Kate in Winter

"And a good morning to you, Kate," I scoff at my reflection. Tea kettle set to boil? Check. Laptop booting up? Check. Exactly twelve pencils sharpened and aligned to the left? Check. I don't even use them; I sharpen them solely for their earthy scent, bringing to mind of my better times.

I used to be a married woman, then again I used to be a lot of things: younger, prettier, thinner, all elements of the external distorted by time. Oh whatever...I'm alive, so that's something, isn't it?

I left my bedroom window open a crack last night, so as to allow me to listen in on the coyote's laments. I live alone in my ramshackle A frame; my one and a half story author's refuge settled into the North Saskatchewan river banks. I do love it here and feel loved in return.

Everything is about sensing nature's brutal honesty. The wildlife here lives by a code of relentless need and vital struggle, shrouded by a postcard's worth of austere beauty. Scatterings of stark white bones and pale flutterings of fur mark life's progress. I'm no different; someday I'll be marked as well.

I shuffle through last night's snowfall to sweep my balcony as I hum along with the glassy rattlings of the tree tops all around. Each blackened, naked rapier arouses terror in my heart. I exhale a giddy cloud of frost to mingle with the last snow rainbow shivering from my broom. The fresh air thrills me.

My meditation is broken by the unmistakable two cycle snarl of a snowmobile faltering below. I strain to see, hearing youthful cursings of the unfaithful machine. Rump-Up-Up, Rupp-up-up. "Forget it young feller, it ain't starting anytime soon," I sigh, closing the door behind me. I've seen a good part of what life has to offer in my forty three years, enabling me to predict these things with some accuracy.

I hurriedly smear a shrunken bar of deodorant across my underarms before donning my housecoat. It's not that I neglect hygiene, far from it; more like I've grown to love my body's natural scent. Others might not share my enthusiasm for this marking my territory. Mostly, I blame the coyotes.

I watch fascinated as he trudges into view, wearing a navy blue snowsuit, topped by a metal-flake helmet. I pretend, for a moment, that an alien is coming to ravage me. Living alone may have warped my mind, I suppose.

He knocks; I trip down two steps at once, calling for a deft jarring of my heels, trading certain pain for a tumble down the stairs. He knocks again. I stand for an instant with a curious sense of uncertainty. I let him into my home.

He's wild-eyed in striding past me, deflecting the door with his elbow. "Damn that thing!" He hurls his mitts, then his helmet. It bounces and spins around the corner, as if to escape his rage. I'm breathlessly aroused by this passionate display and by the distinct chill flooding from his snowsuit. The fragrance of virile man-sweat mixed with exhaust fumes and the ozone of the outdoors causes me to bristle. My senses awaken to visceral desire.

"Hey! Take it easy on the floor boards," I snap, backing away while shaking my head. I feel silly like a schoolgirl, compelled to adjust my hair and posture to his liking. I stop; my smile fades. He's looking at me.

"Sorry. So sorry." His eyes flash with the bluest sincerity as he scuttles after his helmet. I watch him pat the dent in the floorboard as if to repair. I make a move to close the door and am met by a gust of wind. His eyes sweep up past my feet, rising to pause on the space between my legs. He blushes. I blush as well on discovery of my splayed housecoat.

He caught an eyeful of my shapely legs, snug inside hand knitted, striped woolen thigh- high stockings. My taut, white mare's thigh flesh blooms above my leggings and below my uptight lace panties. I turn my head, fumbling with my waist belt, wishing to reset the scene. Now, I am the regretful one.

"Sorry," I stammer, smoothing my robe. "I don't get many visitors."

"It's all good. I didn't see anything." He shuts his eyes, adding, "I don't mean__"

"I know," I interrupt. "I know; let's not...well, let's not...you know." A writer should do better.

He stands upright, rising above the awkward exchange. We turn as one, gratefully surprised by the tea kettle's whistle. "I'll be right back." I climb the stairs, self consciously securing my housecoat's sides.

On my return, I find he has made himself at home. After sloughing off his snowsuit, he pokes at the fireplace embers of last night's fire. I stand still, remembering my husband's outrage over discovering the newly installed fireplace. I thought it would be a romantic thing; instead, he scolded me for having it put in place behind his back. He stormed from the house, and out of my life, never to be seen again. The thin ice of the river claimed his fuming body, widowing me in the process. Oh well, live and learn.

"Oh yes, a fire would be just the thing," I offer. He backs away, sullen and shy. I light the kindling with insolent efficiency as he looks on.

Presuming him to prefer hot chocolate over tea, I set us a modest table. "So engine trouble, eh?" I say musically, adopting a motherly tone to commiserate in his troubles.

"Yeah, I guess. Could be wet spark plugs, maybe," he says, fishing his cell phone from his damp shirt pocket. His indifference excites me. I tug at my panties' waistband, shivering at the silky pressure cupping my heated sex mound. He glances over at me from above his cell phone, as alerted by my pleasure. I sit with my swollen nipples hidden from his bright, young eyes.

"Ah! This damn phone! Dead battery." He scans the place, asking, "Got a charger?" His doubt is vaguely insulting.

"No, but you can plug into my laptop." I hiccup, cringing at the double entendre. I climb back upstairs for my computer, blushing profusely. Taking advantage of my bedroom's privacy, I can't resist swishing my cool fingertips around my neglected clitoris. A delicious warmth spreads through my abdomen. I imagine clasping my hands amid his tight blonde curls as he tastes my pussy for the first time.

The image of his tender, ready but unsure cock makes my knees go weak. I could come so easily now. I picture me sucking on his hard inches. "Ah!" I gasp, suppressing my passion.

"What?" he calls.

"Ah, I've got it!" I call back, fingers frozen in place.

"Cool..." he trails off. I resolve to finish later. A spray of cologne hides my pussy's wanting scent. I gather my breasts into a bra before heading back downstairs, computer in hand.

We search for a connecting cord to join his phone to my USB jack. This done, we wait. "Hey, why don't I just use your phone? I don't think it's long distance or anything," suggests Allen.

"You know, I don't even have a phone here. I don't even think we have cell service this far from town," I tell him, apologetically.

He raises his eyebrows, saying, "Well that's just great." He blows the marshmallow foam from his coffee mug, coating his upper lip.

"Hey, you look good with a mustache," I laugh, forgetting his irksome situation. He is not amused. As a distracting consolation, I swing my legs onto the extra chair nearby, allowing him to gaze at my crossed, thick lady legs flexing within tight, woolen wraps. I smile, arching my back, stretching and yawning. I pretend to be unaware of my robe's sensual parting. I sneak a peek to gauge his reaction. His eyes play across my legs; he leans forward.

"Where did you get those things, anyway?" he coughs, fully aware of my teasing intentions.

"I was born with them." I watch him, while smiling coyly as I caress my thighs. He closes his eyes and turns away.

"No, I mean those...socks, I guess." I've caught his interest, but he slides his chair away to distance himself; my heart throbs.

"I knitted them, silly. You can't beat homemade," I respond warmly. I scan his lap for signs of arousal; I'm rewarded by the outline of his fledgling erection.

"Maybe your girlfriend would like a set." I hold my breath. Thin ice sways underfoot.

"Nope, no such luck; no girlfriend. I'm here on holiday." My pussy squirms under me.

"Maybe I should see if my sled will start..." he begins. His cell blinks to life, as does my computer screen. My half finished sex story blazes, all brash and bold on the screen. (I didn't mention that I write erotica did I? Well, it's what I do and I'm not ashamed.)

I fold my legs under me in new modesty, reaching to close the laptop; it's too late, he reads it.

"Um, what was all that stuff?" he asked, wide-eyed.

"Just a story. A story I'm writing." A long silence follows.

"Can I read it? Looked interesting." My stomach heaves.

"No, it's not done." I have a naughty idea, cajoling him, "Want me to read it to you? Maybe you can help me finish."

He slaps the table in agreement. "Okay! Let's do it." I blink, my pussy tingles at his enthusiasm. "My name is Allen, by the way." He offers out his hand; I hold it in mine, wishing it rather between my legs.

"I'm Kate, and I'm very pleased to meet you." I set the computer on my lap, stealing a look at his hard, clothed phallus. I gulp at it's length extending halfway to his knee, ending with his engorged, pussy-plowing glans. "Wow," I murmur, flashing him an unsure grin. He beams at my approval. Maybe it's time for a stronger drink. I pour us a healthy dose of rum and return to the business at hand.

"Okay, what have you got so far?" he asks, leaning closely over my shoulder, peering at the title screen. My sex swells wetly at his hot breath in my ear. I place the computer on the table, hoping he'll soon be on his knees, between my legs.

"It's best I read it from the beginning," I advise, looking up into his eyes. Our prolonged gaze fills me with longing. I close my eyes, parting my lips, hotly anticipating his kiss. I wait with eyes closed. I hear him settling into his chair across from me. I bite back at hurt tears, not daring a look in his direction.

I straighten, reading: "She would never be his; not now, not ever. In a perfect world, they...Hey! Are you listening?" He plays with his phone, passing it around overhead, seeking a faint reception bar.

"I'm trying to text my buddy. I'm listening," he drawls, eyes never leaving his phone. I'd rather watch him play with his cock. I part my legs and lean forward, parting my back from the chair, my eyes never leaving the screen. I skip ahead to the racy part.

I read more loudly: "He steps behind her seated form, placing his firm, able hands on her ivory shoulders, his strength massaging the tension from her lithe body..." Allen steps in behind me, mirroring the actions described. A gasp escapes me. Oh thank god, he's going to play.

My nipples swell obscenely as I continue my oration: "She stiffens at his bold hands cupping her firm breasts, strumming her sensitive nipples with his calloused thumbs..." He plays right along by sliding his hands down around my juddering titties. I'm so wet; my raging lust sends my hand into a furtive clutching of my love mound. I moan as he nuzzles my ear.

I let my robe slide down and away to allow Allen's naked cock to brush my bare flesh; he stands behind me with his cock jutting through the chair rungs. I fight an urge to jump him, to engulf his throbbing staff, but I read on: "She, filled with girlish curiosity, plays her fingertips along his pride, tracing the veins of his turgid staff. She stifles moans, breathlessly craving the immense eruption of his fertile seed. She has overheard of this, and more, from the palace maids. She grasps his curved erection, milking him with conviction..."

It's my turn to play along. I swivel, sliding to the edge of my seat, allowing me to reach his distended shaft. I thrill at his lively, fat prick in my hand. I lean forward, allowing me ample room to please my young stud. He massages my titties and shivering belly flesh with abandon. Allen pulses a clear, slippery drop into my busy hand. I work it into his cock flesh, thumbing his glans, wishing to suck him off. I wish to be in his arms, to be cherished by him, to fuck him until receiving spurts from his young body.

I resume reading, my voice low and growling with lust: "She casts her eyes around her bedchamber, fearing a witness to her needful encounter. She lowers her head to his stiff wand, parting her trembling lips to catch his wickedly brimming release. He moans, coming into her tiny palms. Her pink tongue laps his..."

Allen has had all he can take. "Ugh! Oh god you're good!" He thrusts his hips into the back of the chair; his pent up load floods my shuttling palm and shoots far up my wrist. I leap from my chair, cupping his scalding love sauce in my hands. I rush up the stairs to the bathroom, leaving him behind, his twitching cock jutting through the chair back rungs. I save a mental image of his beautiful manhood.

Once upstairs, I tip one palm into the other, all but spilling his thick love cream onto my toes. It's my cum now. I slip out of my panties and sit on the edge of the bathtub, setting my free hand into action to relieve my horny condition. While masturbating my hot gash, I stretch my tongue to taste Allen's essence; the exotic flavor urges me into an ass-bucking orgasm. I slide down, trembling against the cold confines of the tub.

I spread my quivering labia to chamber the sum his hot load. I drive my fingers into my vagina, chasing streams of my stud's cream. My eyes roll back as I imagine my womb's entry drowning in cum. Crossing my long, up-stretched legs, I massage my aching breasts, rolling the remains of his cum around the pinkness of my nipples. My thighs clench repeatedly, my ass flesh shudders, delighting at his sticky wad flooding my intimate passage.

I hear a knock on the door downstairs; I still to listen, my scalp tingling.

"Hey Allen, I got your machine started. Let's get going. I've got us a couple of hot barfly babes waiting."

"Okay, let's go," says Allen in a gruff, manly voice.

"Whatcha doin' here anyways? Anything cool?"

"Naw, no big deal, it's nothin' " he laughs, slamming the door behind him.

My heart sinks, black and ashen. I listen as two snowmobiles leave together. I clamp my hand to my grimacing face; my tears well in shame.

I've lived alone for years. Now, save for the longest time, I will be lonely. The Bastard.