Snowmen

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                              Snapshot #33
                                Snowmen
                                  (F)
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                (c) December 2010 - All Rights Reserved
                  Crimson Dragon (dcrimson@yahoo.com)
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Rays of sunlight reflected brightly from the lush ivory carpet,
flooding through frosted panes of glass and filling the chamber as
if summer had somehow escaped the clutches of the season. Blue sky
expanded above, nary a cloud to mar the azure heavenly slate. Behind
the cabin, across frozen fields, fresh December snow dusted a myriad
of evergreens.
At the edge of the field, before garden converged into meadow, a
snowman stood, complete with coal eyes, carrot nose, crimson hat and
twig arms. Flakes of pristine icy powder sparkled upon the crest of
the beret, salt crystals upon rosy velvet. The silent gentleman
smiled knowingly.
Alone now, she sighed softly. If she closed her eyes again, dreams
might capture her, perchance to return her into vaguely remembered
warmth of gentle fingers flitting across her naked skin. Temptation
of sleep beckoned.
Reflected rays of sunshine kissed her cheek warmly, contrasting the
waves of cold radiating from the frigid glass hovering beside the
bed. She sighed again, curling further under the deep covers, her
fingers pulling the plush comforter to her chin, clean sheets
sliding sensuously across her bare skin below.
She turned her gaze to the virgin vision outside, a twitch of her
full lips betraying her thoughts. Her teeth bit pensively at her
lower lip.
Outside: cold and hauntingly beautiful. Inside: safe under her
covers, oh, so pleasantly warm.
Fingertips trailed unhurriedly from the base of her throat, between
her breasts, across the flatness of her belly. Paused. Her breathing
quickened, pulse matching. The sheets caressed her thighs, her toes.
An inadvertent gasp escaped her lips as her fingers slipped lower.
In her mind, he lay beside her, his fingers instead of hers tracing
across her bared hip, down her naked thigh, his breath burning
against the nape of her neck, abandoning to passion and animalistic
intensity.
With a quiet moan, she pulled her fingers from between her thighs,
circling her naked breasts once, teasing her sensitive nipples,
tracing silken curves. Finally, her hands resting securely beneath
her cheek, she pulled her legs up and turned to her side, nestling
under the reassuring weight of the covers.
Her breathing gradually returned to normal; her pulse slowed until
the throbbing in her ears faded.
Outside, the man of snow and ice smiled radiantly in the morning
sunshine beneath the jaunty Christmas beret. Somewhere beyond, a
grey squirrel foraged for scraps, cascading innocence from the pine
needles.
Reaching to the left, her hopeful fingers found nothing but a gentle
indent. Beside her, his place remained empty, his warmth fading,
leaving only the snowman to watch over her.
He would return shortly, she knew, and she would wait for him.
Oh, she missed him.