"I, for one, welcome his new hobby," said Dan. He and Matt were staring at Luke as he was writing a letter is some blocky language neither of them could decipher. He had been writing to a pen-pal for the past three months, and it was slowly becoming more and more consuming, where he would even write multiple versions of a letter to find the best wording rather than hang out with the guys.
Not that they minded, of course.
Both Dan and Matt had been previously content with their packages, both of decent size. It wasn't until a trip to the gym's locker room that the two realized that Luke should be renamed to Long. As such, the two found it very difficult to prowl with the knowledge they had of Luke. A once tragic even between Luke and a smashing-ten brunette who liked the feel of his crotch was ended when Matt had convinced her he had a yacht, and he was the one who got to leave the babe at six in the morning.
"Yeah, no kidding," said Matt, "Maybe what's-his-face Luke's writing to will keep him busy... Less beers and bitches to buy!"
"Isn't that a bit misogynistic?"
"Perhaps. But are we not misogynists?"
"Right you are, my compatriot. Come! The world of wenches awaits!"
The two left Luke as he continued to write to the pen-pal.
Four days later, Luke got up early in the morning. He lived in his own apartment on the outskirts of the local state college's campus (not that he attended, but the rent was relatively cheap). He usually kept his door open during the day to let people come and go as they please. Today, it was shut and locked. He yawned, tried to roll back to sleep, when something caught him.
"Murnin wud..." he grumbled, and rolling the other way, got out of bed to pee.
He liked his dick. It was funny the way that he hung out at an angle, as well as the fact it was the same size around as the circle made by his thumb and fore-finger. The only problem he had was if he curled it up in his underwear, since if he grew then, his dick might break in half. Or his underwear. Hopefully his underwear.
As he stood up, he looked down, and could see his pubes as his erection pulled at his briefs. He felt a small tear, and he could begin to see his dick break through the fabric of his briefs. "Damnit!" he swore, dropping his briefs to prevent any more tearing. Then, deciding he couldn't hit the target, he relieved himself into the shower, and waited for his dick to calm down.
The mail flap opened, and a few letters dropped into the room. Pulling up his briefs, he picked up the letters, reading each one's addressee. One caught his eye- the one from Svalbard, an archipelago under Norway's control in the Arctic Circle. He tore open the letter, and began translating the script;
"Dear Luke,
Papa says his coal industry has given him enough money to send me to your country! But he tells me he only has enough to send me, not bring me back. He asked me to ask you if you wouldn't mind letting me stay with you, until I can work hard enough to pay for a way back.
So, my question is, may I stay with you for a while? I would love to see America!
Sincerely,
Marit"
He was giddy with joy. "Of course you can!" he cried. Then, realizing she was across the Atlantic, picked up a pen and wrote it down to her, put it in the envelope, stamped it, and (after remembering a shirt and pants) hurried to the mailbox on the corner to send it.
Another eight days passed, and finally, he got a response that said;
"Dear Luke,
I am coming to America! I figure you won't get the letter for a while, so Papa bought me a flight to your country on the 20th! See you soon!
Sincerely,
Marit
PS: The other paper is my travel information. So you will know when to pick me up!"
Luke peeked at the calendar. It was the 19th. He pulled out the other paper, read that the landing was for the Falcon Field Air Base, and was glad that he was close by.
The next day rolled around, and he drove to the base early. He leaned against his car, a small sign held in his left hand. He watched little kids playing on the playground, looking up every five minutes, expecting the roaring of a jet to be the plane Marit was on. Though she was on a non-commercial flight, and no jet engine would be her plane, he hoped each one was hers.
He had seen a photo of her face. She had a bright smile with glittering blue eyes, thin eyebrows and white-blonde hair. Light seemed to radiate off her photo (though his friends told him it was the gloss). He, in turn, sent her a photo of him. They both offered compliments to the other. He was hoping to make a good impression- she was a looker!
He heard another plane go overhead, and instead of flying off, it starting banking in circles, coming in for a landing. The Norwegian coat of arms was painted on the side of the plane, and he smiled, knowing it was her. The plane finally made touch down, and a set of stairs was brought to the exit door.
Out stepped numerous blonde folk, as well as a few brown- and- black haired men returning from a mining inspection. He approached the plane, holding up a sign with Marit's name on it. Everyone got off, but no one approached him to say they were Marit. The door closed, the plane drove off. He dropped his arms, drooped his head. He was sad.
"Awr yoo Lewk?" asked a throaty female voice behind him. He smiled, and said in broken Norwegian, "Og har... mistanke om du... er Marit?" And I suspect you are Marit?
