I was broke, cold and hungry. I had arrived in Copenhagen one cold December morning with the equivalent of a dollar to my name. After working on a Norwegian freighter for several months, I signed off in Alicante, Spain and made my way north, spending time in Paris on the Left Bank, Antwerp, and other places, and eventually made my way to Copenhagen, where I arrived with my last dollar.

One of the things I learned while traveling is how important it is to find a café or bar I liked and keep going there day after day and gradually you become known. Fortunately, I was able to get a small room in the home of a kind, elderly woman who took me in with the understanding I would eventually pay her once I got a job. But then I found out I would have to prove I had several hundred dollars in order to be allowed to stay in Denmark and be eligible for working papers. Catch-22. I couldn’t do that because all I had was a dollar, and there I was stuck, not sure what I would do.

What I did, however, might appear foolish. I went to a really fancy restaurant and had a delicious steak dinner with a glass of wine. In those days, food was very inexpensive. I figured if I’m going to be broke, I might as well go out with a bang and not a whimper. So I had my delicious dinner, and then faced the harsh reality I was completely broke.

Every morning, my kind landlady brought me coffee, toast and jam. I had a little desk and I wrote every morning and evening, but during the day would go to the café I enjoyed and, gradually got to know a lot of other travelers and had many stimulating conversations. I was never without a cup of coffee or something to eat because of the generosity of so many people. Even the waitresses got to know me and often dropped me a half a sandwich or something tasty.

Many times, however, I was cold and hungry and would go to the café to see if anyone I knew was there. When there wasn’t a familiar face, I would stand, look around and see someone finishing a meal but leave food on their plate. When they put on their coat and hat and left, I would go to the vacated table and finish what was left before the busboy or waitress cleared the table. Sometimes I’d find a few French fries, a crust of bread, a remnant of a salad, or a bone with a little meat left. It was awkward, but I would do it as casually and as inconspicuously as possible, hoping no one would notice.

Usually no one paid any attention, except one night, I noticed a young blonde woman sitting at a nearby table, watching me with a smile on her lips. Our eyes met as I was putting a piece of bread with a little gravy into my mouth. I was caught, red handed, as they say. Rather than try to hide what I was doing, I smiled, shrugged my shoulders and was surprised when she left her table with her cup of coffee and joined me.

“I hope you don’t mind if I join you.” She smiled then looked down at the now empty plate. I was struck by her deep blue eyes, but couldn’t help notice her grapefruit sized breasts in the tight sweater and the way her long straight blonde hair fell well below her shoulders.

“No, I don’t mind, though I admit, it’s not the best way to meet someone.”

“Well, I liked watching you eat. l never saw anyone do what you did.”

“It’s not my favorite thing to do, but I was hungry and broke.” I couldn’t keep my eyes off of her smiling blue eyes and her breasts straining her sweater.

“So you’ve done this before,” she said, an amused look on her face.

“Yes, it’s surprising what people leave. I could have gone for a few more French fries though.”

She laughed and reached across the table to shake my hand. “I’m Birgit.”

“Peter,” I responded, taking her hand, “Glad to meet you. Are you Danish?”

“Yes, I grew up on a dairy farm not far from here. I go to the university.”

“Oh yes, the university, I have eaten there. A student I know gave me some meal tickets. I lucked out because it was all you can eat, but my month of tickets expired.”

“You did luck out.” She sat back and looked at me, her eyebrows scrunched as if puzzled. “I’m curious. You look interesting. I can see you’re American, but why are you here? Why are you broke? Don’t Americans have a lot of money?”

“Some do, but most people struggle to get by. You probably know America from Hollywood movies. It’s not really like that.”

“I love American movies and also your music,” she said. “I’m a musician, but I play the cello. My music is very different from rock and roll, but I love Elvis and Buddy Holly and actually sometimes, play along with the records I have.”

“You play rock and roll on your cello?”

“Yes, I like letting go and just get into the rhythm, its fun, but very different than the music I play with the string quartet I’m in, or the university orchestra.”

She glanced down at the book I had placed on the table while I was sneaking the food. “Nietzsche,” she said, nodding. “I’ve heard of him.”

I glanced down at the Portable Nietzsche, a book I had picked up on one of the docks somewhere. Often, in many of the ports, men had tables with books that I was able to trade for a pair of socks or underwear. I ended up with a suitcase full of books and very little clothes.

“Yes, I was just reading his Birth of Tragedy. I opened to the page I had been reading earlier but rather than read it I said, “It’s really interesting. He says truth is whatever is life-affirming and that anything that denies or impedes growth is false.”

“That’s interesting. I didn’t expect to be getting a philosophy lesson when I saw you sneaking food, but I like that.”

“Well, I didn’t expect to be caught and have you join me, so we’re even.” I sat back and looked at her across from me. I can’t believe how beautiful and sexy she is. 

“So, what’s your story,” she asked, leaning forward. She spoke perfect English, but I could detect her accent and found it appealing.

“I’ll tell you mine, if you tell me yours. You seem like an interesting person, coming over after catching me eating someone else's food and you play rock and roll on your cello.”

“Okay, but let me buy you a meal and we can chat,” she said. “You look like a hungry man,” she added, somewhat coyly and I sensed something was going on between us. Is she teasing me? I couldn’t stop looking at her deep blue eyes, the way they sparkled and though I tried, I couldn’t help glancing at the way her breasts strained her tight sweater. I can't believe this is happening.

“Thank you, I am a hungry man.” I knew she saw where I was looking and noticed her slight smile as if she didn’t mind. Does she live nearby? Maybe she’ll invite me to her place.

Birgit called the waitress over while I glanced up at the blackboard listing the food. I knew I wanted more French fries and a hot roast beef sandwich with gravy, while Birgit ordered a Greek salad with feta cheese.

“Thank you for treating me. I don’t remember the last time I had roast beef.”

“I haven’t had roast beef in years. I’m a vegetarian.”

“Really, that’s interesting. I tried being a vegetarian but didn’t make it. I like a good steak once in a while.”

“I grew up on a farm and we ate meat, but when I was a teen decided I didn’t like the idea of eating an animal.”

“I understand, but maybe you can answer a question.”

“What,” she asked, sipping her coffee, looking at me over the rim of her mug.

“Well, I know that people who eat only vegetables are called vegetarians, but I can’t figure out why cannibals, who eat humans, are not called humanitarians.”

She almost spit the coffee out of her mouth, laughing. “Good question.” She picked up a napkin to wipe her lips.

When our food came, I thanked her again and we both began eating, talking and our conversation flowed. I told her why I dropped out of college, got the job on the freighter and wanted to experience harsh reality and one day I would write about it.

She asked me my plans, how long I planned to be in Copenhagen. I told her I wasn’t sure. My brother was getting married in two months and soon I was going to go down to Hamburg to see if I could hop a freighter back home but didn’t have any money.

“Oh, so you will be leaving soon.” She sat back in her chair and narrowed her eyes and I could tell she was thinking about what I had said.

Both of us were silent, but gazed into each other’s eyes. Why is she looking at me? What’s she thinking? Damn, she’s pretty. I wish I wasn’t so fucking shy. Will she invite me to her place?

She started telling me about growing up on the farm, how she loved taking care of the chickens and they grew most of their own food, how she went to a small local school, then to the university where not only the tuition is paid, but she is given a small apartment and a stipend, so she doesn’t need to work.

“Wow, that’s so cool. I didn’t know that. That’s not the way it is in the states, but it should be.”

“Well, we pay high taxes but then everyone benefits,” she said. “No medical bills, financial help if you are injured, free college and a lot more.”

“Sounds like a win, win situation. I like that.”

Then she told me how she just broke up with a man she thought she would marry and how he broke her heart. I listened and nodded then acknowledged how hard that must have been. She was quiet for a few moments, as if swallowing the pain, then smiled at me.

“It was,” she said. “But that was then and this is now. Now, I just want to live in the present and have fun.” She leaned forward and smiled. “I want fun.”

Her smile when she said she wanted fun made me wonder if that meant have a fling. What does she mean by fun?

After eating, we continued talking for over two hours, sharing thoughts and feelings, opening up and saying things to each other that strangers usually don’t share. We talked about relationships, what we loved, what we disliked, our passions, our longings, out dreams. Somehow, our conversation became intimate, touching each other’s hearts. Sometimes we laughed, sometimes we were quiet thinking about what we were saying. I was fascinated by her and could tell we were enjoying each other and before long we were the only ones left in the café.

She looked around the empty café, “It looks like we have to leave.” She took a deep breath and leaned forward. “Listen, if you promise you will behave, I might invite you to my apartment for dessert. I baked an apple pie this morning.”

“I would love dessert and I promise I will be a good boy.” What luck, maybe I’ll have a place to sleep tonight and more.

“Yes, I love to bake and I would love to give you a treat, but don’t get the wrong idea. It’s just apple pie and if you’re really a good boy, some delicious coffee.”

“I promise, scout’s honor,” I said, putting up three fingers. “I will be a good boy.”

“Good, I can tell by the way you ate your meal, that you have a big appetite.” She smiled and had that playful, coy look in her eyes. “So it will be nice to give you a delicious dessert. Let’s go.”

After we left the café, we took a walk through the park. It was winter and we passed a large pond with lots of people ice skating, then we took the bus to her apartment. On the bus, she sat next to me. We were quiet, but our thighs and arms touched as we sat next to each other. A few times we glanced at each other, smiling gazing into each other’s eyes, sensing our wanting something to happen, but uncertain how that would happen. I could feel the warmth of her body and my desire for her rising and even though she made me promise to be a good boy, I knew by the way she looked at me she wanted to satisfy her hunger too.

When we arrived at her apartment complex, she led me up a flight of stairs then down a long hallway. I could not help but watch the sway of her hips and her round ass in the tight jeans. She turned to look at me and smiled, knowing where I was looking but didn’t say anything. When we entered her small apartment, I looked around and saw how well decorated it was--the green carpet, the warm beige walls, the art work everywhere—photographs, drawings, paintings.

She took my food-stained raincoat and put it in the closet along with her down vest, then went into the kitchen while I walked around the small apartment, noticing the cello leaning against the wall, a music stand, a pile of music scores on the floor, a large, comfortable looking green couch, a rocking chair, a small dining table with flowers. I looked at the photographs on the wall, seeing a picture of her farm, another with two people I assumed were her parents and a photograph of Birgit when she about fifteen, wearing a short flowery sundress, boots to her knees and looking beautiful with her long blonde hair. She hasn’t really changed that much, just older, I thought while hearing her humming in the kitchen.

When I walked into the tiny kitchen, I saw the pie on the counter while she was making coffee.

“That pie looks delicious.”

“Thank you.” She smiled then turned and reached for two mugs and I loved how her jeans strained her ass. What a luscious ass. What a beautiful, sexy woman.

She poured the coffee and handed me a mug. “I think you will like the service here. Go, sit and I will bring you the pie.”

When I sat down, I took a sip of the coffee and noticed it tasted delicious but unusual. She came and sat down next to me, handed me a large slice of pie, “Here you are, hungry man.” She smiled and looked at me over the rim of her mug. What did she mean I would like the service here? Is she teasing me?

“This coffee is delicious but it has an unusual taste.” I took another sip, savoring it.

“Cinnamon, I always put cinnamon in my coffee, I’m glad you like it,” she said then leaned forward and put her hand on mine and smiled. “I like you. I am enjoying getting to know you.”

“Thank you. I’m glad you caught me sneaking food earlier.”

“I am too.” She took a sip of her coffee then squeezed my hand. We were both silent, then she took a deep breath then said something that startled me. “We will only have tonight.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I don’t want to fall in love. I don’t want to be hurt when you leave for America. After tonight, you will go your way and I will go mine.”

I nodded and understood.

She lifted my hand to her lips and kissed it. I looked at her watery blue eyes and knew she was holding back tears which also welled up in me. She’s so beautiful and wonderful. I took a deep breath and for what seemed like the longest minute, we were quiet, just looking at each other, both of us knowing we wanted this night to be special. I remembered how she said since breaking up with her boy friend she just wants to live in the present. She wanted to have fun, but I could tell she was yearning for more and that what began as a casual conversation in a café could become a lot more if we let it.

Just as I finished my slice of pie and wanting to change to mood, I glanced over at her cello. “The cello is one of my favorite instruments. I love the sound. Sometimes it sounds like a wise old man speaking to me.”

“Would you like to hear me play something for you, even though I am not a wise old man?”

“I’d love that and you’re right, you certainly don’t look like a wise old man.”

“Oh, and what do I look like?”

She stood up, shifting one hip to the side and posed like a sexy model with one hand on the back of her head causing her tits to strain the tight sweater. She stepped towards me and her knees touched my knees. She leaned forward and kissed my cheek.

“Tell me what you think I look like.”

“You don’t want to know what I think. I’m supposed to be a good boy, aren’t I?

“I didn’t say I would be a good girl, did I?” She smirked then walked over to her cello, picked it up, along with her bow and sat down with the shiny brown instrument between her knees. She glanced at me, “This is my favorite Bach Partita,” she said, then closed her eyes and began playing.

I was fascinated watching her play, her bow moving vigorously, her fingers moving quickly and smoothly up and down the strings, the deep mellow sounds filling the room, the rapid notes, her brows creased in concentration, her long blonde hair flailing as she moved her head from side to side, then leaned over the cello, moving her ears closer to her fingers on the strings, listening to the delicate passage she was playing. Then she sat straight and her eyes looked up at the ceiling then closed. Her whole body swayed with the music, her energy radiating, warming me and drawing me into the intensity of her playing. Again, she closed her eyes as she played a slow passage and bit her lower lip, then opened them, and gazed into mine like she was speaking to me through the soft, sensual sound of the cello. I can’t believe she’s looking at me like that. What’s happening?

I watched her playing and the intensity in her eyes as she gazed at me made my cock hard and I knew she was seducing me. She closed her eyes again and returned to the rapid, vigorous playing, the intensity building, her fingers moving up and down the strings, moving faster, and I could feel her passion, her intensity, the energy of her playing. Her body swaying with the music filled me with desire for her. When she finished, the sudden silence was like a gasp, a breathless gasp. She held the bow still on the strings, her eyes closed. She took a deep breath. My cock was bulging in my jeans. I wanted her like I had never wanted anyone before.

When she opened her eyes, we gazed at each other in the silence. Though mesmerized by her music, I knew her playing was a prelude to something we would never forget. She placed the cello on the floor, the bow on top and she came to me and without a word straddled my legs. With her arms around my shoulders, we kissed, gently at first, then deeply as if this was inevitable, as if the whole evening of conversation, of walking through the park, of sharing our stories, our lives, our hopes and desires was bringing us together in the most unexpected way. It felt so right, so real, so destined, as if the sound of her cello transcended words and brought us to this moment of wanting each other more than anything in the world.

Straddling me, our passionate kissing grew more intense. Our tongues swirled. Her breasts crushed against my chest, our arms around each other, my hard cock grinding against her jean covered pussy, our need rising until we were tearing each other’s clothes off, tossing them on the floor before we stumbled our way to the couch on the other side of the room then fell onto the soft cushions. Her hands gripped my ass, pulling my thrusting cock into her warm wet pussy and screamed, “Harder, harder!”

Suddenly, she pushed me onto my back and started riding me, filling herself with my throbbing cock, rising and falling harder and faster, her hands on her tits, her blonde hair flailing, her screams echoing in the small room before I bucked and rolled her onto her back and lifted her hands above her head, our fingers entwined, our hungry eyes gazing deeply into each other's eyes, saying what words can't say, both of us getting closer and closer as her warm, wet pussy squeezed my cock. When she lifted her ass off the couch, I drove her back to the soft cushions, our bodies slamming against each other in a mad frenzy which made me thrust harder and faster and deeper, her screams filling the room as she erupted in a huge orgasm while my cock swelled and it was all I could do to hold back. I was on the verge.

“Cum in me! Cum in me! I’m safe! Fuck me!”

Both of us erupted at the same time, writhing in ecstasy, our wetness overflowing, her strong arms and legs embracing me as I collapsed on her, both of us panting and gasping, savoring the moment.

Neither of us wanted to budge as we wallowed in the afterglow, loving the silent shadows of the dimly lighted room, ignoring the awareness I would be leaving in the morning and we would never see each other again. We cuddled, kissed, talked, made mad passionate love again then fell asleep in each other's arms. 

The next morning, it was so hard to leave and for a long time, I wrestled with my desire to stay with her, but knew this was for the best. She made me coffee and we sat holding hands, knowing we had given each other the best of our selves. Both of us sat at the table with tears in our eyes, reluctant to say goodbye.

Later, walking back towards town, not wanting to take the bus, I went back to the café for another cup of coffee. I sat at the same table where we met the night before, remembering how she joined me and how we laughed and shared our lives.

That night was long ago, a night I have treasured and still, when I think of Birgit and what happened when I was caught eating the remnants of another person’s meal, I marvel at what gifts come to us when we least expect it.