Plane Ride to Heaven

Of course, today I had to be at work and it was awkward; I don't even know if I'll have a job for much longer! It's a good thing the Danish laws are strict enough that the incident (how else to call it?) probably won't affect my work, but...still!

Seeing him walk around, avoiding my glance, talking to others; I don't know how I let it happen.

So, I really wished you were here; to tell you about it in person, to hear your crude, vulgar advice. I just...yeah, just wish you were here.

(well, I thought I should also end my email by quoting a song :P )

* * * *

From: Penelope

To: Peter

Date: 29/09/2017

Don't mean to bother you, or, pester you, or anything, I just...I was surprised you haven't replied yet; did it hurt you so bad that Morten tried to kiss me?

I mean, I get it; maybe, I was being a bit flirty with him. It was only because I enjoyed his company, and...I don't know. I keep thinking if I gave him all the wrong signs and...I don't know what to say.

I guess, I'm just too eager to hear back from you.

* * * *

From: Penelope

To: Peter

Date: 15/10/2017

Are you okay? I'm starting to worry here!

Please, even if you don't want to talk to me anymore, even if you've found someone else, if you're mad at me, or whatever...just send me an email to show me you're still alive and well!

just send an "I'm okay". I'll live with that. Just send something!

* * * *

From: Penelope

To: Peter

Date: 01/11/2017

Peter, please! I didn't do anything wrong! He tried to kiss me! I pulled back and ran away!

My job's becoming unbearable, I'm given the most menial tasks, I'm doing nothing of importance and I think they're trying to get me to quit; they can't fire me, obviously, but, I think Morten's given orders to my supervisor to bore me out of the job!

And not hearing back from you, not knowing what's going on, if you're okay, is murdering me. Eating me up from the inside. I need to know you're okay!

I need just a tiny ray of sunlight in this misery! It's always dark here, cold, it's raining all the damn time—I can't take it. I just...really miss you. And just reading something from you would go a long way to help me feel better.

So, please. Write back.

* * * *

From: Peter

To: Penelope

Date: 10/12/2017

Dear Penelope,

I am really terribly sorry for getting you worried; I was just a bit...indisposed, so to speak, and had no access to a computer.

I just saw the emails you sent during the past couple of months of my...absence. I've got to admit, it made me feel good, seeing how worried you were about me. And sick to my stomach, knowing I caused you even more worry than you already have in your life.

I'm not going to say "I told you so", by the way—I'll take the high road. But, I did try to warn you and I sure hope that you've figured a way to solve the problems at work (I wish I was there, too, just so I could punch that cocksucker dead on the nose). Now, considering the length of my silence, I wouldn't blame you if you don't respond. If you've lost interest, if you gave up and thought I was dead in some Norwegian gutter.

Truth be told, I came quite close to it; shortly after the last email I sent you, I was robbed—they only took my laptop, since it was the only thing I had of any value. And whoever stole it probably cursed his damn luck, when he tried to pawn it and realized it's not worth even an 8ball.

Anyway, when that happened, I was left with my car and just a few hundred krones in my wallet—which, as you probably know, are hardly enough for a pack of cigarettes. So, I decided, since in Norway, do it like the greatest writer the country ever produced.

As you probably remember, Knut Hamsun's Hunger is one of the books I carry around in my bag. I reread it, was drawn by the powerful words of the man, and decided "do it his way".

Drove around Norway again—sleeping in the car, panhandling for beer money, bumming cigarettes and drinks off strangers in the dirtiest watering holes each small town had to offer. I drank with hardened Viking-descendants that downed beer almost as fast as me. They bought me shots, we shot pool, heard their stories.

I came close, more than once, to eating my own arm, just to remember the taste of meat. What prevented me was the fear my flesh being poisonous, even to me. And, of course under the guidance of Hamsun, I filled more notebooks with my writings.

I got a few jobs, washing dishes, sweeping floors, that kind of shit, and collected some money. Thought of buying a laptop, but, it would be a waste of money—a true vagabond, a true bum, doesn't have laptops and what not.

And, as I drove around Norway, hounded by Hamsun's spirit, I came to a dreadful realization—the world has changed. Drastically.

For years, I've been trying to capture the essence that drove writers like Hem, Buk, Kerouac, Hamsun; all the old greats that changed literature forever. But, the world is not like this any longer.

People don't appreciate bums any longer, they don't care about vagabonds and travelers (unless, they're half-naked in front of an exotic beach somewhere in the Pacific Ocean). The world nowadays thinks alcoholism to be a disease—not the solution it's been for people like Bukowksi and Parker. Young people want to party, they drink a Saturday night away, but, come hangover, they swear alcohol off. They don't wake up on a Tuesday night pouring orange juice in their vodka, or, heading to the nearest bar for a Bloody Mary before work or college.

The world's changed.

I realized all that, as I chased Hamsun's spirit—even if I could write as powerfully as he did, no one would be interested in reading it. Quit drinking, they'd say. Get a fucking job, they'd say. You're a worthless bum, make something out of yourself, they'd say.

And, as much as I hate admitting it, I realize that the only way to make it into literature is by adhering to their wants and desires. Become one of them, even if just on paper.

At any rate! I just had to write, explain why I haven't been able to reply to you sooner. I hope you'll forgive me, hope you will write back.

And, on a side note, in about two weeks, I'll be returning to Copenhagen—part of the plan is to move eastwards; cross Russia, reach the Far East. Who knows, maybe the culture over there is more welcoming to people living the way I do.

I'd love, however, to see you—even for just a coffee. Just for a few minutes, just to see you one more time, hopefully to hold you in my arms one last time, one...I'll sail to Copenhagen, so...I'll let you know about the date, if that's something you want.

I hope things are well, and better,

Peter.

* * * *

From: Penelope

To: Peter

Date: 12/12/2017

I couldn't not respond to you! No matter how worried I was, and angry at you for disappearing, I'm now glad to hear you're okay. And sorry to hear about the rough patch you had to endure. Though, can't say I'm not deep down glad about it, too, since it made you reconsider a few things.

Things at work are not going that much better; thankfully, they still finance my MBA, so, I've got that going. And I finished with my Danish lessons, acquired the necessary diploma and that's one thing off the things I have to do. My main goal, to be honest, is to finish my MBA and afterwards use it to find a new job.

Anyway—let me know when you'll be arriving at Copenhagen. I can meet you at the port. We can talk about everything up close. No reason to go into details now, if we're to see each other, right?

We'll have to have something to talk about, after all!!

Do look forward to seeing you again—God knows I've missed you and could have used your presence during the past couple of months.

4.

She crossed her arms around her chest, shivering as she stood near the pier—snowdrops fell on her hair.

Her heart skipped a beat, when a large shadow appeared in the horizon. Other people surrounded her: lonely lovers waiting for the arrival of their loved one, as well as families with small children running around anxious mothers.

Two days till Christmas and she was stranded in a strange city—knowing almost no one. And those she did know, she couldn't any longer trust. She recalled how he had written about his plan to travel eastwards and immediately a looming darkness descended upon her mind.

The ship anchored and the first passengers disembarked—standing on her tiptoes, struggling not to be swept by the sudden wave of rushing people, she anxiously scanned the pier.

Her heart actually skipped a beat, when she finally noticed him walking steadfastly amongst the crowd, shoving unceremoniously whoever got in his way, his sac voyage across his shoulders. Warmth flooded her body, when she noticed how little he had changed—sans his more ragged look, what with the longer hair and thicker beard.

A castaway among the civilized, his eyes seemed sorrowful—she waved at him wildly. She could not help but grin, when she noticed the gleam that illumined his eyes.

She ran and fell into his arms—taken aback, he anchored his feet on the snow-covered ground. They remained in a tight, silent embrace for a long while; by the time they broke the embrace, the pier had emptied, bar a couple of winos drinking beer under a shed.

"Come on, let's go," she said quite demandingly and pulled him away by the arm, when he momentarily froze still, his glance fixed to the winos.

"Yes, right, of course," he cleared his throat and shook his head, with a heavy sigh.

With both her arms around his they walked to the bus stop—in just three minutes the bus arrived. She wiped the snow off her face and hair, while a bright, warm smile decorated her face, as she noticed the aghast expression with which he stared out of the window.

It felt surreal, being so close to him once more—and the distance and time apart really did bring back the intense heated passion of their first meeting. She had to restrain herself from not once more falling into his arms and plant a long, passionate kiss on his lips—even the scenario of having sex right there in the crowded bus crossed her mind.

"Wow," he exclaimed after a deep breath, right after they climbed off the bus.

She remained silent, once more wrapping her arms around his, and allowed him to take the neighborhood in—the discernible glint in his gaze lit a raging fire in her fast-beating heart.

"Like it was only yesterday," he sighed and put his sac voyage down—reluctantly walking deeper into the apartment.

"Well, you know me," she shrugged. "Don't really like changes."

"Obviously," he grinned. "How are things, by the way? I mean..."

"Let's—" she paused and drew a deep breath, lowering her glance "—not talk about it right now. I don't want to ruin..."

"How bad is it?" He asked in a low, steady voice, putting his hands on her shoulders and staring dead at her—to her, it felt as if he was staring in her.

"It's...bearable," she shrugged. "Things are still awkward at work and I do get the most menial tasks, but...I'm fighting through it. Besides, when I'm done with my MBA..."

"Yes, I remember you mentioned that. But, still...I mean, will you be able to withstand it all for two, three years? I mean, a MBA is no six-month ordeal, it takes time."

"I know." She sat heavily on the couch and he took a seat right next to her. Her lips curled and her face turned scarlet, when he took her hand into his.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here, I'm..." He drew a deep breath and glanced at the window. "It's funny, you know? I've been gone for a few months, yet, it still feels like yesterday I was sitting right by that window, trying to write."

"You've never returned to a place, have you?"

"Nope," he grinned. "I always...try to move forward; keep the momentum going."

"Then, why did you—" She didn't finish the sentence. The words simply refused to leave her mouth.

"Simple," he replied nonetheless. "Because I wanted to see you."

"And to plan the next part of your journey?" Her voice broke into a faint tremble.

"I suppose," he frowned. "Don't know yet, I..."

"Have you thought of...staying?" She whispered, timidly.

"I don't know yet." He rubbed his closed eyelids.

With a sudden fear the more the conversation went on, the more plausible it was the whole thing would be ruined, she pressed her lips against his and softly bit his lower lip.

Their gazes met and for a glorious second, they both remained petrified—certain that even the slightest move of a muscle would ruin it all. She smiled, when he kissed her back and thrust his tongue in her mouth; she sucked on it fierily, wrapping her arms tight around his shoulders.

She sat heavily on his lap—and squirmed lightly when his hands landed firmly on her butt—pressing and grinding her body against his, without ever breaking their kiss. She ran her fingers through his dense, uncombed beard, getting tangled at the hardened hair.

He grimaced from sharp jolt of pain, when she pulled several hairs in her attempt to untangle her fingers and they both immediately burst into heartwarming laughter.

She gasped, then giggled, when he stood up, holding her up in the air—her arms and legs wrapped around him, she continued planting wet kisses all over his neck and face, as he took her to the bedroom.

She wiped her hair off her face, when he threw her on the double bed, and simply lay there legs spread and lips twitched. She opened her arms and welcomed him in her embrace, as he laid down over her—their lips interlocked once more in a fiery kiss, as they rolled on the bed, laughingly fighting for position.

Her eyes popped wide open and her heart pounded even harder in her throat, when he abruptly pinned her down.

"Why does this feel both right and wrong?" He asked, his lips only half an inch away from hers—his warm, sober breath tickling her skin.

"Let's not...let's just live for the minute," she responded and briefly kissed his lips. "Isn't it that what you normally say?"

She winked at him, then let herself go to his rough kiss, as he bit her lower lip and sucked on her tongue. She wrapped her legs around his waist and pressed his engorged bulge against her crotch, her heels digging into his buttocks.

It felt even more intense than their very first time—now, it wasn't just the strong attraction that spiked their passion off the roof. It was, most importantly, the longing they'd both experienced during their months apart.

She thrust her tongue in his mouth—shivers running up and down her spine as he dry humped her—driven by the painful missing that had overwhelmed her during the months he hadn't replied to her emails.

She reached down and unbuttoned his pants—eagerly pulling his tight jeans and boxers down. She sucked on his tongue, when he fondled her breasts under her blouse.

A faint anticipatory gasp escaped her mouth, when her pants were swiftly pulled down to her ankles—she squirmed, when his rock-hard prick came in contact with her eager, wet pussy.

"God, I missed you so much," she whispered in his ear, while sucking on his lobe—she writhed, his throbbing cock gliding on her stomach.

"I...missed you, too," he replied with a soft grin, staring dead into her eyes.

Her knees buckled and she simply lay there, her arms still around his shoulders, trying to decipher his mind via his glance—there was nothing but for a fiery passion she did not want to wither away again.

She tried to hold on to him, when he sat up and searched the pockets of his jeans lying under their feet. Then, abruptly, she took the unopened condom from his hand and pushed him on his back.

A bright smile curled her lips, when his eyes bulged—she stroked him slowly, running her tongue across the shaft, from base to tip. She pulled the foreskin down and wrapped her lips around the mushroom head, swirling her tongue around it.

His soft squirms and heavy moans filled her heart with warmth—excited, she put more effort to it, gradually taking his center deeper, letting the head hit the back of her throat.

She bobbed her head, gliding her lips on his rod—her mouth quickly watering, she drooled and kept her gaze glued to his shining eyes. Her hand followed the movements of her lips, stroking and sucking at the same time, feeling him throb and pulsate down her throat.

While still stroking him, she took his balls in her mouth and swirled them around with her tongue—his intensifying squirms and groans caused her heart to beat even faster in her chest. The strong salty taste flooded her watery mouth and few gagging tears had already turned her vision blurry.

She pressed her thighs together, feeling the heat down under—unable any longer to withstand the strong desire, she grabbed the condom and wore it on his cock, accepting his help.

With a dramatic flip of her hair, she climbed on top of him and pushed his arms away. She took a hold of his dong and slapped it gently against her soaked pussy—then, with a heavy grunt, she guided it inside of her.

She put her hands over his, when he grabbed her breasts, and lowered herself on his center—she bent forth, when she had him all in, and bit his lower lip. She grinded herself against him, clenching her pussy around his shaft.

His growing heavier moans music to her ear, as she slowly rode him—her breasts bounced under her rhythmic movements and the sound of his balls slapping against her drenched cunt echoed within the walls.

Her body overwhelmed by strong waves of pleasure, she titled her head backwards—staring at the same old ceiling she'd stared at for countless lonely cold winter nights—and howled.

She gasped, when he suddenly pushed her down on her back and put her legs on his shoulders—his deep, hard thrusts further intensified the shivers that rendered her spine numb and she could do nothing but bite her lips down, tasting copper.

Lost in the overwhelming sensations flooding her body, all she could do was allow herself to vanish into the phantasmagoria of fireworks going off in her head—her toes curled painfully and her legs trembled wildly under his firm grip.

He slowed his thrusts down—she sat up, her body in a straight angle, and put her hands around his neck, trying to drag his lips down to hers.

He buried his shaft deep and the expansion of his head, when he unloaded, brought on an even stronger climax, which rendered her completely numb.

He let go of her legs and collapsed next to her, pulling the full condom and threw it unceremoniously on the floor—with her hands on his cheeks, she kissed him without shutting her eyes.

And for a long while, that to both seemed like only a fraction of a second, they lay there—naked, sweaty, and in a tight, warm embrace—staring into each other's eyes.

Neither wanted to break the embrace off—she continued to plant soft, short kisses on his lips, her legs tightly wrapped around his lower waist, trying desperately to hold him on the bed.

A sudden fear swarmed through her body and nested in her hard-pounding heart—was it nothing but a one-time thing? A great short-lived reunion, meaning nothing but just a memory?

Moreover, while at that very moment she felt nothing but passion and lust for him, she feared he'd go back to the bars and the drinking, if he stayed. And she couldn't, wouldn't, follow him on his purposeless journey around the world.

Even though things had taken a wrong turn (or ten) and she wasn't as happy as she thought she'd be, she wasn't going to give up—she was determined to fight the drawbacks and the shortcomings and emerge victorious.

"Hey," he broke the silence and pointed at the window. "It's really snowing!"