Emily stopped at the crest of the hill. She had left later than was wise, and had skied the last couple of miles in quickly falling light. The truth may have been that she had left late on purpose. The truth may have been that she liked having the trail to herself. The truth may have been that she loved the stillness that came after the sun went down. The truth may have been that she loved how the beam of her headlamp danced across the trees. The truth may have been that the way the snow lit up like tiny fireworks when the beam of light hit each crystal, filled her heart with joy.

Emily lingered. She sensed everything all at once. The power of her heart pulsed in her neck. There was a slight, pleasant burn in her throat from breathing the cold air. A single droplet of sweat worked its way down her chest, tickling her. A high breeze whirred through the very top of the trees, freeing crystals to slowly fall in search of her lamp. Her legs were pleasantly swollen with blood. A sliver of moon inched above the mountains, revealing a few clouds against a mostly clear, indigo sky. She felt strong. She felt brave.

There was a time when she skied to get away. She used to ski to flee anxiety and undeserved shame. Now, she skied toward things; toward the future; toward happiness. In this moment, on this hill, with the moon exactly as it was, and the snow crystals dancing, she had found it.

She saw a light swaying at the bottom of the hill. She smiled to herself. He was swinging their old Coleman lamp, slowly, back and forth. He had come to the trailhead looking for her.

He worries. He’s a worrier.  It’s sweet. I used to be a worrier, too. Emily understood. She played what was about to happen, in her mind.

I will ski down to him. He will scold me for taking chances. I will reassure him. He will wrap me in his arms and practically toss me into the truck. When we get to the cabin the fire will be crackling. The kitchen will smell of roasting chicken.

I will move toward the bath, but he will interrupt my path. He will cover me in kisses and pull me to the floor. I will protest, saying I’m covered in sweat. He will ignore me and peel off my woolens, as I laugh. He will lick the salt from my breasts, and my belly, and then, my sex.

I will laugh, again. And, then I will gasp. And, I will moan. And, then I will shudder as he finishes me. I will roll him over, and find his lovely staff with my mouth. He will protest, falsely, until the pleasure overtakes him.

“My sweet god,” he will say as I bob on his head. He always says, “My sweet god,” when I suck him. He will stroke my hair with a shaking hand. “You’re amazing,” he will say. And, I will smile to myself. Will I finish him? Probably not. I will want him inside me. I will release him with a dramatic slurp, and crawl on top of him. I will find his cock again, but his time with my pussy.

I will ride him, slowly. He will look up at me, with adoring eyes. He will reach to stroke my waist and cup my pert breast. I will bend at the waist to to kiss his rough face and soft mouth. I will increase the pace of my posting and I will sense him trip over the edge.

He will hold me tightly as he cums, and then we will lie together. We won’t speak, at first. Our breathing and the crackle of the fire will do the talking for us. And then, he will say, in a whisper, “I love you, Em.”

Emily smiled as she watched this movie in her mind. She planted her poles to push off, and skied as fast as she could down the hill, toward the swaying light.