Cold Waters

He stamped his feet, the snow falling to crumble on the mat, white drifts surrounding him. The cabin protected him from the howling wind, and the fire burning in the stove warming the small room. Hanging up his jacket, he looked around at the accusing typewriter, he had loved the idea of the ancient piece of equipment inspiring his creativity, but a laptop could be hidden away.

He paced the small cabin, till finally sitting on the bed, his face buried in his hands as he chastised himself for having written nothing.

A change in light made him lift his head, outside the clouds parted, letting sunlight bounce off smooth snow to flood the cabin. Launching himself from the bed ready to hide the accusing light.

Pristine snow sloped down to the stream; sparkling water, between islands of cloudy ice, reflected the azure sky. The beauty of the scene stung, reminding him of his mental impotence. But she distracted him from banishing the light. Water lapped at her hips, she stood facing him wearing a coy smile and nothing else.

She didn't move, showing no reaction to the icy water, her chestnut hair hanging behind her, untied and motionless.

He stood on the bank, she hadn't moved, he didn't know why he hadn't called to her as soon as he left the cabin, the high winds had vanished, the air was still. He opened his mouth to speak, but he felt the snow laden tree's tremble as if his voice would cause them crumble.

Instead, he stretched out his arms to her. For the first time since he had seen her, she moved. Slowly walking against the gentle current she approached, her body seeming to glide, nothing moving, her hair remained still, her breasts although full, didn't sway or bounce. Her hands trailed in the water, ripples flowing from them.

He stared at her, the face hauntingly familiar, yet he couldn't place her, maybe a local raised in the snow, immune to the cold. The smile didn't falter; hazel eyes stared up at him, unflinching. As she neared where he stood she rose, the water that had been lapping at hip hips descended to the top of her thighs. The bank rose, her patch of neatly trimmed hair appeared above it's shifting surface, it was darkened to black by the water and studded with blue gems of water that glistened in the winter sun.

Her hands reached up for his as she reached the waters edge, her calves still beneath the surface. He took hold of her hands, ready to help her up onto the bank. Her fingers, that should have been cold, felt hot against his skin. She made no attempt to get out of the water, instead she drew him closer, the lip of snow crumbled beneath the tip of his boots to splash silently into the water.

The longer she remained silent, the more he felt speaking would be wrong.

She released his hands, leaving them warm. She plucked at the laces of his boots, gently lifted his feet out and stripped the thick socks, one at a time. He let her control him, even when she placed his naked feet on the snow, warm fingers delicately placing him on snow that didn't feel cold.

Her fingers moved to his pants, he felt protesting would spoil the silence. The buttons popped open, the zip descended. The thick pants and warm leggings dragged down his thighs, exposing him to the air.

With clothes neatly folded on the snow behind him, she reached up to him. He reached down ready to lift her. Hot, slender fingers intertwined with his but instead of moving to climb out, she stepped backwards, inviting him down.

He stepped from the snow, expecting the icy water to bite at his skin. But, as he slipped beneath the surface the water felt cool, not cold, as it swirled around him. Standing in water, she removed his jacket, jumper and t-shirt, each folded behind him.

She walked backwards, leading him deeper into the refreshing waters. She said nothing, the coy smile permanently etched on her face. Her hand dipped beneath the water, her warm fingers closed around his hardening erection.

They slowly sank to their knees, the water covering her breasts and lapping at his hairy chest. With her hand on his shoulder she leant back, her hair pulled out behind her by the gentle current. Letting the water lift her, she pressed her burning thighs around him. Her twinkling eyes invited him, he leant forward, pressing his lips to hers as he slid inside her. Her body embraced him with heat, her lips parted tongue reaching out to meet his as they slipped beneath the cool surface.

On the bank, his pile of neatly folded clothes sat. On the small desk in the cabin, before the window that overlooked the stream sat the typewriter, containing a single piece of paper with a single word on it “sorry”. An empty bottle of whisky sat upon a newspaper clipping of a fatal hit and run, accompanied by a photo of a girl, long dark hair and coy smile.

Word Count 861