The Wrong Pen Pal

"What? You're not upgrading? Why do you have to be such a tightwad?"

I frowned. "Because, unlike some people, I'm not made of money."

"Phhfttt, ri-ight," she almost spat, turning away.

I looked at her back, thinking how oddly she'd acted at times during our trip. We'd spent the night together a number of times and even taken a couple of weekend trips, but we'd never been together for this long. Even more curious, she'd never offered to pay for a single thing in all of our time together. Now, in a moment of anger, she'd revealed something more of how she felt about me, leading me to wonder.

Turning back to the agent at the counter, I said, "On second thought, I'll take that upgrade to First Class after all."

It would be worth the cost to avoid the bitching for the next ten hours or so.

***

"Yvette, what do you think of Wendy?" I wrote the day after Wendy and I returned home. She'd been quite happy on the plane ride and had been her usual self in our conversations since we'd been back. Still, I wondered if I was missing something so I wrote. "Seriously, my friend, the truth."

Her reply the next day surprised me:

Wendy is nice and pretty, but your Miss Right, possibly no.

"What do you mean?" I typed.

Brian, I pray for the best for you, for you both, but she is far more into herself than to you. Please, be careful if you are serious.

Disappointed by her assessment, I made a call to Ross that evening and then spoke to Erica.

"I saw some things about her on our trip that bother me."

"Nobody's perfect, Brian. You know that, so you're comparing Wendy to my sister, which may not be fair to either."

"I know. I think I recall you saying that Wendy asked you about Staci before we started dating, right?"

"Sure. She asked quite a few questions about Staci and has even asked some about you," she said.

My breath caught in my throat. "Erica, tell me, what did Wendy ask? And what did you tell her?"

A few minutes later, I thanked my sister-in-law and ended the call.

I had much to consider.

***

I took Wendy to dinner that weekend.

"You've been so busy this week," she complained. "Was your work stacking up while we were gone?"

"To a degree," I agreed, "but I had some other things going on, too. So tell me, Wendy, how much do you know about my finances?"

She looked at me and shook her head. "Nothing, really. You haven't told me a thing about them. I figured we'd get to that soon when we get engaged."

"Yet you knew at the airport that I had money."

"Of course. You're a successful businessman and your late wife was a doctor and partner with one of the most prestigious medical practices in the city. I'm sure they had to pay you something to buy out her part when she died. City Business Weekly had an article on them a while back."

"Yeah, I read that article yesterday. In fact, I read quite a few articles this week, some reports, and made a couple of assumptions, particularly in light of what you discussed with Erica."

Wendy's face blanched. "Brian, what are you implying?"

"Wendy, I think, with what she told you, with what I, and probably you, found online, and with the intelligence I know you possess, you were able to put together at least a half-way decent guess at an order of magnitude of how much money I might be worth. Oh, I don't think you'd be able to guess the real dollar amount, but whether it would be closer to $10,000, $100,000, or a million, yeah, I think you could nail that in your sleep."

"Brian, you're being silly."

"No, I don't think so. What you didn't know is that Staci and I were both thrifty at heart since we'd been trained that way as children. Our parents were born during or right after the Second World War and were products of our grandparents who had lived through the Great Depression and the war. Our grandparents didn't have it easy during that time, so they were thrifty, they taught it to our parents, and our parents taught it to us. I don't mind spending money when I need to, but I don't like wasting money. Then when I resisted spending a little, I saw you get upset and then you let it slip that you knew I was well off without me telling you."

"It was obvious you had money," she objected. "Just look at you."

"How? We were paying off student loans and corporate buy-ins and saving for college educations, and we paid for a big life insurance policy on me so that Staci would be well taken-care-of if I were to pass. We bought a nice house, true, but our cars aren't new; we'd buy them, take good care of them, and then keep them for several years after they were paid off until maintenance started being an issue. We didn't tend to splurge on things, so it was obvious? How? Because you researched us and figured it out, didn't you?"

Wendy looked upset, a grimace showing that I was either close in my assessment or completely off base. All she had to do was deny everything, say she'd guessed, and I would have suppositions without a shred of proof. Fortunately, she didn't know that.

"I had to be sure you were at least fairly well off so I could be sure you wouldn't steal my money if we got together. Yes, I did some research, but it was a smart precaution, not because I was trying to take you for anything. Don't you see, Brian? I love you and I really want us to be together, but I had to make sure it would be safe for us to be."

I nodded, seeing her point to some degree, but that did nothing to alleviate my concerns about her attitude and her selfishness, wanting for herself without being willing to contribute. It was a big step and a tough decision, but I made it then, hoping I was doing the right thing. "Wendy, I'm sorry, but I can't see you anymore."

"What?" she exclaimed. "That's complete bullshit, Brian, and you know it. I really do love you and I don't want to lose you."

If she'd acted differently, hurt or disappointed, I would most likely have reconsidered and probably stayed together, but seeing anger in her face and hearing the way she said the words cooled me toward her even more than before.

"Love, Wendy? Are you sure? Or is it the 'I don't want to lose you' part speaking? I know I liked you a lot and even felt like I was falling in love with you, but not anymore. See, Sweetheart, knowing what I know now, I don't know if I could ever allow myself to love you or allow myself to trust you enough to know if you really love me or just love my money. And the funny thing is, the money doesn't really matter to me, but the trust? That matters."

She started crying then, grabbing for my hand, but I stepped back. "I'm really sorry, Wendy. Take care and have a good life.''

I wondered if I'd hear shrieks or maybe be hit by a plate as I went over to the server to take care of the bill and have them order her an Uber, but Wendy wasn't evil, just selfish and possibly scheming. She was still crying as I walked away, but I'd never know if it was truly over me or over my bank accounts slipping beyond her grasp.

***

I told the boys when I got home that evening and then called Erica to let her know so she wouldn't be blindsided when she saw Wendy again.

"Please, Erica, don't tell her anything else about me, okay?"

"I understand, Brian, and I'm sorry," she said. "I thought I was getting to know her fairly well but didn't have a clue she was a gold-digger."

It was a few days later when I told Yvette of our breakup, but I didn't tell her why. I hadn't told her of the money that Staci had left me, and I didn't want that to color our friendship.

I'm so sorry, Brian, but I feared you would be very unhappy over time if you married her. I'm glad you figured it out on your own. I hope you also know that you'll get past this and find your Miss Right someday. Don't be discouraged, mon ami, and don't ever give up.

***

Discouraged was an understatement.

Yvette and I wrote daily and I spoke to her several times a week, trying to put Wendy Fuller and the bad times of the past out of my mind.

"Brian, you really need to get away," said Ross as we drove home from our range day in October. "That trip last month just messed with your mind, so go somewhere. See somebody."

"I don't know, Ross. The only person I'd want to see is Yvette, and I just saw her last month."

"So?"

A one-word question suddenly crystalized my thoughts better than I'd been able to do on my own in almost a month since I'd returned home.

The next day, I called Yvette and told her I was thinking of visiting Paris again. "Do you think you could make some time to see me again?"

"Of course. I will always make time for you, Brian. You know that. Come, we will have a good time without Stormy hanging onto you."

"Stormy?"

"Stormy, Wendy. What is it you say, six of one, half a dozen of the other? They are both blustery and full of hot air."

That made me laugh. "Okay, I'll stay at the Aramis Saint-Germain--"

"Pfoo! With your French, mon ami, the safest place for you is my guest room. And it will save you money, too, though..."

"What?"

She giggled. "By the time you take me to dinner a few times, maybe not so much?"

Genuinely happy at her comment, I laughed roundly. "Considering I'd be wanting to take you to dinner then anyway..."

Still having plenty of vacation time at work, I decided to take two weeks for the trip to Paris. It would be relaxing and spending time with Yvette touring her city and perhaps some of the outlying areas might be good for both of us. Hoping I wouldn't bother her too much--and knowing I could pay a change fee and come home early if I did--I bought my tickets.

***

She suggested coming to Charles de Gaulle Airport to get me but I wouldn't hear of it, taking the RER train instead then transferring to the Metro. I exited at Saint-Placide, called Yvette, and then walked on the street for a short distance before I heard insistent honking--more than the usual crazy Parisian horn honking, anyway--and turned to see Yvette in a dark Peugeot creeping up behind me. She popped the little trunk, I threw my stuff in, and we were off in seconds before one of the everpresent traffic officers could ticket her.

"Bienvenue à Paris," she said laughing. "Welcome back to Paris, mon ami. May this visit be better than your last. So how was your trip?"

"Better knowing that you were on this end," I replied, causing her to smile. She had changed her hair, the gray streak now gone, replaced by the rich reddish brown color of her former years. When I mentioned it, she smiled again. "It showed my maturity, but sometimes it's best not to reveal just how old one really is."

We chatted in the few minutes it took to reach the garage where she stored her car, but as soon as we got out, she wrapped her arms around me and kissed me on one cheek and then the other. "Welcome, Brian. I am glad you're back."

Her smile lit my face, too, as I held her and looked into her pretty blue eyes for a few moments before she gave a shiver and said, "Inside. The temperature is a bit chilly today. Let's go."

It was a short walk to Yvette's apartment, where my things went in her guest room. We spent the first week together like best friends touring the city during the day, seeing many new sights I'd never known about, plus one day in the Louvre and several hours on another in the Musée d'Orsay. Then we would have a lovely meal and evening together before we hugged and each retired to our own bedroom to sleep.

On the weekend, we took a bus tour to the cool and windy Normandy beaches, to see where so many fought and died to begin the liberation of France and all of Europe, before spending the night in nearby Caen and returning home early Sunday afternoon. Since we purchased the tickets as a pair, we were expected to spend the night in a room together, sharing the same bed.

When I asked at the hotel desk, the clerk said that they were out of rollaway beds, making it a most uncomfortable night for me as I tried to avoid touching Yvette or doing anything she might think unseemly; however, even dressed in her thin nightgown, she had no trouble falling asleep and eventually I joined her.

I awoke the next morning to find us spooned together, my arm around her with Yvette holding my hand against her soft breasts and my morning wood nestled snugly in her butt crack. When I tried to disengage and assume a more respectable posture before she woke up, she mumbled something in French and pulled me tighter. On finally waking, she pulled my hand to her lips and kissed it before I had to escape and make a run for the bathroom.

After a tour of the Mémorial de Caen, with its museum and memorial gardens, we were back on the tour bus for the ride back to Paris. Yvette, I noticed, leaned in, snuggling against me and I slipped my arm around her. She dozed as I looked out the window at the French countryside slipping by along the A13 expressway but my eyes eventually closed, too. When I awakened with a start and opened them, I saw Yvette looking at me before she quickly looked away.

I returned to Yvette's guest room that evening, though we hugged rather tightly and for much longer than we had in the past. Forcing myself, I let her go and watched as she went to her room before I turned into my own.

As the second week began, Yvette had to spend more time in her studio working on a commission, so I did some touring on my own and joined her for lunch and part of each afternoon. I was sweeping up for her one day when she said, "Brian, you don't have to do that. Go, enjoy your day."

I looked at her wistfully while hoping she didn't notice and replied, "No, I'm not doing it because I have to but because I want to be here with you and help where I can. Because of that, I am enjoying my day."

She thanked me with her eyes and her smile before returning to her work and I wondered if what I just saw was a reflection of what I was feeling. Indeed, each day, the feeling I had became stronger, a feeling for Yvette that I'd never really considered beyond that of friendship. Now, I realized, there was something there, something more.

With the calendar showing late October, the fall weather was getting cooler, so we donned jackets and walked each evening to go to dinner and to see nearby areas before returning home. Each night, it became more and more difficult to let her go following our hug as bedtime approached.

With my return date nearing rapidly, I bit the bullet and tried to talk with Yvette about our situation but she only smiled and put a finger to my lips to silence me.

"There is no situation, Brian," she whispered on the next-to-last night, but I knew in my heart that I felt far more for Yvette than I'd ever felt for Wendy. Still, she was right, to allow ourselves to dream of being together would be silly considering that we lived nearly 5,000 miles apart, in different countries with different languages and very different mindsets.

Our eyes met on the last day, but Yvette glanced away so I couldn't see the thoughts that plagued her. Or at least, that was what I assumed since I could see how misty-eyed she was. In addition, she didn't seem to want to talk or even banter as we had periodically during our time together. In fact, our time, I knew, was almost up, and it seemed Yvette wanted me to leave either to get out of her hair or to avoid hurting her.

That evening, she looked pensive when I approached for our goodnight hug. Her eyes downcast, she put her arms around me as I encircled her, and her head leaned rested on my shoulder. Using my index finger, I traced lightly down her jaw until reaching her chin and then turning her face toward me. Without warning, I kissed her lips.

I wasn't sure what would happen, how she might respond, but the hunger I felt in her surprised me as she kissed me back and melded herself against me. Her hand slipped behind my head, her fingers running into my hair and she pulled me closer to her as her tongue slipped between my lips and probed my own.

In truth, it wasn't long, but we were looking into each other's eyes when we were done and there was nothing in either that expressed any desire to stop. A second kiss followed, and then a third, a bit longer, a bit more involved, and a lot more breathless.

"Brian...let's go...to my bedroom," she breathed when we stopped again.

I scooped Yvette up in my arms--she gave a surprised little cry--and started for her room as she'd asked. There, I lay her on her bed and she pulled me down with her. Her hands ran over me and I did the same with her, exploring her curves for the first time, exciting me and making me grow hard for her. She felt my rising stiffness and ran her hand over it, making me even harder still before she started to open my pants.

My hand slid up from her hip, past her waist, and up to her breast where I took her in hand and gave a gentle squeeze. She reached up and undid a single button of her blouse before returning to the task of freeing me and I followed suit, loosing the remaining buttons and exposing her lacy black bra. A look at that bra allowed me to confirm that what she showed in her clothing was actually all her; there was no padding, no enhancement, just pure, beautiful Yvette.

She pushed down, trying to remove my pants, so I rolled with her and let her carry them down after I removed my wallet with its condom that I now suspected I would need before long, but she surprised me by hooking my boxer briefs and removing them, too, revealing that I was at full salute for her.

She shrugged off her shirt but kept her bra on as she undid the single button on my polo shirt and pulled it off over my head. I tried to reach for her skirt, but she pushed me back.

"Patience, mon amour,' she whispered before taking my dick in both hands and licking from bottom to top. A second lap of her tongue focused on the tender frenulum spot in front before she swirled around my head and then sucked me into her mouth.

"Mmmmmm!" I moaned, trying to keep from losing it right then, but she knew how to excite me but also make me last, going up and down, but then slacking off to focus elsewhere, side, front, scrotum, and testicles, and then back again.

Still, it had been a while and I couldn't continue much longer so I stopped her, drawing her up in my arms before I loosed the button on her skirt, lowered its zipper, and pushed the skirt down.

Her hose were thigh highs and her panty was a lacy bikini matching the bra. I could see a bit of dark pubic hair through the lace and part of her hood before it disappeared in between her legs. I opened them gently as Yvette bit her bottom lip--worried perhaps? Anticipating my move?--before leaning down and mouthing her panties and clit, letting the fabric rake lightly across it.

It was Yvette's turn to moan and I followed her earlier lead, hooking her panties and pulling them down to fully expose her beauty before leaning in to kiss, one thigh, the other, her lightly covered mound, and then down to where she wanted me. A kiss, a gentle suck, and then focusing my tongue around, closer, and closer, until I found it and worked, bit by bit until she cried out, pushed past the edge to euphoria.

"Brian, thank you, but you didn't let me finish you," she whispered with a pouty look.

"You're probably multi-O," I said before kissing the inside of her breast. "I'm good for one, and lucky if I have two in me, so give me a while to get as many out of you as we can, okay?"

"Oh, if you insist," she laughed, grinning.

Another kiss and then more graced her breasts before I unhooked the front close on her bra. She covered herself with her hands before the bra could slip free, which made me smile since I'd already been quite intimate with her sweet pussy.

"Let me love them, Yvette. Let me give them the attention they deserve."

She pulled her hands away, taking the cups with them, and revealing her breasts and nipples in all their glory. Her areolae were a little darker than I expected and her nipples were like raspberries. I slipped my hands up her breasts, feeling their softness before a swirl around to give those sweet nipples a little pinch. Yvette sighed and I kissed the first and then again before giving it a little suck.