I.
Dream Voice
"Come, come. For you and I shall alight upon the sky."
Again, the voice spoke the same words. No face. Just a voice from the depths of my dreams.
Am I crazy to follow her siren song? A woman I've never met. A voice I don't recognize.
The hotel room's ceiling offers no answer to my thought question.
Life back in California was comfortable. All my needs were met. I had plenty of money. Especially after I sold my company. Was that a big mistake? Hell, the suits didn't think so. They were eager to shell out millions for rights to my software. Either they thought it has enormous potential or maybe they were scared I would grow into a competitor. But who cares? Either way, the money was insanely good. And it really wasn't the end of an era. Just the end of a chapter.
Then life became ... what? Dull? Meaningless? Starting a new company was so fucking thrilling. But it was replaced too soon by the grind, by endless meetings with accountants, lawyers, office managers complaining about having enough pens and staplers and reams of paper. God, I won't miss that shit.
So ... now what? Is this the beginning of a new chapter? But what the fuck is it? Am I nuts to drop everything with Christmas around the corner and come up to Alaska just because I think the voice is leading me here?
All I know are the words. Same ones repeated nightly for several weeks now. Rising out of the murkiness in my deep sleep. Rising to the top of my subconscious and bursting like a bubble on the surface of water. A sweet, seductive, feminine voice.
"Oh, wow. You ready for more, huh?"
Another voice. Also feminine, but more real. Not inside my head. Right next to me.
Alison (Alice? Lucy?), watching me for who knows how long, watching me watch the ceiling. Blurry eyed. Some of the glittery makeup was still mixed with her freckles.
"I was hoping I exhausted you last night," she says.
She turns her head, and I follow her line of sight. Yeah, I'm certainly ready. Tent's already set up.
"But obviously not," she concludes.
I kiss her mouth, slightly annoyed at her bad breath, but ultimately not caring, and kiss harder.
But she pulls back.
"Woah there, Craig. Lemme brush my teeth, okay?"
Which means I should too. Nobody has good breath in the morning. "I'm right behind you," I say.
I'm glad she doesn't try to cover up as she leaves the bed. Her lean, naked body walking to the bathroom makes for great viewing.
Water splashes from the faucet. Toothpaste cap hits the counter.
What a find she was. Complete luck. There I was, wondering around a mall in trying to figure out what the fuck I was doing in Anchorage and what to do next.
And there she was, on break from college, in the winter wonderland set. One of Santa's helpers dealing with cranky kids who wanted to sit on Santa's lap. Fuck Santa. I was more interested in this chick with the pretty face and red tights.
My gift of a hot mocha had snagged her attention. A friendly gift from a total stranger.
"Just the thing I needed," she had said. "Short of a tequila shot, of course."
"How about we get one of those after your shift?" Much better than any corny pick-up line.
And successful, too. After she changed into normal clothes, we ate dinner at a funky restaurant way away from the mall. We had great conversation and laughter over succulent smoked salmon and a tequila shot, followed by a few beers.
Dinner was followed by a giggling walk to my hotel, kissing in the elevator ride to my floor, and clumsy shedding of clothes inside my room. Then this Santa's helper helped me to three orgasms, and I returned each spurting favor. She was surprised when I told her to sit on my face. Surprised, but damn, did she cry out and give our neighbors a thrill.
Now Alison returns to the foot of the bed, brushing away at her teeth.
"You were totally lost in thought," she says, my bright purple toothbrush paused inside her mouth. "What were you thinking about?"
"You. Last night. Your sweet body."
She seems to enjoy my gaze over her perky tits and ginger bush. Who doesn't like flattery?
Then I remember an image from last night, of her below me, face flush with pleasure, light from outside the window flickering on her glitter makeup. "Hey, where's your hat?"
Her eyes roll to the ceiling for a moment. She moves to her side of the bed, bends over to the floor, and produces the red Santa's helper hat. White fur trim. White puff ball. She tosses it to me.
"So what's up with you and that hat?"
I whisk the sheet off of me. Her eyes widen.
"Part of the package," I say as she rushes back to the bathroom. Water splashes again. "When I saw you with that hat and red tights, God, I wanted to be Santa so you could sit on
my
lap. You know, I don't think Mrs. Claus is old and frumpy at all. I bet she's a hot little bitch. A lap dancer."
Alison, hair swishing, appears at the foot of the bed. Smiles at the hat on my head. Slides on top of me. Guides my tent pole into her as her face relaxes in relief. As if to say,
finally
.
I pull her arms to bring her torso down so I can kiss her lips again. Fuck it if my morning breath is bad. She's got a fresh, tingly mouth that tastes of peppermint, the taste of candy canes, of red swirly hard poles like the one she's riding, the one sliding inside of her warm pussy as her hips pump and she kisses me back harder.
II.
Meeting a Guide
"You from National Geographic or something?"
Grizzled totally fits the bill for Derek Phelps. Grizzled is what you call gnarly old cowboys and gold prospectors in movie Westerns. Derek Phelps has plenty of wrinkles to go around, skin like leather, graying hair, salt-and-pepper stubble on his cheeks that probably hasn't seen a razor in a couple of weeks.
"Nope," I answer. "I just want to see some wild parts of Alaska and take lots of pictures. Namely, I want to go to that place."
I point to the piece of paper on his lap.
I had spent hours and hours searching the Internet for a destination. If I was going to follow the voice, then where should I go? For some strange reason, I thought snow and mountains. Who knows why.
The easy choices were Canada and Alaska. Sure, there were other parts of the world that have snow and mountains most of the year, but I wanted to start with the easy ones. So I searched tons of websites. And searched and searched. Empty soda cans lined my desk.
Finally, my tired eyes had lit up when I clicked on a link and an image appeared on my computer screen. My gut immediately told me that it was the place. Gorgeous. A postcard of Alaskan wilderness. Snow-covered mountains and evergreens encircling a lake.
Sure, I had seen Big Sur, the Sierras, and Lake Tahoe. All were incredibly beautiful. But something about the image on my screen stopped me in my tracks. It spoke of a place truly wild, not 30 minutes drive from a mall. A place of howling wolves, soaring eagles, and huge grizzly bears. A place where you'd find no tracks of humans in the snow.
