLKLORE AND FEAST DAYS. Based on a post by Jorunn [https://www.literotica.com/authors/Jorunn/works], in 4 parts. Listen to the ►Podcast [https://archive.org/download/680754058065264640/ChristmasInNorway3.mp3] at Connected [https://feeds.feedburner.com/connected-podcast]. [https://64.media.tumblr.com/f159cc3740c431ffed367aaaad2c5ed1/f8878906c3e0d853-b7/s640x960/38055952374bbbcb12e8509cbe2897fda288712b.jpg] SYV SLAGS KAKER. (OR, SEVEN SORTS OF  COOKIES) December 22nd – Evening, Five Days Later Jorunn said, “Well, Gunnar, we are back at our starting point, and this concludes the tour. We got off to a rough start on the first day, but since then, I have enjoyed spending time with you. After my mom got divorced, I stopped dating. Sure, I went out in mixed groups with my friends, but I cannot remember the last time I went somewhere, by myself, with a man. The divorce made me lose all confidence and trust in men. Why enter a relationship, and give my heart to a man, knowing it is going to fail? My father hurt my mother and me so badly, that neither of us have recovered. You were so wonderful to me this week, and showed me that not all men are like my father.” Jorunn looked at me with pleading eyes, “I don’t want this tour to end. I don’t want you to leave. Can you please stay in Oslo at least a few more days?” Jorunn didn’t want me to go. And I didn’t want to leave her either. I replied, “Jorunn, I cannot think of anyone or any place I would rather be than here in Oslo, with you.” Jorunn said, “It’s still early enough that we may be able to find seating without a reservation. I know a great place for seafood.” “Lead on,” I replied. Jorunn and I discussed the now-completed tour while enjoying a delicious dinner at a small kafé. I offered suggestions for the tour, but otherwise let her know I enjoyed seeing Norway, and I told her what a wonderful guide she was. After returning to America, I promised to recommend her tours to everyone I knew. As I looked over the dessert menu, I asked Jorunn, “I’m willing to stay a few more days. Are there any other Norwegian Christmas traditions or activities worth doing over the next few days?” “If you put down that dessert menu, there is one called Syv Slags Kaker. I baked seven kinds of cookies to celebrate Jul. If you come to my house, we can have coffee and you can sample all seven kinds.” “That sounds great,” I replied. Jorunn was inviting me to her home. She was beautiful and funny, and I admit I developed fantasies about her as I watched her vlog videos back in the nursing home. Heck, I even created new fantasies over the last week. She was much warmer toward me at the end of the tour. In Tromsø, we shared a blanket as we rode in a sleigh pulled by an actual reindeer. But after the Nutcracker ballet, I held back and did not cross any lines. Could a 56-year-old man and a 25-year-old woman have a sexual relationship? I managed to keep up with Jorunn all week and didn’t see any reason not to. I reached below the table to carefully re-position myself before standing up. We made our way to the Train Station and rode to Jorunn’s neighborhood. As we walked to her house, I noticed many homes with a lighted star in one of the windows. “What are those stars,” I asked. “They are a tradition in Norway. A star is lit on the first Sunday of Advent to help guide the Three Wise Men.” We stopped in front of a modest house. There was no star in the window, but I saw sheaves of oats hung from one of the trees. I was familiar with the tradition of putting out something for the birds in the frigid days of December. As we stepped inside, I was suddenly surprised. “Hi, Mom! I would like you to meet Gunnar Larsen.” “Good evening, Mr. Larsen. Jorunn has been sending me text messages all week about your exciting travels. I hope you enjoyed your tour. My name is Leah.” This was not what I expected. I hoped to be alone with Jorunn. The family resemblance was striking and quite apparent. Leah’s straight hair was a bit shorter than Jorunn’s but matched her daughter’s pure blonde color. Her blue eyes stood out from her attractive face. She was wearing a multi-colored Norwegian Dale sweater and green trousers. I possessed absolutely no experience telling how old Norwegian women are. She must be in her forties but looked younger. I said, “I enjoyed Jorunn’s tour very much. Your daughter is quite talented in many ways. Please, call me Gunnar.” Jorunn said, “Gunnar was asking about other Jul traditions and activities here in Norway over Christmas. I thought Syv Slags Kaker would be a good one, and your cookies are the best ones in Oslo. I’ll make us some coffee.” Leah looked at me, “Please sit Gunnar. How much longer will you be staying in Norway?” I replied, “About two more weeks. I wanted to celebrate the New Year here before returning to America.” I talked about the completed tour, and she seemed interested enough that I rambled on. “I really enjoyed visiting Lillehammer. It brought back memories of watching the 1994 Winter Olympics, probably my favorite one. The music was fantastic, and the woman who sang the Olympic Hymn at the opening ceremony possessed such a wonderful voice.” Leah replied, “Her name is Sissel Kyrkjebø. She is still extremely popular today, and we consider her a national treasure. I was 18 at the time, and worked at those Olympics.” “I’d love to hear more about that,” I replied. “It was nice to see many of the venues still being used. I also enjoyed the Olympic Museum in Maihaugen, which told the history of the 1994 Olympics. I was surprised to learn that Norway has won more Olympic medals than any other country. But the highlight for me was riding the chairlift to the top of the Lysgårdsbakkene ski jump. The views were amazing. I can’t imagine anyone being brave enough to make such a jump.” “I agree with you on that!” laughed Leah. I continued, “We also flew to Tromsø, and I got to see the Northern Lights. We can sometimes see them in southern Minnesota, but they were much more impressive here with the clear Norwegian air. Jorunn and I took a ride in a sleigh, pulled by actual reindeer. Reindeer are much larger than I thought. We visited a Sami farm, where we ate reindeer stew and learned about the Sami culture.” “I’ve never been, but I hear it’s really fun,” replied Leah. “Bærums Verk was also a highlight. You may already know that the town dates to the 1600s. I loved the old buildings and cobbled streets. Although the Christmas Market was small, I found it unique, with artisans selling handmade crafts. It was nice to see the old crafts like glassblowing, ironwork, and woodworking.” Jorunn returned with a large tray, holding coffee and cookies, and we began sampling. Leah asked, “Did you take Gunnar to Pepperkakebyen in Bergen? It’s a marvelous gingerbread village in my hometown. There are over 200 small gingerbread houses, and with the tiny lights turned on, it looks so real.” Jorunn replied, “A week goes by quickly, mamma. There is only so much time. The gingerbread houses are very nice, and I have fond memories of going there with you.” As we continued talking and munching cookies, I looked around at the decorations. There was an advent calendar, wreaths, angels, gnomes called nisse, hearts, stars, and candles. The decorations looked more natural, perhaps a bit less commercialized than in America. There was a real tree, complete with its wonderful pine smell, a star at the top, garland, tinsel, ornaments, and white lights. I looked at Leah, “I noticed that you don’t have a Christmas star in the window as many of the other houses do.” Leah replied, “I found my former husband in bed with another woman. I immediately divorced him. Among the many things he took from Jorunn and I, was our Christmas Star.” Leah sounded deeply hurt and from more than just the missing star. After tasting the last of the seven cookies, Leah asked how I liked them. “The waffle-like Krumkaker was probably my favorite. We tried making them in Minnesota, but yours turned out so much better. And, of course, the Pepperkaker gingerbread stars were great.” I held up another cookie and said, “I don’t know the name of this one, but it was also excellent.” Leah replied, “That one is Serinakaker, a Norwegian butter cookie.” I realized the inevitable, “It is getting late. Thank you both, Leah and Jorunn, for a wonderful evening. I need to get back to my hotel and figure out what to do over the next few days.” I saw Jorunn look at her mother, who nodded. As I stood up, Leah did too. “Nonsense, Gunnar. I won’t have it. Come, spend Christmas with Jorunn and me! Nearly everything in Oslo shuts down in the afternoon on Christmas Eve and stays closed until the 27th. No restaurants or shops will be open. I have an unused bedroom upstairs. Come celebrate Jul with us.” I caught the signal between mother and daughter and wondered if this was pre-planned. But spending Christmas alone in my hotel sounded almost as bad as spending it alone in the nursing home. It was an easy decision. “I accept.” Leah said, “Good. I’ll stop by your hotel tomorrow and help you move your things. Perhaps we can have lunch as well at one of the restaurants along Karl Johans gate.” “It would be my pleasure, ” I replied. “Let’s say, about 11:00 AM” LITTLE CHRISTMAS EVE December 23rd - Morning It was December 23rd, known in Norway as Lille Julaften. Spending Christmas with Leah and Jorunn created a problem for me. I needed to find at least one Christmas present for each, just in case they bought a gift for me. I got up early and headed out to search. Reflecting on last night, and indeed, the last week, it ended up being far simpler than I feared. I soon found a gift for each, along with reusable cloth gift bags in Christmas colors. I heard a knock on my hotel door and opened it. Leah stood there, holding a coat over her arm. She was wearing a traditional Norwegian folk costume called a bunad. Her blonde hair, simply styled, was highlighted by two attractive braids. I smiled and said, “What a pleasant surprise. You look like you just stepped out of a fairy tale.” She looked past me into the messy room, then took a step toward me and surprised me with a kiss on my cheek. She stepped back and started laughing. “It didn’t work. I am a fairy tale princess, but you are still a frog! It looks like we have some work to do cleaning up your lily pad.” As Leah entered the room, I said, “I already packed a small bag, enough for a few days.” Leah walked over to the pile of clothes from my week-long trip. She picked up a shirt and sniffed it. Then she pulled a wool sweater out from the pile. “Keep your wool sweaters away from the rest of your dirty clothes. Wool is harder to clean and may pick up the smell. Let me see what else you packed.” Leah dumped out my small gym bag onto the bed and then began tossing things aside. “This won’t do. We need to take all of your clothes back to my house and wash them.” Fond memories returned. Whenever we went on a trip, Solveig would always dump out my suitcase and re-load it with other clothes. Solvieg would also pick out clothes for me to wear whenever we dressed to go out to weddings or a party. Leah said, “Don’t expect me to wash them for you. I have other things to do to get ready for Christmas. You’ll have enough free time you can wash them yourself. We will gather everything up after we come back from lunch.” What a woman! I can see where Jorunn inherited her strong personality. We left my hotel, and Leah took me to one of her favorite kafés. As we walked, Leah’s bunad drew eyes, and attracted smiles, as if she were a magnet. As we waited for our food, I asked Leah about her bunad. Leah replied, “I don’t get to wear my bunad very often. I usually wear it for National Day in May, and for weddings and baptisms, but I haven’t been to many of those lately. Christmas is also an acceptable time to wear it.” Leah wore the traditional white blouse with a silver neckpin. Her vest was bright red with a handmade breastplate. Her navy skirt was trimmed with intricate embroidery, and covered in front by a white apron. Around her waist and running down the front was a decorative handwoven belt. “I grew up east of Bergen, in the Hardanger region, so my bunad is in the Hardanger style. While details may vary, you can tell where someone is from by which style of bunad they are wearing. It would not be proper to choose a bunad from a different region simply because you prefer a different color.” “That’s a lovely silver brooch you have on. It looks very old.” “It was my grandmother’s. Norwegians have a spiritual connection to silver, and silver brooches are handed down for many generations. One day, it will be Jorunn’s.” The food was excellent. I have not eaten a bad meal here in Norway. Leah was a great conversationalist, and she freely shared her humor and wit. Her stories from the 1994 Olympics were fascinating, and even though Jorunn and I were just there, I wanted to go back. I learned Leah worked as a radiology technician at a local hospital here in Oslo and took the entire holiday off. The meal finished too quickly, and we returned to my hotel. As we gathered my assorted clothing, I saw one of my socks on the floor, so I walked around Leah to pick it up. Turning quickly, I found myself face-to-face with her. We stared at each other for a moment, then moved at the same time. Our lips came together, and we kissed. Not a gentle kiss, but a passionate one, long and deep. Intentions were clear on both sides. We separated. Leah said, “I have not had sex since divorcing my husband nearly three years ago. That bastard took away more than my Christmas Star, he took away my trust in men. I am forty-seven years old. I never go out on dates, because I’m afraid to open my heart again to another man. Jorunn texted me every night for the past week and would send short videos she took during the day. She kept repeating how much fun she was having with you, and how nice a man you are. I know it sounds funny, but after watching and reading what Jorunn sent me, I feel like I already know you, and have made it past the first date. I know you lost the woman you loved. I cannot replace her in your heart, but if you are ready, I would like to share mine.” This was unexpected. “When I was in Minnesota, I watched Jorunn’s vlog almost every night. She is so sweet and funny and does such an excellent job. Even though I never met Jorunn, I felt like I knew her. To use your dating analogy, it’s one of the reasons I picked her as a tour guide. I felt comfortable with Jorunn and was too afraid to trust another tour company. When I came to Norway, I left my past behind. It is time for me to find something, or someone, to love.” Our bodies came together, and our lips re-joined. Any fears of rejection vanished as I locked my lips onto those of this beautiful Norwegian woman. Our tongues danced with each other, while our hands moved quickly over each other’s bodies. “Help me take off my bunad,” pleaded Leah. Together, we unclasped, unbuckled, unbuttoned, and untied, removing one layer at a time of the intricate bunad and laying it over a chair. It was like slowly opening the best Christmas present I have ever gotten, as more of Leah’s body slowly revealed itself to me. Her breasts were small, but firm, and went well with her slender frame. I forgot how delicate a woman’s features are, and Leah’s body was perfect in every way. Below her waist, I found a mound of pure blonde hair, barely darker than the color on her head. “I have no other words, you are truly a gorgeous woman, Leah.” “Thank you, Gunnar. Now it’s my turn to have fun.” Leah approached me. With small steps, she moved gracefully. She lifted my pullover shirt, pausing as it obscured my eyes. “Don’t take your shirt off. Just enjoy the sensations.” In the darkness, her fingers teasingly played with the hairs on my chest. A fingernail flicked back and forth over my nipple, drawing it to an erection. Moving lower, Leah unbuckled my trousers and slid them down, taking my knickers with them. I was not yet erect, but moving rapidly in that direction. Cool fingers wrapped around my cock and lifted, while a single fingernail twirled against my ball sack. Her tongue dragged across the tip of my cock. Then, Leah’s hands moved behind me to cup and squeeze my bum cheeks. Her warm breath washed over my cock. Leah stood and pulled my shirt the rest of the way off, and I stepped out of my trousers. We remained like this, both naked, looking longingly at each other. Leah reached up and touched my hair. “You have just a touch of grey. I like that. Few mature men are as blessed as you, with a firm, lean body. I see all kinds of patients. You look like a forty-year-old.” I suppose that was one benefit of eating the low-fat, low-sugar, and tasteless nursing home food. I lost nearly thirty pounds. “I am older than I look, and you should know that I had a stroke two years ago. I am doing much better, but still have a balance issue, and sometimes slur my words. "Slurring your words might just be because you have a lazy tongue. Perhaps we can find a way to fix that later.” For a moment, I wondered what she meant, then hoped my notions might come true. Leah dropped to her knees directly in front of me and ran a finger along my nearly erect shaft. “It feels so nice to touch a real one again. What a lovely cock you have.” I said, “I’m sorry. I don’t have a very large penis.” Leah laughed, “Anything more than a mouthful is just wasted. Now let’s begin. I will say a Norwegian word, and you repeat it. Listen carefully to my pronunciation and maybe we can fix your American accent.” Leah said, “Penis.” Then she grabbed my cock with her right hand. This might be fun, so I replied, “Penis!” Leah whispered, “Rub.” Then she began gently sliding her hand along my shaft. Without any lubrication, there was quite a bit of friction. I replied, “Rub!” Leah said, “Lick.” Leah extended her tongue, and starting near the base, began leaving wet trails along each side of my glistening cock. The warm softness of her tongue brought me to full erection. It felt fantastic, and I gasped out, “Lick!” Leah said, “Suck.” She opened her mouth wide and took in the head of my cock, using her tongue to tease the underside. Bringing her lips together, I felt the insides of her mouth pressing inward and squeezing tightly against me. When her suction began, she pulled the head of my cock deeper into her mouth. Leah’s head pulled back ever so slightly, allowing her soft lips to glide over me until my cock was almost freed. But not quite. Using the extra room, Leah teased my opening with the tip of her tongue. From the way her tongue easily twirled around, I was certain I contributed my pre-cum. Then her suction pulled me deeper into her mouth. She look

Christmas In Norway: Part 2

SLEDGES, CORKSCREWS, AND OTHER FEARS. Based on a post by Jorunn [https://www.literotica.com/authors/Jorunn/works], in 4 parts. Listen to the ►Podcast [https://archive.org/download/680754058065264640/ChristmasInNorway2.mp3] at Connected [https://feeds.feedburner.com/connected-podcast]. [https://64.media.tumblr.com/a863c8c5103c41d5a1d895fa71fd6eb2/8c8969d5ceda323d-18/s640x960/4e8f4f2637230588bb4668929e0852509a0a0f7e.jpg] Once at the starting point, we both sat down on our sledges. I was grateful only a few others were preparing to ride, but gasped again when I saw how youthful their faces were. I doubted anyone here was over thirty years old. I wondered whether Jorunn was punishing me, or perhaps was hoping I would voluntarily quit the tour. “I don’t know if I can do this, Jorunn. I’m afraid.” Jorunn looked me in the eye with a grim look on her face. “Afraid is coming home with my mother, and finding my father sleeping with another woman. Afraid is watching how he broke apart my family and wondering how my mom and I would go on. Afraid is me cutting off my father and not wanting to ever see him again.” “Afraid is quitting a dead-end job and trying to earn a living as a vlogger in one of the most expensive countries on earth. Afraid is checking every morning for clicks, likes, and followers, and finding out the numbers did not change.” “Afraid is starting a private small-group tour company, all by myself, and weaving my way through the many regulations, laws, and insurance requirements. Afraid is knowing I have to book at least one trip a month just to cover those costs.” “Afraid is taking a group of six to Svalbard for a glacier hike in early summer, and spotting a polar bear less than 200 meters away lumbering towards us. Afraid is watching our guide fire off the last of her flares, but seeing the bear still coming. Afraid is the look in our guide’s eyes as she reached for her rifle.” “You don’t need to be afraid of sledging, Gunnar. What you need to be afraid of is being too afraid to try sledging. Meet me at the bottom of the hill. Either make the run or turn in your sledge and take the Metro down the hill.” I watched Jorunn push off and head down the run, then thought about her words. I lived a good life in Minnesota, meeting Solveig in college and then stepping right into a lifetime job with the 3M company. Adventure was going to our lake cabin where the only challenges were fighting off mosquitos, and figuring out how to remove burnt marshmallows off the end of a stick. After our first child, Solveig and I stopped doing anything like sledding, and instead sat and watched our kids having all the fun. What am I doing here in Norway? Why am I here? Jorunn answered that question for me. I pushed off and started my run. I fought my way down the mountain, and as I approached the end of the run, I was happy to see it level off. I saw Jorunn standing next to her sledge, her small camera pointed at me. I raised both hands over my head, waved, then yelled, “I did it!” I coasted to a stop three meters past her. Jorunn ran up to me, and as I stood, she hugged me. “I’m proud of you Gunnar.” As we hugged, under the clear blue skies and chilly temperatures, I closed my eyes and went back 35 years to a small hill in Minneapolis, where I hugged Solvieg after sledding. Jorunn released me and stepped back. I yelped, “It was wonderful! I kept to the side as other people whizzed past me. A few sections were bumpy, and my teeth rattled. The only time I was scared was when there was a steep drop-off on one side. Don’t you use guardrails in Norway?” “You may have seen a few small concrete walls, but we believe in personal responsibility here in Norway. If you cannot manage a sledge, you should not make the run. The authorities do monitor the conditions and sometimes close the run when it is too icy.” “Does that mean you believed in me? Believed I could make it down the hill?” “There is nothing wrong with you, Gunnar. While I was waiting here at the bottom of the hill, I read about your Iron Range in Minnesota. You are rusty. There is a Wizard of Oz Museum there. You are the Tin Man. This tour is the Oil Can. Figure it out. The Oil Can only works if you pick it up and use it. Stand tall and walk proudly for as long as you can. If you fall, get up and keep going.” It was an interesting way to look at life. I was only 56 years old, but for the last few years, I acted like I was 80. I still have many years to go sledging, if only I was not afraid to try. I turned to Jorunn. “Let’s go again!” PEA SOUP December 16 - Mid-Day After three more runs, Jorunn and I turned in our sledges and ate lunch at the beautiful Frognersteren Restaurant on top of the hill. I followed her suggestion of a thick pea soup with meatballs and potatoes. It was delicious. As we sipped hot chocolate, it felt good to be alive again. “A week ago, I was in a nursing home in Minnesota. After my wife died, no one visited me, not even my adult children. I was alone. It was a terrible place, run by a terrible nurse. I had to get out. I made plans with my lawyer, then walked out the front door and got on a plane to come to Norway. What’s the worst place you have ever been?” “Dublin, Ireland. After the divorce, my mother and I were struggling financially. We had gone from living a comfortable life to living paycheck to paycheck. I saw a post on the Internet for a job as a body double for a Vikings television program. I wasn’t sure what a body double did, but it paid well for a short gig. I took all my clothes off while a dozen people stared at me and took photos and videos. I hadn’t been naked in front of any man in over a year, since before the divorce. They must have liked me because I got the part, and they flew me to Dublin. The next morning, I went to the studios. I sat there in a robe while they cut and styled my hair to match the actress I was portraying. Then off to the makeup department, where I removed my robe while they applied fake tattoos and full body makeup so I would look dirty in all the right places.” “After lunch in the studio, the costume department placed me in a white linen tunic. When it was time to film, they told me to stand in front of the lead actor while he lifted the tunic off me and tossed it aside. He was much older than me, and with his beard, he reminded me of my father. He exuded the same swagger as if the world revolved only around him. I would be fully exposed to him, and to the camera crew, who were filming me from behind. They told me to act submissive and let the lead actor hug me. It took several takes and a few tweaks before the director was happy.” “Next, I was ordered to lay down on a stylized Viking bed covered with furs. The sex scene was to be filmed twice. Once for television, then for an unrated video release. The make-up people gave me a once over, then thankfully positioned a flesh-covered patch over my vagina. In the first shot, I was naked, but the lead actor remained fully clothed. He stood and positioned himself between my legs, and they told me to keep my vagina pressed tight against his crotch as he bucked against me. We needed to make the audience believe we were having sex while showing them nothing. I remained in this position while they adjusted the lighting and camera angles, and beneath his trousers, I felt the lead actor’s erect cock pressed against me.” “The director yelled, ‘Action’. Once again, they told me to be submissive, and let the lead actor take charge. He started humping against me. Looking up at him, he was still a handsome man, and I wondered how many women around the world dreamed or fantasized about being in the same place I was. I wasn’t one of them, but I understood this was why they hired me, so I accepted it. Like earlier, it took several takes. The director would review the shot and make small adjustments each time. After the last take, I saw a large wet spot on the front of the lead actor’s trousers.” “Then it was time for the unrated scene. A host of costume and make-up people swarmed around the actor while I lay there naked. This time, he was to be naked as he approached the bed. The camera angle was off to the side to avoid full frontal and he used his left hand to shield his erection, thankfully contained in a flesh-covered sock. The scene began with the lead actor approaching me, and once in position, he began humping against me. His covered cock slid against the covering over my vagina, but the sensations passed right through. My nipples became erect, and I felt my wetness building.” “After several takes, the director was happy, and we moved on to the last scene for which I was needed. In this one, the lead actor would be laying on top of me, his arms extended and propping himself up with his hands placed on either side of my body. This scene was more challenging because it needed to be mixed with prior facial cuts shot separately with the lead male actor and lead female actress. The scene would be filmed from several angles including above and below. As the director reviewed the earlier footage, the makeup people worked on my face and hair.” “The next thing I felt was the lead actor lying on top of me, his body pressing his erect cock against the patch covering my vagina. I wanted to turn away, but he told me to look at him because it would help him release his creative juices. I feared the possible double entendre. Here I was, face-to-face with the avatar of the man I hated more than anyone, the man who destroyed our family. When the director was ready, he said to go at it and try to simulate real sex. He yelled 'Action’. I was sweating under the lights, and the patch covering my vagina began to slip, aided by the movement of the lead actor’s covered cock. As my pussy became more exposed, I was afraid his cock might slide into me, so I yelled 'Cut!’. Everything stopped, and I pushed him off.” “That was enough. I yelled I was through, gathered my things, and headed for the front door. I paid my own way back to Oslo, and thought about filing a protest, but later learned what they did was mostly proper. Most sex scenes are between two body doubles. It is rare, but sometimes a lead actor will film such scenes if they have it in their nudity clause. I had a new appreciation for body doubles, but my own acting career lasted one day, and looking at the final scenes after release, I was on screen for eight seconds, and no one knew it was me!” I said, “Wow. We have something in common. The nursing home did everything properly, but like you, I couldn’t stand it any longer, so I headed for the front door. I’m sorry for your terrible experience.” Jorunn shook her head, “Don’t be sorry. The experience ended up changing my life for the better. After I got back to Oslo, I swore to never work for anyone else again. I wanted to direct my own scenes, so I started doing vlogs. That led to the creation of my tour company. As things turned out, I walked out one door and right into something I loved. Plus, I walked out wearing this really cool, braided leather Viking headband I have on now. You are halfway there. You have walked out the front door. Now you must find something, or someone, to love.” A profound statement from someone so young. SPIKERSUPPA December 16 - Afternoon I noticed the sun getting low on the horizon. Jorunn caught my glance and said, “The sun sets early here in Oslo, around 3:30 in the afternoon. In some of the northern cities, it set last month and will not rise again until spring.” I didn’t want to spend the rest of the day looking at museums, and flushed with my success on the hill, I took a chance. “Do you ice skate?” Jorunn replied, “I do, but not very well.” I said, “If you know of a skating rink with lights, maybe we can go there and skate.” “There is a nice lighted one in downtown Oslo called Spikersuppa,” said Jorunn. “When the sun goes down in Oslo, the twinkling lights are turned on, bringing with them their magic. The ice-skating rink is close to the Christmas market, which is our agenda for tonight.” “That sounds great to me,” I replied. We took the T-bane back to downtown Oslo and arrived as the sun was setting. There weren’t any clouds, but the multi-layered horizon was still beautiful. Orange along the bottom, and above it, increasingly darker hues of blue and purple, before turning to black in the night sky. After leaving the train station Jorunn and I walked along a pedestrian-only street named 'Karl Johns gate’ passing high-end stores and restaurants. Jorunn either pointed to, or mentioned, notable downtown buildings such as the Royal Palace, Parliament, the National Theatre, the Grand Hotel, and the original University of Oslo buildings. We also passed the brilliantly lit Freia clock, associated with the long-time Norwegian chocolate maker, and the unofficial symbol of Oslo. We rented skates and then stepped tentatively onto the ice. It wasn’t a big rink, and fortunately, not crowded. In the middle was a frozen water fountain. Christmas music was playing and twinkling lights glowed all around us. “I played ice hockey in Minnesota when I was in high school, but haven’t skated since.” “My father used to take me to figure skating lessons when I was young, but I stopped. I kept falling when trying to do spins.” “Maybe we can help each other out. Have you ever tried ice dancing?” Jorunn laughed. “No! Never!” “Neither have I. But a wise woman once told me that I should not be afraid of ice dancing. What I should be afraid of is being too afraid to try ice dancing.” Jorunn smiled, “A very wise woman, indeed! Let’s try it and see what happens.” I remember watching the wonderful British duo of Jayne Torvill and Christopher Dean ice dancing in their last Olympics in 1994. The Olympics were here in Norway, in Lillehammer. I was not about to try any lifts or spins, but I reached my right arm behind Jorunn and placed my hand on her right hip. Taking her left hand in mine, I held her left arm across my body. “Ready?” I asked. Jorunn nodded, and together we pushed off. Right. Left. Right. Left. We moved slowly, side-by-side, in a steady rhythm, and made it around the rink making only a few wobbles. After three more passes, my ancient muscle memory awoke, and I wanted to do more. We separated and I joined my right hand to her left. “We can take longer strides and skate a little faster this way.” After another trip around the rink, we added a slow weaving pattern. Coming out of the last turn, I told Jorunn, “Here is your chance to be a figure skater. I’ll hold your hand. Try a spin.” I skated slightly just ahead of Jorunn, then pulled her forward so she would have enough speed. I raised her hand into the air as she went past, and she started spinning. She yelled, “I’m doing it.” And she was, at least until her speed slowed and she fell into me. “Dam toe pick!” she yelled. With her arms around me, our eyes met. Then she wrinkled her nose, her signature facial expression on the vlogs indicating she didn’t like something. Just as quickly, her face lit up and her big smile glowed. “I’m laughing too hard inside. That was such fun!” She burst out laughing and I joined her. We finally broke the ice, here on the ice. Jorunn separated from me and said, “It is time for Christmas Market.” I helped her up and we turned in our skates. The nearby lights and sounds beckoned. THE CHRISTMAS MARKET December 16 - Evening The sun set long ago and was now just a memory. It was completely dark, but downtown Oslo turned into a Christmas wonderland. There were twinkling lights on almost every tree, with the large and stately buildings surrounding us outlined in white lights to accompany their dramatic uplighting. Oslo was so different than Minneapolis. In downtown Minneapolis, 30-year-old buildings were being torn down to build taller ones in the same location. Here, the buildings were massive, centuries-old, covering an entire block, and they were still in use, letting everyone appreciate the history and architecture. Jorunn and I saw glass-covered buildings in Oslo, with their clean modern architecture, but this was the heart of the city. The life, the pulse, and vitality of Oslo all sprang from here. Towering above everything at the Christmas Market was a brilliantly lit Ferris wheel, each spoke outlined in white lights. I looked at Jorunn and she nodded. She took my hand, and we ran for the Ferris wheel, artfully dodging between the growing number of people. When we boarded, we found each of the seats enclosed in a glass bubble, possibly as a safety measure, or just as likely, protection from the cold. One of the benefits of this was being able to move around a bit, which afforded us a 360-degree aerial view of downtown Oslo. We paused near the top, where Jorunn pulled out her camera. Jorunn said, “It’s rather romantic up here. We should do a selfie.” She sat down right me. “Kiss me. On the lips. Just a quick one. I have the timer set for three seconds. We’ll put our lips together and hold them for a few seconds until the flash goes off.” “Jorunn, I am much older than you. I don’t think it will look very romantic.” “Gunnar, you’re not too old to kiss someone. And if I need to, I can do a little digital touchup, or just flash a quick cut. It will be perfect.” “How do want me to kiss you? Do you want my eyes open or closed? Should I look at the camera or…” Jorunn quickly reached behind my head and pulled me to her. As our lips met, I closed my eyes, and my mouth responded. I felt her softness and a quick tease as Jorunn’s tongue glazed over my lips. A flash went off. But Jorunn did not separate, nor did I. I opened my eyes, and saw that Jorunn’s eyes closed. As our lips pressed together, it felt so warm and comfortable. We separated, and Jorunn said, “Perfect!” Then she looked at the photo just taken. I thought about the sequence of her words and her actions. Jorunn switched over to video and began doing her vlog. She was speaking in English. Immersed in Norwegian for three days, it almost sounded like a foreign language to me. When Jorunn finished, I asked her why she didn’t record her vlogs in Norwegian. She surprised me by continuing in English. “Norwegians already live here. Who would watch my videos if I recorded them in Norwegian? If someone in Norway wants to see the view from the top of this Ferris wheel, they will come here and ride it. People from every continent watch my videos and speak at least some English. It used to bother me when I would get comments on my videos complaining I spoke with a Norwegian accent. Now I just laugh.” I asked her, “Every continent? Including Antarctica?” “Yes. The Norwegian Polar Institute has a year-round research station in Antarctica named 'Troll’. Their mission is to study the polar regions and the effects of global warming and pollution. It’s not a tourist destination, but they have talked to me about possibly going there. They want to do more outreach, to spread the word to younger audiences on social media. I have followers there, but we haven’t been able to work out the permissions and details. The