Archive-name: Dreams/skiing.txt

Archive-author: anonymous author

Archive-title: Skiing





     This is basically a work of fiction.  It's something that I

sure as hell wouldn't mind happening, but it is highly unlikely

that it will ever happen.  So all characters and events are

products of the author's mind.  Any similarity to people or events,

past or present, is purely coincidence.





     I didn't get to ski over Christmas break as was my custom.  I

always went out there either with my family or a couple of friends,

but this year I was so busy applying for a job or grad school that

I didn't really have time.  So I decided to make the trip during

spring break.

     Unfortunately, none of my friends wanted to go; they were all

heading down to Florida for some sun and sand.  I really wanted to

ski.  I called a travel agency and started to make my plans.  I was

in luck; there was a small (very small) condo for rent that week

that would fit one or two people.  The owner was having trouble

finding someone to stay there (most people went in large groups),

so he was willing to rent it for cheap.  I jumped at the chance.

     I drove out to Steamboat (no small task; it's 25 hours) and

arrived at midnight on Saturday.  I was utterly exhausted after the

two-day trip.  I slept in until about 10 (late for a skier) and

then headed to the mountain.  I got a half-day lift ticket and then

walked around the base of the mountain for a while, looking in some

shops.  Afternoon finally came, and I hit the slopes.  The skiing

was magnificent.  I skied until the lifts closed and then rode the

bus back to my condo.  A small bar for pizza and beer sufficed that

night for entertainment.  I was here to ski, not party.

     The next two days were just that:  skiing, skiing, and more

skiing.  Did I mention that I skied?  I skied on every trail they

had to offer, concentrating on the meadows at the top.  Now those

were fun.  Big bumps half way down, then nice soft powder the rest

of the way.  The perfect run.  They tired me out quickly, but I

wasn't giving in.  I was going to ski until I collapsed from

exhaustion.

     On the morning of the fourth day out there, I got in line for

a lift located close to the top.  The line was rather long, so I

looked around for another single skier to ride up with.  I heard

"single!" shouted from close to the front of the line, so I shouted

"single" back.  I then cruised up to where the shout came from.

     She was definitely not a ski bunny.  Her equipment was top-of-

the-line, but it was also beaten up a little, meaning she skied

hard.  But she was gorgeous.  She was a little taller than me

(about 6'0"), had long, straight blond hair.  That's about all I

could tell because she was wearing sunglasses and a bulky parka. 

The stretch pants she was wearing did her justice, though.  She had

long, muscular legs that ended in a perfectly-shaped ass.  I took

my place in line next to her, glad that bulging eyes were hidden by

my mirrored sunglasses.

     We chatted as we rode up the lift.  She was April Hittell, and

she lived in Nashville, Tenn.  Which meant that she had a southern

accent.  I just about died on the spot.  I think that southern

accents are so sexy.  Incredibly sexy.  She was a senior at

Vanderbilt University, and she wanted to be an elementary school

teacher.  I told her about myself, and then we changed the subject

to how great the skiing was.  Soon, too soon, the end of the lift

came up, and we ended up going different directions, her down to

the bottom to eat lunch and me over to the meadows for some more

powder.

     I ate a late lunch to avoid the crowds and then I skiied the

rest of the day up at the top.  I was forced off the hill because

the lifts were closed, so I meandered down to the bottom of the

hill and went into the bar in the base chalet.  I walked up to the

bar and got a beer.  As I turned around to lean on the bar and

drink my beer, I noticed April in the corner, seated by herself. 

I debated about whether or not to go up and talk to her, but I

decided that I was too chicken.  Lift lines were one thing, a bar

was quite another.

     I finished that beer and was just starting my second when I

noticed her motioning to me.  She motioned me over to her table. 

I walked over there without even spilling my beer (you try to do

that with a full beer walking in ski boots).  I got to her table

and she told me to sit down.  We talked for quite a while. 

Apparently her parents own a cabin in Steamboat, and she was here

for a long weekend of skiing.  I told her my situation.

     The conversation flowed on and the beers became more numerous. 

Suddenly I realized that I was in the middle of asking her out to

dinner that evening.  And she was agreeing.  Pretty cool what beer

can do to (for) you.  At any rate, I slowed down with the beers so

that I could sober up to be able to drive and pick her up for

dinner.

     I rode the bus home and took a shower.  I prepared myself for

an evening out on the town and then drove over to her cabin,

following her directions.  She was already on the porch waiting for

me when I arrived.  We drove to a little cafe sort of restaurant

that she said had great food.

     We had a charming dinner.  Conversation flowed freely.  I

accidentally bumped her leg with mine (I needed to stretch out my

legs every now and then), but she didn't seem to mind, so I just

left my leg there.  I started getting excited by the warmth of her

leg against mine.

     Soon dinner was over and we drove quietly back to her place. 

As I pulled into her driveway, she asked me in for a nightcap "or

something."  I readily agreed, because I did not want this date to

end quite yet.

     Her cabin was the stereotypical mountain retreat.  Big stone

fireplace, three room, wood cabin.  Granted it was very large

inside and very well furnished, but was was still pretty

stereotypical.  The only thing that could have made it more idyllic

would have been a bearskin rug on the floor in front of the

fireplace.  But there was no bearskin rug; an Persian rug lay in

its place.

     I set about making a fire while she fixed some dessert in the

kitchen.  Soon I had a roaring fire going, which flooded the room

with warmth.  She walked over to the fireplace and commented on

what a fine fire I built.  I beamed with pride.

     We ate little munchies and sipped at wine while we sat in

front of the fire.  She rested her head in the crook of my shoulder

and I rested my arm around her.  I was content to just sit there,

holding this beauty.  I soon began to get other ideas, too, but was

too afraid to act on them.

     Finally, I decided that the time had come to make some sort of

a move.  During this particular conversation, she lifted her head

and turned it to face me.  That was my clue.  I lowered my head

down and met her lips with mine.  She hesitated, almost as if in

surprise, and then responded.  Her lips were full, soft, and moist. 

I almost lost myself in them.

     Our kisses slowly became more and more hungry.  Soon my tongue

was searching her mouth, checking her dental work.  She broke the

kiss and all I could see in her deep blue eyes was desire.  We

kissed again, even more hungrily than before.  She pushed me to lay

back on the couch and I didn't argue.  She climbed on top of me to

continue the kiss.

     My hands slid up her bulky sweater and began to fondle her

breasts.  A small moan escaped from her lips.  She kissed my chin,

my cheek, and worked back to my ear and neck.  Her tongue traced

small circles on my neck as she went from left to right and back.

     I gently tugged on her sweater and got it to her neck.  She

raised her arms over her head, allowing me to remove her sweater. 

I also quickly removed her turtleneck while her arms were in teh

air.  She wore a black lace bra that pushed her breasts up a

little, forming two perfect creamy hemispheres on her chest.  I

reached around with one hand and undid her bra.  I noticed a little

surprise in her eyes at my dexterity.  I slid her bra from her

shoulders and looked at what was revealed.

     They barely sagged.  Just enough to testify to their mass.  No

more.  They weren't huge, but they were very well shaped, they

defied gravity, and they were topped by half-dollar sized areolas. 

Her nipples were hard and looked like they were pouting.  I

massaged them, occasionally pausing to pinch and pull at her

nipples.  She rolled her eyes and moaned with pleasure at my touch.

     I also massaged her stomach and played with her belly button. 

She was obviously ticklish, so I tickled a little while I massaged

her.  I brought her down for more kisses, the trailed my tongue

down to her nipples.

     I licked circles around each one, flicking the tips with my

tongue.  She was almost in a frenzy after just a few minutes of

this.  Her hips started moving in tempo with my tongue.  Her hands

went to the buttons on my shirt and began to undo them.  My shirt

soon joined her sweater on the floor.  She began to pull at my

nipples, which started really exciting me.

     Soon our pants and underwear completed the heap of clothing

next to the couch.  She kissed her way down to my penis and began

licking the underside of it.  That drove me nuts.  It felt so good

while at the same time almost tickling.

     I reciprocated the 69, spending most of the time flicking her

clit with my tongue.  Everytime I did that, she drove herself down

on my face.  I also entered her with my tongue.  She was almost

continually moaning now, and her juices were starting to run down

my chin because she was so excited.

     I pulled her around and was about to enter her when I

remembered that I was missing something.  I looked into her face

and she realized that I hadn't brought anything contraception-wise. 

"Don't worry.  I'm on birth control.  Only in my case, it's period

control."  I started to enter a second time, but this time she

stopped me.

     "Not here.  I want to do it on the Persian rug.  I always

have.  Can we do it there?"

     I certainly agreed.  We moved to the floor and resumed our

position.  She was so excited that I just slid right in.  I started

slowly and worked up a steady rhythm.  She was moaning loudly and

throwing her head to and fro, all the while meeting my every

stroke.  After a couple of minutes she let out a shriek and I could

feel her body shaking with orgasm.

     She opened her eyes and looked up at me, at once totally

exhausted and wanting more.  I slid out and she turned over.  I

positioned myself and entered her from behind.  I slid in even

easier this time.

     I knew right away that it wouldn't be long for me.  I was very

close.  I teased her a little, just moving the first couple of

inches in and out.  Finally she was so worked up that the thrust

her body back against mine, forcing me all the way into her.  I

lengthened and sped up my strokes.  I was soon at the edge of an

orgasm.  I held it back for as long as I could, feeling me go over

the edge.  I could hold out no longer and I started coming. 

Wrapped up in my pleasure, I could barely hear her shrieking,

signaling her second orgasm.

     When I had finished coming, she looked over her shoulder, "On

your back, pal!"  So I obliged.  She got on and rode me.  I must

confess that I wasn't much help because I was spent, but I did the

best I could and soon she was moaning with her third orgasm.  But

that was all she could take then because she slumped down against

me.  We were both sound asleep minutes later.

     I awoke at about 3 am because I was really cold.  My fire had

all but died out, and April was nowhere to be seen.  I looked

around and finally found her in the bedroom.  I crawled in bed, and

she mumbled something about trying to wake me up but not being able

to.  Which was probably true, because I sleep like the dead,

especially after sex.  We kept each other warm that night, and at

8 am, we were on the slopes again.



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