Plane Ride to Heaven

"Fuck, I'm..." he whispered in her ear, as he slowed down his rhythm.

"That's it..." she whispered back, her convulsing pussy engulfing tighter his thrusting prick. "Slow...and...yes...damn it, yes..."

"Fuck..." He groaned and buried his prick balls-deep in her, tightening his grip around her waist.

Shivering jolts of joy went up her spine and her toes curled to the point of painful numbness. She bit his shoulder, effectively drowning the cries that desperately wanted to escape her mouth.

For a few seconds, he remained inside of her; then, his flaccid cock popped out, the filled up condom hanging heavily. He took it off and threw it in the toilet.

He quickly pulled his pants back up, while she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, unwilling to break the kiss, while she pressed her thighs together, still squirming from the unprecedented phantasmagoria of fireworks that had just gone off in her head.

"Come on," he said with a wide smile, "we have to get back out there. I don't even know how long..." She stopped him with yet another kiss.

"Fine, fine," she exasperated and climbed off the counter; she gasped, when she noticed just how messy her hair was. "Shit," she giggled.

"I'm going out; give it a minute, or two."

"It's gonna take longer than that to fix this mess," she pointed at her hair, still giggling girlishly.

"Don't take too long, though," he warned her, warmly, and stepped out of the toilet.

God—she thought, as she tried, and failed, to comb her hair with her fingers—how could that have been so...magnificent? I never...God!

With a bright smile on her face, further illuminating her bright pink cheeks, she stepped out of the toilet. To her surprise, only a couple of heads turned—and one of those who did look at her immediately rushed to the toilet.

Feeling invincible, she returned to her seat—under the scrutinizing scoff of the old lady, who glared at them as if they were the Devil in disguise.

"You think..." she said, not wishing to conclude the question, in fear of jinxing it.

"So far so good," he shrugged.

She glanced out of the window, at the wide world expanding right below her—all the cities and towns and villages and countryside she'd never get to explore. For twenty-three years stuck in Athens and now moving to Copenhagen, to settle down in a new routine.

A sudden wave of the most comforting heat traversed her body, when he took her hand into his. In fear of spoiling something—which she didn't know what it was—she kept her gaze glued to the window. Eventually, she succumbed and turned her glance at him—only to see him peacefully sleeping.

With a smile, she rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes.

The announcement about their landing in Kastrup Airport in fifteen minutes—followed by a warning they should fasten their seatbelts and lift their seats to an upright position—that came through the speakers woke them up.

His somewhat startled expression, when he noticed her head on his shoulder took her aback—especially, when his shoulder jerked and a brief, yet sharp, jolt of pain arose in her temple.

"Shit, sorry," he said, running his fingers through his hair. "It's...instinct; I'm not very good at waking up."

"It's all right," she smiled, rubbing her temple.

"I didn't hurt you too much, did I?" He blew a soft, long kiss on her forehead.

"Nope, I'm good," her smile widened and she brushed her lips against his. "By the way," she asked, with her heart in her throat, "where are you going to stay? Do you have...arrangements, or..."

"Not really," he shrugged. "Got some money, so, I guess I can spend a couple of days in some cheap motel, till I figure out my next move."

"So," she sighed heavily, "you're not really thinking of staying in Copenhagen for..."

"I don't know," he said, when she abruptly fell silent, caught in a staring contest with her feet. "I mean..." He glared upwards with a faint smile. "I stayed in London for five whole days and in Athens for eight months; it all depends on the...groove and vibe I get from each place.

"Though, to be honest—" he met her gaze "—I've already developed a good feeling about this place."

"That's good to...hear," she cleared her throat and timidly moved her glance to the window and to the city of Copenhagen expanding in front of her eyes. "By the way," she added, still staring at the city that was to become her new home for who knew how long, "if you want, I'd love it, if you'd come with me to my new apartment...

"I've never been there and...might be good to have someone with me."

"Rented it online, huh?"

"Didn't really have an option—though, the man from the HR department was really helpful, sending me a list of apartments, with pictures and all. At any rate..."

"Sure, I'll come," his lips curled. "It's not like I've got to be anywhere. And, besides...wouldn't mind spending some more time with you."

They landed and went through the hassle of boarding off the airplane and walking the long way through the airport to the baggage claim.

He helped her by carrying one of her two large suitcases, while he wore his sac voyage across his shoulder.

"Is that all you carry?" She asked, when he told her "let's go".

"Yup," he replied with a shrug. "It's all I need."

They boarded the subway and both looked about in marvel, taking in the first essence of the city. At Nørrebro station, they got off. After a ten-minute walk, following the directions of her phone's GPS, they reached a small apartment complex—looking identical to the others with its red-brick walls and triangular rooftop.

"Well," he cleared his throat, when he followed her inside, "it looks nice."

"Yeah," she looked about at the small one-bedroom apartment. "Quite similar to the pictures, too."

"That's a good thing, right?" He smiled. "Where do you want the suitcase?"

"Just...leave it here," she apathetically pointed at the floor. "I'll slowly start figuring things out."

"How does it feel? Being here, I mean, in your new home."

"Weird," she snapped. "Very, very weird."

"Yeah," he sighed. "I guess, I've forgotten how it feels; what with my moving around all the time."

"Don't you get excited anymore?"

"Oh, sure," he nodded. "It's just...I'm getting excited over what is there to do, how I'm gonna survive, all that. I don't really...you know, look around thinking 'well, this is your new home, man'."

Abruptly, she fell in his arms, pressing her lips hard against his; taken by surprise, he nearly tripped. She giggled in his mouth, as they kissed and battled gravity.

She gasped, when he picked her up in the air; immediately, she wrapped her legs around his waist and drove her tongue down his throat, as he walked toward the couch.

While he helped her out of her shirt and bra, and then planted long, wet kisses all over her neck and chest—his beard tickling her and shivers crossing her spine—countless thoughts raced through her mind, mostly about the absurdity of what was transpiring.

She had never been an impulsive person, yet, she had completely given in to her desires; as his lips moved lower and he, with slow methodical movements, pulled her skirt and panties down leaving her thus naked, she struggled with the rational part of herself telling her, quite adamantly, it was wrong.

However, all doubts were quickly eviscerated, when his lips connected with her inner thighs, the kisses slowly moving upward; she spread her legs wider out of pure instinct.

He kissed her pelvis and only teased her already wet pussy with his fingers, giving her clit a gentle rub.

"Much better than in the airplane, huh?" He whispered and looked up into her eyes.

"Definitely," she groaned and put both hands on the back of his head—without even realizing she was doing it, she pushed him closer to her. A trembling cry escaped her mouth, when his tongue slipped inside of her—he flapped it fast, while rubbing her clit with his thumb.

Intense shivers traversed her spine, as she arched her lower back and tilted her head upward, staring at the ceiling of her new home. She pressed her thighs together, trapping him between her legs.

The faster he moved his tongue, the more numb her mind grew; it all felt perfectly right and there was no room for doubt left. Impulsive or not, this was one of the first decisions of her new life—a fresh new beginning that deserved to start with a bang.

She pulled him up by the hair, seeking for his lips. While she sucked on his tongue, she unbuttoned his shirt and helped him out of his clothes.

For a moment, she simply admired his lean physique, as he stood in front of her, fully erect and throbbing.

Confidently, she pushed him on the couch and got down on her knees—for the first time in her life, she smelt a penis from up close. Uncertain for how to proceed, yet burning within with the desire to please him, she licked his rod from base to tip, pulling his foreskin down.

She wrapped her lips around the mushroom head, swirling her tongue gently around it—his soft squirms were all the confirmation she needed that she was doing something right.

Slowly, she took him deeper down her throat, her hands on his chest, softly running her nails across his hairless skin. His deep moans, as she teased his nipples and kept lowering her head down to his crotch, encouraged her to keep on going.

Suddenly, she pulled up, a sudden urge to vomit almost catching her off guard; panting, she looked up and through her watery gaze met his loving glance. He tucked her hair behind her ears and gently pulled her up—once more, they interlocked in a fiery kiss, as she grinded her soaked pussy against his throbbing cock.

"Tell me you've got more..." She panted directly into his ear.

"Yeah..." He rolled her over and reached for his postman bag, procuring a box of condoms out of it.

Fascinated, rising up to her elbows with her legs spread, she watched him wear the condom and then climb on top of her; she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, when he slithered between her legs.

She guided him inside of her pussy and grunted, when the tip stretched her labia once more—with more physical space and the comfort of being inside four private walls, the act lacked the excitement of before, but, felt far more intimate.

At first, he pounded her slow and hard; every thrust rocking her forth, her head hitting the couch's soft arm. Suddenly, he put her legs on his shoulders.

With her feet next to her ears, she pulled his face closer to hers and kissed him fierily, while he plowed her hard and fast; she felt every deep thrust shocking her body and every time his balls slapped against her drenched cunt another intense wave of pleasure shook her spine up.

She sucked his lips hungrily, while her toes curled and her legs went completely numb; suddenly, he pulled out and with one swift move rolled her onto her stomach.

Out of pure lustful instinct, she lifted her ass high, trying to arch her back in accordance to some online articles she had read during a lonely Saturday night a while back.

She bit the couch's cushion, when he shoved his prick back inside of her; his soft hands had a tight grip around her waist as he plowed hard, pulling his cock all the way out of her, keeping only the tip inside, then in one hard thrust burying it back in.

She reached down for her clit and rubbed fast, while he intensified the banging—her whole body rocked back and forth in accordance to his wild rhythm and their moans were nearly synchronized.

Suddenly, her screams grew louder, her body helplessly overwhelmed by immense joy; fireworks went off in her head and her pussy convulsed around his prick. Her inner muscles tightened their grip around his dong, increasing by a hundredfold the mind-numbing sensations rendering her utterly helpless.

He pulled out and she squirted all over his crotch, her pussy exploding like a fountain. And while she still trembled from the unprecedented intensity of her climax, he went back in and pounded her in a slow, rhythmical pace.

Already weakened and numb, she wrapped her legs around his waist, pushing him deeper in her, while with her arms around his shoulders pulled his face down on hers, once more slipping her tongue down his throat.

He sucked on her tongue hungrily, his weight pinning her down, while he banged her hard, sending even more spine-numbing shivers across her body and causing her lose herself in a sea of brilliant joy.

With a grunt, he buried himself as deep as he could inside of her—the throbbing of his prick brought on new waves of mad sensations in her brain and heavy, deep moans drowned by their kisses accompanied their mutual climax.

"Jesus, that was..." He panted, as he got to his knees and pulled the condom off.

"Space and privacy do wonders, huh?" She grinned. "Though, it was quite exciting in the airplane's toilet...it was..."

"Different," he added, when she closed her eyes and fell silent.

"Yeah," her lips curled. "I think...I should probably do some grocery shopping now, I mean..."

"Yup," he nodded. "And I ought to start thinking about...accommodation and stuff..."

"Well—" she sat upright and put her arms around his shoulders, rubbing her nose against his "—you can stay here, if you want."

She was taken aback inasmuch as he was; the words came out of her mouth, before she even had time to realize she was about to utter them. And despite her heart pounding insanely hard against her ribs, she hoped he'd accept.

After all, being impulsive had insofar worked out just fine.

"I'm not sure..." He sighed and closed his eyes. "I just think it's...too soon. Don't you?"

"Who cares," she shrugged and kissed him on the lips, encouraging him to reopen his eyes and meet her gaze. "I mean, you're all too keen on taking risks, aren't you? Why shouldn't I, for a change?"

"I..." He sighed. "Maybe, for a couple of days. Let's see how things go."

"Great," she kissed him again. "So, how about going to the store together?"

They strolled down the peaceful streets of downtown Copenhagen and she took his hand in hers, while she observed in wonderment her new neighborhood.

It had only been a few hours since she had left Athens and her old life behind and already things had changed significantly—whether for the better or the worse, it remained to be seen.

However, when she stole a glimpse of Peter walking beside her, smoking a cigarette and taking in, too, the scent and essence of the city, a confident feeling arose deep inside of her that everything would ultimately be all right.

2.

Spreading her time between work and afternoon Danish classes did not leave Penelope with any free time to explore Copenhagen—nor to spend quality time with Peter, who still lived in her apartment.

While she'd lived in Copenhagen for just a month and often felt like a newcomer—especially, when it came down to having to go somewhere and had to consult online maps—there were times she'd feel as if she'd been living there her entire life.

Her life in Athens had become a distant dream she'd just woken up from and only recalled sparse details of it—disperse images and faces, but, nothing felt concrete.

Perhaps, it was due to the heavy-hitting routine; whenever she came home, all she wanted was to lie down on the couch, watch some TV, have dinner, and go to bed.

And that did not bode well with Peter's hectic schedule; most of the mornings he was out day-laboring—or so he at the very least claimed—while, at nights he choked down beer and whiskey, while scribbling lines on dirty notebooks.

The initial intensity and passion had not withered away, per se, but, they had certainly been put on ice—maybe, even in the ICU.

However, she failed to pinpoint the reason it felt as if they'd been living together for years—his heavy drinking, surprisingly enough, did not interfere with their relationship. She could not tell when he was drunk; the only consequence of his drinking directly affecting her was his morning scent, when alcohol poured out of each and every single pore of his body. Especially, whenever he climbed aboard the gin-train.

Maybe, the inherent differences in their personalities, which in the very beginning had brought them close real fast, had also caused them to grow apart.

Sometimes, she sensed his urge to move—not necessarily move out, but, simply to move. Whether to a new town, a new country, or, just to discover new places, it didn't seem to make much of a difference.

In the meanwhile, she simply wanted to stay put; her supervisor had told her she'd begin on her MBA as soon as she obtained the necessary diploma in the Danish language—a daunting task, but, she worked hard trying to master the language as quickly as possible.

On the other hand, Peter had no interest whatsoever in learning Danish—nor to learn anything about Danish culture, their drinking habits aside, as he enjoyed the heavy-drinking weekends, getting plastered with teenagers and college students.

He'd often talk in his heavy Southern accent, mainly because he seemed to think it made him appear cute and more innocent than he really was—perhaps, it was the deceptiveness of his looks, which did not reveal a hard-drinking, back alley fighting man, that had led her into his arms in the first place.

All those thoughts occupied her mind—even when she sat at her office, learning Danish logistics and trying to impress her supervisors.

It was, however, during lunch at the office's cafeteria—after she'd been to Denmark for nearly two months—that everything changed for Penelope all over again.

* * * *

It was always the dark night that got him into just the right mood—when the sweet alcoholic mist tenderly embraced his mind and soothed his soul, allowing his thoughts freely to roam out in the open.

Through years of training his mind, and liver, he could control his more aggressive reactions; after terrorizing pedestrians on both sides of the big pond, after breaking closets (and bones, whenever a wall seemed a valid candidate for a magnificent right jab), after getting into friendship- and relationship-ending arguments and downright nuking every single bridge in his life, he was finally able to pour out all of his anger and frustration and angst to the page, thus allowing him to live symbiotically with another human being, without ever becoming the drunken menace he once was.

Like that one time in Nashville—he was only 19 and drinking at a specific dive, where he knew the owner, who did not give a single damn about the age restriction—and broke a quite expensive guitar over the head of its snob, snotty owner—a horrible musician, who somehow had convinced himself and two women Peter was really interested in he was Hank Williams' spiritual descendant.

Of course, breaking that guitar over the young man's head—causing him a severe concussion and a broken cheekbone—did not end in the glorious fashion he had envisioned, when he first grabbed the guitar from the man's hands, thus ending his horrible rendition of "There's a tear in my beer". In his drunken state of mind, he saw himself the glorious savior of good music, taking both women under his arms to his cheap motel room for a magnificently wild night.

Instead, he ended up in the drunktank; charged with a hefty fine, which he never paid. And thus became a fugitive from the state of Tennessee (and probably from all States of the Union). He was 86'ed—due to the fine the dive owner had to pay for serving a minor—and had nowhere to go. It was that that drove him away from Nashville and made him wholeheartedly embrace the notion of becoming a rambling man.