New York Nights Northern Lights 02

Wanted: A writer needing to have an Alaskan adventure

Continued, revised, and rewritten from Chapter 01:

As soon as he ejaculated his load of warm, oozy cum in my mouth, he said the words that I had been waiting to hear.

"I love you," he said.

As if I misheard him or as if I imagined him saying those words in my sleep, I stopped sucking his cock to listen.

"Pardon? Sorry. What did you just say? My ears were blocked. I had my mouth full of your prick and was too busy sucking your cock to correctly hear you. I thought you said you love me," I said suddenly having heart palpitations while laughing nervously.

He looked down at me still on my knees and staring up at him with my big, beautiful, blue eyes and his hard cock still leaking cum in my hand.

"You heard me correctly," he said moving my long, blonde hair from my eyes to see my pretty face. "I love you. I do. I love you," he said running a slow hand over my long, blonde hair as if I was his loyal dog, a dumb but beautiful Afghan hound. It was then that I wished that I was as smart as a Poodle or a Border Collie because then I would have better known what he was up to when proposing to me so unexpectedly.

I was shocked. I was stunned. I was dumbfounded. After more than two years of going through the boyfriend and girlfriend living together motions, I couldn't believe he finally said the L word.

'Oh, my God! Wow!'

This moved our relationship to a whole other level. Only, did he say that he loved me because I was blowing him, allowing him to cum in my mouth, and swallowing his cum? Did he say that he loved me or did he say the L word because he loved the blowjobs that I routinely gave him because I love sucking cock so much? Obviously, he has never had as much sex since he met me. Obviously he has never had as many blowjobs since he asked me to move in with him.

I couldn't count the number of times I sucked his cock, he ejaculated in my mouth, and I swallowed his cum. I was always sucking his cock. I sucked his prick way more times than he ate my pussy. I wished he enjoyed eating me as much as I enjoyed sucking him. I wished he was as much the licker as I was the sucker.

Only now, instead of taking our love affair to the next level, especially after he told me that he loved me, he was leaving me again and this time for two months. Especially with him now my fiancée, two months without him would be quite the adjustment. Depending on the quality and quantity of my writing, two months could go by quickly or seem like forever. Honestly, I didn't want him to go but I was glad to have the quiet time to myself to finish my book.

My book, my book, the success of my writing career fringed on me finishing my book. My frigging endless book, my life was all about my unfinished novel that I had been trying to write for seemingly forever. I was stuck. I was lacking something that was as interesting as it was exciting. Rambling words all around it, instead of moving the story forward, I was missing the plot. I needed to finish my book by getting to the point and by hitting the bulls-eye of why I was writing this book in the first place. Once I nailed the elusive plot, the story would evolve.

### TallBlondeBustyBlueEyedBimbo ###

An interesting man who was full of cerebral surprises, I never met anyone like him. I guess I loved him too, even though I had yet to say that I did. With him not saying that he loved me either until I was on my knees sucking his cock again, and he was cumming in my mouth again, that didn't seem like the right time to tell him that I loved him too.

'Sorry. My mouth was full with me sucking your prick. It would have been rude of me to tell you that I love you too with my mouth full and while you were cumming in my mouth,' I imagined saying.

My excuse for not reacting the way I should have reacted when he told me that he loved me was that I was preoccupied sucking his cock. Being that I'm such a cock sucking whore, I'm not embarrassed to admit that I love sucking cock. I can't help myself. Ever since I turned 18-years-old when I was dating the quarterback of the football team, and he took me to the senior prom, it was then that I gave my first blowjob. Whenever I'm blowing someone, especially someone that I care for and possibly love, I completely zone out.

As if I'm a stripper in a VIP room blowing a deep pocketed customer, a starlet auditioning for a part by blowing the producer, or an aide working for a powerful politician, I disappear to another time and place. Maybe there's something psychological about it, but blowing a man is as if his prick is my tubular pacifier. With a man's prick feeling as soft as it feels hard, I love the feel of a hard cock in my hand while stroking him. I love the feel of a hard cock in my mouth while sucking him. Horny just thinking about it, I love cupping his testicles while blowing him.

Besides, with Daniel not pressuring me to tell him how I felt, he wasn't the romantic type anyway. Moreover, it was the wrong time to tell him that I loved him when he was packing his steamer trunk to leave for me two months. Now, if he took me on a cruise to Alaska, a cruise so romantic when going from New York nights to northern lights, as soon as I boarded the boat, I'd be telling him that I loved him too.

I stared at him while he seemed preoccupied in thought. He was always preoccupied in thought. As if he was thinking about something, our conversation suddenly waned before it stopped. Obviously, he was thinking of work. He was always thinking about work. Having learned not to interrupt his thoughts with my girlish foolishness, I remained quiet until he spoke again.

"I wanted to give you something before I left," he said surprising me when he fell to one knee.

'What?'

"Daniel...what are you doing?"

Every woman's dream, I knew exactly what he was doing. I dreamt of this very moment for years. Suddenly, I was transformed to being his Cinderella with him being my Prince Charming. Suddenly, I was his Juliet and he was my Romeo. Suddenly, I was Sleeping Beauty and he had just awakened me not with a kiss but with a marriage proposal.

'Oh, my God,' I was so nervous that I thought I'd pee myself.

I imagined my friends asking me what I did when he finally popped the question.

'As if I was a dog, I peed down my legs and all over the carpet,' I imagined saying.

He pulled a small, blue box out from his trunk, opened it, and held it up to me. It was a sparkling diamond ring that looked to be about 3 carats. "I love you, Barbara. Will you marry me?"

My jaw dropped. He just proposed marriage to me. He told me he loved me. He called me Barbara. He never called me Barbara. I would have preferred he call me Barbie or Baby, especially at a time like this.

He asked me to marry him. I couldn't believe he asked me to marry him. Something we hadn't discussed and had never discussed, something out of the blue, I couldn't believe he wanted me to be his wife. I stared at him and at his ring. I had stopped imagining this day would ever come.

'Oh, my God! Oh, my God! Oh, my God,' I couldn't remember ever being this excited.

I couldn't wait to call my mother and all of my friends.

"Yes," I said reaching down for him and kissing him while staring at the ring. "I love you too," I said.

As if he was the bachelor on the TV show, The Bachelor, and I was The Bachelorette on that same series of TV shows, he returned my kiss.

"I love you," he said again.

Chapter 02:

As if I was retired and living the good life, I spent the next two months writing, watching movies, and reading. My time alone, a time without distractions, and without having to do things I didn't want to do, such as cooking, cleaning, laundry, and picking up after a messy man went by fast. Cherishing my time alone with my thoughts and my uninterrupted view of Central Park, the only time I was lonely was when I thought of Daniel. I wondered what he was doing and where exactly he was in Alaska.

When too busy writing to think of him during the day, I thought of him at night. I hated sleeping alone. I hated not cuddling up against him to keep me warm. As if his semi-erect prick was my worry stone, one of my favorite things to do, I hated not having his cock there for me to hold in my hand while I spooned him and as I slept. As if my tits belonged to him, one of my favorite things that I loved for him to do, I hated him not being there to comfort me by holding my breast in his hand while he spooned me. I'm not ashamed to admit that I masturbated a lot while thinking of him fucking me and me blowing him.

I couldn't remember when he had been gone for such a long period of time. I couldn't remember ever writing as much as I was writing now. Only, the more that I wrote, the longer my novel grew. Growing out of control, I'd have a devil of a time editing the beast. I had written some good things but it was always difficult to know what to keep and what to cut. I'd have to dump half of it for someone to want to publish it. Yet, not wanting to stop the creative process, I continued writing. If nothing else, should I ever get this book published, I was now writing my sequel.

Yet, being that I was a first time writer, I wanted to keep my novel more the length of a novella, 30 to 40-thousand words. Now, obviously inspired by my alone time, it was already over 80-thousand words and still growing with no end in sight. No publisher would touch a novel approaching the length of a Harry Potter book from an unpublished writer. Maybe if I called it War and Peace Two, I'd be able to sell it but my book had nothing to do with Napoleon and/or with five Russian families.

A slave to my environment, being that I can only write what I know as a writer, I changed my story. No doubt because Daniel had gone to Alaska, my book had changed from my life in New York to what I perceived what my life would be in Alaska. I had appropriately titled my book New York Nights about how I met Daniel in Central Park at a Billy Joel concert. My book was to be about our love story and about the unlikely happenchance of an Exxon geologist falling in love with a lowly New York, struggling writer.

Only no longer my story anymore but my character's story, my book was about a woman who follows her man to Alaska. Needing to add intrigue and tension to my romance, I imagined my main character finding her man in another woman's arms. Not even confronting them, I imagined her driving away in hurt, shock, and anger. Then, not knowing where she was going, in a panic and unable to see through her tears, she loses control of her car and drives her car in a ditch.

With an impending storm brewing there's no one out on the roads. She's all alone and it's getting dark. Her car won't start to give him heat. She's stranded without food, without water, without even a blanket, and her phone is dead.

'Yeah, that's good,' I thought. 'Then what?'

Thinking that she was going to die by freezing to death, despondent, depressed, and angry, already on the rebound, she falls in love with her first responder. She falls in love with a tow truck driver, no, a fireman, no, an Alaskan State Trooper, no, a long distance trucker. Yeah, she falls in love with an Alaskan, ice road trucker, who saves her from freezing to death by giving her a ride and giving her shelter from the storm.

'Wow!'

Now, instead of calling my book New York Nights, I changed the title to New York Nights-Northern Lights.

'Wow, now I really have something that's different,' I thought again while thinking that I hope my book was just a work of fiction and not a premonition.

### TallBlondeBustyBlueEyedBimbo ###

No matter if I wrote my book about meeting Daniel in New York or traveling to Alaska to catch him having an affair with some Alaskan woman, the real story was about a mystery man I imagined who lived in Alaska. The real story was not the story that I was living in New York now but obviously about the life that I wanted to live in Alaska. Tired of living in New York as a one-dimensional writer, tired of not going anywhere and doing anything, other than to accompany my boyfriend, now my fiancé on geology trips, I wanted to experience my own adventure.

Only, instead of imagining writing another knockoff story of Sex in the City, I imagined writing a romantic story about Sex in Alaska. I wanted to travel to Alaska. I wanted to experience what it would feel like to fall in love in Alaska instead of in New York. For the sake of finishing my book, I needed to explore Alaska.

Never having been on a motorcycle, deathly afraid of motorcycles, now as if I was a female version of Peter Fonda as Easy Rider, I'd love to ride on the back of a bike while holding my Alaskan man around his waist. Even though I'm deathly afraid of bugs too, especially big, black spiders, I'd love to camp in Alaskan's Tongrass National Forest with my Alaskan man, if only to say that I did. In the way that some writers would go on Safari in Africa to shoot big game or travel to India to see the Taj Mahal and experience the people, my big adventure would be traveling to Alaska to meet and make love to my Alaskan, mystery man.

Interrupting my thoughts by interfering with my writing inspiration and creative process, my brain was now stuck on Daniel. In the way that my life was all about my unfinished novel, my life was all about Daniel. When I wasn't thinking about my book, I was thinking about my man.

In the way that I was thinking of him, I was sure that he wasn't thinking of me. More thinking about his work than about his fiancé in New York, I should be thinking more about my novel than my fiancée in Alaska. Only, having never been to Alaska, I always wanted to go. As if Alaska was the end of the world, I always wanted to see the northern lights.

Yet, now that I was Daniel's fiancé instead of his live-in girlfriend, he graduated in love, concern, and affection in my mind. What we have could be the real deal. Mrs. Daniel Reed. Barbara Reed sounded much better than Barbara Tulipani. What we have may lead to marriage and children. Only and obviously not yet ready to give up my dream of finishing my book becoming a published writer, I still wanted and needed to have my Alaskan adventure.

In the way that his steamer trunk broadcasted his adventures for all to see, whenever he dragged that monstrosity through the airport or to the docks, I always wanted a backpack. I wanted one of those cool looking, Indiana Jones hats, too. If only to kill giant, black spiders, I've always wanted a giant Bowie knife like the one that Crocodile Dundee carried.

Even though I'm a city girl and hate the great outdoors, because of all that I've watched on television, as if I was a female character in the movie, Revenant, I always wanted to go hiking through the forest. Yet, just as I'd never go to Africa, India, Australia, or even South America, I'd definitely go to the last American frontier, Alaska. For me to become immerse in it enough to write about it, Alaska was just something that I needed to see and experience firsthand.

Daniel had already been gone more for than two months. As much as I was surprised that he was leaving again, it was when he called me to tell me at the end of the second month that his plans had changed and the he needed to stay in Alaska through the winter. Thinking that he'd be home any day. Thinking he'd be home for Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, and definitely by New Year's Eve, I was sad. I was disappointed. Now, I was inspired, motivated, and driven to begin my new writing adventure by leaving New York and following him to Alaska.

'Through the winter? He was staying there through the winter? Why? I didn't understand why he needed to stay there through the winter. That made no sense to me. Just as it was bad enough to spend a winter in North Dakota analyzing fracking, it was even worse to spend a winter in Alaska.'

I couldn't believe he'd be gone for at least another month, maybe two months or possibly even more. I was dumbfounded. I wondered what a geologist could possibly do with snow and ice on a frozen ground. Yet, he assured me that they had plenty of work to do. They checked subterranean maps with seismic studies. Yet, questioning his reasons for staying, after my book moved me in a direction of him having an affair, I now had my suspicions. With all of the computer technology and satellite information available to them now, wasn't checking subterranean maps with seismic studies something he could do from home?

He told me that they also do something called fairway mapping with explosive charges and vibration analysis, as well as charting the pinging sounds of something with sonar. So? Scientists don't have to be inside of a volcano, in a hurricane, ahead of a tsunami, or at the split of an earthquake fault to measure their destructive devastation. With all of that over my head, I had no idea what the Hell he was talking about. All I knew was that I missed him and was lonely without him.

Now that I was engaged to him, I had so much to discuss with him about the wedding. I needed to find a wedding planner. I needed to hire a reception hall. I needed to make up invitation list and design the invitations. I needed to hire a caterer, a band, a videographer, and a photographer. I needed to order the wedding cake, the favors, and the flowers, the wedding party, and my wedding gown. God, I needed to buy a wedding gown, but not just any wedding gown. I needed to buy my perfect wedding gown. We needed to talk about who we wanted in the wedding party.

Yet, my sadness and disappointment dissolved as soon as I started writing a new chapter in my book about living my life with a mystery man, an Alaskan man, in Alaska. No longer hung up thinking of Daniel, I was thinking of my Alaskan, mystery man. No longer stuck and unable to finish my novel, I was now writing about Alaska and making love in Alaska instead of having sex in New York. Only, I needed to go there to see it and to feel it so that I could write from experience.

'An Alaskan mystery man, wow, how hot is that? Living like in Alaska, how romantic is that?'

I imagined living in a cabin. I imagined going hiking, camping, fishing, hunting, and motorcycle riding. I imagined being exposed to things that I had never experienced before while living in New York. I couldn't even imagine a life without the subway, an array of yellow taxi cabs, an endless crowds of people crossing super wide streets, and noise, lots and lots of noise. Between car alarms, horns beeping, ambulance, fire truck, and police sirens, New York was a noisy place to live. I couldn't even imagine living somewhere so peacefully quiet. Who needed the hidden dangers of Central Park when I had Tongrass National Forest, the biggest rain forest in the world?

### TallBlondeBustyBlueEyedBimbo ###

It wasn't until I saw a woman in the background of our video chats that I became even more suspicious than I was of him suddenly needing to stay in Alaska through the winter. It wasn't until I spent sleepless nights imagining them holding, hugging, kissing, licking, sucking, and fucking one another while I stayed here alone in his apartment with my still unfinished book. Envious of her, obviously, the woman was everything I wasn't. Obviously, with me lacking in advanced education, emotional stability, psychological maturity, and not having a PhD in Earth Sciences, the woman was everything that Daniel wanted.

'Oh, oh,' I thought. 'Who the Hell is she? Is she (gulp) the other woman. God damn it. This isn't good,' I thought. 'My first Christmas engaged, I didn't want to spend that alone and lonely. Fuck, I already had plans of inviting my family for Thanksgiving dinner.'

Suddenly, I was nervous. I was afraid. This was finally my chance at eternal happiness by finding the dream man that I wanted to marry and start a family and this broad could ruin everything. It wasn't right and it wasn't fair for me not to be there to fight for him. There was only so much I could do with me being more than four-thousand miles away.