Chapter 7: Crisp Buttgold and the Long-Term Girlfriend
Breathless and flushed, Crisp shifted to the other side of the bed, searching with his foot for the sock that came off during their moment of fusion. "How was that for you?" he smiled.
"What?" she said.
Crisp muted the television. "What did you think?"
"I don't know, I feel like Law & Order has sort of gone downhill."
"Of the sex."
"Oh. Of course it was good. It was fun."
"Yeah, I thought so, too," he said, thinking so, too. "I didn't know if yo-"
"What are you doing with your foot?"
"I, my sock came off at some point. I really don't like sleeping without it," he said, sexily.
"Why don't you just put on a new one?"
"Ehh, because then I'd have an odd number of socks in my drawer, and when I got to the last one, I'd have to wear one dirty and one clean sock and I wouldn't remember which one was the cleanest of all the dirty socks, so I'd just have to guess."
And none of them match anyway.
They sat in the 9:30 darkness, just feeling their hearts slow and their bodies cool. He turned to her meaningfully, passionately. She said nothing, because she didn't have to. They could just look in one another's eyes and see the long, straight path of love stretched out before them, like an empty highway on a cloudless day. They could see their entire combined future, or at least they would have, if she hadn't already fallen asleep.
Crisp wasn't ready to join her just yet though. No. Not that night. That night he would stay up and read for awhile because he started work later than she did the following morning.
Chapter 9: Shornbody and the Avalanche
Its pace quickened. The giants of the forest, those hundred-year-old pines that surrounded the hillside, moaned and flexed under the raw power. Shornbody held his breath and plunged deeper still into the layers that went untouched throughout all those lonely winter months, down in the sensitive darkness of the depth hoar. The avalanche groaned, pulling him in closer and suffocating him with its desire.
And even as he rolled pantsless between the moist pockets and jagged debris like a tongue in a mouth, he knew that this couldn't continue. "This is the last time," he thought. "I'm with Carol now, and I love her. I can't keep fucking avalanches like this."
Even the really hot ones.
The snow screamed with pleasure over a four-lane highway, ingesting cars, killing people and reaching its climax. Finally it slowed, releasing its death grip on Shornbody's ski jacket and collapsing under the tinny sound of ice crystals falling to rest. It was satisfied. Shornbody pulled himself to the surface and scanned the devastation. The avalanche had stopped just short of a chalet. And standing outside the front doors with her arms folded, warm tears forming in her eyes, was Carol. Shornbody sighed, knowing that this wasn't the kind of problem he could solve just by throwing sex at it.
Sore Boney stepped out from the lodge behind her, laughing as the sun glinted off the hundred and sixty white teeth in his mouth. He wrapped his masculine arms around the midsection of Carol's ski suit. His father owned this mountain, and now Boney owned her. He was just waiting for Shornbody to slip up like this. It was going to be the worst Christmas vacation ever, unless, of course, Sore was up for a little race. A race that could solve everything...
Let me know what you think!