Chapter 1
They say that 30 is the age when your body stops working for you and you start working for your body. For skiers, the saying is if you claim to be a better skier at age 30 than you were at age 20, you're either lying or you weren't very good at age 20. But I refuse to believe that 30 is really that old. Not these days.
So there I was, ascending an express chairlift to elevation 11,500 feet, trying to prove to myself that I've still got it at age 30. It was the middle of a week in February, so all of my friends and siblings that I could normally cajole into skiing with were doing time in their 9-5 office jobs. I was a bit lonely, but that just meant more freedom to go where I wanted to go on the slopes.
I fancied myself a pretty good skier for a flatlander who was lucky to get more than 5 days of skiing a year. I could tackle just about any slope you could throw at me, save for the rocky, nearly vertical chutes with names like Elevator Shaft and AMF (short for Adios Mother Fucker) that were nothing short of suicidal for a tourist like me. But if the mountain had received 10 inches of white gold the night before, all the better. "Hero powder" some call it, because enough fluffy cushioning can make many a black diamond run achievable for the expert wannabe like me.
It was on the precipice of one of these runs that I saw
her
for the first time. She had stopped at the edge of the same drop-off, about 20 feet uphill from me. There's usually not much to see of a person when they're wrapped up in layers of winter wear, but this was spring skiing. The foot of snow that fell last night was slowly giving way to 45 degrees of bluebird skies. She was wearing only a thin, sleeveless fleece, complimented by a sheer, microfiber base layer.
The ski bunny looked at me, me looking at her. I nervously glanced away, then back again, too modest to let on that I was checking her out, but too drawn in to be satisfied with such a quick look. She wore no helmet: Just a pair of ski goggles and a pink headband to rein in her dirty blonde hair, tied in a pony tail. Very cute.
Immediately I imagined the crisp alpine air making her nipples push through the thin fabric. They would be the crowns atop a pair of perfectly rounded breasts. I could have been just this side of legally blind, and I still would have been impressed by the her proportions. Her chest was big enough to turn my head, but not so big as to be disproportional to the rest of her.
Ahh, the rest of her. My gaze descended down her body as the swell of her chest curved perfectly into her waist, then gently out again to a pair of nicely rounded hips. I could tell she had a strong core, but it was not overdone. No runway model skinny here. She had a waist that just begged to be grabbed.
Her tight pullover was complimented by a pair of shiny, figure-flattering pants. They were straight out of the 80s, both in their metallic blue luster, and in how tight they were. She definitely kept in shape: The heavenly curves of her bubble-butt were accentuated by the sunlight reflecting off of its surface. Her long, toned legs disappeared into a pair of pink ski boots with turquoise buckles. Her lower half was glistening, and I was hardening.
Not the time or place for that, I thought. Back to the matter at hand.
We had both hesitated at the edge of Lover's Leap, she about 20 feet uphill from me. I peered past the edge of my ski tips to the snow about ten feet below. If I could land the initial drop, the slope flattens out and all I would have to do is two or three good turns to be in the clear.
I glanced at the ski bunny again, and she at me. I smiled lightly at her, as if to say "This should be interesting, eh?" She smiled back through a set of cherry lips so inviting that I couldn't help but imagine kissing them. Then I imagined those lips wrapped around my monster-hard cock, her tounge licking the bottom of it like a--
NO! Not now! Dangit, I had to concentrate.
I looked at the drop-off and started calculating my odds. For all I knew, this hottie was a local pro, and I was about to make an ass out of myself. I figured I had two choices: fall and tumble a few times before I could stop my injured body, or just grow a pair of testicles go for it right now.
And so I did. Both.
I leaped off the edge and my stomach dropped. A shock of adrenaline speared through my body. And I landed it. One wide, arcing turn, and then another, and the slope began to flatten out. I made it! I didn't fall!
That's right, bitches!
I thought.
Thirty years old and I still got it!
Apparently the ski bunny goddess had decided to drop in at the same time as me because I saw her out of the corner of my eye. I glanced over to her. She was already looking in my direction. I was starting to relax a bit, knowing the worst was over. Our wide turns took us closer to each other on one pass.
That's when a snow snake grabbed us both. We must have become too complacent, or perhaps distracted by each other. She fell first, unexpectedly catching an edge about ten feet in front of me. I tried to avoid her, turning too sharply and catching an edge right before hitting her.
I don't remember exactly what happened, but by the time we stopped moving, she was on her back and my head was face down...on her breasts.
I immediately started contemplating the benefits of hucking myself off of AMF, sans helmet. At least it was a nice, pillowy landing for my face, like landing on a pair of handful-sized water balloons that were full, but not ready to burst on impact.
One of my skis had released, but the other one was twisting my leg awkwardly so that I couldn't immediately get up. I kicked it off with my free foot as the ski bunny started laughing.
"Oh God," I said as I finally peeled myself off her. "I am so sorry."
"Well thanks," she said between hearty laughs, "But I'm not God. I'm Sherry."
"And, my name is Mud."
"Huh?"
"Will," I finally admitted. "I'm Will." I put my goggles on my forehead so she could see me better. "Really, I am
so
sorry."
Her smile was captivating. Her head must have whipped back in the snow during the fall because her goggles had flipped up crookedly onto her forehead. I could see her face for the first time. I was mesmerized by her beauty. The cold air and physical exertion made her cheeks rosy. Her blonde hair was tied back in a pony tail, and her cute, thin, ski-jump nose fit perfectly between her big eyes, so round and so captivating. The bright sunlight shrunk her pupils so that her blue irises shined brightly, seeming almost to pierce right into me.
I estimated that she was about my age. It was hard to tell. She could have passed for anywhere between 27 and 35. An ageless beauty, this was. Perhaps, like me, she was also trying to prove that she was still at the top of her game.
She smiled and said, "So, Will. Is this how you pick up chicks? Had any luck with it before?"
A sense of humor! That was the icing on the cake. She could have easily called me a pervert and quickly skied away. But no.
"I think I would have more luck if I invited women to my tool shed to see my boa constrictor," I replied.
She giggled. "You might be surprised," she sang and playfully backhanded me.
What was that?
I wondered.
Was she hinting at the impossible?
We were holding eye contact now, neither of us able to look away until she realized her goggles were not on her face. She began to panic.
"Oh no. My goggles. Where...?" She began feeling the snow around her, then digging.
