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From: "Ken G. Jones" <kenggjones@hotmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} R/P 'Crossing The Lake' by 'Cagey' ('Celeste' 9 - 8 -8)
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Date: Sat, 11 Mar 2000 20:10:05 -0500
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Crossing The Lake (M/F, Rom), by 'Cagey' ('Celeste' 9 - 8 - 8)
Copyright 2000
Copies may be made and posted elsewhere for personal enjoyment, however,
all commercial rights are reserved.
***WARNING - ADULT READING***
The following story includes explicit
language and graphically describes heterosexual love between consenting
partners. If you dislike or are offended by such content or if you are a
minor or live in an area where possession of such material is prohibited,
then please DO NOT download or read the following story. The contents of
this story and its characters are fictitious. The story itself is based
partially on actual experience and partially on my imagination; I'll leave
it up to you to decide which is which.
The author can be contacted, by email, at:
<kenggjones@hotmail.com>
Author's Note: I am exceedingly grateful to 'Jacques LeBlanc' for his
excellent job of proofing and editing this story. He certainly knows 'the
rules of the road' and where all those squiggles go.
>>> Cagey <<< February 25, 2000
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
Crossing The Lake (M/F, Rom)
by 'Cagey'
Copyright 2000
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
"So different in the winter," he thought, as he descended the lake bank
and shoed out onto the drifted snow. In the summer, there'd be the gulls
overhead and the sound of calling loons, and a cooling breeze coming off
the water.
"Well there's a 'cooling' breeze today, too," he chuckled to himself.
"Gets much cooler, it's gonna to be a pretty uncomfortable walk across."
At what would in warmer weather have been the water's edge, he stopped
and looked out toward the far shore, maybe five miles away. He could just
make out the cabin and the bush that surrounded it, well above the lake.
The poplar trees stood like skeletons against the deep blue sky and the
occasional spruce added a little colour to the otherwise drab winter world.
The slant of the sunlight emphasised the wind-sculpted snowdrifts with
shadows and the reflected light to the west and northwest was blinding.
All around him was a winter wonderland, the glitter of snow particles
carried by the wind. The shoreline to his right was still in bright
sunlight, that to the left almost a silhouette in the lengthening shadows
of the trees, behind which the sun would soon set.
"Don't stay up long, this time of year," he mused.
Out on the lake the brisk wind swirled the snow into tornado-like
twisters that danced along toward him, breaking up and reforming in
constant motion, some reaching what looked to be 20 or 30 feet into the air
above the snow covered ice. The wind was picking up.
"A blow comin'," he thought to himself. "Wonder if there's snow with
it?" He could see dark clouds just above the tree-line on the opposite
shore, and he could have sworn those clouds weren't there as he came down
the trail only minutes earlier.
Feeling a sense of urgency to get underway, he realized that the wind
and clouds had him spooked a bit. However, there was nothing to do but go
on; it was too late to turn back even if he had wanted to.
Putting his head down into the wind (had it picked up even more?) he set
out across the frozen lake, his snowshoes whispering as they slid forward
through the grainy snow.
Only a few minutes later he realized that the wind was getting to his
face and neck through his parka, and he stopped to adjust it. He brought
the zipper up from under his chin and out along the tube of his hood, until
the world shrank to a four-inch, fur-trimmed hole that extended about six
inches from the tip of his nose. Fumbling with his heavy mitts, he closed
the flap at his neck and tested it, making sure the snap caught.
Already he could feel the difference on his face. His trapped breath
warmed the air inside the tube and the cold he'd felt on his neck was now
blocked by the closed zipper and the flap. Feeling more comfortable, he
started up again; the sound of the snowshoes was gone now and the vapour
from his breath swirled upward past the fur at the end of his sight tube.
"Not much view with the hood out like this," he thought. Then he
laughed out loud, remembering the day he'd bought the parka at the Bay
store. He'd seen it on sale early on in the Fall and tried it on. The
temperature in that old store must have been 75 plus and nothing would do
in his mind but to pull the zipper all the way up like he had it now. He'd
wanted to see what vision area he'd have, so he pulled that damned zipper
all the way to the end.
Satisfied that it would give him enough to get by on, he began to open
it up again. It was hot inside the store, and a down-filled parka, in a
place that was already too warm for comfort, wasn't something to keep on
any longer than you had to. That's when the bloody zipper had stuck!!
He'd kept working at it but it didn't want to open. So there he was,
all bundled up in a parka built for 50 below, in a room that was 75 above
and it was getting hot as hell in there. Mind you, his contortions trying
to get that zipper to work and a bit of a sense of panic sure as hell
didn't do much to cool things down either. He remembered seeing the store
shelves out the end of the tube and having to adjust his head up and down,
left and right, if he wanted to see where he was going. The old store was
just chocker block full of all kinds of goods and the aisles narrow and
crooked. He heard a voice somewhere on his left, asking if he needed some
help, but it took a lot longer than he'd expected to locate the body the
voice was coming from.
He could feel the heat inside that parka building up, the sweat forming
under his hair, and the more he tugged and pulled at that motherin' zipper,
the hotter and more frustrated and he got. Several times he had to take a
deep breath and try to calm himself down. Being inside that parka, with
the limited view of the world around him, was sort of like being caught in
an underground pipe; what little he could see looked far away, and there
seemed no way out of it.
It had taken a good fifteen minutes, with the help of a couple of sales
clerks, to finally get the zipper undone and get out of that parka. He
remembered being wet with sweat by the time he was out of it, greying hair
plastered to his skull, beads of sweat dripping off his nose and running
down his flushed face.
The sales clerk had been astounded when he'd bought the damned parka
anyway, but it was a good bargain and he knew that a little wax on the
zipper would fix it up fine.
Lost in his thoughts as he was, he was still aware of his progress, the
blast of the wind against his body, and the fact that visibility was
dropping quickly in the swirling snow. Aiming his sight tube up a bit, he
tried to make out the opposite shore and was shocked to find that he
couldn't see it, except as momentary glimpses through the wind-driven snow.
Then he realized that the cloud bank he'd noticed just above the skyline
fifteen minutes ago was now taking up fully half of the sky ahead.
"Looks bad...that's a blizzard comin' down," he said out loud. "Better
get a move on. Still got a long way to go."
Bearing down into the wind (he could hear it now, even from inside the
tube), he pushed on, willing his feet to move more quickly. He knew that
speed was important, but if he tripped up now he'd just lose more time than
he had gained... and he knew that he had to avoid working up a sweat; that
could be deadly if he was forced to stop out here in the open wind.
The chill of the wind was beginning to get to him. He could feel the
cold penetrating the parka sleeves and his arms were feeling it in the
joints.
"Damned wind must be hittin' 40 mile 'n hour, maybe even 50," he thought
to himself. Pulling his arms in toward his body, he hunched over more,
head down into the wind. His vision was now a 4 inch sighting of his
snowshoes gliding through the swirling snow beneath him, and even they were
hidden in the wind whipped snow more often than not.
Glancing back up, he could see that the cloud was moving in even faster
now; the bright sunlight all but gone, as the cloud moved out over the
lake. As he looked up, tiny flakes of snow fell on his face, like hundreds
of icy needles on his skin. He quickly looked ahead and down again,
checking his direction at the same time.
Life became a moving picture of snowshoes sliding through his view
area--a monotonous left, right, left, right... over and over again. Now
and then he'd look up a bit to check direction, but as long as he kept the
light (what was left of it) on his left and the wind pretty much in his
face, he wouldn't go too far wrong. He kept a constant pace, at a constant
speed, as well as he could with that God-damned wind buffeting him.
As his limbs continued the mindless work of moving ahead on auto-pilot,
his mind wandered back to three days ago, when he'd left the cabin. It was
cold that day but the sun was shining and -25 was no big thing, with the
air still and calm. Janey had stood in the doorway, just his old parka
over her shoulders, and watched him leave. They'd just finished breakfast,
as the sun pushed above the southeast horizon; that was just 8:30 in the
morning these days.
Janey. Now there was a woman. So young and full of life, even tryin'
to talk him into havin' kids. Well, by her, he sure as hell wouldn't mind;
the makin' of them, that would be more than okay with him. God, she had a
beautiful body. Slim but soft, strong but curvy in all the right places
and, when she had him in her, that body just moved and squirmed and
trembled, and her hands... oh God, those hands would make that old
bear-fur rug stand up. And when she put them on him, well....
He imagined that it was her body pressing into him and not that damned
cold wind, and he tried to remember the heat of her and how it felt....
"Come on boy," he said out loud, "She's close by now. Just keep movin'
those feet, we'll be there in no time."
The light was going fast. The cloud, black and rolling, was above him
now and passing over the shore he'd left behind a while back. The sun was
hidden and soon would be setting, and there would be no sight of the moon
he'd hoped to have overhead in another hour.
The wind was gusting. Every now and then it would catch him a bit off
centre and he'd stagger, trying to brace against it. Then it would change
course a bit and he'd have to change his stance to brace again. Meanwhile,
he had to keep those feet moving, at a good steady pace--left, right, left,
right, keep them sliding, brace the wind, angle now on that drift, up the
steep, down the gradual. On and on and on it went; monotonous but
necessary if he was to get across this windswept plain that he could just
barely see in the fading light.
Stopping for a second, he took a good look around. The light was all
but gone now and the world around him was a wall of swirling snow. Every
few seconds he'd catch a glimpse of the dark shoreline, as the wind slacked
and let the snow settle lake-ward, but then it would be gone again.
There was no sound other than the howling wind; everything else, even
the sound of his breathing inside the tube, became lost in thathowl.
"Jimmy, m'friend, I think we got a problem," he muttered--not that he
could really hear it, but he did feel his lips move.
Looking around him again, he decided that although he couldn't see much,
there was no point in just standing there being buffeted by the wind. He
started out again, head down, into the gale; left, right, left, right, keep
them sliding, brace the wind, angle now on that drift, up the steep, down
the gradual. Although it was hard work against that mother fuckin' wind,
he could feel the chill working into his body. His thighs and upper arms
felt numb and he knew that, in a few minutes, he'd have to stop, turn his
back to the wind, and let them warm up a little.
In the monotony of it, his mind began to wander again. What would
little Janey be doing right about now? Probably making a lamb stew, he
imagined; he could almost smell the aroma of it, cooking slowly in that big
pot on the back of the wood stove.
"Man, that girl can cook!" he marvelled out loud.
She'd be expecting him sometime soon and this sudden blizzard would have
her a bit worried. Had she been looking out the window earlier? Had she
seen him coming out onto the lake? They kept a pair of good binoculars on
the sill; maybe she'd seen him, knew he was on the way.
He could see little of the world around him but he knew that the
wind-carried snow was swirling all around him in the almost semi-dark. The
sun was setting now and the great black clouds he imagined overhead were
blocking most of the remaining daylight. The drifts were getting harder
and harder under his snowshoes, as the wind compressed the snow into
compact ridges. He didn't bother to look at his four-inch world any
longer; there was nothing left to see other than snow. He concentrated on
direction, pointing himself to where the cabin was and correcting
instinctively each time the wind buffeted him off course.
His mind took him to the cabin; one large room, an enclosed porch and
two good sized windows all facing south, overlooking the lake. On the back
wall, he could see the fieldstone fireplace, with some laundry hanging from
the racks to either side of it, and the fire, not large, mostly glowing
embers, because with the wood stove going it would get too hot in there.
The old bearskin rug covered the plank floor in front of the hearth and the
long hairs reflected the light of the fire.
Many, many times they'd made love on that rug; he chuckled at the
thought of Janey's insistence that she have a towel under her beautiful
butt so the old bear wouldn't get crusty. He had no doubt that there was
more than one crusty patch on that old rug, the way they rolled and
thrashed around with one another.
ooooooooooooooo
He'd known her only a short time really, but Janey had become a large
part of his life in the past several months. She'd wandered in, late one
afternoon in the early Fall; just a haversack on her back, dark red hair
piled up under her broad-brimmed hat, looking very young and very
beautiful. She didn't look a day over fourteen, with her small build and
the old sloppy clothes she was wearing, but, he'd discovered later, she'd
seen her eighteenth birthday late in August, before she'd decided she'd had
enough of her step-dad hitting on her all the time.
Having lived in the bush most of her life, she'd decided to "get on out
and see the world." She'd travelled over 100 miles, following logging
roads, staying with people here and there, before arriving at his place,
hot and sweaty, that afternoon. He remembered the day she came by. It was
one of those hot Indian Summer days, the kind that make you think that,
just maybe, Winter's not coming. There was no wind at all and the cabin
was too warm to be inside.
Having finished all his chores, he was sitting on the stoop, just
looking out over the flat lake, a cold beer at his side. He remembered
thinking how beautiful the changing trees looked, reflected in the lake: a
riot of reds, oranges, yellows, and browns against the deep blue of the
water. Suddenly, he heard a crackle of breaking sticks as something moved
off to his right. He immediately thought "Bear" and wondered whether he
could get to his rifle if he needed to.
When he looked in that direction, however, he caught sight of pant legs
and boots rounding the corner of the path to the road, the rest of whoever
it was shielded from view by the deep red of the bush. Several more
flashes of boots and pants later, she came into view. Of course he didn't
know it was a 'she' right then, but whoever it was was quite short and
slim-ish, as far as he could see.
"Hey there," said a higher voice than he'd expected. "I was just headed
to the lake for a drink. Didn't see the cabin in here."
"No problem," he'd said "Go ahead. That path goes right to the shore."
ooooooooooooooo
He stopped now and turned his back to the howling wind. His upper
thighs and arms felt leaden and badly needed to be out of the wind for a
bit. The cold had penetrated him to the bone, even through his thermal
underwear.
"God damn it!" he thought. "Can't stop for long here but got to get
some warmth back into the old legs, before they stop movin' completely."
The wind and the snow it carried pressed his back, making it hard to
stand; the direction kept switching so that he had to keep adjusting his
weight to it. He hunkered down, knees bent, until his butt was just above
the snowshoes, his large haversack and bedding roll bearing the brunt of
the wind. He lowered his head and tried to relax. Looking down, he could
watch the snow pile up on his heels and make weird, moving patterns as it
swept around them, his snowshoes barely visible beneath.
"Don't think of the cold!" he told himself. "Think of warm cabins, hot
summer days, anything... but don't think of the cold out here."
ooooooooooooooo
His mind took him back again, to that fall day when Janey had arrived in
his life. After the stranger had gone off down the trail, to the lake,
he'd sat dozing in the shade of the lilac bush at his front door. He must
have actually fallen asleep for a bit and only came to when his elbow slid
off his thigh. Righting himself, he sat there half awake, eyelids at
half-mast, enjoying the heat of the day, and unconsciously listening to the
mud hens out on the still lake and the song-birds in the bush all around
him.
"Best get the boat tied proper," he thought.
He'd left it earlier, with a rope just wound around the dock post a
couple of times. No need to tie it right then, with the air so still like
this. Besides, he'd had to pee and was anxious to get to the outhouse,
back of the cabin. Feller didn't want to be pissin' all over the place;
wasn't sanitary.
He mulled that over in his mind leisurely, smiling a little at the sight
he must have made practically running up the steep path to the cabin,
slapping the fish down on the cleaning table as he passed it, making a
beeline for the outhouse. Finally, with a sigh, he hauled himself to his
feet and, hitching his pants, started toward the lake.
His feet knew the way down that trail to the lake. No need to think,
just let himself follow that well known path. He didn't pause as he came
to the gentler slope to the lake. He just walked on out toward the dock,
his eyes and mind on the ropes he wanted to tie. He'd forgotten the
visitor and didn't see her until he was already at the foot of the dock.
Now there was no doubt about it at all. 'It' was a 'her'....Couldn't be
otherwise, not with those pert little breasts hanging down there in front
of her as, bending, side-on to him, she twisted the water out of her hair.
No doubt of it either when presented with the sight of those lovely rounded
hips and buttocks, clad only in wet white cotton panties.
He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw her there, and his jaw dropped
open in surprise. That must have presented quite a picture to her when she
suddenly realized he was there, not more than 10 feet away.
For a moment her eyes widened, in shock, as she saw him there but then
she relaxed, straightened up, and laughed out loud. The shock on his face
must have been comical. She sensed he was harmless and, still laughing
softly, simply turned her back on him, her smiling face watching him over
her shoulder.
When his brain started working again, he closed his mouth, turned his
back and retraced his steps across the beach and up the path, back to the
cabin. He sat back down on the stoop again and, when the realization of
what had happened hit him, he laughed out loud. From the beach, down the
trail, came an echo of that laughter in a very girlish timbre.
He sat there for maybe half an hour, chuckling to himself and shaking
his head, as he relived their encounter.
"My God," he thought over and over. "On my own beach... mermaids!"
"An awful pretty mermaid, too!" he'd added, as his mind painted a
picture of what he'd seen.
Later, when she came up from the lake, she was smiling (and dressed
again, in her baggy clothes), as she came into view.
"Sorry," she said. "Guess I forgot to lock the bathroom door."
He laughed and apologized and they went on talking for about an hour, as
the sun gradually got lower in the sky.
They traded stories on how they'd arrived at the here and now and were
chatting like old friends by the time the sun dipped below the horizon,
leaving a blood red sky visible above the tree line.
"Hey. I'm hungry!" he'd announced. "Wanta eat?"
"Yeah, I'd like that," she'd said, after a second or so pause.
Still talking through the screen door, he put together a lunch of bread
and cheese and carried it back outside to the stoop; it was still too warm
to want to eat in the cabin.
"What would you like to have to drink with that?" he asked her. "I've
got cold water, apple cider, and some cold beer."
"You got power here?" she asked, looking around for wires.
"Nope!" he said "Keep it in the well. Nice and cold down there. The
well's in the cabin floor."
ooooooooooooooo
He was feeling sleepy now, here on the cold, snow-covered ice. The wind
howled around his squatting body and the world was dark, dark as the inside
of a deep cave. He couldn't make out the snow at his feet and his legs,
warmer again, out of the wind, were beginning to tire in their locked
position.
Standing, he let the kinks out of his legs and then, sighing at the
thought of it, turned into the wind once more and started the old
monotonous -left, right- slide, body hunched into the wind and snow.
Five minutes passed, then ten, then twenty. On and on he went, plowing
ahead, feeling the icy wind buffet him and try to push him off his target.
All around him the white snow swirled and the wind howled; his body moved
on automatic pilot, his brain trying to ignore the rising winds and the
deepening cold.
ooooooooooooooo
By the time supper was done, they'd gotten even easier with one another.
They treated each other like old friends and, when the sun had set and
darkness took its place, they sat and talked back and forth like they'd
known each other for years.
The still air cooled a little, now the sun was gone, but it stayed quite
comfortable there on the stoop. There were no mosquitoes this time of year
and, with no breeze, only the sounds of small animals scurrying through the
grass and brush and the loons and mud hens calling on the lake disturbed
the quiet evening. Their silences grew longer and eventually she yawned
softly. He yawned in response and they laughed at the way it was
"catching."
"I'd like to sleep now," she said "Do you mind if I camp on your stoop?
Not much chance of rain, so I should be okay out here."
"No problem," he replied and, after he heard her pulling her sleeping
roll out, he got up and went inside. It was cooling nicely in there now.
"Good night, Janey," he said softly, as he let the screen close behind
him.
"Good night, Jimmy," she replied.
Came morning, he got up and put the coffee on before he remembered his
camper on the stoop.
She was still there, curled up in her sleeping bag, the sun rays just
beginning to fall across her dark red hair, looking for all the world like
a sleeping angel. She only took up a part of his smallish stoop he
noticed.
"Littler than I'd remembered," he thought to himself.
They had coffee together, sitting on the stoop in the warming sunshine.
From that day on (it seemed to be an understanding that they arrived at
with no words being spoken) she stayed, moving inside as the nights got
cooler... and into his bed one night about two weeks later. That was a
night he'd remember for the rest of his days...Oh yes!!
Those first few days he was never sure if she'd be there in the morning,
but she always was.
They'd have coffee in the sunshine and talk about their former lives.
He'd go about his chores and she'd do things she could see needed to be
done, then ask what else she could do once they were out of the way. He
accepted her just being there, at first, and then realized that he wanted
her to be around. They never spoke about it directly but, after the first
couple of days, he realized that she wanted to be there too.
Frankly, he loved having her around. The sight of her as she worked on
some chore, the sound of her voice as they talked into the night... even
the smell of her, as she whisked passed him on her way here or there, he
found to be tantalizing. He never thought of her sexually--well, hardly
ever. Every now and then he'd find his mind wandering in that direction
but then he'd remind himself that he was 41 and she only 18 and 'come back
to earth,' as he put it in his mind.
The nights cooled quite a lot, after those first nights she spent on the
stoop. One morning, he found her sleeping bag covered with a slight
coating of frost when he checked on her in the morning. That afternoon he
cleared an area inside, on the floor near the door.
"It's getting colder these nights, you can sleep here tonight," he
explained to her "Or on the couch, if you want."
"Okay," she said, and made no further mention of it.
That night she slept on the couch, commenting in the morning that she'd
had a hard time getting used to its softness. It had been months since
she'd slept on anything but the ground or the planks of his stoop. He
hadn't slept all that well that night either, he admitted to himself. He'd
been very conscious of her breathing and her movements on the couch across
the room, and it had taken a long while for him to fall asleep.
ooooooooooooooo
He came to an abrupt stop, there in his world of wind and snow.
Something on the lake had caused the snow to build up into a drift about
three feet high in the centre, tapering slowly to either side. Something
about ten feet long, but what he couldn't tell. All he could feel with his
snowshoes and see through his tube was the ridge of snow, rising abruptly
in front of his path; he couldn't really 'see' it, so much as it was a
translation of what his snowshoes and his hands told his brain as they felt
along the ridge.
He forced his numbing brain to think it through. Obviously there was
something on the ice, buried in the snow in front of him. He could go
around it, without too much trouble, and still stay on his targeted
direction... if he was still on his direction. He'd heard tell of guys in
stuff like this who'd gone around in circles, or wandered all over the
place without knowing it. But he'd made sure to keep the wind in his face,
knowing that had been the right direction... if the wind hadn't changed a
few degrees without him knowing it. He didn't think that had happened but,
not being able to see a damned thing, he couldn't be sure.
Mulling it all over in his tired, cold-numbed brain wasn't easy but,
gradually, he began to see what he had to do. The longer he travelled here
in the dark snowbound white out, the greater his chance of getting turned
into a wrong path. He couldn't depend on the wind staying true to its
original direction and, if it varied by as much as a few degrees, he could
be a long way off his target. He was cold and chilled through now. In an
another hour he could be falling asleep on the lake, the snow building up
around him and over him, like whatever was causing this high drift in front
of him.
Arriving at a decision, he bent to one knee and slowly, his hands
reminding him of cold hams for all the good they seemed to be, pried and
pulled the inner-tube clasps from his boots. After several minutes, he had
both snow shoes off and planted as deeply as possible in the snow, one at
each end of the drift in front of him; their short, coloured ribbons, tied
to the shoe tips, fluttered in the wind...he hoped.
Slowly, he got his haversack and bedroll off his back and, wrapping
himself carefully in the bedroll, settled himself with his back to the
thickest part of the drift. He covered his head with the end of the
sleeping roll and settled onto the hard snow under him, while the wind lost
no time in adding him to the drift.
Gradually he relaxed and, even more gradually, his body warmed,
protected now from the freezing wind.
After about half an hour, he gave up the fight to stay awake. He wasn't
warm but he was warmer; he was relaxed, and tired after fighting the wind
for hours. His mind began to wander back to the cabin and Janey... and
how Janey had come to stay... and all the very wonderful things that
happened after that; things he'd never dreamed of, feelings he'd never
known existed. He'd been married years ago and he and his wife had
discovered the world of sex together... but nothing like what he'd
experienced with Janey. Nothing like that turned out to be!
ooooooooooooooo
Maybe because he'd been unable to go to sleep the night before, when
he'd awakened the second morning she'd slept on the couch he'd been facing
in her direction. As his eyes slowly opened and became accustomed to the
daylight from the windows, he saw her bent over the couch, rolling up her
sleeping bag.
Oh Lord, what a sight to behold.
Across the room, only a few feet from where he lay, was this beautifully
rounded ass, covered in cotton that stretched over her like a second skin.
Her long, lovely legs were stretched straight from her bent waist. His
eyes were drawn to where her legs met the trunk of her body, and to the
inward curve of her upper thighs, which formed a gap that both framed and
highlighted her panty-covered mound. Never had he seen anything so
stimulating, sexy, erotic... he didn't even know the word touse.
As she completed her task, he stared at that place between her legs, his
breath coming faster every second. His eyes flicked over the rest of her
body and took in the t-shirt she slept in and the way it hiked up her back
and left a very suggestive gap, under which he watched her body move and
twist as she worked.
"My God, she's beautiful!" he voiced in his head. "This kid has me
turned on like I can't remember being turned on before."
He suddenly became aware of his steel hard erection and the throbbing in
his groin. He felt guilty for spying on her and willed his eyes shut. It
did no good. His mind took over and projected the same picture on his
inner eye, only without the panties. In his imagination, he found himself
examining her naked slit in great detail; he could "see" the fine, soft
hairs that surrounded those lips, and they seemed swollen and slightly
open.
He groaned softly and turned to his other side, trying to cut off the
temptation to go on looking at her but finding his imagination took over
only too well. Even when he faced away from her, his mind continued to
examine the picture it had burned into its tissue in minute detail.
Hearing his groan, she thought he'd just awakened and quickly slipped
her pants on. Finishing up with socks and her boots, she quietly went out
the door, headed for the outhouse.
He heard the door open and shut on its squeaky hinge and rolled onto his
back, his hand finding and softly stroking his erection. He kept his eyes
closed because her picture still played across the inside of his eyelids
and he found he couldn't, didn't want to let go of this exciting
"photograph." With one hand cupped gently under his testicles and the other
caressing his glans, he allowed his mind to gaze longingly on its treasured
picture and to conjure up what he'd like to do with that beautiful object.
How would it feel to cup her there, with his hand? How would it feel to
let a finger brush gently between those swollen lips, feel the slick
moisture of her, probe the depths of her?
The stove against the wall was still throwing a little heat from the
logs he'd banked it with the night before. His actions under the blankets
and the quickened coursing of the blood through his veins were making him
uncomfortably warm so, without thinking, he kicked the covers off his body.
Looking down at himself, he could see the angry red of his knob pushing
in and out of his closed fist and knew he was just this side of exploding
onto his belly-- probably the headboard as well, the way the pressure felt
down there. He let his fist move up and down his steel hard penis, eyes
closed, marvelling at the beauty of her--a beauty that his mind kept
displaying for him, in minute detail.
Eyes still closed, he suddenly heard a voice, from across the room.
"My God, what caused that?" said Janey, quietly closing the inner door
behind her.
He was mortified. He could feel his face blushing red and hot, as he
struggled frantically to find the blankets to cover himself. His hand
scrabbled over the side of the bed; he couldn't grab the bloody thing....
Where was it?
Seeing the ridiculous side of it, he quit scrabbling for the covers and
relaxed, as best he could, under the circumstances.
"Guess you caught me red handed," he said with a sheepish grin on his
still reddened face. "When I woke up, you were rolling up yer sleeping bag
an', well, yer... yer back was toward me an' I guess... well... well...
well shit I never seen anything so God damned beautiful an' sexy... I...
I... I..." he stammered, trying to complete his thought.
Startled by his words, she started to say something, then thought better
of it and closed her mouth again. Her eyes were riveted on his groin and
he could feel himself wilting under her surveillance.
Janey turned, as if to go back out the door, stopped again and turned
back to him. Her mouth opened and closed again, then opened once more with
a squeak of sound that made no sense at all.
"Eeep..." it sounded like, then she cleared her throat several times and
swallowed.
"I... I didn't... I didn't think you were interested in me. I
thought... first I thought maybe you were queer or somethin'. But I'd
catch you lookin' sometimes... but then you never did anything.... I
thought.... Well I didn't think you were interested in me. Anyhow, not
like that!" she finally got out.
"Well" he said, "I thought you weren't interested in an old guy like
me.... I... I guess I figured I was too old fer the likes of you. I
mean, shit, yer just eighteen an' I'm past forty. Janey, I like you a
lot... a lot more than is good for me. An'... I sure as hell wanted to
touch you an' kiss you an' the like but, well shit, I'm too old fer ya...
You know that!"
"Too old fer me, is that it? Well who says so? That's fer me to
decide, not you!" Janey shot back, sounding angry now.
Then, relenting on her momentary outburst, she hung her head and said,
"Hell, Jimmy, I'm sorry I walked in on you like that; I didn't even know
you were awake." She paused. "It even looked sorta sexy, seeing you doin'
that to yerself," she said softly, looking back up at him, her face turning
red but a wide grin on her mouth.
ooooooooooooooo
He partially woke to find himself in a warm, dark cave. Whatever was
over him was warm and comfortable, pressing him gently like a cocoon. He
found he could breath, but it didn't seem to satisfy his need; something
was missing. The air tasted stale and... used, somehow. His mind wavered
in and out of sleep; each time he thought he had the answer, he'd fall back
into oblivion. Time and again, he was on the verge of the answer, the
meaning behind where he was and what was happening, when he'd slide once
more into the grey void.
Then suddenly it made sense and he awakened powerfully, thrashing his
free arm- the one he wasn't lying on--out abruptly with all the force he
could muster. His hand shot through the packed snow and when he withdrew
it, to hit out again, cold pure air hit his face and his lungs gasped it in
instinctively. He could see light; not a lot but a cold thin light came
through the opening his fist had left. He swung again and again, breaking
the hole into a wide opening through which sharp, cold air penetrated his
cocoon and the light of a frosty moon shown down on him. Struggling, he
turned over onto his back and forced himself up, with all his remaining
strength, to a sitting position. His vision confined to a four inch
diameter, he started to look around him but, sighing at the effort it took,
he gave up and let his head loll forward.
How long he just sat there, chin on his chest, taking long breaths of
that crystal air, he had no way of knowing. His oxygen-starved brain
struggled with his surroundings, the cold, cold air beginning to attack his
senses again.
Once again he was back in the cabin, with Janey.
ooooooooooooooo
They stared and grinned at one another like a couple of bloody fools for
several moments after her 'looked sexy' remark, neither of them knowing
where, if anywhere, to go from there.
"I'm sorry" he said "I'm sorry, my little mermaid."
"Little mermaid? Where did that come from, Jimmy?" she asked.
He explained his thoughts, on seeing her standing by the dock, wringing
out her hair, that first day.
"But... but 'little *mermaid*'?" she asked, question marks in her
voice.
"Well," he said, "I seen a statue of a mermaid in Stanley Park, in
Vancouver... and there's the original someplace in Denmark, I think.
She's kinda built like you... kinda slim an' curvy like, with pointed
little... little titties... an' it kinda popped into my mind that you
looked just like that statue. Course you got lovely long legs an' all an'
she's just got that fishes tail on her bottom half... an'...." He couldn't
go on.
He could see the glint in her eyes and the smile widening on her face as
he told her about the statue. Finally, she broke into a fit of giggles,
looking at him from under her long eyelashes, obviously very, very pleased
with his little story about the little mermaid.
ooooooooooooooo
Gradually, sitting there on the moonlit lake, his head began to clear
again and his breathing returned to near normal.
Finally, after God only knew how much time had passed, he felt he had
his strength back enough to sit up straight. Through his limited view he
could see vast reaches of sculpted snow, gleaming in what he knew now must
be moonlight, and beyond it, in the distance, the dark outline of the
lakeshore, trees like black, spindly skeletons rising here and there to
break the symmetry of the skyline. Lifting his butt from the sleeping bag,
he slipped the end of his right mitt under it and sat back down. Pulling
with his arm, he got the mitt part way off and with several adjustments all
the way clear of his fingers. The cold air bit into his warm flesh and he
realized that he'd have to work fast.
Reaching up he found the zipper on the tube and pulled it toward his
face. It wouldn't budge.
"Shit!" he said out loud. "Not now! Open up, you bastard... open up
you mother fuc...."
There was a tearing sound, as the zipper moved an inch, and then
another, and another, finally rounding the curve under his chin. He
dragged the parka hood back, baring his head to the icy cold air. Looking
around, he found himself about a half mile off shore, and the cabin, with a
wisp of smoke coming out of the chimney and a light shining in the window,
there ahead of him. His 'homing instinct' had done it again.
The moon, small and high in the sky, shed a cool light from its almost
upside down crescent shape. The wind had dropped to a steady breeze and
the storm clouds could be seen banking over the opposite horizon. He sat
there in the relatively still night and marvelled at his luck, as he first
raised his parka hood and then got his mitt back onto his numbing right
hand.
Once dressed for the cold again, he rolled his sleeping bag as best he
could and struggled into his haversack harness. Looking around him again,
he spotted one of his shoes half over to the ground and the other, straight
and tall, about ten feet to the right. He dug them out and struggled with
the stiff inner tube until they were snugly attached to his boots again.
Looking ahead toward the lighted cabin window, he started walking--his
pace a bit slow and halting at times but moving, moving steadily toward his
goal.
ooooooooooooooo
Somehow, after the mermaid story, Janey wound up in his arms, there on
his bed. Her still fully clothed body pressed warmly against him, as he
kissed her with a passion that should prove to her what he did and didn't
want. From the way she cooperated, he was pretty sure he was on her "want"
list too.
Their fingers met on the buttons of her old flannel shirt. She gave him
the pleasure of opening them and moved her attention to stroking his back
and butt, her short nails skimming over his flesh, raising goose bumps in
their wake.
Once he'd finished unbuttoning her shirt, however, and his hands and
lips began to explore her breasts, her concentration on caressing him went
out the window. She arched her back as his hands and then his mouth found
her ultra sensitive nipples. They hardened into firm, hot lumps of flesh
that grew under his touch until, startled by their growth, he leaned back
and marvelled at their length and hardness, swirling the tip of his tongue
on their very tips.
Both of their hands struggled with her pants but, after she'd kicked the
slacks across the room from the tip of her big toe, he had the glorious job
of getting rid of her white cotton panties. He teased himself, as he drew
them over her hips and down her legs. His eyes followed every crevice and
curve that their lowering exposed: the dark red bush of soft hair on her
mound; the way her thighs joined her body, leaving that space that
highlighted her plump centre; her lovely long, slim legs that rippled under
his touch.
He buried his face in her crotch, inhaling deeply, as her aroused aroma
played havoc with his brain, sending every one of his senses into
overdrive.
Her legs parted more and more, as his mouth and tongue pleasured her.
Her torso writhed and squirmed as her inhibitions went out the front door;
she gave herself to him, opened herself wide to his every touch. Her body
tensed several times and, finally, her orgasm took over. He could feel her
vagina clutch and squeeze his tongue inside her passage as the ripples of
her pleasure rolled across her body.
After several minutes, during which he gently caressed her body and
placed soft kisses on her slightly open pussy lips, she looked down at him,
grabbed his ears and gently pulled.
"Get up here" she said "I want to feel that big thing inside me. Come
on, Jimmy... come up here and fuck my brains out."
So he did.
Moments later he was between her legs, his hard cock pressed to her
opening. With his hand he moved his dick up and down her slit, stopping to
apply a little extra pressure to her clit. He watched her face as he
probed between her pussy lips and slid his twitching cock through her
slippery, wet slit, her swollen lips pressing the sides of his cock head.
She raised herself onto her elbows and watched, fascinated, as his
swollen tool, glistening with her juices, played with her sensitive flesh.
Each time his cock touched her clitoris, her head stretched back on her
neck, her mouth opened and she let out a long, low groan. He did it over
and over again, fascinated by his ability to cause her so much pleasure.
On one of his trips down that silky, wet groove, his cock moved forward
enough to trap the head in her entrance. After that, it was game over.
They both watched with mounting, well-vocalized pleasure as his hard cock
disappeared into her hole. Slowly, ever so slowly, her cavity seemed to
suck him into her, his cock splitting her lips as it made its gradual
journey upward into her body.
When a little more than half of him was buried in her hot, tight
passage, she pressed her body forward, causing his tool to slide fully
inside her.
Neither of them lasted long after that. Instinct took over his brain
and he was suddenly aware of humping into her in complete abandon, their
bodies making a wet, slapping sound as they met. She, in turn, had
completely abandoned herself to instinct too and thrust her hips back at
him with all her young strength.
Later he lay beside her, his lips at her ear, and told her of all the
things they were going to do with one another in the days, and weeks, and
months to come.
ooooooooooooooo
He had reached the shore just below the cabin and, although the moon was
still shining above him, he could see the first glow of light rising in the
east. Daybreak.
"Hey Janey!" he yelled loud as he could toward the cabin. "I'm home!!
Better get that damned fireplace lit!"
Then, as an afterthought, he added, "Spread that old bear rug out too.
Yer gonna need it t'lay on real soon...."
ooooooooooooooo
Part way up the path, he found he had to stop and catch his breath. He
stood there panting, the mist of his breathing streaming away from him on
the breeze. He became aware of how his head was pounding and still aching;
the effects of being "buried alive" were still with him. Oxygen
deprivation did funny things.
Gradually his strength returned, his head didn't ache quite so much, and
he resumed his trek up the winding path.
Daylight was arriving quickly now. The southeastern sky was a rosy red,
spreading out from behind the remains of the storm clouds still visible on
the horizon. A chickadee flitted through the bush ahead of him, its call
music to his ears. It was good to be alive.
As he climbed the last hundred feet or so of the drift-crossed path, he
realized that he was shaking with cold. His body was chilled to the bone
and he knew that only time and a warm place would restore it. His mind
pictured the inside of the cabin, the fireplace burning softly, flames
curling around the almost-burned-out logs. With daylight just beginning to
penetrate the gloom, the fireplace would be providing a soft, dancing light
of its own to the whole room. Janey would be a flickering outline of
blankets on the bed and would probably sit up, quite startled, as he opened
the inner door.
Long before his fuzzy mind could really register the fact, he passed the
end of the path and came into the clearing. His eyes saw, without really
seeing, the cabin and the tall dark-green evergreens that surrounded it's
north side; he could only focus on the outer porch door, his eyes seeing
the gleam of the thumb-catch against the weathered planks.
There was a small, two-foot drift on the stoop in front of the door, and
his snowshoes bit into it before his mind registered that he was finally
there. Stopping, he bent slowly, forced the rubber over his boots, and
stepped out of the shoes. His hand found the door's thumb-catch and
snapped it downward, releasing the bar on the inside, and his shoulder
pressed the door open. Stepping carefully so as not to drag the drift into
the porch, he entered the semi-light of the enclosure and, after re
latching the door, was happy just to stand there in that windless dark
place.
He jumped a little with surprise at a sudden bright light. The inner
door had opened on the sight of Janey, lantern in one hand, the other
holding the door edge, his old parka over her shoulders and her lovely red
hair glimmering in the lantern light. With her t-shirt, sleeping wear and
her lovely slim legs showing between the open parka flaps, and with his
heavy grey-wool socks on her feet, she made a mighty pretty picture.
Behind her the fireplace roared with the new logs she'd put there, and the
glorious warmth of the cabin washed over him.
"Oh, Jimmy," she said, her face showing her concern, her eyes taking in
the pallor of his face and the snow hanging in his eyebrows.
"Heard you call from the lake," she added, smiling a shy sort of grin,
her eyes twinkling in the lantern flame.
He stood, swaying a little, and just looked at her, framed in the
doorway, with a small grin on his lips; he'd noticed she'd taken time to
roll out the bear-fur rug, right there in front of the hearth.
"Come on." She motioned him inside. "Never mind the snow. It'll melt.
God, I've been worried about you. Get in here! Let's get you warmed up!"
"It's great to be home," he thought, as he stepped through the door.
-The End
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