Re: *Winter's Present* - serialized

On 2/17/2026 5:15 PM, Bryan Simmons wrote:
> 
> 
>              Winter’s Present
>                     .
>                Bryan Simmons
> 
>      Table of Contents
> 
> Silver    9
> Winter    23
> Fast    29
> Wearing White    49
> Sex Kitten    59
> The Party    73
> Turkey Claus    101
> Boy Talk    121
> Scorpions    131
> Ann    147
> Lady Bear    173
> Cinnamon Buns    189
> Sandy Beach    205
> Our Tricycle    235
> Queen of Love    249
> Art    279
> Pillow Talk    291
> A Pink Line to Burritos    297
> Making Love    309
> Solomon    317
> Wearing White Again    323
> Change is Hard    333
> The Letter    337
> The Vapors    365
> Performance Issues    373
> Somebody Else's Daughter    391
> Love Kiss    399
> Bigamy    411
> Equality    425
> Anniversary    439
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> Copyright 2014, 2025 by Bryan Simmons
> 
> 
> This book is dedicated to my wife, Betsy, and to my muse, who shall 
> remain nameless.
> 
> 
                           Scorpions

Eric and Chloe excused themselves to their compartment after breakfast, 
and Ian suggested the observation car.  Winter apologized, “I know I've 
made this about me, and not just the past few days, but all of it.”

“You're adjusting, and I'd never ask you to lose yourself anywhere but 
in bed.”

“I don't lose anything there.”

“You don't lose anything anywhere, Winter.   Nothing seems to lessen 
you, but you let yourself go.”

“I like sex, Ian, and while you're, well, not my physical ideal,” she 
shrugged, “you're my only option right now and you seem to enjoy my body 
even more than I do.  I'm not a prostitute, or even a stripper,” and she 
splayed her hands in resignation, “except for that one time, and sex is 
better with you than it'd probably be with the guys at school.  I'm 
pretty sure of that, even the really pretty ones, and we both believe in 
equity, so let me do my job, make a week or so about you.  Let me be proud.”

“This might not be easy.”

“Ian, there's no shame in tears, only in selfishness, tears for guilt, 
but never guilt for tears, and you've cried on me before.  It wasn't for 
guilt.  It was for loss.  Grief, Ian, tears for Lauren.  I'm not a 
replacement, but I am part of your moving on.”

Through the windows of the train, the world loomed large.  Life was 
everywhere, but Ian thought about the graves that must be scattered 
about the hills, lives of those younger than himself, ended by the 
harshness of pioneer life, not scorpions, but worse.  They were taken by 
hunger and thirst.  The mothers and fathers feared the hazards of 
childbirth, death for the woman, and despair for the man, often left 
with motherless children to feed and bereft of that one special thing 
that made the deprivations bearable.

His silence prompted Winter to ask, “What are you thinking about?”

Ian shared, and then added, “It was, I guess, about birth control.”

“Don't stop, Ian.  I want to hear this.”

“Well, you know I've had a vasectomy, so we can do whatever.”

Winter was trying not to openly laugh, though she didn't hide her 
amusement as she said, “And we do 'do whatever'.”

“I was wondering if the pioneers who ventured here, if they avoided 
intercourse, at least during times that could result in pregnancy, and 
one more mouth to feed, or if they satisfied each other in other ways. 
When I was barely a teenager, I was curious whether my parents had oral 
sex.”

“Didn't you kind of figure?”

“No.  I was the youngest of five, and I was no doubt an accident.  Add 
to that my parents never seeming to be particularly loving toward each 
other, and given the prudery of Americans, it could have gone either 
way.  When I was older I thought about the absurdity that every 
generation thinks that they were the first to discover oral sex, or at 
least for it to be mainstream.  Don't laugh at me, Winter.  It makes me 
feel old.”

“I'm not laughing at you, I'm laughing with you, except you're not 
laughing, Mr. Diddy Wah Diddy.”

At that, Ian did laugh, “I don't know what that means,” but he stood and 
beckoned Winter, glad that they weren't traveling coach.

Seeing the honeymooners off was a pleasure in itself.  Winter hugged 
them both deeply, then Ian offered a hand, first to Eric, who grasped it 
firmly, and nodded with the impression of solidarity, and then to Chloe 
who surprisingly refused it, and instead offered open arms for a brief 
but firm hug.  After they had disembarked, Winter turned to Ian, her 
nose brought near to her pursed lips for a scant moment before reverting 
to her happy face, “I think my new sister likes you.”

“I like her too, and your brother as well.”

“That's good, because I was thinking that it might have been too much 
for you, all the my family stuff.  You know that before I met you, I'd 
never been away from them, and it's not that I mind staying with you.  I 
like sleeping with you, and I know that we agreed three nights, and they 
haven't asked, but can we make these nights count?”  Winter led Ian back 
to the privacy of the roomette.

“Toward your obligation?  Certainly.  I'm not inflexible, and I wouldn't 
enjoy sleeping next to you if I thought that you were worrying, or 
uncomfortable in any way.”

“Thanks, Ian, and I'll make it up to you, you do know that?”

“I'll expect it, because you are an honorable person.   I hope that 
we're past any formal terms, and while I love falling asleep with you, 
it's waking up with you that I really value.”

“That's what I was thinking.  I could come over in the mornings, early. 
Un-showered of course.”

“That aspect is not negotiable, and arrive in your yesterday's clothing 
as well.”

“Dressed for work.”

“Dressed for play.”

“Same difference.  I'm a working girl now, with a good job, and 
considering my duties, your expectation that I smell nice is perfectly 
reasonable.  I'd feel very complimented on my natural body fragrance, 
but I understand that you'd feel the same way about many other women.”
As they shut the sliding door, Ian answered, “You are correct that there 
is nothing about your appearance or smell that sets you apart from so 
many others; it's your personhood that makes you spectacular, personhood 
because personality isn't inclusive enough.  There's something at the 
core of your being that I find delightful.”

“Ian, whenever this ends, sooner or later, I'll always be your friend. 
You'd want that, right?”

“Certainly.  When you move on, for richer, or more richer, I'll move on 
too, but friendships don't have to end when the sexual aspect goes away. 
  You told me upfront that there's an amorphous woman you've fallen for, 
and I wish you the best.  I hope that she becomes the love of your life. 
  Winter, you deserve that, and if I felt any other way, I'd be a cad.”
Winter began to laugh, snuffling quietly, and Ian asked, “What?”

“Cad rhymes with dad, and you two are so alike, but I'm on the same 
page, Ian.  We both care about each others' future.  That's true 
friendship.  So it seems that you really are just paying for sex.”

“I'm paying for companionship, with sexual availability, which was what 
we agreed upon.  Friendship is a thrill you can't buy.”

“But it's not without selfishness.  I brought you out here for you, but 
helping you deal with your past is going to make this easier for both of 
us.  You put on a strong face, but you haven't finished grieving.  My 
dad, Richard, threw himself into his work.”

“Your father's choices were far more limited, and as you stated, I'm not 
finished with grief.  I'd love to fall in love again, but in the interim 
there's you.“

“I'm a transition, Ian.  If you go on to replace me with another girl, 
you're not likely to find one with my ethical constraints.  There's no 
such thing as luck.  Meeting me was an accident, a fortuitous accident. 
We jibe well, and I'm sure that you could be happy, but a succession of 
concubines, no.”

“I don't even get what you just said.”

“And you won't until you're able to put Lauren into the past, me into 
the present,  and get yourself ready for the future.”

“The future after you.”

“Yeah, that one.  You're a catch, Ian, and once I get you fixed up, 
you'll be irresistible.”

“So it doesn't matter what I want?”

“Ian, you want your face between my legs, and for me to stop lecturing you.”

“Pretty much, though I do value your insights, however clouded by your 
own situation.”

“What 'situation'?”

“First love, Winter.  I'm far more experienced with romance.  I 
understand that it can't happen with you, but you don't need to rub it 
in.  You're a surrogate, and a fine one, the finest even, but just as I 
can't allow myself to determine your future, or engage in situational 
fantasies where I do so, you need to understand my reality.”

“Your second adolescence.”

“The fascination never subsided.”

“And I'm a freshman anthropology student who has identified a new 
species, Homo paniscus.”

“You're inviting me to groom you?”

Winter shot a suspicious smile, “That depends on what you're grooming me 
for.”

“Non-existent nits?”

“Go for it, Ian, but no hands, OK?”

Ian thought about how perceptive Winter was in the physical realm.  He 
had emotions that she couldn't understand, but the invitation to kiss 
her head was like the offer of a nearly empty bowl of whipped cream, 
lightly sweetened, and with an aroma as pleasing as vanilla, an almost 
empty vessel handed over to a child who was sure to treasure the traces 
of deliciousness, nothing wasted, the bowl was sure to be licked clean. 
The “no hands” stricture soon fell away.  Ian knew that Winter was 
merely pursuing novelty, and why wouldn't she?  By all indications she'd 
have preferred he be female, at least bodily, and he was certain that 
his aged body, however well preserved, wasn't a plus.  Aside from the 
money, his assets were mental.  She had turned away from his face, as if 
he were penetrating her skull with his kisses, denying him access to her 
forebrain, the one thing that made her special.  That part was 
priceless.  The rest of her body was freely accessible, and he was 
relatively certain that it wasn't about his face, that she didn't find 
his appearance or his mouth off-putting in any physical sense.  It was 
shyness, or better stated, too personal.  She seemed to be protecting 
herself, or even possibly protecting him, but no doubt reminding him 
that this wasn't a romance, but something destined to end, and as Ian 
wetted her scalp with kisses, he thought of cinnamon buns, “Better this 
than nothing.”

Just before they disembarked in Gallup,  Ian made a brief call, and the 
car was there within minutes of their arrival.


The following morning, they headed for the Petrified Forest, and after 
paying the entrance fee, they drove to the place where Ian remembered 
stopping to hike when Ethan was five.  Winter had been fascinated by 
Ian's description of the colors, and the erosion, and how it struck him 
as a crunched up model of the terrain of the Ozarks, something familiar 
to them both.  It was bitterly cold, but not windy that day.  They had 
parked on the right side of the road, and crossed hand-in-hand, 
traversing the flat portion that was littered with small pieces of the 
petrified wood that had lent the park its name.

The gradual ascent, and the comfort of walls, following the creeks and 
hollows, was comfortable to Ian.  The fear that Ethan would somehow 
scramble up to heights that would endanger his welfare was only a 
memory.  That fear now seemed absurd, and he knew that expressing it had 
limited all three's enjoyment of the trek.  The idea that he'd lessened 
that experience for his loved ones troubled him, as did the lack of a 
real memoir that paid tribute to the wonderfulness of Lauren.  Winter 
was a joy, but what he'd had with Lauren was purely natural, and time, 
the same time that had formed these surroundings, had taken her from him 
far too soon, taken her from Ethan, and from the world, but worse than 
that, had ended a life that merited happiness.  The survivor guilt was 
flooding back, he understood Winter's purpose.  Whether it was some 
generous spirit in her, or merely a desire to keep him from bailing on 
their pact, he wasn't going to repeat the past.  Whatever Winter's 
motive, she meant to heal.

When they reached the top, or quite near the top, Ian hesitated.  Even 
though there was no danger, the summit frightened him, but Winter was 
taking him there, and he forced his reluctant, almost trembling legs to 
climb those last few steps, as he accepted her assistance.  When they 
were seated atop one of the highest places, what seemed like the closest 
thing to a mountaintop that Ian could deal with, Winter said, "We can't 
change the past," and she held him as he cried.

"Can we go home now?"

"Anytime you want, Ian.  I work for you, remember, and you're not 
disappointing me.  You're a real person, with real feelings, and you 
hired me to be your personal assistant.  I'm not a prostitute with a 
heart of gold who pities you while having contempt for you.  I respect 
you, and I take pride in my job."

"Thank you, Winter."

"I'm a compassionate person, Ian.  I thought this would be good for you, 
and it probably has been, but if you've had enough, of course we can go 
home."

On the drive back to Gallup, where they had already reserved the motel, 
Ian again started to apologize, but Winter cut him off.  "I don't expect 
some fancy vacation, or any vacation at all, less than one month into my 
employment.  If at some point you feel ready, I'd love to go to some of 
the cool places you got to go with your wife.  It's like this, I'm OK 
with you being unhappy.  You cried in my arms a few hours ago, and that 
was fine.  You gave me a gift, and you didn't know that; it was a little 
more insight into being in love, and how it feels to love a person like 
you loved her, and still do."

"I'd hoped I was stronger."

"We both did.  I assumed that you'd put more of the grief behind you 
than turned out to be the case, so what happened today maybe needed to 
happen for you.  I'm not being damaged.  I'm learning.  It isn't love 
that means you never have to say you're sorry, but having acted in good 
faith.  I had the best of intentions bringing you out here, and if I was 
mistaken, I just was.  And you, Ian, you tried to roll with it, because 
you're well intentioned as well.  What we have shouldn't, and don't 
have, is much self-sacrifice on either of our parts.  I've felt for 
years that being decent wasn't about bodies, but about being 
considerate."  Winter smiled, "You know, I almost said, 'not being an 
asshole,' but that's a body shame word."

"You're a highly evolved person, Winter, nearly devoid of bovine excrement."

"There you go.  Put all that nonsense onto a scape-bull, and send it on 
its way."

"Your sentience," said Ian, "is your most attractive quality."

"Not my lady parts?"

"You see that rock formation?  It's pretty, and the next one might be a 
bit less pretty, or a bit more, but they're basically interchangeable. 
I was praising the non-interchangeable part of you."

"Ian, if our thing ended sometime soon, and it's going to end 
eventually, I know I've asked you already, but really, would you still 
want to be friends if there were no sex?"

"Without a doubt, but that possibility, or eventuality, just provokes 
more urgency.  I want your body because it is delicious, and the 
temporal limitations make me crave it more."  The response seemed to 
please Winter.  "I know where your mind's at.  You've mentioned it often 
enough.  I have the resources to get my fix, and it's not your body 
that's unique.  I was never under the illusion that I was going to get 
the whole package."  Ian looked deeply into her eyes in a way that would 
have intimidated almost anyone else, even though it was for a spare 
moment.  "Cinnamon buns, Winter.  No one can expect one person to 
fulfill all his or her needs for human interaction, and doing so can 
make the other person feel cramped.  Every culture has an however loose 
set of definitions for that primary bond, none of them perfect, and each 
individual person has their own expectations.  I don't let societal 
norms, some set of components based on patriarchal traditions, dictate 
those combinations.  You could leave right now, ask to be dropped off at 
a motel in Gallup with enough money to safely get yourself back home, 
and while I'd be profoundly disappointed, I wouldn't for a moment regret 
our times together."

"Most women would be blushing right now."

"No, Winter, most women wouldn't have made heads nor tails out of half 
of what I just said."

"They'd have gotten the feeling, and Ian, whatever else, however our 
lives go, let's stay friends."

While keeping his left hand on the steering wheel, this time keeping his 
eyes on the road, he offered her his right, which she took and kissed, 
and Ian responded, "Most men would be blushing right now."

When they got back to the motel, Winter called Amtrak, then told Ian 
that there were no rooms on the train until the day after tomorrow, and 
asked, "Do you want to catch the train into Albuquerque?  There's not 
much to do here."

Ian surprised her with his reply, "No, let's go to the lava beds.  The 
worst that could happen is I'll get all weepy again."

Winter called Amtrak back and made the reservations for Monday morning, 
then called the motel office to inform them that they were staying an 
extra day.  She found Ian in the bathroom, where he was brushing his 
teeth, and told him about the itinerary.  "We don't get the cabin until 
Albuquerque, and we have to go back to coach at K.C. and it's one of 
those little roomettes.  That's all they had, and if I recall correctly, 
you were saying something earlier about my body being delicious."
Ian gave her a toothpastey grin.  "See?  I like the way that you think too."


In the morning, Winter, still very much asleep, grasped Ian's bicep, and 
nuzzled against his shoulder.  As he fully awoke from his half dream 
state, and looked over at the alarm clock, he saw that the large red 
numbers read 5:07.  So much had changed in the past three years, yet 
here he was in the same sort of accommodations, bending his head to 
drink in the fragrance of a woman's scalp through hair flavored with 
whatever cheap fragrances from the little bottles of shampoo and 
conditioner du jour, an essence peculiar to this motel chain.  It didn't 
displease him, and he knew this was mostly because it reminded him of 
vacations past, and when the word, condiments, came to mind, he smiled, 
closed his eyes, and slipped back into sleep.

A good night's dreaming most often washes away the memories of trivial 
thoughts, but perhaps those that survive the purge reveal themselves as 
having some significance.  Ian noted that breathing in the smell of 
Winter's hair was a particularly satisfying aspect of his life.  It had 
been that way, come to think of it, with Lauren, but there and then, it 
was part of a much larger package.  With Lauren, it was a marriage. 
They'd had achieved that whole body merging, however incomplete. 
Winter's essence was different, neither better nor worse, but not as 
thoroughly examined, and Winter had taken to using the Cinnamon Buns 
exclusively, which allowed him to discern the differences.  The age 
difference played a factor, he thought, because Winter generally fell 
asleep first, and woke later, allowing for this discovery.
He felt a mild disgust, but not sensually; it was the memory of his 
father saying, "Nothing makes a man forget one warm body like another 
warm body."  There was some truth there, but Winter wasn't a 
replacement.  She was another person, someone to be appreciated for her 
own characteristics, whatever his history.  Her dreams, both the dreams 
of her slumber, and those life aspirations that were called dreams were 
unique.  Her future had a connection to Lauren, through him, but there 
was no forever here.  The Fates had cast him in a three year production 
with a leading lady who was more than a starlet.  He adored her, and she 
knew that, and used it to her advantage, while staying close to the 
terms, both stated and implied, of her limited servitude.
He had to laugh at himself, because an eternity of moderately priced 
motels, one after the other, with a series of delightful women seemed 
appealing, though he knew that Lauren, however much she'd appreciated 
temporary lodging, would have found that lifestyle suffocating, and 
Winter would as well.

There was enough light filtering through the gaps in the blackout 
curtains to locate the small coffee maker, and brew himself a cup, but 
the noise of removing the cream from the cooler, the ice sloshing in the 
water, roused Winter.  He heard the tell-tale sounds of stretching, and 
a gentle request, "Coffee," and as he'd done innumerable times before, 
Ian delivered the first cup to an appreciative woman, but without the 
word, "sweetheart," because she wasn't, and he knew, could never be.
It was time to play grownup.  As he handed her the cup, the room 
continuing to lighten from the dawn, he touched her shoulder and said, 
"Good morning," and left her side to brew another batch.  This time, he 
switched on the bathroom light, closing the door all but a crack to 
illuminate the vanity.  He tossed the depleted pouch in the trash can, 
and replaced it with a fresh one, and filled the reservoir.

As the final sputterings signaled, he removed the cup, added cream, and 
rejoined Winter.  She was sitting on the edge of the bed, feet dangling, 
and before sipping, he lowered his face to her head and again drank in 
her fragrance.  "It never gets old?  Does it Ian."

"Body love?  No.  It ebbs sometimes.  Life's necessities call, and 
personal disagreements interfere, but I think what you're asking, if 
you're asking at all, is does the need or capacity for intense physical 
affection wane with age, or maybe partner fatigue?  I've never 
experienced that.  You're just fucking with me, aren't you?"

"Could you wait until I finish my coffee?"

"Hmm?  Projecting innuendo, desire or resignation," Ian mused.  “It's 
hard to tell with you, though my guess would be a mix of all three, and 
I certainly want you to relish your coffee, as it was prepared with 
affection, and giving you pleasure obviously brings me joy."

"Touché" said Winter, and she sipped her coffee far too noisily for its 
temperature, something Ian noticed, and it reminded him of the cold 
outside.  His adventure with Ethan in the lava beds was comfortable, not 
even hands in pockets, but today would highlight the desolation 
following that long ago eruption, and reflected on the tiny sliver of 
geologic time in which life had returned, placing that against his own 
recovery from his cataclysm.

It was hard to say the words, and Ian wanted to say them convincingly, 
"Winter?"

"Yeah?"

"Always choose love over all else.  I'll hold you to that."

"We've already said those things, Ian, and I wasn't, as you say, 
'fucking with you'.  You've had life experiences that I haven't.  It's 
part of the deal that we honestly try to leave each other better off, 
and when you speak about your love for Lauren, I learn from that. 
Whatever you choose to share.  I feel like we're equals, and it isn't 
about negotiating, tit-for-tat, like I'll show you this if you show me 
yours, like with what you called, 'body love'.  That's easy for both of 
us, and gets easier."  Winter set her empty cup on the table.  "I like 
my body, Ian, and I like that you like it.  It doesn’t feel the least 
bit vain either.  I know that any woman who is above a certain threshold 
of physical attractiveness, that anything beyond that doesn’t make much 
difference, and you really love female bodies, while not resenting women 
for having half the money...”  Winter knew she didn’t have to complete 
the sentence.

“True,” said Ian, “except women don’t control half of the money, and get 
the short end of the stick in almost every way in the vast majority of 
cultures.”

“You’ve made my point, but don’t turn down the compliment.  We have a 
reciprocity predicated on mutual respect; we’re on the same page here.”
Ian came back with words that he knew she’d recall, “You seem nice.”
Winter countered with, “Maybe you’re nice too.”


The car they'd rented was overlarge for Winter's sensibilities, and she 
was puzzled.  “Why such a large car?  Have I gotten your testosterone 
levels up?”

“I’m sure you have, and thank you, but you haven’t made me daring enough 
to drive a lightweight car in the crosswinds we might encounter.  The 
gusts are unpredictable.  Ethan and are I both lucky that we survived.”

“What? asked Winter.

“We’d hiked down into a dry stream bed, a wash, and suddenly a wind came 
upon us, and a piece of sheet metal just missed.”  Ian took a deep 
breath, then exhaled through his lips,  “Scorpions, Winter, I’ve spent 
too much time being afraid of the wrong things.”  Winter didn’t share 
her fear, but it was there, and all of the interactions with Ian’s 
wistfulness just intensified it.

“Ian,” she said, “you just want to go home, right?”

“I do.”


-- 
--Bryan https://www.instagram.com/bryangsimmons/

For your safety and protection, this sig. has been thoroughly
tested on laboratory animals.

"Most of the food described here is nauseating.
We're just too courteous to say so."
-- Cindy Hamilton