Catching Snowflakes

Hard as it is to believe, we're still a few days shy of the solstice and the beginning of winter. Seeing whereas we've already had a large snow and an ice storm, all within a week's time, I'm not standing on formality. It's winter. And so, I'll jump the seasonal gun just a little and offer you the following story, which is dedicated to winter-loving friend, Blue.

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"Over here! We can be the first ones!"

I watch you walk slowly through the deep snow, lifting and placing your boots to keep from falling. You've started walking up a small, treeless hill and away from the trail we've been following. In the 24 hours since it snowed, several people and their dogs have been on this trail through the woods. But you're right. No one has been up this hill. Not a single footprint can be seen anywhere in front of you. The snow in front of you is smooth and white.

You turn and wave for me to catch up with you. You're enjoying this. Your cheeks and nose are pink, but your eyes are bright blue. You aren't cold. You wore a skirt! Granted, it's a heavy skirt and you're wearing thick tights beneath it. But it's as if you don't even notice that it's just above freezing in the middle of the afternoon. In my down jacket, I feel overdressed. Then again, I'm from south of the Mason-Dixon line, not north of the US-Canadian border. We aren't even playing the same game.

I'm only halfway up the hill by the time you've reached the top and disappeared. By the time I get to the top, you are part way down the other side. I stop to take in the view, which is terrific. Instead of looking back down toward the forest and trail, this side of the hill looks out over snow covered farms, which stretch on for miles, disappearing into the next county. There isn't even a house as far as the eye can see.

You are spinning in circles and laughing. And then, plop! You fall over, back first, into the fresh snow. "Come here and make snow angels with me!" You move your arms in sweeping motions, pushing the snow aside to make wings. You're very happy. I'm cold, but amused to see you out in your element this way. I walk over and stand above you, smiling.

"Go on! Fall down! Just one angel!" you say, propped up on your elbows, smiling. "I just want to see if you can do it."

"I'm not spinning."

"Fine. Don't spin. Just fall. Kerplop. Right there." Your smile is even brighter in the snow. This is going to be cold. Backwards I fall.

Despite my size and weight, it doesn't hurt to land. The snow softens the impact. I sink six inches or so into the snow. For a moment, I close my eyes and listen to the silence of the hillside, of my head cushioned in snow, the quiet crunch of the snow. For a moment, it's peaceful. I haven't started feeling chilled yet. There's still time to make some wings and get back up on my feet before my pants get wet and the snow in my boots starts to melt.

Then again.


You throw yourself flat on top of me before I have a chance to either make wings or move out of the way. Short of tossing you off, there's no way I'm getting up. Then again, with your warm lips pressed to mine in a long kiss, I'm less likely to remember that I was even thinking of getting up. Your tongue touches my lips, looking for my tongue. It feels so warm. Our breath forms a little microclimate around our faces as we kiss and kiss and kiss. In a cartoon, this is where we would melt deep into the snow, disappearing from view in a cloud of red steam.

Your hands are on my shoulders, your forearms on my chest, supporting half your weight as we kiss. But the rest of you is moving, pressing, grinding against me. Beneath two thick coats, one pair of pants, a skirt, and a pair of tights, our bodies react as if this is summer at the beach or autumn in the backseat of a parked car. It's just like dry-humping with extra padding.

You sit back on your haunches, smile, and toss your mittens aside. You unzip your coat. And I allow you to unzip my coat. So when you lower yourself again, the coats part to either side, no longer in the way. I feel your body radiating warmth, reflecting warmth back from me as our bodies press together again in the snow. Without those layers of goosedown and holofil, you quickly find just the right spot in my pants to ride. I arch up to kiss you harder, seeing the bright white of the snow peeking through the strands of your hair, draped around my face.

"Stay there," you say getting to your feet, straddling my waist. Carefully, you move your feet in the snow to either side of me, reversing directions. Now you are standing, straddling me, facing my feet. You look back over your shoulders and laugh. You sway your hips from side to side, slowly sliding your skirt up your legs, revealing more and more of your legs in their ribbed tights. Slowly, you bend your knees. Your skirt is almost up to your ass as you sway back and forth, getting lower and lower.

"I don't want you to get cold," you say, pulling your skirt out and away from your ass as you completely lower yourself, straddling me. And me? My head is inside your skirt. Your skirt is a tent. Inside the tent, my face is looking up at the afternoon sunlight filtering through the wool knit cloth and looking at your bottom in tights, near my face. I raise my head enough to kiss you through the cloth. Meanwhile, your hands have unzipped my fly.

At first, I'm not aware of the cold. I feel you lick my cock slowly, several times. Then I feel you grip my cock with just your thumb and forefinger, stroking me, sliding the skin up and down the shaft, but touching only in those two places. And so the feeling of the strokes masks how the rest of my skin, skin that was just wet from your tongue, is now cooling in the winter air. I feel the cold air more where it slips into my open fly, sinks around the base of my cock, settles through my hair and tickles my scrotum, taut and shriveled and no doubt resembling a large walnut.

So, no. I don't feel that my cock is cold. But it is. And I know just how cold it is when, after a few minutes, you wrap your mouth around the head. I feel the incredible heat of your tongue, the warmth of your breath. Everywhere that isn't touched, every part of me that isn't in you feels cold, suddenly exposed now that I know what warmth really feels like. Inside the tent, my breath and your round bottom have made a toasty nest. It smells of wet wool and wet you.

You make quick work of me. Once again, you take your mouth away and just use your fingers to stroke me, more quickly now. But this time, I really do feel the cold air on my skin. I imagine the head of my cock growing icy and white. So when you take it into your mouth again, that's enough to push me over the top. You take me deeper into your mouth and suck me dry, each hot spurt disappearing into hotter mouth tongue throat. And then, quickly, before it gets cold, you tuck my still wet, fading cock back into my pants and rezip my fly.

Your pussy is inches from my face. I raise my head just a bit and nuzzle you with my nose. The cloth of the tights is damp. I can feel it, smell it with my nose. I can also tell that you don't have anything on under these tights. I can feel how my nose is rubbing, sliding over your labia, between your labia. You lower yourself, back up slightly, wanting more.

"Take my gloves off," I say. To you, I suppose the sound of my voice is muffled, coming from between your legs and from under your skirt. But you hear me and take off my gloves, first the left and then the right.

My hands get slightly sweaty inside gloves, so they start to get cold as soon as the gloves are off. I find the edge of your skirt and quickly slip my hands beneath. I slide my hands along the outside of your legs, sliding along the smooth surface of your tights beneath your skirt. I can see my hands now, inside the tent formed by your skirt. I skim along the outside of your hips and up toward your waist.

By touch and by sight, I sort out skirt from tights. I slip my fingers inside the tights' waistband and start to pull them back and down. You move forward a little, which makes it easier. I pull the tights down and back, slowly exposing your ass, exposing your pussy. You reach one hand back under your skirt and grab the crotch of your tights, pulling them away and holding them there, freeing my hands, which I now use to spread you open, pull you apart until you open like parting drapes, billows of pink cloth. Then you slowly back up, positioning your pussy an inch in front of my waiting nose, mouth, and tongue.

At first, I simply graze the insides of your thighs with my cheeks, with my afternoon razor stubble. Closer and closer, I slowly lift my face toward you. I touch and then I withdraw. And in this dance, you moan a little, and back up, lower yourself, chasing my face with your fluttering vulva.

Without touching, my nose hovers an eyelash away from you. I breathe in your smell. Stronger than the winter's brisk snow freshness. Stronger than the wet wool. Stronger than peppermint and pine and gingerbread. The smell of your pussy is stronger than all of those and a hundred times more inviting. I begin to fuck you with my nose.

At first, it's just a touch of nose on labia. Nothing more. But then it's more insistent, a rubbing of this side, a rubbing of the other side, a long slow trip of nose down the middle, clit to hole and back. Soon you are riding my nose. Perhaps you don't mean to, but your hips are wiggling, your back flexing.

It isn't so much that I hear your breathing as I feel it transmitted through your thighs into my ears. I hear your breathing, your moans, the way you say my name. All these sounds are coming to my ears through you, not through air. All in stereo with a background track of blood rushing through arteries and veins.

I grip your legs with my hands and pull you in, planting my nose as deep inside you as I can. At the same time, my tongue finds your clit and begins tracing an infinity sign, circling around, leaving, circling below and then trailing back. You taste like you.

Soon you stiffen. You stop moving. I suck your lips, your clit into my mouth, and tongue them with a rapid flick. And with that you're there. I have to hold on tight to stay with you, as your climax makes you shudder and rock and cry out. But I do hold on, still licking, through the first wave, the second wave, and then a third. I loosen my grip and let your legs loose.

When you get up and pull the skirt away from my face, the sunlight on the snow blinds me for a moment. It suddenly hits me that my pants are cold and wet from lying in the snow. You quickly pull up your tights and turn, offering your hand to help pull me up. Your face is pink and your eyes sparkle.

"I know a good way to warm up when we get home," you say, laughing. You turn and start walking back the way we came. This little hill is no longer pristine. But then, I think, it will snow again tonight and no one will ever know the difference. "Come on! Hurry! Your legs will freeze!"

No one needs to know. Winter keeps secrets.

Comments:

• Thank you my handsome man of the south.  You captured so well the silence and peacefulness of lying in the snow and the fun that can be had in it. You can feel the cold, the sound of the breathing, the crunch of the snow under the body and the icy wetness or clothes laying too long in the snow.

  Thank you thank you thank you for being so prolific these days.

  Posted by Blue  on  12/19/05  at  10:33 AM
  
  

• Gee, you almost make winter sound nice! I do very much enjoy a hot kiss and cold noses.

  Time for some hot chocolate!

  Sadly, no, exams will not be over till the 22nd. I figured I deserved a break

  ; )

  Posted by JeN  on  12/19/05  at  12:53 PM
  
  

• *smiles*

  perfect as usual. somehow, you manage to make the most sexually explicit descriptions painfully heartwarming.

  i just moved this year from mississippi to st. louis. the snow is something i’m not used to yet. where i’m from, we dont’ get snow until like, early february, and only then, little flurries that are stretching to be called such. we’ve alreadyhad six inches this season.

  i’ve never had the opportunity to truly mess around in the snow. i would welcome it, and doubly so after your story. *grins*

  good job.

  mikki
  

  Posted by mikki  on  12/19/05  at  06:39 PM
  
  

• All I can say is it needs to snow… and soon! Delicious!

  Posted by Debra  on  12/21/05  at  08:32 PM
  
  
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