#43: Norwegian Wood

I had just taken an almighty dump in Whole Foods near Piccadilly Circus. Looking around at the orange walls of the toilet, I thought to myself, you could fuck a girl in here. Easily.

So far I had got the number of a rebellious looking girl in a leather jacket and skinny jeans. She was walking fast and I had to describe a wide circle to stop her, but stop her I did. I could tell she was up for a verbal fight, so I qualified her hard and gave my teasing and roleplay a cynical edge. At the end of our talk, she had her hip slung out and her head cocked.

But that was nearly an hour ago, and I was hungry for another set. I had set myself a time target of two and half hours, rather than the standard 10 sets. I’ve been finding recently that actually reaching ten sets is a mountain in and of itself. Of course, that’s not because of AA, but because of target selection: I’ve been trying to weed out the timewasters before I even approach them.

I stepped outside, and was met by something ironic. In front of me was stood a fifteen foot tall “urban tree”. A placard adorned its side: “Funded by the Crown Estate” (they sound like an upstanding group of gentlemen). And as if that was not enough, there was a pretty girl standing next to it: Bettina. She was very tall, probably around six foot, with big, round cheekbones, a wide smile, and a green felt jacket.

The scene was perfect, the tease was obvious; I went in.


“Excuse me”, I said, “I just wanted to say hello because I thought this whole scene was very ironic”. I drilled her eyes with mine and saw her pupils wiggle in attraction. “Because this is a sort of tree”, I continued, grinning, “and you look like a tree”.

She laughed at that and agreed, so I went on. “You must be a hippy”. She laughed again, but still wasn’t giving much to me.

“You can’t be from London”, I probed.

“No, can you guess where?”, she replied.


The set was seven minutes of guessing games. I eventually found out that she was half Norwegian and half Icelandic, was 21, and was living in Surrey but was visiting London that day. In return, I let her snowflake me on where I was from, my age, and my job.

Snowflaking is something I’ve been using a lot recently. She asks something, you tell her to guess; maybe you let her know she has three guesses to get it right. It’s a game, and a great way to tell her about yourself while keeping it light and playful.

Throughout the set her eyes betrayed her attraction, so after doing a quick physical test, I was off with her number.

I sent out my feeler ping two hours later.


“Hey hippy girl 😉

Cool to meet you today”

She replied quickly and the next day I went for the date request.

“Which day is good for a cheeky beer?”

“Monday, Tuesday or Wednesday next week”


She was giving me her schedule a la carte and I picked the next available day; I wasn’t going to be period-blocked again. I thought it was worth the risk considering how attracted she had seemed on the street. And I was really attracted to; I could feel the twitch of her eyes go into my own and down to my boner.

On the Monday evening, she messaged saying she was going to be late.


“And I don’t know how late”

“-2 pts 😉
Shoot me a text when you know”


It was fine; I lived five minutes away from our meeting point so I just stayed indoors and watched YouTube videos until my phone pinged.

Nonetheless I was still cheated out of a little warmth. Bettina messaged saying she should be there by 8:30, in reality, her train was delayed and she got there at 9 (our original time to meet was 7:30).

I waited by the train station for fifteen minutes before slipping into the pub I had chosen as my first venue. I was going to use my standard plan of pub first then dark cocktail bar second. When she finally arrived I was inside, pint in hand, and sitting on a stool, with my back to the wall.

I kissed her hello on the cheek, got her a drink and sat back down. She took her own stool, but initially, her body language wasn’t great. She had me on her 2 o’clock, and kept on looking off.

I knew what I needed to do though: weather the storm. Eventually my presence would pull her around to face me.

We did some of the usual comfort stuff, and found out about where we grew up and what we had been doing with our lives. I took that as my opportunity to go into my verbal escalation, and knock them all out in quick succession:


“What are Icelandic men like compared to Englishmen?”

“What’s your type?”

“What do you like about me?”


That’s all quite standard stuff. She talked about herself and I sat back with a slight smile and laconic nature. Somehow we ended up talking about staring contests and given her continued eye sparkle, I decided to take it up a notch. I challenged her and held my hands out palm up.


“Give me your hands”.


After a moment of hesitation, she acquiesced, and fully turned her body towards me.

She took the contest well, and it emboldened me to start my physical escalation early. I worked my way up her arms with incidental touches before reaching her hair. I took one end of hers in my hand and twiddled it idly, while I waxed lyrical on the attractive qualities of long, feminine hair. The sexual tension was going up and up, but I didn’t want to break it.

I just wanted to try and kiss her for the feedback before calming everything down, so at one point I beckoned her closer “to hear her better”. She leaned forward, I put one hand lightly on the side of her chin, and leaned in. She had another moment of hesitation, but then went for it, kissing with tongues.

I had decided I was going for the bounce home after this drink. All the compliance was there, and taking her to another bar would have introduced unwanted risk.

I walked her out of the bar and she followed me obediently; the front of her left shoulder pressed against the back of my right. We walked right to my front door, keeping up a litany of drivel along the way. Again she showed that split second of hesitation before walking in off the street, and then again before passing the threshold of my flat proper.

She went to use the bathroom so I pretended to check my emails (I didn’t want her coming back to the living room and find me just waiting).

On her return I asked Bettina if she wanted a drink but she just wanted water so I poured some for her then put some music on and sat down with her on the sofa. We talked a little more comfort for a few minutes, and then I beckoned her in again.

She immediately went for the makeout and jumped me. Obviously, I let her take full advantage.

She straddled my lap and I pulled off her top, then bit her nipples. Then she bit my lower lip… hard. It hurt quite a lot actually and it’s been swollen all day…

When we were down to our underwear she looked me in the eye.


“Do you have condoms?”.


At that moment, I relaxed; I was paranoid that something would derail the train even at this late stage.

I took her hand in mine and nodded, before leading her to my bedroom. I pushed her up against the wall, kissed her passionately, before turning her around and throwing her on the bed.

She was breathing heavily, really heavily. I could tell this was going to be an animalistic one, so I started finger fucking her. She squirted all over my bedsheets and her body curled up in orgasm. I whipped out a condom and began banging away merrily.


“Say my name”, I told her.



“Tom!”, she yelled.

I slapped her across the face.

“You love my hard cock”.

“Yes!”, she gasped.


I turned her around and took her doggystyle, in front of my mirror. Having fucked a bunch of regulars recently, I haven’t been using many condoms. However, our reflection did the trick and soon enough I was done. I looked like Andy Samburg in the “Jizzed in my Pants” music video. I drew Bettina in and started the PSI. I found out that I was her 11th, that her craziest sexual experience was a threesome with two Italians dudes in New York, that she knew she wanted to fuck me after I kissed her, and that she last had sex seven months ago.

She also gave me some interesting insight into Scandinavian culture:


“All of the previous guys were one night stands. That’s how people end up together back home usually. They don’t go on dates. In fact, this is only the second ever date I’ve been on. The first one was when I lost my virginity”.


She had missed her last train so I let her stay over and I fucked her in the morning too, of course. I tried for anal but she wouldn’t let it.

She’s still in London for another three weeks so I hope to see her again and that her seven month dry spell will need some serious plugging away at.

In conclusion, a solid lay: a new flag with a pretty girl. She’s a strong seven, I’d say. She could have been an eight but when we were fucking I saw the cock hunger in her face and got a little bit scared. Also, being so tall, she’s also reasonably broad; the exact word I used to describe her to Victor was “sturdy”.

Yours unfaithfully,

Thomas Crown

3 thoughts on “#43: Norwegian Wood

  1. Again, I adore your elegant writing style, Mr. Crown.

    Starting with some anal related metaphor and ending with the backdoor defloration trial but not letting it become the Leitmotiv too much, rather focusing on a straight masterly lay.

    That chapter can be put into vol. 2 of your memoir right away.

    And that‘s real mastery: making the craft look so fucking easy, as if Daygame were just a bit of chit-chat and then easy fucking.


    Liked by 2 people

  2. Ah, forgot: Reading ‚… wood‘ in the title I thought ‚that new flag must have been a bit stiff in bed‘ but looks like the opposite is true, she‘s more like a Nordic gill.
    Good for you.

    Liked by 1 person

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