"It is now safe to turn your computer off."

I had just finished answering my last e-mail. It was to Bronwen, one of the fearless leaders of the Erotic Writers' Guild (of which I am a proud junior member).

I'd posted to our Internet newsgroup that I was going to Lake Tahoe for a week, and she asked me if going to Lake Tahoe was a good thing. I thought it was; even if I had to work, I'd get some skiing in. I replied: "I'll let you know when I get back."

Punching the off button on the computer, I looked up at the clock on my bedroom wall and saw that I'd been messing around a little too long. If I was going to make my 4:30 flight I'd have to get my butt in gear.

As I pulled out of the long driveway to my apartment house and headed toward Portland up Highway 20, I made a mental list of the stuff I was taking with me.

The whole trip was kind of weird. My boss had called me only the day before to tell me that we were to have a "Corporate Retreat" in a little town called Stateline, just north of Lake Tahoe. He said that meetings would be held on Wednesday, Thursday and Friday. On Saturday we'd take the day off and go skiing on Mount Rose.

I think the idea was to make us more like a team. Well, so long as I have my skis on my roof rack, I'm up for anything. It would be like a vacation for me.

I love to travel. Any excuse for it is a good one as far as I'm concerned. I'd fly to Buffalo, New York, just for the fun of flying there. (You get the picture?) I don't get to travel much, and, being twenty, don't have loads of cash.

Basically, I live in three rooms in a huge old farmhouse/mansion off Highway 20, on the edge of Deschutes National Forest. It's a neat old house, but my space in it is small and only costs me $350 a month.

Since I own my 1977 Jeep (built a year before I was born) and my computer belongs to the company I work for, my actual expenses are pretty low. Somehow, though, I always manage to live just a little above my income.

Contact with the outside world is pretty limited when the biggest city near you is a place called Bend (It's OK if you've never heard of Bend. It's sort of in the middle of Oregon, and there's not much reason for anyone to know it even exists.)

At any rate, I was stoked, and heading up the fog-shrouded highway to fun and adventure, with only a slight guilt pang that my boyfriend Jeff couldn't come with me. But this was business and I'd be working for three days (sort of - wink, wink!).

Jeff, who's a structural engineer, was in the middle of a project anyway, and had been up in Seattle for almost a week when my boss called.

I made Portland just fine. Got parked and through the construction-wracked terminal just in time to be one of the blessed first thirty passengers on Southwest Flight 1709 to Sacramento. (They don't have assigned seats, and even though I like people I hate having to sit in a middle seat.)

We boarded, and left right on time. My plan was to catch up on reading several of my friends' Internet stories via the old laptop during the hour-and-a-half flight to Sacramento.

I was sitting next to an older man (forty-ish) and made a special effort to introduce myself to him, and get to know him a little. He turned out to be a salesman, and also a reverend. He had his own church; his little congregation met at his house each Sunday.

I usually draw my neighbor into reading my stories during a flight, unless I'm traveling with Jeff, when we keep each other busy. I like to get their reaction; it's fun to let them know that I write erotic stories for the Internet. It's also fun to see if they get aroused sitting next to me while we read a story together. (I've had several interesting encounters doing this on a flight, which I probably ought to write about some time.)

However, I didn't think my salesman/preacher would appreciate what I did, so I positioned the computer screen to face the window so that he couldn't read it. I was determined to read without giving any outward signs that might indicate what I was doing. Luckily I'd already read Woodsmoke's story (It really makes me crazy when someone uses my name in their story; it turns me on to imagine myself into one).

Fortunately no other authors had used my name, and I was able to get through all the stories without making a spectacle of myself, though some of them did make me feel kind of crazy.

Anyway, everything went all right, and we landed at Sacramento International at 6:45pm. I was walking through the rather seedy-looking terminal when an announcement came over the loudspeaker: "Kristen Becker, please pick up a white courtesy phone."

I'd never had that happen before. As a matter of fact, I wasn't sure what a white courtesy phone was. But, being smarter than your average blonde, I soon figured out that the white phones on the wall must be what was meant.

It turned out that Andreaus (the big boss) had a son who was also attending our little retreat, and he wanted me to meet him at the Southwest Baggage Claim and bring him along with me to the meeting.

I have to admit I was a little put off by this. Apparently Antonio (seems like all the men in my boss's family have "An" names) wouldn't be 18 for two more months, and therefore couldn't rent a car on his own. So I was stuck.

You know what I mean; it's hard to say no to the boss when he's covering your expenses for a day on the slopes.

I was wearing my black cold-weather outfit, and when I walked into the baggage claim I got a good response from the men there. (I like wearing tight outfits. It's fun to watch the lengths to which some men will go to to look at some leg. It's not that I'm a tease; I just know I look good in tight pants.)

There was Antonio, standing by the carousel and undressing me with his eyes. I was a little taken aback by the unrelenting stare he was giving my body. And I do mean my body; I don't think he looked at my face until I was standing right in front of him, offering him a hand to shake.

Looking back, it was kind of funny, because his hand was real sweaty, and he was super embarrassed, realizing that he'd been staring like an idiot.

His dad is around 50 and has gray hair, so I didn't know what color it had been when he was younger. Apart from his sweaty hand- shake, Antonio's outstanding feature was his lovely, wavy, auburn-red hair, the kind that seems to fall into place without doing any- thing to it. (I suspected it was an expensive haircut.)

He was also quite handsome, but, then, I find most men handsome, in one way or another.

When the introduction was over we grabbed a luggage-cart and filled it with our baggage and skis, then headed toward the buses that take you to the rental cars.

Going out of the terminal doors I saw that the weather had turned ugly; you could actually see the clouds moving overhead. The wind is something else in Sacramento; it cuts right through you, even in cold weather clothing. But I didn't mind; I just walked faster and made Antonio run after me to keep up.

Anyone who knows me knows that I'm a little bit pushy. It's not that I'm at all rude or mean; I just find it hard to be around slow people. I'm very athletic, and feel that men have a big advantage over women, strengthwise, and I've little patience with men who complain, or can't keep up with me.

I gave little Antonio a hard time when he began whining about the pace I was setting; I just walked faster...

I also said something that apparently offended his masculinity, and he was pretty morose for a time. Things livened up, though, when we got into our 1998 Blazer and it wouldn't start.

I had to get an attendant to take a look at the vehicle for me, and he kind of pissed me off when he took the attitude that I was just another dumb blonde who knew nothing about cars.

Well... anyway, it was a bad fuse, and it took him awhile to figure it out. I was ready for another car, but they had no more 4WDs on the lot, and I thought, what with the crummy weather, it would be wise to stick with the one we had since we would be doing some mountain driving.

We finally left the Sacramento airport about 7:30pm, heading south on Interstate 5. I had no trouble finding the junction to Hwy 50, and then pushed the pedal to the metal.

South Tahoe is a little over two hours from Sacramento, and I wanted to reach the hotel long before 10pm, so I was hurrying things a bit.

About Plaserville the fog and snow started. The snow began falling like we were in the middle of a blizzard. I had to slow down to fifty just to see twenty feet in front of me (so much for 10pm!).

I started getting worried when I saw the fog thickening, and, slowing the Blazer down to twenty-five, we began creeping up the two-lane road. I knew we were in trouble just after we passed Kyburz when the side of the hill to the right of us slid down into the river that ran along the side of the road.

There had been a forest fire sometime in the past year or two and the soil erosion was obvious, even in the dark. I stopped the truck in the middle of the snow-covered road and we watched soil and tree stumps tumbling into the rushing river. It was pitch dark, and the only reason we'd seen the hill go was that the area had been framed in the Blazer's headlights at the moment it let loose.

Realizing that the weather was turning even worse, I pushed on, hoping to cover the remaining twenty-nine miles to Lake Tahoe before anything else nasty happened.

About ten miles farther on we had the big nasty, when the truck stopped. I mean, everything about it stopped. The headlights went out, the engine cut out, and we just sat there in the middle of the road.

I kept trying to re-start the engine, but after turning the key fifty times with no result I finally gave up.

Antonio, in his helpful, male, adolescent way suggested that the problem might be a fuse.

I knew that! - it's just that it hadn't yet occurred to me. So I scrunched down to look at the area the rental guy had been working on, and started picking at the panel that covered it.

Well... I couldn't get it off. Antonio eventually got tired of me hitting the dashboard and swearing at the plastic covering, so he got out of the passenger seat and trudged round the Blazer.

Opening my door, he leaned in and flipped the hatch open. He flicked a Bic lighter to help him see what he was doing and soon found the bad fuse. He kept changing the fuses around as if he knew what he was doing, and eventually the headlights flashed on. I turned the ignition and the engine started up immediately - to stop once again as soon as Antonio had reclaimed the passenger seat.

Cursing, he went to open his door again, but I grabbed his arm and said: "Just climb over me and I'll move to your side. The snow's getting too deep, and it's colder than the North Pole out there."

Little Antonio hesitated, then did what I'd suggested.

I hadn't planned on him rubbing his face across my chest, but I gave him the benefit of the doubt, and didn't punch him in the nuts to wipe the dumb grin off his face.

Anyway, we couldn't get the Blazer to start again; Antonio reckoned that the lower-rated fuses were just popping their little filament thingies whenever we turned on the ignition. So there we were, stuck!

The snow was coming down in bucketfuls, and the wind was whistling through a crack I'd left open in the driver's side window and then couldn't close because they were power windows (and we had no power).

I suppose it took about ten minutes for all residual heat to be sucked out of the truck. It was about this time I realized that no cars had gone by us for almost a half-hour. I could barely see any tire tracks, since they had mostly filled up with snow.

We learned later that when that hill slid down into the river it had made a kind of dam, bringing the water level up far enough to overflow the pavement. The authorities had caught on to the situation and stopped both the uphill traffic and the traffic from the top of the mountain until morning, making everyone go a different way.

It really PO'ed me, though, that no-one checked the road to make sure it was empty. I guess they figured that everyone on it would keep traveling, and the people at the slide couldn't see us because we were miles up the road.

I figured right away that something must be wrong, because Hwy 50 is quite an important artery between Lake Tahoe and the outside world.

We waited another hour before I decided to put on the rest of my ski clothes over what I was already wearing. This is when I found out that sweet little Antonio only had a shaving kit and his laptop in his carry-on.

He said his dad had everything, and that he was supposed to pick his stuff up at the consignor when we arrived (Oh great!).

It wouldn't have mattered if we hadn't found ourselves stuck in a fog-blown snowstorm in sub-zero weather.

I'm 5'4", and at my heaviest have never weighed more than 115 lbs (well, maybe 120, for six months, back in eighth grade).

Antonio, on the other hand, was an inch over 6 feet and probably weighed 175 lbs (yes, he is big for his age, isn't he?).

I hated doing it, but I told Antonio to put my parka on (it would probably never be the same again), and since there was absolutely no hope of him fitting into my pants (Damn those tight pants, anyway!) I had him wrap as much spare clothing as we had around his legs.

Our one remaining problem was that we were still freezing. We talked for what seemed like days. I found out that Andy (he preferred that to Antonio) was a musician, and that his dad didn't like that one bit. I also found out that he thought of himself as a square peg being forced into a round hole (His words, not mine), and that he wanted nothing more than his father's approval for what he was, not for what he wanted him to be.

I could identify with that. Not that my folks harassed me or anything; they had my older sister Amy for that. I was an angelic fair-haired child compared to her. Amy did things like sending naked pictures of herself out on the Internet, then getting caught when a friend of the family told our dad about it.

The point is that Andy and I were connecting; I was starting to think there was a person behind those handsome blank eyes. Inevitably, though, being a teenage boy, Andy brought the subject around to sex. We were talking about the Internet, and where the company's future might be heading, when little Andy said: "You know, I probably have the world's largest collection of pornography on my computer."

I raised an eyebrow. "What kind of pornography are we talking about, little man?"

"Nude pictures and dirty sex stories." He looked me in the eye, waiting for me to be shocked and horrified.

I just smiled my most innocent smile and asked him: "Do you have any on your lap-top?" I think he was shocked that a female would respond with a question like that instead of being indignant.

"Uh, yah, I do. You want to see some?" he asked, a little worried now.

I asked how many pictures and how many stories he had in his collection, and he replied proudly that he had hundreds.

He had piqued my curiosity; it's not every day you meet a fellow collector of erotica.

Andy pulled out his laptop and turned it on, then smiling coyly, brought up picture after picture. I was surprised by the screen quality. (My laptop has a liquid crystal screen, and pictures don't look that great on it.)

It was soon obvious that little Andy was a "doggy-style" man. Just about all his pictures were of couples having sex doggy-style. (It amazes me that people can get caught up in one thing to the exclusion of all the other good stuff in the world.)

After I'd gone through just a part of his picture collection, I could tell he was becoming aroused. This I didn't need. However, his computer was sitting on my lap, and its warmth was heavenly. I couldn't believe he didn't know I was getting all this great heat. If I said I'd had enough of his pictures he'd probably turn the computer off, and I definitely didn't want him to do that.

So we continued looking at his adolescent dream-scapes for another hour or so, when the computer started to beep a 'low battery' warning.

Disappointed, but now reasonably warm, I watched him turn it off and stow it in his carry-on.

Andy had surprised me with a "guy" collection just before the battery warning went off. He had a nice collection of men, and I have to admit that looking at them had made me a little warmer than I would have been otherwise. I've always loved to look at naked men - not that I've had all that many chances to do it.

It took Jeff a little while to get used to me always asking him to take his clothes off.

As far as I'm concerned, if the heat's up in the apartment there's no reason for him to wear clothes. And he looks so nice naked.

We sat for another hour in the cold, when I felt that I had to pee, and it soon became an urgent problem for me. If I'd been alone I might have just used the Burger King coke cup that was sitting in its holder, but with Andy in the car that was out of the question.

At last I said: "I gotta pee. I'll be right back." I'd been gone no more than a couple of minutes, taking care of my urgent business, before I was back in the driver's seat.

I immediately felt like knocking little Andy Pascoe's block off, even though his dad was my boss. The little shit had dug my computer out of my carry-on and was running it, warming his lap.

"HEY! BOZO! What the hell do you think you're doing?" I yelled in my most commanding tone.

He looked up at me, a cherubic smile on his face, and said two words that stopped me in my tracks: "Kristen's Collection."

I was speechless. I'd never thought about the consequences of having someone actually find out my other identity. I thought about being fired from my job; about this little jerk telling the whole world who I was. I mean, he had access to my home address, my home phone.

Then he said: "Guess I didn't know what I was talking about, did I? So you're Kristen, huh? Who'da guessed?"

He looked at me when the computer battery started beeping. "You ought to keep it charged better," he said, as he shut it down.

"I was using it on the plane. Now give it here! If you say anything to anyone I'll have to have you murdered. I hope you know that!"

Andy just smiled and said: "I hadn't thought about it before, but this gives me a little power in our relationship, doesn't it?"

"Relationship? We don't have a relationship. You're just a twerpy snoop who should have his legs broken at the knees." I knew I probably sounded pretty stupid, but I was flustered, and didn't know what else to say.

"God, it's cold in here!" he said. "Don't worry about me saying anything. We're going to freeze to death tonight, anyway. I'm starting to wonder if we're going to make it." His teeth had started to chatter from the cold.

I was worried too. Not so much about dying, but frostbite was a real threat. "Come on," I said "let's get in the back of the truck. If we lie down next to each other and cover ourselves with everything we have, maybe our combined body heat will give us some warmth."

It was all I could suggest. Ever since I'd been outside to pee, I hadn't been able to get warm. I was starting to lose feeling in my toes, and the last thing I wanted was frozen toes.

We climbed into the back of the Blazer and threw all my spare clothes on top of us. I rolled over on to my side and told Andy to spoon me. I thought I'd better throw in a warning. "But don't get any stupid adolescent ideas!"

After what felt like weeks I looked at my lady's Swiss Army watch. It glowed back at me, almost mockingly. We'd lain there for less than twenty minutes. My toes were completely numb, and the cold was creeping up my legs. In fact, I was so cold by then that I knew I wouldn't be able to walk, even if there'd been some place to walk to.

I asked Andy: "How do you feel?"

"I'm really cold; what's worse, I'm horny. Have you any idea what lying like this is doing to me?" His voice cracked on "this".

Normally I'd have good-naturedly teased him about his voice, but at that moment I was in pain.

Slowly I came to the realization that we were in terrible trouble. If someone didn't come down the road soon, we might both be damaged for life. I pictured my feet with no toes, and me hobbling around on stumps for the rest of my life. The vision sparked me into action.

The same thought kept running through my head. It was a saying that a girlfriend of mine used a lot. "Have you ever noticed that having sex will make a head-cold or an allergy go away. It's as if, while you're 'doing it', your body corrects any malfunction, or your mind regulates the body to make it feel better."

She thought that this proved that mind always won over matter.

A little hesitantly, I asked Andy: "How do your feet feel?"

His response was muffled. "Like needles are being stuck in them. I'm so cold I don't think I can take it much longer."

With a resigned sigh, I reached out my hand behind me and cupped his crotch. "How does this feel?" I asked.

"Hey!" he yelped, his voice breaking again in his surprise.

I felt his body jump when my fingers gripped him through his pants.

Many thoughts ran through my mind right then. I listed the reasons why I shouldn't be doing this, and almost as quickly answered myself.

I said to myself: 'I shouldn't do this because it would be cheating on Jeff.' I answered that objection with the argument that he would understand that the situation called for drastic action.'

Then I thought: 'I don't have any condoms', and just as quickly my brain manufactured the obvious answer: 'Andy's obviously a virgin, so I won't catch anything from him'.

Boom, another problem: 'You'll get fired if his dad finds out you fucked his little pride and joy'. Of course, the choice between death and dismissal was easy to make.

Soon I'd reconciled myself to what I was going to do. I began to massage Andy through the material of his pants. He quieted down for a bit and just lay there, letting me fiddle with him.

Very soon, however, he began writhing around behind me. It occurred to me that it wasn't good enough just to get him off. We needed to generate some serious body heat, and for both of us. At the same time I realized that Andy wouldn't last very long the first time. So I rolled over to face him and started kissing him. (I love kissing guys. It's even better than dancing with them, and I LOVE to dance.)

It never fails to get me going when I kiss a guy, even Andy, and I badly needed to get myself in the mood for what I knew had to be done.

He was kissing me back now. I could barely make out his face in the dark as we kissed. His eyes were closed tight and he had this desperate look on his face. I could tell he was lost in the sensations of the moment; it was touching to see his urgency. I kept my eyes open and watched him responding to me.

After a short while I steeled myself to take the next step. Andy needed to get that first orgasm out of the way, and I didn't want to have to lie in his wet spots the rest of the night.

That left me with a decision: which way to take him. I decided quickly, and used both hands to unfasten his pants. I figured he'd last about ten seconds, and I didn't want him spurting all over everything.

Pants unfastened, boner out and waving. I shut my eyes and kissed it. I was worried that if I played around he'd make that mess I didn't want over me, so I gave him one of my Jeff specials.

Jeff likes it best when I give him lots of lip friction in fast, deep dives, at each withdrawal swirling my tongue on the underside and at the little flange round the head. I do that ten or twelve times, then take him in my hands and slowly jack his long wang, then make the dives again. I repeat that till he can't hold back any more, and I either take him internally or let him shoot all over the place. I only do it, though, when I want to reward him for something really nice he's done for me; otherwise I'm a little more selfish about sex.

With little Andy it took just three dives before he was groaning and jerking around under me. I was enjoying myself until an uncomfortable thought popped into my mind while Andy was pumping his sperm down my throat.

I was 'cheating' on Jeff. Next moment I was mad at Jeff for making me feel guilty. Didn't he want me to stay alive and in one piece? It's not as if I was going to run away with this kid or anything. (Isn't it funny how we can turn blame around for anything if we need to?)

I continued swallowing Andy's sperm, though I was beginning to find it heavy going. By the time he had his last spasm in my mouth I was feeling a little bloated.

Although I was a little queasy from taking so much of a strange guy's spunk, I preferred that to having it freeze on our skin, or on the carpet underneath us.

Andy's eyes were still closed, and my hand was still on his nice looking cock. I took the opportunity to examine it as it stuck out of his pants fly. It had the nicest shape. I've only seen a few guys' cocks in real life, but his was one of the nicest weenies I'd ever seen. It was kind of thick, and probably about five inches long; it looked like a sculpture.

I'm not making a lot of sense, am I? I guess you had to be there to know what I'm talking about.

Although I felt a little better, blood circulation-wise, my toes were still numb, and I knew that I needed some real exertion, and also what I had to do to get it.

So I unzipped my black ski pants and pulled one leg off. Andy was lying on his back watching me struggle with my pants. He looked amused, the little crud.

I knew I'd lose body heat by taking my pants off, but couldn't figure out any other way to do what I had in mind. I also knew I needed to be on top if I really wanted to get my circulation to flow properly.

When I'd taken my pants off one leg, I put on one leg of another outfit on my other leg, leaving the essential area bare while at the same time protecting my legs from the cold. I mustn't lie; I was dripping with anticipation.

My sex life had focused on Jeff for the past 18 months, and before that, sporadically, on two other guys. So this was new and exciting to me, no matter how much I wanted to pretend it was a life-saving exercise.

I knelt beside Andy and unbuttoned his pants, opening his fly completely. Then I tugged at his waistband, and pulled his pants part-way down his thighs.

YES! He really looked good to me. What I could see of his stomach was really tight. He didn't have a lot of hair on his body, reminding me a little of a muscular female, except that his cock was fully hard and waiting.

I didn't want to wait any longer myself. I knew I was wet enough for him, so I straddled his body and took his shiny cock in my hand, then sank down on it.

I've another confession to make: he felt lovely inside me, his thick cock completely filling me up. I immediately started to ride him; his father couldn't have stopped me at that moment if he'd shown up and knocked on the window.

Andy was watching me; I could tell, even with my eyes closed. I was thrusting my hips forward without rising up, like a lady bronco rider, rubbing myself as hard as I could against him, luxuriating in the feeling of him inside me.

It had been a long time since I'd experienced the thrill of sex with a stranger. I thought a little guiltily about Jeff, and then about how it had been with him the first time.

I'd seduced him on the balcony of my little apartment. I remembered how good it had felt to have Jeff on top of me that lazy afternoon; to have his strong, Nordic cock thrusting deep inside me.

"Ooooohhhh GOD! YES!" I was coming on top of Andy in one of the most intense orgasms I think I've ever had. Thinking about fucking Jeff while I was really doing it to Andy just seemed to push me over the edge.

My body was shivering on top of Andy's, and he was gasping as I rammed him as deep as I could into me. He felt so good!

I watched his stomach muscles flex as he thrust back rhythmically at me. He suddenly looked as if he found it hard to catch his breath, and began gasping for air.

As he raised his upper body to hug me I knew he was having his own orgasm deep inside me. The thought of a stranger coming inside me brought on another, more leisurely, orgasm as I continued to rub myself luxuriously against him, taking him in as deep as he would go.

He held on to my neck for almost a full minute before falling back to the floor of the Blazer with a sigh that told me he was done. I leaned forward and kissed him, making sure he stayed inside me while we embraced.

Meanwhile I realized my toes were feeling normal again; in fact I felt quite flushed and in rude health. I looked up and noticed that the windshield was completely fogged up, and tried to calculate how long we could keep our pleasant afterglow.

I figured we'd be OK for a half-hour or so. I looked at my watch and saw that it was 1am. Hmmm, at this rate we were going to be awfully tired tomorrow.

Let's see, 1am, half an hour of warm blood circulation... say, dawn at 7am, maybe 8 before anyone gets down here. Let's see... How often do we need to...?



Epilogue:

It was almost 8am before a snowplow came down the road, with the highway patrol following behind.

The patrolman was amazed that we were so fit after the night we'd endured. He fixed our fuse and let us go on our way.

Andy and I dragged ourselves through the Wednesday morning meetings. His father let us go after the noon break because we looked so tired.

I let Andy stay with me that afternoon, as a special good-bye for both of us. We'll always be special friends, and I don't think I need to worry about him giving any secrets away.

He's now on my story list; in fact, he'll be getting this. (I tried to encourage him to write the same story from his perspective, and hope he does; it would be interesting to read.)

Oh, one more thing. I kicked some butt on the slopes on Saturday - though my ski outfit did look a little rumpled.

Acknowledgments: All my thanks to Ian for doing such a good job editing my little story.

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© April 1998 Kristen Kathleen Becker (Last edit 3/00) Kristen078@Hotmail.com

This work is copyrighted to the author. Please do not remove the author information or make any changes to this story. You may post freely to non- commercial "free" sites, or in the "free" area of commercial sites. Thank you for your consideration.