Sheela aur beena
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W Is For What Could Have Been free porn video
"Tell you a story?"
"Of a bygone love. I like learning more about your former paramours, Honey."
"Love?" In my bed--which had recently become our bed--I rolled over into Jacob's arms. I was barely awake, as it was early Saturday morning. "How about a former infatuation?"
He adjusted himself between my thighs, comfortable in our new arrangement. "Acceptable."
“It had to be a decade ago. I was twenty-seven, so you were--”
“About to graduate from high school.”
I placed his strong hand on my soft, brown stomach. "It began and ended as all great tales do, with a book."
He kissed the back of my neck, tickling me with his dark beard. "Reading is fundamental."
"I'm flapping my arms in the air so we can flashback to the past."
"I can see the rainbow-colored swirls."
.....
It was the finale of a book reading at a large retail location near Times Square. The night was filled with chuckles from the mostly female crowd. I was getting my dogeared copy signed by the author, who was also one of my favorite comedians.
“Thanks, Pat,” I said, as she handed it back to me with an autograph and a personalized message. “I will indeed remember to 'keep it crunchy like peanut butter.' So funny.”
“No doubt.” Pat gave me a high five.
“You know it.” Grinning as I exited the line, I brushed past a tall blond gentleman who had his eye on the event.
“What is all the commotion about?” he asked with an inflection that I could not place.
I turned to confirm this fellow patron was talking to me.
"Not that I am complaining,” he continued in my direction. His cadence certainly wasn’t from one of the five boroughs. “I came to find a quiet place, so I entered this bookstore, but this laughter from all of the women is delightful."
I explained what was happening, then inquired, “Where will you look for quiet next?”
"I will remain here with the merriment." He held out his hand for a shake. “My name is Jesper.”
"Jasper?"
"Jesper. With an E. It's Danish. I am from Denmark."
"The accent. I didn't want to guess and be an ugly American."
"You are a beautiful American."
"I am." I laughed, and then he laughed. “You are a handsome Dane.”
“What is your name?”
“Honey.”
“Honey. We say ‘honning’ in Dansk. Tell me about this book, Honey.”
We found two armchairs near the in-store coffee shop. I told him I was in Manhattan for a solo vacation. He was in the city for work at an international conference.
I told him all the Danish words I knew, which were actually all German phrases from old sitcoms. "Guten tag, Fräulein. Fahrvergnügen. Danke."
He assured me we could speak in English, “If you can be patient with me, Honning. Honey”
"Your English is better than any other language I have ever attempted to speak," I encouraged him.
We camped out in the coffee-adjacent nook for hours, talking until the store closed around us.
Though we were forced to depart the literary establishment, Jesper stole a moment to purchase his own copy of Pat's book.
“Will you sign it for me?” he asked at the register.
I did, with a smiley face.
We exited the store and found a twenty-four-hour diner, where we shared burgers, fries, onion rings, and a vanilla shake. We discovered we were both departing the city the following evening. Jesper told me that when he returned to Denmark, he was planning to propose to his longtime girlfriend. I let him know that I had my own solid, romantic situation waiting for me at home.
Yet we both remained in the vinyl booth, discovering more similarities than differences between us, despite our disparate countries of origin. We divulged more secrets to each other than we would have otherwise since we were veritable strangers.
The sun rose outside the window of the restaurant. We were both tired, but we didn’t want to say goodbye.
I imagined aloud that if we ordered more food, then we could nap in the booth.
"I would invite you to my room, for sleeping only, but would that be improper?" Jesper asked.
I pondered this notion.
I told him to empty his pockets and put all of his identification in front of me. Then I patted him down. The closest object he had to a weapon was a MetroCard.
My iPhone prepped, I took photos of his passport and driver's license and texted them to Stella, with the message, "Don't ask any questions. In case I go missing, start here." Like a discreet best friend, she replied, "Okay."
Against all common sense, I welcomed this previously unknown foreigner to my hotel room. Once we arrived, we took off our shoes. He pawed through the closet for a blanket and pillow to sleep on the floor.
I suspended his search and guided him to the bed. "For sleeping only."
He nodded.
After I set multiple alarms for noon, we crawled under the covers and went to sleep in our clothes, facing each other.
I gazed into his blue eyes as we drifted off.
The clock radio beeped angrily before I was ready to wake up.
I immediately regretted not wrapping my hair. Six hours of slumber without a headscarf had generated a briar patch of tangles.
Jesper offered to brush them out. He was notably adept with my styling implements.
As he carefully unsnarled my tresses, I dialed room service for pancakes and eggs.
He stayed for as long as he possibly could, savoring every bite of brunch before he had to return to his hotel to pack his luggage.
He was leaving from Newark.
I was leaving from LaGuardia, since back then, I didn't know any better.
I walked him downstairs.
We hugged on the sidewalk, the plastic bag containing his signed book flapping against my bottom.
Jesper kissed my cheek. "My Honning, I don't want to say goodbye." His lips lingered on my warm skin.
I shifted my face.
My lips caught his for a moment. I tasted the syrup on the tip of his tongue.
His pale palm slid down my back and rested on my hip.
Just as we were about to relax into the embrace, we both broke away, breathless.
The bag swung on his arm.
He hailed a cab and hopped in, shaken.
.....
"What happened next?!" Jacob demanded, sandwiched to my back.
"I flew home. Alone."
"And Jasper? Jesper?"
"According to his social media profiles, he's married with kids in Copenhagen."
"That's rubbish," Jacob pouted wistfully. "What could have been."
"Could have…?" I scooched into a sitting position on the mattress. "Me riding on a bike, chasing windmills in the fields, picking tulips in wooden shoes, sticking my finger in a hole so the country doesn't flood? How horribly quaint."
"That's the Netherlands. Denmark has actual metropolitan areas. I'm sure you two could have worked together to get the logistics sorted." He pulled me back into his big spoon.
I felt drops on my shoulder. "Are you crying?"
"I'm gutted," he sniffled. "For you and Jesper, yes, that would've been lovely. But the thought of meeting another person who lights up your chakras and then letting them go?"
I grasped his hand. "It turned out for the best. Look where I ended up."
"With me! I'm a prize."
"Jacob, you are the whole shebang." I removed my panties and tossed them on my desk.
"Did talking about your Danish admirer turn you on?"
"It didn't hurt," I admitted. "However, I always adore weekend morning relations with you." I tugged on the waistband of his boxers.
Jacob promptly disrobed, sheathed a condom, and warmed me up down below. His fingers strummed my puffy outer lips until he was satisfied with my wetness.
"I could speak to you in Danish," he offered, pumping inside me from behind. "I met loads of Scandinavians back in London before my family moved here."
"I'm listening." I ground my backside against his muscular thighs. "Speak out now."
He kept thrusting without saying anything.
"Jacob?"
"I'm thinking." He reached around to massage my breasts, making my thick nipples even stiffer.
"Are you thinking in German?"
"No!" He answered too quickly.
"You don't have to--"
"Let me concentrate."
I squelched my speech.
We rocked together in our familiar spooning rhythm. His momentum tantalized my first post-dawn orgasm. I moaned and shuddered and whinnied as the waves coursed through my body, my walls convulsing around my partner's shaft.
Jacob nibbled my shoulder, his subconscious signal that he was proud of making me cum before he did.
"Hans Christian Andersen." He lifted my leg to grind at a different angle.
I let out a hearty guffaw, which released a pleasurable aftershock that emanated from my throbbing clit.
He left his palm on my thigh as he bucked into me. "The Little Mermaid guy is the best I've got without Google."
I edged back to allow his tip to pummel the peak of my soaked canal. "Jacob?"
"Honey?"
"Thanks for being my perfect fit.” We clicked into a melodic flow for my second time around.
“You’re my match, girl.”
Mikayla
- 08.05.2021
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