Norwegian Wood

Humphrey Daniëls Photography

NORWEGIAN WOOD
Written by Bert Plomp

Whenever I hear John Lennon singing, “I once had a girl, or should I say she once had me,” my thoughts inevitably drift back to those wonderful 1960s. Back to the days when I attended the Rijks HBS in Utrecht and was repeatedly shown the door because the school administration thought my hair was too long. Clinging to my hairstyle and a sense of freedom, I would then seek refuge in one of the many pubs and cellars along the Oudegracht, where I would spend entire days playing chess with kindred spirits and listening to the latest hits. I also recall the times when I sped through towns and countryside on my Tomos moped, searching for fun hangouts and pretty girls.
One Saturday afternoon in October, during one of those outings, I found myself riding along the Slotlaan in Zeist. At the end of this street, near the bus station, I visited a cultural café called Oedipus. This pub mostly played jazz music and was frequented by local, modern youth at the time. As I entered the crowded café, my attention was immediately drawn to a very beautiful, Indo-Dutch girl in the midst of the gathering. She had a hint of the Mona Lisa’s expression on her face. She stood out not only for her beauty but also because one of her legs was in a cast.
From her lovely smile, I could tell that she liked me too. So, I had every reason to head straight for her and find a spot near her table. Eventually, I ended up with a chair at her table because there was nothing available nearby. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one who had noticed her, but due to her discomfort, she was given some extra space. The other café-goers had left an extra chair for her to rest her injured leg on.
Seeing that I couldn’t find a place, she kindly offered me the spare chair. It seemed only polite to offer her to rest her leg on my knee, should that bring her any relief. Once seated, I introduced myself. With a velvet-soft voice, she replied that her name was Jeany.
I asked if she’d like something to drink. When I returned from the bar with coffee, I saw even more clearly how beautiful she was. There was also something endearing about her with her leg in a cast. The image of a broken lotus flower came to mind. She had the irresistible allure of a mythical siren. But not in the sense of a woman who wished to preserve her virginity—I simply hadn’t known her long enough to form such a judgment.
That afternoon, we talked endlessly. About her Indo-Dutch background, about going out, and about music. We had an incredible connection. It was almost inevitable that by the end of the afternoon, we agreed to meet again soon. Given her physical condition, it wasn’t an option to give her a ride home to Huis ter Heide on the back of my moped. So I helped her onto the bus, and we kissed each other passionately goodbye.
On the way back to Utrecht, I found myself daydreaming about another encounter with Jeany. Up until then, I hadn’t made much effort to have a long-term relationship with a girl. In that respect, I had always been a carefree wanderer. But for this girl, I was willing to give up my reckless ways. The jewel from the ‘Emerald Belt’ had turned my head.
During the first months of our relationship, we saw each other every weekend. I also met Jeany regularly during the week, either at Café Oedipus in Zeist or in Utrecht’s nightlife. Occasionally, we went to the circus residency of Toni Boltini in Soesterberg, where we attended performances by The Golden Earrings and English top bands like The Troggs. While Jeany’s leg was still in a cast, we were dependent on the bus services of the NBM, which often didn’t have convenient departure times. Eventually, we decided to use the Tomos as our mode of transport.
One fine day, the cast came off. Jeany could once again go wherever she pleased. This also marked the beginning of a period when more was possible, physically, than just going and standing. Until then, we hadn’t gone to bed together. The cast had been too much in the way. Finding a suitable bed, however, was another point of concern.
One evening, after a night at Boltini’s, I brought Jeany home on the moped. It was already past midnight. In Huis ter Heide, everyone was fast asleep. The temptation was great to sneak into the house and find Jeany’s room. Tiptoeing, we approached the garden door at the back of the house. Suddenly, the lights came on inside, followed by a voice: “Jeany, is that you?” My sweetheart went inside and reassured her mother. I had whispered to Jeany that I would wait for her signal in the shed at the back of the garden. Although she appeared at her window several times that night, she couldn’t give the ‘all clear’ signal.
Early in the morning, before dawn, I mounted my Tomos, exhausted, and left for Utrecht, having failed in my mission. Instead of spending the night pleasantly in the comforting arms of my beloved, I had been forced to rest my body on the long, hard saddle of a bellyflop moped, which was parked in the shed.
As the sun rose and I sped along Utrechtse Weg towards the Berekuil, I began to think about a plan. A plan to make love to Jeany under ideal circumstances. I didn’t want to leave anything to chance. The Christmas holidays were approaching. I would turn 17 in January. I was determined to have shared a bed with Jeany before the end of the year so that I could face the new year with my head held high. By then, I had acquired a fair bit of knowledge about the female body and what women enjoy during lovemaking. I was therefore confident that my first time with Jeany would be a success. As if I were planning the perfect crime, I meticulously arranged the entire operation.
At that time, my parents owned a small bungalow at the Het Grote Bos campsite in Doorn. This small stone building had a large potbelly stove and a warm shower. Moreover, there was a single bed in the tiny living room, conveniently close to the heat source. Three crucial elements for the success of my mission. The rendezvous with Jeany would have to take place in this little house on a day during the Christmas holidays—a time when our little country was still regularly gripped by bitterly cold winters.
Of course, my parents couldn’t know about the devious plans I intended to carry out in their little domain. Cunningly, I had a copy of the key made well in advance. That was a piece of cake since it was a very simple key. At the time, there was no need to secure your property with complex locks and surveillance cameras. Besides, there was nothing worth stealing in my parents’ house, unless you were a desperado looking for a rusty old oil stove, a thoroughly worn frying pan, or an old blanket with a musty smell.
I arranged with Jeany to pick her up on the moped in Zeist at the bus station. We met around noon. We had a long, beautiful afternoon ahead of us.
About a quarter of an hour later, I parked my Tomos at the back entrance of the campsite. Constantly looking around to see if we were being followed, we sneaked to the bungalow. The campsite was desolate on this weekday, with a cold, misty atmosphere. As expected, the key fit perfectly in the lock. The first thing I had to do was quickly light the stove and turn on the boiler. After crumpling up some old newspapers, bringing in a stack of firewood, and pouring a generous amount of lamp oil into the stove, I lit the fire. Once the mixture caught fire, the stove nearly exploded, and the lid almost hit the ceiling.
Despite the stove roaring at full blast, it still took nearly an hour before we felt the house was warm enough. Sitting on a sturdy chair, huddled close to the stove, we listened to ‘Rubber Soul’ while waiting for the room to heat up. The simple record player kept playing side A of this Beatles album on repeat.
As Jeany sat on my lap with her back to me, she had lifted her woollen dress slightly, allowing me to feel the warmth of her thighs and the contours of her vagina against my groin. I noticed that the rigid denim of my jeans could barely contain the force of my rising erection. Jeany smelled divine, like Maja soap, and as I passionately kissed her neck, I was half beside myself, overwhelmed by the mystical, intoxicating scent of patchouli.
By then, it was warm enough, so we removed everything that stood in the way of our amorous intentions and laid down on the bed. At last, we were lying completely naked in each other’s arms. The circumstances were perfect. There was nothing in the vicinity to disturb us, and the temperature was just right. In short, we were ready.
After making love for a while, and as I kissed her deeply while massaging her vagina with my right hand, her warmth and moisture reminded me of a tropical rainforest.
Jeany now straddled me with her exquisite body, pressing my shoulders firmly into the mattress with her elegant hands. She grasped my aroused penis and guided it into her vagina, slowly lowering her body to fully envelop me. I could barely contain myself and wanted to react passionately, but Jeany maintained control, gently rocking back and forth like a small boat on the water. Both of us, driven to the edge by desire, took deep breaths in anticipation of the coming waves of pleasure. When she reached her climax and I felt her vagina rhythmically contract around me, I could no longer hold back and reached an intense orgasm. As we lay there, basking in the afterglow of this all-encompassing release, I heard John Lennon singing, “I once had a girl, or should I say she once had me.”

Humphrey Daniëls Photography