The Wrong Pen Pal

"Come in, Brian, please. It's so nice to see you again, especially without the benefit of those damn masks."

"You, too, Wendy, and that's so true," I agreed with a laugh. "So glad to be free again!"

"Really!" she agreed with a smile, before turning serious for the first time. "In fact, Brian, may I ask you a favor?"

"What is it, Wendy?"

"I know COVID's been really hard on everyone, and especially for you, of course, but I've lived alone through it all and have been lonelier than I ever dreamed possible. Can you just, like, hug me for a minute? You know, just hold me as if we're old friends coming back together after a long time apart? I'd really like it if you would."

Feeling as if I knew what she meant, I took her in my arms and pulled her close, trying to give a bit of comfort where comfort had been in such short supply for such a long time. She leaned her head against my shoulder and pulled me even closer before I felt her shake, a gentle sob, I believed. Holding her tight, I patted her back and whispered, "It's okay, Wendy. We've gotten through the worst of it."

She nodded, her head still against me, but then looked up at me with tears in her eyes. "You promise?"

"No, I can't promise," I said softly, "but I sure have hope that's true."

She forced a smile, nodding again, and then reached up and kissed my lips.

It was sudden and completely unexpected, but it was so good I went with it and our lips locked and our tongues danced together as I felt myself surging, hardening below. I tried to twist, to keep from being embarrassed by Wendy feeling my desire, but she must have been feeling something quite similar of her own.

Before I knew it, she was pulling my shirt out of my pants, undoing my belt buckle, and then unzipping me and, to my great surprise, I wasn't stopping her; the physical contact, the feel of flesh against flesh after being apart from others for so long was practically irresistible so neither of us tried. I countered her aggression by removing her dress, followed by her little panties as she dropped my boxer briefs to the floor. From start to finish, we'd gone from fully clothed to completely naked in just moments, and then we were on her couch making out like middle-aged teenagers on a mission.

With her hands roaming over me, my stiffness had intensified. Her breast was in my hand, filling it, as hers took hold of my hardness and started to pump. I felt the surge in my loins, making me grow harder still when I saw she'd shaved herself bare, leaving not a hair in sight.

"Sit up," she ordered and was then straddling my lap as soon as I did, pushing her delightful tits--probably Ds on her small frame--in my face. Not wanting to leave one out, I pushed them together with my face buried in her cleavage. Right? Left? I thought, looking at the hunger in her eyes until I pushed the left up a bit and sucked it into my mouth.

"Fuuuck!" she moaned, though I wasn't sure if it was from my suckling and pinching or her squirming movements on my lap, pushing her mound and lips against my erection, coating me with her wetness. I thought she was going to pull me inside, but she grew frustrated after a moment and freed herself, standing up in front of me. She was breathing hard, her breasts rising and falling.

"Brian," she panted, "I haven't done this in so long. I'm clean, my tubes are tied thanks to my ex-asshole, and I want you to stick that in me and fuck the living shit out of me in a minute, but I really need you to eat me first to sort of prime my pump."

"Where--" I asked, but she didn't let me finish, pushing me back, planting her right foot on my left side on the couch, and then stepping up to throw her left leg over my shoulder. I was smiling broadly as this planted her crotch right on my face.

It was like sensory overload, the beautiful look, her soft, wet feel, the sweet aroma of her pussy, clean but not soapy, and then the taste. Perfection!

Normally, I would enjoy a teasing buildup after that initial sample, letting her anticipate what was to come as a way of heightening her pleasure, but Wendy had removed that option. Therefore, I was glad to take what she presented, taking her swollen clitoris between my lips and beginning to suck on it. I held her thigh on my shoulder, enjoying the feel, and used the fingers of my other hand to rub her slit before burying them inside her and beginning to work her g-spot.

Wendy was quite vocal over the next few minutes as I worked her clitoris. With her standing on her right leg there on the couch, I noticed it quivering as I pushed her toward her peak, so I picked up the pace to a flurry at the end and just moments later she came, moaning long and loud before throwing her arms around my head and holding it against her mound and belly. Fearing she was about to fall, I wrapped my arm around her quivering leg to help support her, while I smiled inside at the intense feeling I'd helped give her.

"God, I needed that!" she said as I eased her down to the couch, lying on her back with her head propped up on the arm at the end. She pulled me down beside her, where I barely hung on the edge of the couch before I slid my arm and over her and then a leg over and between hers before she turned her head and kissed me.

We lay there for a while before I asked, "I'm glad you enjoyed it. Do you think you could go again?"

Her eyes lit up and she smiled at me. "Hell, yeah! Why?"

"Because I'm going to do it again with you here on the couch where I can see what the hell I'm doing." As a forever fan of cunnilingus, I wasn't about to miss out on the opportunity, even if it did delay my release for a bit.

Realizing I was serious, she spread her legs for me and laughed out loud as I slipped off the edge of the couch. I caught myself and we both twisted around with me between her legs and her hanging just off the edge. There, she let me have another long, slow go with her fingers running through my hair and directing me occasionally. She had a small and then a much larger orgasm, thanking me about a thousand times before I finally eased her to the side, lined up, and pushed inside her.

It was heaven, being in her welcoming depths, as I stroked in and out of her. She opened herself wide, one leg resting over the back of the couch and the other foot up in the air dangling around as I pumped her.

I maintained slow and steady at first, hoping to make it last as long as possible but Wendy was milking me with her internal muscles and I was out of practice, having been so long since Staci, so I felt my build-up coming far sooner than I wished. I had to go with it then, faster and harder, and Wendy responded with her sighs and by wrapping her legs around me, trying to hold me and push me even deeper, until, unable to hold out any more, I shot into her depths, pumping her as long as I could until she, too, slipped over her edge one last time.

When done, we lay holding each other in bliss.

***

Wendy and I continued growing closer over the next couple of months, making love several times a week. While I didn't spell out the details, Yvette read between the lines and understood; ever my friend, she was so happy for me and encouraged me further still, to see if Wendy was indeed my Miss Right.

When I mentioned this to Wendy, she had a look of disappointment that I would spend time writing to my friend rather than spending time with her, making me suspect that we would soon be reverting to Pierre's birthday card routine. After being so close to Yvette again after so many years, I wasn't sure I'd be happy about that, but being married has its own special requirements.

However, when I mentioned Paris, Wendy perked up.

"Brian, I have my passport and I've always wanted to go to Paris! Can we go? Please?"

I really liked the idea, but had to give her the bad news. "The travel restrictions are still on for the moment, Wendy, but things seemed to be improving so hopefully they won't be around too much longer. I'll keep a watch out."

Sure enough, while Europeans wouldn't be allowed to travel to the U.S. until November, it was announced by the E.U. that U.S. travelers could return to Europe beginning in late August 2021. As soon as I heard of the upcoming lifting of the ban, I called Yvette.

"Brian, hello? What is wrong, mon amour? Are you okay? Are you sick? Please, not the COVID," she said excitedly.

"No, no! Slow down, Yvette," I laughed, only then realizing that it was only 3:30 in Paris and I'd never called her so early or so unexpectedly. "Everything's fine. In fact, better than fine. The travel restrictions are being lifted in our direction. If you'll see us, Wendy and I are coming to Paris. We'd love to see you and spend some time with you."

There was an audible sigh of relief over the phone before she said, "Dieu merci! Brian, I will always make time for you, my friend, and for your Wendy. Let me know when you are coming and I can meet you at the airport."

"Oh, no, we'll take a taxi," I laughed, not wanting to cause her trouble. We spoke for a few more minutes before I told her I looked forward to seeing her and we ended the call. It was only after we'd hung up that I realized two things.

I'd called Yvette first to let her know even before I called Wendy, and Yvette had said "mon amour," my love, instead of "mon ami," my friend, when addressing me. I didn't remember much French, but I did know that. Thinking it humorous, I petted Gryf and laughed, "Ole buddy, I think I scared the bejesus out of the poor girl!"

***

Wendy was limited to six days of vacation, so teaming those days with two weekends, we had our timeframe and I purchased the tickets. For our hotel, I chose the one right across the Rue de Rennes from the entrance to the Saint-Placide Metro station and not too far from Yvette. It was where Staci and I had stayed during our anniversary trip about ten years earlier.

Wendy was so excited about our trip when I called her at lunch that day with the details. She was on her computer as we talked, looking up places I mentioned. Then there was a pause, an exasperated huff.

"Brian, the hotel--it's an American chain hotel. I don't want to go to Paris and stay in a fucking American chain hotel! I want to stay in a real French hotel to get the experience!"

"Wendy, calm down," I said, a bit exasperated at her outburst. I'd never heard her act like that. "It's a real French hotel that's part of the American chain for booking and networking purposes. Other than a little sign out front, you won't even know it's part of the chain, and once you go up and down the tiny elevator or that winding stair a time or two, you'll be swearing you can't believe it's part of an American chain. You'll get the French flavor, believe me."

"Are you sure you can't find us a better place, Brian?" she whined, really irritating me for the first time since we'd been dating.

"I'll...I'll think about it," I agreed, though I wasn't sure if I'd do more than think. "Listen, I've got to go. I'll talk to you later."

***

Wanting to apologize for scaring her, I video chatted with Yvette later that afternoon, which was late evening her time.

"You frightened me so much earlier today," she scolded, her French accent becoming more pronounced when she was upset. "I was afraid someone was calling to tell me you had the COVID...or worse. Times are so scary like that."

"I'm so sorry, Yvette. I didn't even think of the time and what you might think. I wanted to buy a ticket before the ones with the soonest travel dates were gone. Wendy and I are arriving on Sunday, September 12th..."

I gave her the details and asked if she could recommend a better hotel near her home, explaining Wendy's concern.

She muttered something before speaking directly into the phone. "Hmph. No," she replied, and then promptly switched the subject to a happier topic.

The rest of our chat was fun until Yvette could no longer suppress her yawns and I sent her off to bed so I could get back to my work.

"Goodnight, my friend."

"Bonsoir, mon ami," she countered before the call ended.

***

Wendy's attitude on the flight was grating.

"Why couldn't we fly First Class?"

Yes, I had the money and would have gladly splurged for the upgrade, but when Wendy didn't even offer to pay anything toward our trip expenses, I hesitated, wondering how far she would go before offering. She didn't, never saying a word about contributing, so I never bothered to call about the upgrade, and Wendy grumbled across the Atlantic.

"Why can't we rent a car?" she grumbled at the airport. "We have to take a taxi?"

"If you don't want to take a taxi, we could always ride the RER train, switch to the Metro, and then walk across the street to the hotel, or we could even take a bus."

She didn't say a word in the taxi, her knuckles white as she held onto the door with one hand and me with the other. I finally had to pry her hand off and hold it.

"Oh, sorry," she whispered. "It feels like this guy is in the races, zooming in--ah!--and out like that. Tell him to slow down."

"Not a chance," I laughed as he hit the gas and switched lanes again. "He'd probably just go faster."

***

Though a bit frazzled, we eventually made it safely to our hotel and checked in, with Wendy forgetting all about the chain aspect and complaining instead of the room's size and the size of the bathroom.

"Listen, we're not going to be spending much time here except when we sleep, okay?"

"Sleep?" she grinned. "I don't know about you, but I'm planning to fuck your brains out in here."

"Okay," I laughed. "Sleep and that. Not necessarily in that order."

With our rather humorous agreement on arrangements, Wendy's attitude, which was probably bad due to jet lag, improved markedly and even more when we went out to tour. She endured the few stops on the Metro without complaint before we exited at Cité Station.

"What's here?"

"Heartache," I replied as I led her up and then toward the ruin of the Cathedral of Notre-Dame. Wendy nodded, recognizing it immediately. She had a tear in her eye as she looked at it, gripping my arm and holding tight.

The construction fencing was well back but the building and the scaffolding was visible, as were displays telling of the cathedral's construction, its history, and of the terrible events of April 2019 when it burned and was almost lost. Another display gave the current status of the temporary reinforcing effort that was underway and plans for rebuilding. When we were done, I whispered, "And hope," leading her to nod.

After that, we went back to the northwest, toward the cathedral of Saint Chappelle and its wonderful stained-glass windows. Despite being so tired, Wendy was smiling and having a great day.

***

We met Yvette for dinner that evening, with me picking up my friend and giving her a hug and a swirl as Wendy looked on, frowning I realized when I put Yvette down to our laughter. Yvette was about 5'-6 and weighed around 120 pounds. Her dark brown hair, almost chestnut, was perfectly styled, just touching her shoulders, but there was a thick strand of her natural hair on one side, the brown streaked with gray, looking something like one of those X characters in the comic books. Her deep blue eyes sparkled, but I saw her wince on Wendy's reaction and I thought I could sense tension between them.

Eventually, though, they were talking and even laughing at times, making me believe all was well. Wendy even asked about Yvette's hair, leading Yvette to smile and reply, "I won this gray through hard-fought battles. Now, it reminds me that I'm mature but, with just a bit, that I don't have to surrender to it. And besides, when people think an artist is a bit eccentric, it doesn't hurt their sales either."

We laughed and I told her, "Well, it's beautiful on you," leading Wendy to give me a quick scowl. When dinner was over, we told Yvette goodnight and returned the few blocks to our hotel where, our bodies exhausted, we fell into a deep sleep.

Wendy and I saw as much of Paris as we could, with Yvette going with us on same days as our guide. Wendy wanted to shop at every significant store we passed, and she bought far more souvenirs than I was expecting, only paying for her purchases when I was in the WC, the French toilet, and didn't offer my card. By the fifth or sixth day, I wasn't sure where she was going to put everything to get it home or how she was going to pay customs on it.

In the end, Yvette invited us to her studio and gallery, and she was able to pack Wendy's souvenirs and ship them to her home in the U.S. with the proper customs forms. My eyes drew wide when Yvette whispered her estimate on the customs fees that Wendy would owe, but I shook my head and replied, "I tried to tell her."

Wendy was good to her word in the room, giving me a real workout every evening after the first when we'd been so tired. When we'd both had our fill, we went to sleep with smiles on our faces. Then, the next morning, we would be up for another day of touring.

***

We told Yvette goodbye on the night before we departed, with me giving her a big hug and Wendy smiling and giving her a kiss on the cheek in response to Yvette's.

We made love again when we returned to our hotel room, this time without any of our usual foreplay other than a quick kiss to get my motor started. As soon as our clothes were off, Wendy pushed me back on the bed, gave me a couple of good wanks, and then shoved me into her pussy.

She rode me like a champion bull rider that evening, mumbling something about making me forget a French twat. I didn't know what she was talking about since I'd never been with a French girl, but as Wendy bucked up and slammed down on me over and over again, I met her in kind and didn't care in the least about her motivation, being far more interested in the building sensations for both of us and watching her gorgeous boobs fly. As I started getting close, I began to thumb her clit, pushing her over the edge and allowing me to fill her with my cum.

Wendy collapsed against me, breathing hard. "God, I'll be so glad when we're married."

I couldn't help but chuckle at that. "Yeah, I love you, too," I replied before she raised up and looked at me questioningly.

"What? You know I love you," she objected, but the way she said it only made her original comment seem less fun and a little more strange.

***

The next morning, we took the taxi to the airport with Wendy grumbling all the way.

"I'm going to be car sick if this asshole doesn't slow down and quit--shit!" she squealed as he jerked the wheel and entered the other lane. He was, I was pretty sure, even more aggressive than the driver who'd taken us into Paris.

Wendy looked a bit sick as we moved into the terminal to get our boarding passes and check our bags. "Sorry about that, Sweetheart," I said, but she grumbled more and even made a few nasty comments about France and its people.

"Wendy, that's enough. We're guests here; please be nice."

She frowned at me, letting me know in no uncertain terms that she felt exactly as she was saying.

The queue snaked forward slowly, leading to more grumbling, but things really started when we moved up to the airline counter.

"Brian, let's upgrade to First Class for the trip home. I don't think I can sit in cattle class after that ride."

I laughed and was asking the airline clerk about upgrading while the assistant checked our bags.

"Brian, my suitcase is 8 pounds over the limit," complained Wendy. "They're going to charge extra."

"Mine hasn't been checked and it's well under the weight limit. Take some of the heavy stuff out of yours and stick it in mine until yours is under. Problem solved."

"I don't want this guy seeing my dirty underwear. Just pay it, okay?"

I nodded and agreed to pay the penalty but said no when the clerk told me the upgrade fee for First Class. "No, forget that."