The Kellen Adventures are setup as a continuing tale of a woman and her various sexual adventures. Chris Mountain is the first installment of many to come. Each Adventure is split into small chapters with two sections, one Kellen's and other the lead male. Each Kellen Adventure can be a stand-alone story, yet the chapters are designed to be read in order. I hope you can get into the story and enjoy.
My work is completely fiction and designed for an adult audience.
*****
Kellen
I exhale deeply for the third time as I walk down the wide corridor leading to baggage claim, thinking to myself
I can't believe I am doing this
. My New Year resolution was to start to live my life how I wanted, and now I am doing just that.
Outside on the curb is where I am going to meet him, my online friend and playmate, Chris. Although I hadn't met him yet in person, I've seen all the pictures he sent, talked to him endlessly for the past year via email, instant messaging, Skype, but that is not the same as seeing, touching, and actually talking face to face. This is the type of meeting where you get to feel them, look into their eyes and get a true sense of who they are; and know instantly if 'it' will happen. I will know if it is either a chance for us to become something more or, well, be done and move on. Will I endure two nights at his place, or chicken out and use my credit card to get back home to safety?
I pull my small black carry-on bag next to my feet on the escalator, going down to meet my fate, I could feel my heart beat on the inside of my chest. My blood was pulsing heavily through my arteries, even through my neck. I hope I don't break out in a full body sweat; nervous energy was spilling off of me.
As I'm going down the escalator, I glance around looking at the different faces. I see smiles and hugs, happy people seeing each other once again. Chris and I agreed he would pick me up on the curb. Well I agreed, I told him he didn't need to come in and he finally succumbed to my will. I looked for a way out of the Denver airport through the small evening crowds. Though right now staying inside seemed reasonable too. Exhaling again, I step off the cycling stairs and head to the door, wheeling my bag behind me.
I stop short when I look outside through the floor to ceiling window. Stepping out into
that
was not happening in my current attire. I came from 74 degrees yesterday. It was warm heading to the airport this morning in my running tights and v neck t-shirt. The only people outside here in Denver were the poor employees, the abundance of cars with inches of snow settled on roofs, and the few people speed walking towards them and their wonderful heaters all dressed like Ralph's younger brother from the Christmas Story.
None of this you could see clearly through the shield of white. Currently the snow is blowing sideways. The temperature on the sign outside says negative two degrees Fahrenheit. I could only hope it had stopped working properly. I pictured it freezing at one point in the middle of the night.
Finding a corner by the door, I unzipped my small bag, pulling out my light teal Bonfire jacket, bright red knit beanie, black gloves, and debated on snow boots, but seemed like too much work and my running shoes would be fine as I made it to Chris's grey Toyota Tacoma.
I was tough, I could do this
.
I put on my dry-fit running jacket, just to be safe, then my winter coat, added beanie and gloves, pull up my hood to keep the wind off my neck, before zipping everything back up. Looking at my gloves, they suddenly didn't seem like much; I used them for running for god sakes, not snow. I thought cold mornings were below sixty. I exhale,
now or never
.
Stepping out into the glaciers of the Antarctic was pure pain. I felt it before I was completely out of the slow-acting automatic sliding door. It seemed that it was fighting off the frigid weather, almost screaming, as it had to open once more to let a poor soul outside. Denver greeted me with snow swirling in dense masses, and rushing wind smacking me in the face blowing back my hood. It continued to race into my coat and down my body before pushing itself into the breathable holes of my running shoes.
Holy shit!
is all I can think.
The wind and I continued our battle, as I leaned into it and walk randomly out towards a place by the curb. I sent Chris a text when we landed, but hadn't heard back yet.
He would be here
. I looked and saw nothing to match his description of his dark grey truck. Wearing the thinnest running tights ever invented, I had little chance of lasting long, although I stood my ground. I had goose bumps covering every part of my body including my scalp. Nerves could have been a part of that, but I blame the cold completely.
A few cars drive past me as I debate on flagging them down just to sit inside. I would never do that, but it sounded nice in my mental dream land. I am afraid to take my hands out of my pockets, otherwise I would pull out my phone.
"He will be here. He will be here. He will be here," is my chant for a few minutes, before it morphs to a more optimistic, "He is coming. He is coming. He is coming." Shortly after that it becomes, "What the fuck am I doing?" With that, I turn to walk back inside.
Drrrrrrr. Drrrrrrr. Drrrrrrr.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. I stop my retreat and pull my phone out of my pocket to see a text from Chris.
Chris
: "On way. Sorry I'm late. I didn't get off the mountain soon enough. Can't wait to see you. Stay inside."
My glazed over eyes are watering. Something tempts me to type, "Fuck you," but instead take off one glove, since the useless fabric couldn't type on my touch screen, and slowly type, 'O K." I put my phone and glove into my pocket before quickly retreating back inside to the warmth, the florescent lights, and the groupings of well-layered travelers. I find two free couch seats next to each other in the back corner of the waiting area just across from the baggage carrousels. It was dry and had cushions, seemed like a great spot for me to remain in the fetal position.