Message-ID: <27979asstr$977458209@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: X-Original-Message-ID: <20001221154403.5981.qmail@nym.alias.net> From: Delta Subject: {ASSM} "Winter's Night" by Delta (MF) Date: Thu, 21 Dec 2000 23:10:09 -0500 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: RuiJorge, gill-bates RE Should you wish to comment upon my story, I can be reached by E-mail at: delta @ nym . alias . net Comments and critizisms are welcome. Standard disclaimers: This is a work of fiction - no character within is a depiction of any real person, living or dead. No place or event described within exists outside of the writer's imagination. Copyright retained by the author and this post is for private use of the reader only. It is not to be published in any form whatsoever, including being made available on BBSs, or on Web Pages, without the express prior consent of author. Any readers who are underage in the jurisdiction in which they reside are asked to please pass by. Delta. WINTER'S NIGHT by Delta (2000) I guess I shouldn't have been surprised, after all I'd lived many years in the cold north. Yet the last several years on the coast, with rain instead of snow, left me unprepared. I awoke, as was my custom, at nine of the clock in the evening. After a stretch which pushed me well on the way to total wakefulness, I rose and left the bed chamber behind me. To shave or not to shave? It didn't really matter--I would not be seeing anyone, not now. The good people of the town would be preparing for bed even as I rose. Habit overcame sense and I stropped the razor, testing its keen sharpness on a hair I pulled from my head. I poured some heated water into a bowl and lathered up my brush. It is strange what we will do for fashion. I began the scraping of the dark shadow which adorned my face, 'til at last it was gone and my face naked. The mirror should have broken years before. Catching my reflection as it did must have been quite a strain. Yet it continued to serve the purpose for which I had intended it when I gave up the good coin required. Now, I'm not saying I'm ugly. My mother, may her soul rest softly on the other side, would come back and take a wooden spoon to me were I to do so. No, I'll be charitable and state, as I was wont to hear her say, that my face shows character. Just what that character is, I'll not speculate. However, children have been known to hide behind their mother's skirts when they first catch sight of me, and it is said that when I glare, even strong men are taken aback. I laugh when I hear those stories, yet they hurt, notwithstanding. I have naught against any man, and children can be a joy. Their lively curiosity and open acceptance of that which lies behind closed doors in the adult mind is a blessed thing to see. So I smile when I see the young ones, though 'tis likely I'll never have any of my own. I patted my face dry and checked the pot I placed on the stove. The water was hot, near boiling. I poured in the oatmeal and added raisins, nuts and dried apple. In the measure of a man's life, the oatmeal does not take long to cook. I spooned it into a bowl, though none would know were I to eat from the pot, and set the bowl down upon the honest kitchen table. It was only then I looked through the uncurtained window to the field beyond. It had snowed during the day, and clouds in the distance told of more soon to come. The blanket of white now covering the ground would deepen. I stood fast, stunned by the beauty of it. It was a different world out there. A world without the knots and pimples and I gasped at the beauty. There are those who do not believe that men see the majesty, the wondrousness, and feel it within the depths of their souls. 'Tis a woman's thing, they tell us. I wonder who first spoke that lie--and why, for my many years' experience tells me it is not true, has never been true. Though eating is a serious business, one which should be attended to at the table, I picked up my steaming bowl and carried it with me out of doors, into the cold, into the white. There I watched the rising of the moon, saw the brightness of the stars against the white of the ground. Snow has a way of magnifying the light. A bright night with snow on the ground is much brighter than that without. At times like these I believe in magic. The oatmeal was good, much better than usual, though I'd made it in the usual way. It sat comfortably heavy in my stomach and 'twas only the coolness of the air and my lack of a coat which turned me back and led me inside. That, of course, did not last long. Now properly prepared for the night, I ventured out once more. Quiet. So very silent. It seemed a shame to step off the porch and leave tracks in the earth's mantle, yet I did so nonetheless, cheered slightly by the knowledge that they would be filled in by the time I returned. The lights of the town were blurred in the distance, and even as I looked two or three of them disappeared. On a night like this there was no reason to remain awake. More fools they. On a night like this . . . I stopped short, counting the days in my head. My big smile, slightly off centre because of the missing tooth, must have reflected the moon's light practically as much as the snow, so wide was it. My only sorrow was that there was none with whom I could share. The thoughts of those so safe and warm in their homes would be on a day soon to come, a day which had usurped this day. Even so, I would have enjoyed sharing with another, feeling her thrill to the sight and lack of sound even as I was now thrilling to it. But this was just a lonesome thought. I pushed it back down, hid it deep where it would not get out and looked again to the fields and roads. Nothing would rob me of my enjoyment. I walked on, pulling the flaps of my cap about my ears. The joy of listening to the silence warred with the desire of the ears to be warm. The ears had won--for the moment. With my back to the town, the night's lights blazing above me, I walked on. Then the night's lights began to dim as they were covered from my sight and about me the snow began to fall. The flakes were huge affairs, fluffy beyond reason. They turned the whole world to white. Soon, very soon, even the prints left by my feet would disappear. Hold! What did my eyes uncover? A trail of footprints just ahead, coming from nowhere and leading to another nowhere. Could someone be lost in the unfamiliar, the sense of direction turned about by lost landmarks? I turned to follow the tracks, even as they began to fill. The world was close about me, for I could see but a short distance into the night, into the falling snow. The faint traces of the one who walked ahead of me arced in a large circle, a sure sign of one lost. I walked faster, each of my steps covering three of those before me. Gone. They were gone. The trail had disappeared. I thought I knew where I was and decided upon the most likely path of the other. Without hesitating I moved in that direction--what good would it do to second guess myself? An hour later I knew it was hopeless. I had chosen poorly. Because of that someone would likely die this night. A hard thing to place on oneself. I caught the shadow of a tree through the falling white and went to stand beneath its boughs. Soon I would have to head back. I had already left the raising of a search party for too long. I heaved a sigh and shivered in the cold which was now making its way through my coat and deep into my flesh. I looked hard into the falling snow. Nothing. "What do you see on such a night?" The soft whisper shocked me into immobility. It came from behind, from the other side of the great tree. "A world reborn." "'Tis the end and the beginning," the whisper agreed. A woman's whisper. It fit the small steps. "Turn, that I might see your face. I am honoured that you should risk so much for one you did not know." Her voice was sweet, yet I turned not. My face was not one to surprise another with. I felt her hand upon my arm and she applied pressure. "Turn and let me see you." I turned. Her hand, suddenly unmittened, rose and traced my heavy brows. I felt her fingers only numbly for my face was cold, very cold. But my heart, oh my heart. I could feel great beats within my chest. It had been long, far too long since another had . . . "Who . . . ?" Her fingers touched my lips, silencing the question. She turned and began to walk away, only looking back once to make sure I was following. How long we walked, I do not know. It seemed a goodly time. Then, of a sudden, there was a tent, pitched between two strong trees. She bade me enter, and of a truth I was glad of this, for I was cold indeed. The room inside was narrow and not high. I crawled in to find myself on a soft down quilt. It was good for we would need its warmth were we to survive. We had been too long out in the cold and the nearest house was much too far away. For long moment we sat, unmoving in the dark, while our breath warmed the air. Then I felt/saw her begin to take off her outer garment. A quick movement of her hand to undo the top button of my coat left no questions. We would do well to cling together and share our warmth. I began to undo my coat's other buttons as rapidly as my numbed fingers would allow. Her hands stopped mine. "I did not realize." She drew my left hand up and took two of its fingers into her mouth. The warmth! I nearly cried to feel the warmth. I was undressed. I do not remember taking off my clothes, yet I must have done so. I remember only the warmth. The blessed warmth. Her hand found mine again and pulled it up to touch her breast. She, too, was unclothed! She lay down on her side, her back to me and I curled around her, pulling the quilt over the two of us. She took my hand and pulled it up to cup her breast. So long, so very long since . . . "Ah, yes," she whispered. My awareness traveled down my body to the swelling and my face flushed. It was wrong to take advantage to . . . . "Is it wrong when I desire it?" Had I been thinking aloud? Her hand pressed mine more tightly against her and I could feel the hard pressure of her nipple against my palm. I removed my hand to a sigh of regret. The sigh turned into a chuckle as my hand stroked her from neck to thigh, touching lightly, then with pressure, then lightly again. She seemed to enjoy most the feather light traces of my fingertips against her skin. Finally she could take no more and turned to me, pulling me close, pulling my head down to her own. Her lips met mine and her passion overwhelmed me. On my back, she straddling me, hands in my hair holding my head still while she attacked with her mouth, her tongue, robbing me of my breath. My hands operated without benefit of my brain, fingers tracing up and down her back until she sat up, head brushing the roof of the tent, breathing hard. Out of practice I may have been, but slow I am not. In sitting she had uncovered her breasts and my hands were over them in an instant, lightly touching and stroking, tenderly drawing out the sighs which so excited me, until she quivered with anticipation. "Are you sure?" I asked. She was poised above me. "Oh!" She was sure. She came plunging down, burying me within her. Now I truly knew warmth. As a counterpoint, we heard the cold wind begin to moan in the trees. She began to rise and fall upon me and our own moans joined those of the wind. Have you ever been to that place where each nerve is alive? where the physical transcends itself? I was there and it was like nothing I'd ever experienced before. And she was there with me and I knew her body as she knew mine, as we knew our own. There is joy in not thinking, in acting only--and reacting. The time was upon us and she screamed, the sudden squeezing tearing a gasping roar from me as I sat bold upright, threw my arms about her and pulled her down with me. Down we went, down, down where the intellect cannot intrude. Deep into the silence where the only sensation was the beating of our hearts, each pumping into the other, sending tendrils of energy circulating through our union. Silence. Slowly the world made itself known once more. Her head came off my chest and she looked into my eyes, though how we could see each other in that darkness, I do not know. "You must leave soon, if you are to get back." I didn't move, though I knew she was right. I had no desire to return to the cold. There was a glow about her which seemed to light the tent. "Do you understand?" "The end and the beginning. Death and rebirth." Her eyes pierced through to my soul. "You understand," she confirmed. "But are you sure?" I didn't move. Her eyes began to glow, to warm, to burn. "I'm sure." 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