Trailing Along

We slowed down as we approached the top of Chair 11 so we could safely maneuver around the people who had just dismounted from the lift. Sandy called to me: "Are you ready for a thrill? Stay behind me as we go down. You can follow my path through the moguls."

"I'm right with you. Let's do it."

Seconds later I was grabbing nothing but air as we shot over the precipice. Normally I would have freaked out heading into a steep mogul field that fast. And I wasn't even on solid ground at first. I hit the first mogul with a jolt but leaned hard into the turn like Sandy did. She cut each turn sharply, sending rooster tails of snow up in the air. Every move felt natural as I traced her path a few seconds behind.

There was something about the speed, the steepness, and the aggressive moves needed to shoot around the moguls—not to mention being pushed well outside my comfort zone that day. I felt a weird, fiery tingling deep in my groin. A sensation I hadn't felt since trying to climb those ropes dangling from the ceiling in my high school gym. This wasn't like slow, sensuous sex anymore—more like a rough, doggie fuck just before we both climaxed.

Moments later we shot out of the mogul field into a wide, open bowl and rejoined the main Miracle Mile trail. She let me catch up so we could complete the run in a tight, swift tandem. This time we both finished smoothly, no spills or tangles. Sandy stepped around so she could slide her skis between mine and give me a hug.

"Well, that was very ... exciting. I'm still humming. All over."

And so was I. If the steep part had been any longer, I might have creamed my long johns. We were both breathing heavily, like we had just experienced a powerful mutual orgasm. Sandy pressed her waist tightly against me; my erection was aching with arousal. Normally I would have been embarrassed, but I didn't mind her feeling the effect she had on me. Her big boobs flattened against my chest as she looked up and gave me a kiss. It was a little more than friendly.

"Jim, why don't we kick back in the village? Let the traffic clear out. Even 38 will be crowded now. Maybe shoot some pool."

"Excellent idea. We can get something to eat after we get there."

We made our way over to the car and stowed our gear. It felt good to get the heavy ski boots off my feet. Normally I would have pulled off my bib and changed into my jeans in the car, but I was hesitant to strip down to my long underwear in front of her. After all, I'd only met her that morning. Speaking of awkward matters, I wanted to atone for my collision with her earlier.

"I'm sorry about my clumsiness this morning. Running into you and knocking you down."

She laughed. "Oh, no need to apologize. That was silly fun. And kind of sexy, actually. It felt nice to have you on top of me."

"Sandy, you're putting unclean thoughts in my head. Careful."

"Well, I'm glad I can still do that to someone. Thanks for the compliment."

* * *

We got lucky when we walked into a dive bar popular with the locals. A pool table was available, and the crowd wasn't overwhelming. I had the waitress bring over a pitcher of beer and two mugs as we chalked up our cue sticks.

"8-Ball. A dollar a game," Sandy proposed. "No fun unless there's something on the line."

I agreed and watched her win the break and proceed to drop five balls before missing a shot. My game was rusty; she beat me before I could sink a second ball. The second game didn't go much better. Damn, I wondered if she had a pool table at home.

"Two dollars you owe me. Soon to be three," she taunted, lining up her next break shot.

I fared a little better in the third game. I actually won when she accidentally sunk the 8-ball on the same shot that pocketed her final ball. I'd left her with a difficult shot around the ones I still had cluttering the table.

"Shit! Good defense, Jim. That's one for you."

It wasn't a clean win, but I took it anyway. I kept getting better with each game but couldn't match her skills. Finally I had a series of lucky shots and won one game fair and square. I handed over the money I owed her, and she offered to put it toward some dinner before we hit the road.

* * *

It was dark and snowing lightly when we stepped outside. Sandy slipped her arm through mine and snuggled against me as we made our way to the car.

"Jim, you know what I found most impressive about your game?"

"No, tell me." I unlocked her door. Sandy turned and put her arms around me.

"You're a good sport. You played like a gentleman. No anger or shame when I beat you. I know guys that would have cursed, flung the cue against the wall, stomped out—and driven off without me."

I brushed some snowflakes from her hair. "I'm not one of those guys. No one likes to lose, but it's only a game. You're the better player—for now."

She smiled as she slid into her seat. Did I make an unconscious reference to a continuing series of billiards matches between us, stretching out into the future?

We had timed things perfectly. Most of the day skier traffic had cleared out with only a few cars visible on 38 as we headed down. Sandy turned toward me and touched my hand.

"Jim, I didn't feel very lucky this morning when my truck wouldn't start, but I'm really glad things worked out the way they did. I had a terrific time with you today. I don't think I'm far off by thinking you might feel the same way."

I took her hand in mine and squeezed it. We gazed at each other in the soft glow of the dashboard lights. I felt honest emotions flowing between us, even though our friendship was measured in mere hours.

"You're not far off at all, Sandy. I was about to say the same thing. I feel very fortunate to have met you. I rarely take the back way to Big Bear. It was a last minute choice I made this morning when I got to San Bernardino. Think of all the dozens of things we could have done differently earlier. If any one of them happened, we wouldn't be sitting next to each other now."

We exchanged several meaningful glances. I asked her to pick out another CD. She opened the glove box and quickly pulled out Neil Young'sComes a Time."

"Ooh, this is one of my favorites."

We both knew all the lyrics, so our voices joined together. Her harmonies were almost as good as Nicolette Larson's; the less said about mine, the better. We were mostly quiet after the CD was over, each processing our private thoughts. Soon we approached the chains-off area.

"Sandy, I'll undo the chains and put them up. That was an impressive hook-up you did this morning. Much quicker than I could have done."

"You just need more mountain driving practice. You should come this way more often."

I put the car in park and pulled the brake. "Would you mind getting behind the wheel while I take care of the outside duties?"

"No, I'd be happy to."

At the lower elevation the snow was mostly a drizzle. I crouched down in the slush and reached behind the first tire. The chain crew had gone home for the day. I got flustered trying to undo the chains with my work gloves on; it took forever.

I wondered how I should proceed with the Sandy situation. Ask for her phone number—but maybe end up never calling? Dating her would be madness; the drive is at least ninety minutes, even with no traffic and good weather. Although we had an instant rapport emotionally, we also had very different lives and backgrounds. Or should that even matter? I unfastened the second set of chains and told Sandy to roll forward. I dumped the cold, gritty chains into the trunk.

So should I begin a relationship with her? Go on the first few requisite dates until she feels comfortable enough to get in bed with me? Even if the sex was great, at what point would I tire of the lengthy commute and decide to pack it in? I was trying to balance the strong sexual attraction I had developed for her with at least a small dose of reality. I wondered if she was weighing the same pros and cons while she sat in my car. She opened her door and started to get out as I closed the trunk.

"Sandy, you can drive back to the ranger station. If that's OK with you."

She gave me a satisfied smile and got back behind the wheel. We both buckled up, and she pulled back onto the highway. Sandy drove confidently through the drizzle but seemed amused as she looked over at me.

"You're a very trusting person. Letting me drive your car. Most men wouldn't allow that. Guys expect women to do everything under the sun for them—except touch their precious vehicles."

"I'm not 'most men,' Sandy."

"I know that. That's what makes me feel very comfortable with you."

We pulled into the ranger station parking lot; there was only one other car there. After moving her gear to the Honda, Sandy asked if I could do a big favor for her.

"Would you mind following me home? It's actually not that far. Only ten minutes or so. I'm still feeling vulnerable after having my truck not start this morning." I readily agreed.

"It's very easy. We're going to turn left on Bryant as soon as we come onto the highway. It curves down to Oak Glen Road. Take a left there, and the ranch is a few miles farther. You'll see the Vista del Oro development entrance. I'm about two miles past that on the left. I'll go slow and keep you in view."

It wasn't long before I saw her signaling a left turn onto a gravel road. I followed her car as it pulled up to a wide wooden gate. It was under a weathered rustic archway that had the name "Atherton" spelled out in letters made from small logs. Sandy got out, unlocked the chain, and pushed it open. She began walking back toward my car. I expected her to thank me for seeing her home and say goodnight, maybe lean in the window for a kiss.

"I'm going to drive through and stop. Follow me in and lock the gate. That's ranch etiquette."

Sometimes I can be really clueless about women. I didn't pick up on the fact until later that I had just been asked to stay the night.

* * *

I followed her car until she stopped between a low-slung ranch house and a large barn with a traditional gambrel roof. The house was modest but the barn looked like it was out of a movie set: white with dark green trim, well maintained, a winch to hoist hay into the loft, and a cupola up top. We both got out as the light drizzle continued. Sandy beckoned me to follow her to the barn.

"My great-grandfather built this in 1910. He put every dollar he had into the barn and lived in a very rustic cabin for years. My father razed the cabin and built the house after he came back from The War. I need to check on the horses. You can meet the rest of my resident family."

The barn was dimly lit; the earthy smell reminded me of all the riding I did at summer camp. Three heads poked out of their stalls and nickered.

"This is Knightfall," she said as she stroked the neck of a large dark bay, most likely a gelding. "He used to be my ex's horse, but I'm the legal owner now."

Sandy had me come closer so Knightfall could sniff the back of my hand. We crossed the aisle where two other horses were giving me the eye.

"This is my sister's quarter horse, Firefly." Sandy rubbed the mare along the crest of her neck. "Did you get a ride from Gretchen today? Did you both have fun? That's good."

Firefly had a beautiful sorrel coat and a friendly disposition.

"Go ahead, Jim, she likes to be petted. Stroke her mane like I was doing. She's a sweet girl."

"And this lady over here is mine. Her name is Nugget. She needs to get used to you before she'll let you touch her. Nothing personal. Stay on this side close to me and try not to look her right in the eye."

Nugget was certainly a handsome animal: a dark gold palomino quarter horse with a lot of spirit.

"Jim, there's a refrigerator in the tack room with some treats. Get four apple slices for the mares and two carrots for Knightfall. Never too soon to make friends."

I opened the small refrigerator, which had lots of veterinary medicines along with the containers of treats. Looked like feeding sugar cubes to horses was passé.

Sandy petted and calmed each horse as I fed the treats to them. I wondered if I should help with any chores that needed to be done.

"Do we need to clean out the stalls or anything?"

Sandy laughed. "No, Gretchen already took care of it. She handles that for me several days a month for reduced boarding. I just checked their water and feed, and they're OK.

"Besides, I've found if I try to involve a man with mucking out the stalls right from the start, it never produces the long-term results I'm after." Sandy put her arms around me for another lingering kiss. "Let's go inside."

* * *

The drizzle had turned into a full rain. Sandy told me to grab my bag from the car as she retrieved her things from the Honda. We ran to the back door and took off our parkas and footwear in the mud room. I followed her through the kitchen, which still looked like it was from the 1940s except for a few modern appliances.

"Feel free to get out of your bib if you want," Sandy offered, unzipping hers and pulling the straps from her shoulders. I couldn't see a reason not to do the same. She made no effort to slip into a pair of jeans so I stayed in my long johns, too.

We walked into the living room where a lone reading lamp shone down on the weathered leather of an old oak Morris chair and ottoman. There was a slight chill in the room.

"Jim, here's a plan. Why don't you build a fire while I make us some mulled wine. There's plenty of firewood, and there's a gas outlet, too. And Presto logs. I'd say do the firewood now, and you can later switch to gas or throw on a Presto log if you get tired of tending the fire. Besides, your hands could be full by then," she said with a wink. She asked if mulled wine was OK. "If not, I could do cocoa instead."

"I love mulled wine. It's perfect weather for it. But won't it lower our inhibitions?"

Sandy let out a burst of laughter. "Hah-hah! I guess we're going to find out." Before she headed to the kitchen she asked me to pick out some music once I got the fire going.

Two sticks of fatwood and one match later, I had the beginning of a healthy fire. I piled on some thicker logs once the kindling was ablaze. After a few puffs from the bellows, I replaced the screen and stood back. The room's chill was quickly fading. An inviting, spicy aroma from the mulled wine drifted in from the kitchen.

I looked through Sandy's CDs and noticed she had a large selection of Emmylou Harris albums. I pulled one out and added a few similar mellow choices to the CD carousel. I sat down on the sofa and picked up an issue ofWestern Horseman magazine from the coffee table.

A few minutes later Sandy entered with two steaming mugs. "Good choice on the music, Jim." She set down the tray and yanked off her sweater. "And an excellent job on the fire. You got things warmed up quickly in here."

I didn't want to seem too prim, so I doffed my sweater, too. We both took tiny sips from our mugs, waiting for the aromatic liquid to cool down. I assumed she still had on her sports bra under her long john top and panties under the bottom. Sandy sat down very close to me and began touching my hair.

"Jim, I really liked the conversation we had after lunch. Sharing our various dating and relationship disasters. You weren't afraid to sound foolish or unlucky in love. And I certainly didn't edit myself either. Trying to top each other's tales of 'dates from hell' and bedroom indignities.

"I get really turned on when a man allows himself to be open like that. It's uncommon."

We peered at each other over the rims of our mugs. My cock had already sprung to attention.

"I knew you were different—as soon as we hit the chain control on 38. You didn't expect me to jump out and do it. You were willing to pay or do it yourself. But more importantly, you didn't go all macho on me, insisting thatyou put on the chains yourself when I offered to. You trusted my abilities without getting all weird about it. That's shows a subtle kind of confidence. It got me hot."

Damn, she was gleefully ratcheting up the sexual tension in the room. We continued to sip from our mugs, and she continued to talk—about intercourse.

"I know what I want from a man in bed, and I'm not afraid to speak up. But ... that doesn't always work out well," she said, shaking her head and smiling about those bad memories.

"Inconsiderate sex is a non-starter for me. I can handle rough sex just fine but not selfish sex. I like being submissive sometimes, but I don't want cruelty. And when I take the lead, I don't want my lover to be afraid of that."

My groin was getting as warm as the spicy wine sliding down my throat. "Sandy, I think you've got it right. If you want something in bed, you shouldn't be afraid to ask for it. Man or woman. I had the same reaction to your lunchtime confessionals. I found them quite alluring."

Sandy set down her mug, motioned for me to do the same, and leaned in for a kiss. It started out gently, our tongues softly touching. Stroking each other's hair and cheeks, moans of contentment, both bodies yearning for a more intimate touch. Soft music and the scent of spices filled the room as the rain continued to fall on the roof. We weren't in a hurry; the mantle clock had just chimed nine.

A delicate, spontaneous choreography ensued. Gentle caresses of the face, sighs from well-placed squeezes, gasps when hands brushed across sensitive body parts. Fingers slipped beyond a garment's edge to touch bare skin. Our kissing became more insistent.

Bodies shifted and stretched as our hands explored new areas. We wanted each other badly but were enjoying our slow walk down the path—the path where foreplay accelerates, clothes are shed, and each skin to skin contact becomes more daring. We were both about to end a long dry spell of involuntary abstinence. Like thirsty desert travelers arriving at the oasis, we knew not to drink too quickly from the well.

Almost twenty minutes had passed when Sandy paused our make-out session and smiled.

"Jim, I've got a challenge for you. Can you still undo a bra with one hand?"

"Huh? I thought you'd have on a sports bra."

"No, it's better than a sports bra." She sat upright. "An underwire bra with no underwire. See ..."

Sandy lifted her top, displaying the bountiful breasts I had been dreaming about all day: sumptuous globes swelling up from a well-fitting brassiere, cleavage you could get lost in.

"It's called a Comfort Revolution bra. It's a miracle for busty women like me. Underwire bras can bereally unpleasant, but this Bali bra manages to get support without using a wire. Watch ..."

She bobbled her breasts in her hands and shook them side to side. Then she bounced up and down on the sofa cushion. "See. They're not flopping around everywhere."

Sandy leaned back and began kissing me again. "Now where were we? Ah, the bra challenge. I'll give you a hint: bigger boobs get more hooks."

My hand slipped under her top and found the back of her bra. The band was too wide to undo in one motion so I popped each hook individually.

"Good job," Sandy said, sitting up. "I think you're going to like where this is headed."

What happened next would have astonished a seasoned Las Vegas illusionist. A hand went up her sleeve, a shoulder shrugged—quickly followed by the same motion on the other side. In a blink of an eye she pulled her bra down from the front of her long john top with a flourish and tossed it aside.

Sandy stepped over to the fireplace and placed a Presto log on the fire. She was massaging her breasts through her long underwear as she turned and walked toward me. "Remember what I said about having your hands full?"

She stood in front of me, coaxing her nipples to full attention.