Free White Heat by Serge de Moliere Page B

wasn’t sure if the man had survived. Damn it …
    He didn’t mind the loneliness, the endless stretches of whiteness that could almost blind a man without the dark visors that were obligatory in this wilderness. Neither did he mind the eternal winter that dumped endless tons of snow and ice on top of both man and beast. Occasionally, though, he did get horny, and during restless dreams late at night he often gave in to the urges, urges triggered by a sleep populated with naked Victoria Secrets models who paraded their wares in front of him like polar sirens. He frequently awakened with both hands clutched painfully around his member, and a thick coating of his own sticky fluids staining the mattress like wild honey. It was a weakness he despised in himself. Still, he knew that it couldn’t be helped. There were few women in this vast, cold emptiness willing to spread their thighs for his hot entry, even though he had the cash to pay for it.
    He thought of the enormous bear he had killed, that snowy behemoth with mammoth claws. Perversely, he wondered if it had a mate, a mate that was now alone with an equally powerful sexual urge that could only be satisfied by self-manipulation.
    Abruptly he burst out laughing. The image of an erect white she-bear raking at itself with those steel talons while it moaned with pleasure was ludicrous.
    A sudden sharp wind made him pull the hood of his parka down even lower. The air was so cold it felt like shards of cut glass. With eyes half closed behind the goggles, he took another step.
    Suddenly, he tripped over something. He felt his body hit the ground hard, even though he automatically stuck out two flat palms to break the force of the fall. A moment before, he had flown through the air with the grace of a swan; now he plummeted like a dead penguin. He felt pain in his genitals; the frigid air had seeped in through layers of insulation, making him shrunken and numb despite his own inner fire. He smirked again, amused at his own wit and arrogance. This frozen world was not to be taken lightly by any man.
    Looking around, he saw the oblique shape that was just beyond the outcropping of ice that had caused him to fall. It took a long moment for him to make out the curved outline of a human body.
    Leaning down, he touched the forehead of what appeared to be a young woman. It seemed so cold it almost felt hot, even through his gloves. He grunted. Whoever she was, she might be half-dead already. And what kind of a fool would go out in this storm; another person as foolish as himself? He laughed out loud and then began the slow and arduous task of digging the woman out of the frozen mush.
     

CHAPTER THREE
     
     
    Josh was exhausted when he reached the cabin, but still managed to place some large terry cloth towels on the floor of the living room before placing her down gently. Quickly, he removed the parka and his other outer clothing. Now that he was out of the bitter cold, it was too easy to get overheated. He stripped down to his skin and carefully hung the parka and pants to dry. Then he ignited the small fireplace that was well stocked with a supply of lumber that he had doggedly dragged in over a period of weeks.
    He gently massaged his heavy balls. They were still cold to the touch. Snowballs. He chuckled, then grunted as feeling slowly returned. He pulled on a dry set of jockey shorts. Then he moved to the woman.
    There was a small pool of water forming around her defrosting body. She was soaked to her skin. And she was young; her cheeks were smooth and unlined, and she had a small upright nose and generous lips that were chapped and peeling. Miraculously, she was still breathing. He could see traces of pale exhalation seeping from her mouth as her breath formed a white vapor when it hit the cooler air of the cabin.
    Almost mechanically he removed her clothing with practiced hands, then grabbed some more fresh towels and began to towel her nudity, chafing her skin in his effort to