This is what her mother was worried about, Melinda thought as the Danish boy Arnoldus snapped pictures of her. She was still in her coat, with her hat and her colorful scarf, as she sat on the bed. Arnoldus was fascinated with her. He found her looking at a map, trying to get back to the hostel she was staying at with her friends—Elizabeth, Jialing (Jia for short) and Carlo. He walked up to her to help her. They got on the train together. They chatted and chatted so much about her family and her backpacking trip through Europe but more about his sick mother, his mean and miserly father, his difficulty finding a job, his desire to move to America and photograph beautiful models. She liked him. She liked his sad story. So, she came with him and let him photograph her. He snapped away while she took off the coat.
He came to help her undress. He stood in front of her while she looked up at him. He unwrapped her scarf while she smiled up at him. He pulled off her hat, messing up her hair a little. He started unbuttoning her blouse. She finished while he lifted the camera again to snap away.
He held her face with one hand and she leaned into it lovingly, liking the tenderness. But his other hand was reaching for the bottom of her tank top and starting to lift it. He pulled away and lifted the camera again. She pulled the tank top off over her head. He was in awe and nearly forgot his camera. He quickly started snapping away again.
“So spec…,” he was looking for a word.
She stood up and he could see her fully. She was topless, her blonde hair hanging on her back and shoulders. Two cute tits longing to be touched. Her black leggings hugging every contour of her long legs. Thick socks sticking out of her boots. She put her hands on her hips and he smiled a glowing smile and he continued to take more pictures.
“So speck, eh…”
“Special?” she offered.
“No,” he said, frowning. “But of course, you’re so special, but your visage, your image is so…spectacle.”
“Spectacular?”
“Yes,” he said, aiming the camera at her breasts.
She posed this way and that. She bent over a little with Betty Boop cuteness. She stood up strong with American brashness. She sat back on the sofa with her legs crossed with classy sexiness, giving Arndolus so much to photograph.
She liked him and wanted the best for him.
She spread out on the bed for him, too. He stopped taking pictures and came to her, looking over her body. Then he reached for the waistline of her leggings and gave it a tug. She continued, pulling the leggings down while he took pictures of her privates.
“Oh, is that the kind of photographer you want to be,” she asked him with a grin.
“No, this is beauty. Not porn.”
She rolled over and writhed on the bed, jutting her butt out. “Whatever,” she said.
Elizabeth and Jia and Carlo would be missing her now. They were probably getting annoyed with her running off on her own to do things. Her mother had even asked them to keep a close eye on her, which annoyed her.
Melinda’s sister Theresa had done a backpacking trip through East Europe the year before that and hadn’t gotten this much concern.
Theresa had given her advice, too. “No more mercy fucks,” she had told Melinda before she left, no doubt referring to the incident with the Ecuadorian gardener, the one she felt sorry for and gave a little loving to and who then came back drunk the next day looking for her. They had to call the police on him.
Arnoldus wasn’t like that. At least, she didn’t think so as she lay on her belly, his hands running over her body. So what did she see in this kid? This kid in this cheap little apartment with his expensive-looking camera and his dreams of shooting and probably fucking models?
He put the camera aside and took off her boots, her socks, and then her leggings all the way. She turned over and sat up. He crawled into bed with her. And she took this poor kid with the sick mother and mean father into her heart and into her pussy. She let him fuck her for the rest of the afternoon until he fell asleep. She scurried back outside to find a cab back to the hostel.
Carlo was angry, of course.
“Where the hell were you?” he asked with his arms crossed.
“Leave her alone,” Jia said.
“We should really stay together,” Elizabeth insisted gently.
“You missed out on most of Copenhagen,” Carlo said.
“No, I didn’t,” Melinda answered him, a little irritated. “I saw lots of it. With Arnoldus.”
“Who?” Elizabeth asked.
“Another one,” Carlo muttered. “It’s late. I’m going to sleep.”
Jia wanted to know all about Arnoldus and Melinda was happy to tell her about it while the others slept. They tried to sleep despite Carlo snoring in the room they were sharing.
“You fall for these boys and their pitiful stories,” Melinda’s mother had warned her once. “You’re not going to do that in Europe, are you?” she had asked at the airport.
She did resist a Nigerian medical student she met at the hostel in Germany. His sad story about poverty, a cancer-stricken mother, and a sister kidnapped by Boko Haram terrorists moved her, too, but he already had a German nurse and a Peace Corps girl he was juggling. Grinding up with him at a dance club playing old American techno music was all she did with him.
She could just imagine the look on her father’s face if he had found out about that one. Probably the same face he gave her when she brought home the orphan Kijuan when she was younger. What was it? Anger? Suspicion? Disappointment? Her father, the liberal Democrat politician. Her father, the philanthropist working with poor communities. Her father, who then warned her never to bring home someone like that again or he’d kick her out of the house and his will.
Sayid would’ve gotten a similar reaction from Daddy, she figured.
Sayid was living with a wealthy German family named Dettelbach that had taken in his family from Syria. He was an aspiring engineer. He had the smarts. He was classy. He brought her flowers. He opened doors for her. He scrounged up whatever money he could to take her to nice restaurants in Hamburg and Berlin. He wanted to accompany her to France and wherever country she was going to next. He would fantasize aloud about marrying her and going to America with her.
Sometimes she had to slow down his rapid talking with a kiss, and he’d finally shut up and make love to her. And they made love wherever they could. On a playground, where kids giggled at them. At the Brandenburg Gate, where passersby teased them. At a museum, where patrons chastised them. In his basement bedroom, where his brother creepily stared at them.
“Ignore him,” Sayid would say.
And she’d try. But Ali would stay lurking behind the curtain, part of his head visible.
Sayid would peel and tear her clothes off with desperate passion, toss her onto the bed with abandon, clasp her hands behind her back when he wanted, devour her vagina, munch on her labia like a dog, give her a rimming job she couldn’t believe, pull her hair when he was fucking her, collapse next to her when he orgasmed, and forget she was there for a few minutes, just staring at the low ceiling. Even while she kissed his chest and caressed him after the sex, he’d be lost in thought. When she finally got him to say what was on his mind, it was usually a math problem that had been bothering him. They’d laugh about that, and chat some more.
But Ali would still be there. One time they even caught Ali jerking off behind the curtain. Sayid yelled at him, asking him angrily if he wanted to fuck her, too.
Sayid even risked his job by calling off just to spend more time with Melinda. The host family was away at a theater, so they had upstairs to themselves. Sayid chased her around the living room, playfully but determinedly, caught her and flung her over his shoulder, carrying her off to the sofa, where he’d throw her, whip out his penis and approach her menacingly with a grin, swinging the flaccid cock at her as if he was threatening her with it. She laughed at him, sat back on the sofa and spread her legs and gestured for him to “come and get it.” He practically galloped his way to her, even pushing aside the table and nearly making an expensive vase fall onto the floor, charging towards her open and welcoming pussy. But he wasn’t hard yet until he had licked her and slapped her a few times and made her yell out that she was his slut. And for that he’d “punish” her with the hardest sex he could muster, which wasn’t much but she played along, pretending he was hurting her to make him feel good, to give him some semblance of power before he went back to his job as a dishwasher.
The German family liked Melinda, but Sayid’s sister Lakshmi complained about what her presence was doing to the brothers and Frau Dettelbach regretfully asked her to stop coming by.
“You can’t leave me,” Sayid whimpered, with tears in his eyes.
“We both have to move on,” Melinda assured him.
“No, I’ll kill myself. I won’t make it without you.”
Melinda held him in her arms and ran her fingers through her hair. “You’ve only known me a few days, Sayid.”
“I don’t care,” he screamed at her, pulling away from her. “Don’t go. Or I go with you.”
It took a few more minutes but she finally convinced him that this beautiful little relationship was now over. She turned to leave the sweet home she had been getting used to. Sayid cursed at her as she left. Ali laughed at him. Their sister apologized to her but said it was for the best.
Her backpacking companions were getting worried about her and one had even sent an email to her mother. While Elizabeth, Jia and Carlo were on the train to Prague, Melinda had been spending a lot of time in Germany with the two families. They were already on their way to Munich. She had missed out on the hiking trip in Prague.
After the drama with Sayid—and a heated phone call with mom, she decided to stay celibate once she rejoined the group. Jia was intrigued and entertained by her stories with these men. Carlo didn’t like it. He told her how dangerous it was for a girl to be by herself, how obsessive some guys can get, how crazy guys get when they confuse easy access to sex with being in love. He mentioned backpackers he knew who had been robbed at gunpoint, raped and beaten, lost for days.
But statistically, Melinda figured, she was okay.
“No more wandering off,” Carlo said to her one night at the hostel, standing over her bed while she was trying to sleep. She nodded but he didn’t leave. He was looking at her. Not at her eyes, though. Her forehead? Her face? Now, her neck. Now her body under the covers.
“Good night, Carlo,” she said to him. When he crossed his arms and still looked at her, she rolled her eyes and added, “You’re like my European dad.”
He laughed at that and that shook him out of that little stupor he was in.
“Fun day tomorrow then it’s off to France,” he declared like he was in charge. “We got a lot of shit to do.”
“Aye, captain,” Melinda said with a nod.
He laughed again.
“And no more wandering off, young lady,” he said, pointing at her.
“Yes, dad,” she answered. He smiled at that, took one last look at her before going to his bed across the room.
Later Elizabeth caught him masturbating and woke everyone up when she yelled at him.
Melinda stayed with them for most of the next few days. They spent a lot of time in France. The Alps were particularly breathtaking for them. They had a quaint little lodge to sleep in. They had to bunk together. Elizabeth, Jia and Melinda in one large bed, Carlo in the smaller one.
Melinda couldn’t sleep. She preferred the crazy nights she spent with Sayid, the afternoon delight with Arnoldus, two before them. She found she was touching herself, too, lightly so Elizabeth next to her wouldn’t notice. She needed another wretch, maybe. Someone down on their luck that would, what, need her? Her mother thought it was her bleeding heart that led her to let these guys fuck her. But she was so horny she could’ve jumped Carlo, who certainly wasn’t pathetic or needy. Uptight and geeky-looking but not in need. She eventually fell asleep at dawn and had a nightmare where Sayid was strangling her while her dad watched behind the curtain.
Melinda was a little irritable in the morning. But once they hit the hiking trails, she was feeling better. She focused on the villages, the houses, the people who were friendly with her and Elizabeth and Jia—but amusingly rude with Carlo. They enjoyed the city of Calais where Elizabeth wanted to see any remnants of a refugee and immigrant shanty town she heard about. They visited the forests, the cliffs, and Melinda’s favorite, the creperies. One day they also saw the Louvre Museum (on a day tickets were cheap, of course). All this and she hadn’t met one unfortunate soul brazen enough to make a pass at her. Perhaps her decision to abstain shown on her face. Or it could be the dirty looks Elizabeth would give to guys who seemed to want to “talk” to her or Jia.
Days later, at a lodge as their trip winded down, Melinda was in bed with Jia, both in large T-shirts. Elizabeth was on the other bed. Carlo was on an air mattress.
Melinda’s thighs were getting antsy again. She had been playfully spooning with Jia before she fell asleep. She watched Carlo under his covers. Such an awkward, straight-arrow college boy. He’d probably work in politics one day, she figured. Or be a public defender. He had showered right before bed, she remembered for some reason.
Jia had flirted with a lot of guys during the trip. Even Elizabeth had gotten to dance with a few guys during their night club hopping. Carlo hadn’t gotten much of anything. He was too serious.
Melinda sat up and looked at him.
Way too serious.
She snuck out of bed not to disturb Jia and tiptoed slowly towards Carlo. He was in his boxers underneath the thin blanket, she remembered. She bent down next to him. She pulled the covers off him slowly. He slept soundly. She reached for his boxers and touched his penis. Small and flaccid, it was. She chuckled a little. Then she rubbed on it. It was starting to stir. She smiled at that. She stroked it some more. Carlo twitched. She lifted her hand. He reached for his penis and touched it, then let it go. Melinda went for it again, pulling the boxers down to get to it, holding the little thing in her hand and watching it in the dark, with only moonlight hitting it, that and a small glow from the hallway between the hinges of the door. She felt it grow stronger and bigger and harder.
Carlo was the type of guy her dad would want her to marry, wasn’t he? She tried to picture it. She was lost in the thought for a second. When she looked down, Carlo was awake.
He stared at her in disbelief. His body was tense. His hands were under his chin as if he were cowering.
She only smiled at him and continued holding the cock.
He shook his head. She gave him a doubtful look. His body squirmed on the air mattress. She kissed the cock. He gasped and closed his eyes. She took it into her mouth. He let out of sudden breath and looked down at her, wide-eyed.
Mr. Know-It-All. Mr. Captain. Her European Dad. Like a scared little virgin.
But his cock wasn’t as hesitant, lengthier than she had expected, hard and thick and lovely in the dark. She rested her lips on the mushroom tip and, “Mmmm,” she muttered quietly.
Every movement made the air mattress move unpredictably but she managed to get on top of him.
His hands stopped cowering under his chin and became bolder, going right for her thighs and pushing the T-shirt up and finding no panties underneath. She straddled him. His face was in awe. She reached under to position his cock in the right place. His mouth formed an “O” as he waited with anticipation. She rubbed his tip around her pussy until it was aligned just right. Now he was nodding. She laughed a little.
And she slid down, enveloping him into her, with a soft-toned but high-pitched squeal coming from poor Carlo. That first penetration was slow. She rose up again. Then she plopped down on him harder, and the air mattress made his head bounce up. He held her hips. She rocked away on top of him, but not too hard on this bouncy mattress. Back and forth at first. Then she rolled around. Carlo sounded like an owl with his repeating “Ooh.”
She had her eyes closed, and found herself imagining Dad walking her down the aisle to Carlo.
Movement from the other side of the room made them both look up. Elizabeth was still asleep on the other bed. Jia had crawled over to them and was watching, intrigued. Melinda continued riding Carlo. Then Jia started touching both of them, Carlo on his chest, Melinda on her breasts. It was Melinda’s turn to be surprised although she had suspected Jia had been wanting something. Jia nibbled on Melinda’s nipples over her T-shirt. Melinda pulled the shirt off and threw it aside. Jia went for it again. She also bit at Carlo’s nipples, making his gasp. She kissed him on the lips. He liked it, but he wanted to kiss Melinda, too. Jia was already doing that, holding Melinda’s hair and digging her tongue into Melinda’s mouth.
Their quiet love-making frenzy went on for a few more minutes until Carlo was ready to explode.
Melinda dismounted and put her face close to his cock. Jia took the chance to take the cock in her hands and stroke it with fascination while they waited. Carlo winced and gritted his teeth until finally he exploded.
It was nice explosion of cum onto Melinda’s face and dripping over Jia’s hands, but Carlo couldn’t help yelling when he came.
And Elizabeth screamed at them to stop.
Carlo spent the next ten minutes apologizing. Elizabeth made him sleep on the floor of the hallway. And she made Jia and Melinda separate.
“I’m telling your mother,” Elizabeth said to Melinda as if they were children. They all went back to bed, Elizabeth with one eye open.
They finished their trip in southern France. It took a while, but they started relaxing with each other again, except for Elizabeth, who wouldn’t talk to Melinda much. Carlo was getting bold, using any opportunity to touch Melinda until she finally told him to stop. She never really had feelings for Carlo. On their last night, though, she saw that Jia had snuck out of the bed she shared with Elizabeth and was cuddling up to Carlo on his tinier bed. Melinda smiled at that and went back to sleep.
On the plane ride home, they sat separately in coach. Melinda stared out the window as they left Europe behind. She was anxious to see her mother again. She knew she’d have to listen to a lecture first, but she missed her mom and Theresa and even Dad. Carlo switched seats with another passenger to sit next to Jia. The person sitting next to Melinda was a Belgian of Asian descent. He bragged about the businesses he started, how he’d make so much money in the States. She nodded politely to all that. But as they talked some more during that long plane trip, he admitted that the one business he had started had actually failed, how his girlfriend left him soon after, how he was going back to school to finish something, anything, and how his family was hounding him to grow up, find regular work, get married and give them grandchildren. He was frustrated. He looked like he was going to cry about it.
Halfway over the Atlantic, they were sharing a blanket.
