Crossing The Lake

“So different in the Winter”, he thought, as he decended 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. “Get’s much cooler, it’s gonna to be a pretty uncomfortable walk across.” At the edge of where the water would normally be, he stopped and looked out toward the far shore, maybe 5 miles away. He could just make out the cabin and the bush that surrounded it, well above the lake. The poplar trees, like skeletons against the deep blue sky and the occasional spruce adding 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 was blinding to the eye, if you looked West and Northwest. All around him, a winter wonderland; the glitter of snow particles, carried by the wind. The shoreline to his right still in bright sunlight, 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 some dark clouds just above the tree-line on the opposite shore. He could have sworn those clouds weren’t there, as he came down the trail toward the lake, only minutes earlier. Sensing an urgency to get underway, he realized that the wind and clouds had him spooked a bit but there was nothing to do but go on, it was too late to turn back; even if he wanted to. Putting his head down into the wind (Has it picked up even more?) he committed himself to 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 make adjustments to his gear. 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 gone now and the vapour from his breath swirling 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 there; 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 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 isles 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 figured 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 more frustrated and hot 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; the view he had out the end of the tube like looking like the end of the long pipe. It looked so 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, running down his flushed face. The sales clerk was astounded when he’d bought the damned parka anyway. 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 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 15 minutes ago, as just above the skyline, was now taking up a full half of the shy 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 over everything else now, even the sound of his own breathing 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 loose more time than he had gained…and he knew that he had to watch working up a sweat; it 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 now a 4 inch sighting of his snowshoes gliding through the swirling snow beneath him; even they disappeared 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 motion 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 little there was getting to be 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 took over 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 South East 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, beyond him now and passing over the shore he’d left behind a while back. The sun gone and soon to be setting; the moon he’d hoped to have overhead in another hour, no hope of that now. 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. Meantime, 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 only just barely see anymore. Stopping for a second, he took a good look around. The light was all but gone now and the world around him had turned to one 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….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 that howl. “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 little daylight left. 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 to the South, overlooking the lake. On the back wall, he could see the fieldstone fireplace, with some laundry hanging from the rack to both sides of it; 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 and he chuckled at the thought of Janey and her insistence that she have a towel under her beautiful butt; so the old bear didn’t get crusty. He had no doubt that there was more than one crusty patch or two 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, and 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, that make you think that, 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 lake. Suddenly, he heard a crackle of breaking sticks as something moved, off to his right. He immediately thought “Bear” and wondered if he could get to his rifle, if he needed to. When he looked in that direction, however, he caught the 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, with a pressure that made it hard to stand there; the direction kept switching enough 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 too, when his elbow slid off his thigh. Righting himself, he sat there half awake, eyes at half-mast, enjoying the heat of the day; 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, when the air was 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, he 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 lighter 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 onto 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 butt, clad only in wet, white cotton panties. He stopped dead in his tracks, when he saw her there; his jaw dropped open in surprise.That must have presented quite a picture to her, as 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 resulting shock on his face must have been comical. She sensed he was harmless and, still laughing softly, she simply turned her back on him, her smiling face watching him, over his 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, to the cabin. again. 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. Minutes passed, then ten minutes, 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 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. 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. 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 he 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!! That 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 and she’d ask what she could do, once they were out of the way. He accepted her being just 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, after he got up. 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 the softness of the couch. 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 snow bound white-out, the more 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, he pried and pulled the inner-tube clasps from his boots. Alter 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 , fluttering in the wind…he hoped. Slowly, he got his haversack and bedroll off his back and, wrapping himself carefully in the bedroll, he settled himself, 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, as it was, 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 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 but, when he’d wakened, the second morning she’d slept on the couch, he awakened facing 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-at-the-waist position. His eyes were drawn to where her legs met the trunk of her body and the in-going curve of her upper thighs that formed a gap, which both framed and highlighted her panty covered mound. Never had he seen anything so stimulating, sexy, erotic…..he didn’t even know the word to use. As she completed her task, he stared at that place between her legs, his breath coming faster every second that passed. 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 that he was 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 but did so, without the panties. In his imagination, he found himself examining her naked slit, in great detail; he could even ‘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 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 thought, 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 too 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. 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 but, although he could breath, it didn’t seem to satisfy his need; something was missing. The air tasted stale and, somehow, used. His mind wavered in and out of sleep and, 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 laying 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 and 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 shon down on him. Struggling, he turned over to 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’d 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 knows 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, in the distance, the dark outline of the lakeshore, trees like black, stick-like skeletons rising here and there, breaking 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-like 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, the cabin, a wisp of smoke coming out of the chimney, 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 next 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. For 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 following every crevice and curve that their lowering exposed; the dark red bush of soft hair on her mound; the way her legs joined her body, leaving that space that highlighted her plump centre; her lovely long, slim legs that rippled under his touch. He had 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 and the ripples of her pleasure rolled across her body. After several minutes, during which he softly 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 on and applying 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 this 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 bury itself 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 back at him, with her hips, 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 and 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 onto the morning sky from behind the remains of the storm clouds, still on the horizon. A Chickadee flitted through the bush ahead of him, it’s 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 and forced the rubber over his boots and stepped out of them. 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, re-latching the door, he 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 to the sight of Janey, lantern in one hand, the other holding the door edge. His old parka over her shoulders, her lovely red hair glimmering in the lantern light. With her t-shirt, sleeping wear and her lovely slim legs showing between the open parks flaps….and, with his heavy grey-wool socks on her feet, she made a mighty pretty picture. Behind her, the fireplace was roaring with the new logs she’d put there and the warm, glorious heat of the cabin washed over him. “Oh, Jimmy” she said, her face showing her concern, her eyes taking in the paleness 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, just looking at her, framed in the doorway, 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 was great to be home, he thought, as he stepped through the door.