Snow Day

Unlike all the people who are currently wishing they were in Aruba, I like snow. I don't like some of the things about it, but when it's falling and it's fresh and new, there's little else I enjoy more, weather-wise. Once it gets all sad and gray, I don't like it, but if I lived in the Alps or something, I think I could get along just fine with having clean white snow all the time. And I like being inside where it's warm, looking out at a blizzard. Again, there are definitely things which I don't like about horrible winter weather, and eventually I go stir-crazy if I'm trapped in the house, but I think I like it more than most people do.

When I was younger and stupider, I used to go skiing. Rather, I'd beg to be allowed to go skiing, and my parents would waste the money. Neither of them are stupid enough to go skiing. Maybe once in a winter, all my friends would be going, and I'd put on my best "pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeez" eyes and get to go.

Thing is, I hate skiing. I'd be much happier sledding. I don't like going fast, or heights, or falling down, and after a while the fake snow and the cold tend to sap what little enthusiasm I have for it. This isn't to say that people who like skiing are dumb, but I was dumb for constantly wanting to go skiing when I really don't like it at all.

Plus, it wasn't like we were getting to go to Aspen. These were local slopes with more of a Wal-Mart feel to them. So no lodge with snifters of brandy, no ritzy atmosphere, just hours and hours of doing something I didn't like to do in the cold, with all my friends moving on to bigger and better slopes because they were actually good at skiing, leaving me stuck on the easy hills because there was no fucking way I was going to try anything else. Yay. Feel sorry for me. No, wait, don't, because I was a little idiot. Laugh at my stupidity. Yes, that's better.

I told you all that to give a background for something which the recent weather has made me think of. So when I say, "I fooled around on the slopes," I don't mean I skied crazily. And I don't mean, "I had sex in the lodge." There was no lodge, and the place which was called "the lodge" was crammed full of middle-class social climbers and kids by the truck load. I mean, "I fooled around on the slopes."

All my friends had, as usual, deserted the boring easy slope and were trying to pull a Sonny Bono (too soon?) on some quadruple Black Diamond somewhere in the stratosphere. I was standing at the top of the Bunny slope (it may have even been the Double Bunny, for those people not hard-core enough to ski on the actual Bunny slope) looking warily down, wondering why the Hell I didn't just take off my skis and walk back down the hill. If it can be called a hill. If I had been on a sled, I would have doubted that it was enough of an incline to keep me moving. But standing on skis, it's a whole different perspective. See, I told you. Laugh at me.

"Need some help?" I got that a lot, actually. I think it's something that ski instructors can sense, wafting from my pores. I turned around. Yep, ski instructor.

Thing is, I didn't have any money, nor did I have any right to free lessons, or much of anything else. Plus I didn't really want to learn. I wanted a fucking sled. One time, I actually tried sitting on my skis and riding down on them that way. It wasn't easy, and I had to keep my hands out to keep from tipping over, but it was way more fun than skiing.

"No thanks." I tried to look as if I were just contemplating the beauty of the scenery until he went away.

"Wanna race?" He thinks I'm older than I am, I though to myself. Not surprising. Most people placed me for much older, which was useful in some circumstances.

"You'll win." Go away. Go away! If I could have used telepathy, his head would have exploded. Thank God I can't.

"You have no idea what you're doing, do you?" Thanks, buddy. Stupid asshole.

Fuck it. "Nope." Maybe he'll give up and go away. Wait a minute. I can see his face now. He's not bad looking, and I think he's trying to pick me up. He wasn't being an asshole. He looks genuinely concerned that I'll fall and kill myself. On the hill that five-year-olds progress through in fifteen minutes, the hill that I've been stuck at, skill-level-wise, for the past three years. "Sorry, I don't get any lessons, just a lift pass."

"Do I look like a ski instructor?" Yes, yes you do, when you're not looking like a hottie. Gosh, I wish there was a lodge. I'd let you take me back there. "Sorry, the coat fools everyone. I work here, but I'm not on the clock or anything." Really. Indeed. Hmmm...

"Well... I can't ski at all."

"Sure you can. You're standing up. That's more than I could do my first day."

Yes, it's my first day. Just keep telling yourself that, Lexi. Don't tell him you've been skiing now maybe four times, for hours at a time. You're a total beginner. Work it.

"You're thinking you should have stayed home. The hill looks a lot higher from the top." He's nice. And apparently either psychic, or a very good guesser. It's tough to see exactly what he looks like with the winter clothes on, but he's older than I am. Hey, who cares. I'll get chatted up by nice guys who are older than me.

Long story short, he convinced me to let him show me how to ski. Thing is, I already knew how to ski. I had in fact taken a lesson the first time I went skiing. It didn't immediately turn me into an Olympic Gold Medalist in the Grand Slalom. It just made my knees hurt. But I let him teach me again. There was a certain amount of bodily contact, him putting his hands on my waist to steady me, giggling, all that kind of thing. I was not a novice when it came to certain aspects of what was going on. I let him think he was charming the pants off me, largely because he kind of was. Plus, I really wanted to stop skiing.

Eventually, I gave up trying and let him catch me each time I fell over. He tried very hard to convince me that I was doing better than I was. I wasn't. I was probably the worst skier since some Norwegian strapped barrel staves to his boots and then fell down a mountain. But I let him talk me into going up the bigger hill, the easiest hill that didn't have a goofy name.

Of course, once up there, I made it about 100 feet before I told him that I really didn't think I was going to be able to make it back down. I'm not proud; I did a bit of a Scarlet O'Hara with a big strong man. "Go on, you go down and I'll walk after you." Something like that. Nope. I had him well and truly on the hook.

We walked down together. We had to walk on the edges of the field to keep from being killed by other skiers (and snowboarders, something I sort of wish I'd tried because I bet you can sit on a snowboard much more easily than skis). It was getting on to twilight. I was hanging on him shamelessly. I don't remember whether I kissed him first or he kissed me, but someone started it.

But damn it, we were still up a mountain. The closest place where there was any hope of privacy was probably a mile away. And things were proceeding rather quickly to break things off and hike a mile. If I'd been even a marginal skier, we could have made it down to the bottom, but then I suppose none of it would have happened in the first place if I had been able to ski marginally. Actually, I could ski marginally, but I'm crafty.

I think he felt he was crafty too; why else would he be picking up girls on the Bunny slope? We both let each other think whatever was necessary. The trees were close, and no one was around. "Have you ever done anything on the slope before?" I asked him.

"What sort of thing did you have in mind?"

I reached down and rubbed my hand against his crotch, and even through the layered clothing it was obvious that he was interested. "I've been behind a tree to piss once or twice, but..." he said. Maybe he needed some encouragement. I kissed him again, then took his hand and placed it on my chest, where he ran it up and down. "It's going to be awkward..." he said.

"But it'll be so naughty." In truth, I was pretty concerned about it myself, but Hell, how often do you get an opportunity like that? So we went into the trees, just a short way, hidden from passers but not in danger of being lost or falling off a cliff. He worked there. He could handle it.

In the end, both our skis leaned against a tree, and I was on my knees with his cock in my mouth. I didn't want to let it out of my mouth because it was so cold, and every time the wind hit it, he shivered and lost a bit of hardness. In the end, I got him to cum while the cock was wedged in my throat, which wasn't easy and I didn't get to taste much of the semen.

"It's getting too cold," he said after a minute, stuffing himself back into his pants. "Come on, we can make it down the hill if you try." He was right. It's amazing what the desire to get a fuck in before you have to leave can do to a girl.

Still, it was a bruised Lexi who arrived at the bottom, relieved and hornier than fuck. "The lodge is too crowded," he said. Like I said, not really a lodge. But there was a room, Employees Only, which was empty and quiet. I wish I could have fucked in the woods by the ski slope, because it would have made for a slightly better story, but giving a guy a blowjob on the slopes is enough for me. We left our boots and skis at the door, he pulled off his gloves and slipped his hands into my pants. They were cold. I jumped and gasped, particularly when he started petting my pussy. But then we were kissing and he was opening my coat and pulling it off, then pulling my sweatshirt over my head, then my shirt. I was standing there, in what felt like summer but was probably 50 degrees, in my bra and snow pants and stocking feet.

He never got the bra off. In fact, I wound up turned around with my snow pants, pants, and panties down around my knees, with him first stroking my pussy, then pulling his pants down too and slipping his cock up into me from behind. It was quick and dirty and awkward, and I can only imagine how much worse it would have been if we'd tried it outdoors. I probably would have wound up with snow in my pussy. As it was, I wound up with cream on my back. I was all set to start getting dressed again, to go looking for my friends, find out if it was time to go home, but he got to his knees and pulled my pants down further and started licking my pussy, which made me forget about leaving and want more.

Eventually, I wound up on my hands and knees too, with his cock in my mouth until he was ready. He must have been really hard up, which was hard to believe because he was good looking and his cock wasn't small by any standard. Then he hopped up, got behind me, and pressed in again. Fucking doggie style with pants holding your legs together is tough, and if he's got pants holding his legs together, that's even tougher, so eventually he pulled his pants off to be able to get more into it, and then into it he got. I didn't keep track of my orgasms, but I had enough to sate me, and even though he pulled out again, more in control this time, and let me suck the third load out of him onto my tongue, I was perfectly happy. I mean, I could have stuck around and fucked some more, but after a few minutes he helped me up, said, "We'd better get out of here before someone comes in," and then we got dressed again.

He wanted me to try some more skiing, to hang out with him, to go out with him, something, anything. I told him I had to meet up with my friends or I wouldn't have a ride home. No reason to tell him that I couldn't stay out too late because my parents would worry. If he thought I was his age, I wasn't going to disabuse him of that notion. We did kiss some more, but in the end he gave me his number and I went and found my ride.

I didn't call him. It never would have worked out. Plus, around about that time, I realized how dumb I was being, engaging in an expensive activity I didn't like. And I started enjoying the snow from a spectator's point of view instead of being an active participant. That's the closest I can remember coming to actually fucking in the snow, and I guess I'm just a little sorry I never actually did that. If I could work out the logistics, I'd try it. But I still do love to go walking at night when the snow is falling.

Just thought you'd enjoy this story. 399. 400 as soon as I can think of something worthy of that number.