Re: *Winter's Present* - serialized

On 2/25/2026 7:37 PM, Bryan Simmons wrote:
> 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.
>>
                            Sandy Beach

Winter was killing time.  She was at the computer reading about random 
subjects on Wikipedia and Pub Med, while Ian was taking a very long bath 
with his cinnamon buns.  It was Thursday, and Ann had two classes, 
whereas she had none.  Best to spend those times at Ian's, her body 
accessible, and he'd indeed availed himself.  While the money was always 
there in the back of her mind, Ian usually made it easy to keep it in 
the background.  He'd had years to learn that women needed more arousal. 
  Most women.  Winter couldn't complain, or if she could, it'd be that 
he often took too long to get to the sex, too long for a guy at least. 
Now she was recalling how she'd recently told him that he was like a 
lesbian with a penis, and he'd taken it as a great compliment.  What she 
didn't say was that sometimes she wished he'd be less lesbian, and more 
penis.  After all, she had Ann.

In the time Ian had been in the bath, she'd accumulated far more 
knowledge about pomegranate seed oil that she'd ever have use for, 
though it would give her something to talk to Ian about.  When they'd 
discovered that they both enjoyed looking up almost random, usually 
useless facts, Ian had bought a second computer for the living room and 
a matching monitor.  They'd sit next to each other, like an old married 
couple each solving a crossword puzzle, and every so often sharing 
comments or questions about the content.

She checked her email, and there was nothing new, then the weather. 
When she saw that Friday was supposed to be really warm, she got up and 
headed for the bathroom.  Ian was adding hot water, and he'd been 
liberal with the body wash, so the area smelled heavenly.  He turned off 
the water so he could hear Winter.  "Ian, it's supposed to be nice 
weather Friday.  There's this crazy heat wave coming on that's only 
going to last Friday and part of Saturday.  Can we go camping?"

Ian was surprised.  It was only mid-March.  "Sure.  Do you have 
somewhere in mind?"

"One of your wilderness places.  I haven't been out in the forest since 
before I met you, and I've been telling Ann how wonderful the woods are 
here.  I know it'll be way too cold to get into the water, but how about 
that place on a creek that you call Sandy Beach?"

"We can't get a vehicle down there.  The road's really washed out. 
That'd mean a couple mile hike down the mountain.  I'm up for it, and I 
know you are, but do you think Ann is?"

"What?  Are you nuts?  She's in great shape."

"No, Winter, I mean do you think it'd be fun for her?"

"Of course, and Ian, we need to buy a Jeep, and get it modified where it 
can go anywhere.  Huge tires and winches.  We can get rid of my car. 
You do realize how ridiculous it seems, a woman of my means driving 
around in a nine year old economy car."

"That's not a bad idea, though we do need to keep your car, and you need 
to drive it when you visit your parents.  The rest of the time, 
whichever of us is driving, or if we both plan to, the one driving the 
furthest can take the Fiat."

"Boy.  That was easy."

"It was a good idea.  The reason I hadn't bought something like that 
already was that there really wasn't anyone to go out in the woods with. 
  There is one condition, though, to buying the Jeep."

"What's that?"

"You need to promise to drive it like a granny.  It's fine, the way you 
drive my car, but the better a vehicle is suited for off road use, the 
worse it is for the street.  I don't want you, or anyone else getting 
hurt.  OK?"

"I already knew that.  So you're really buying us a Jeep?"

It made Ian happy that she'd said, "us," because that suggested that 
she'd planned to stick around.  "If we look online, we can probably find 
one today.  That'll solve the problem of getting down to Sandy Beach. 
We can get two winches put on the front, and one on back.  However bad 
the road has gotten, we'll be able to get out."

Winter stood behind Ian while he searched.  She wanted to be able to 
offer her input, but it wasn't necessary, as Ian found what he was 
looking for rather quickly.  Seeing that there was a white one sitting 
on a lot, with a white hard top, he picked up the phone to inquire if it 
was still available, and when he was informed that it was, he said, 
"Let's go."  Winter was surprised when he said, "Let's take your car."

"Why?"

"To give them the impression that we might just barely be able to afford 
to buy, and because it will get them thinking about us trading in your 
car, which we aren't going to do, but we want to set things up to get 
the best price."  As the door closed behind them, Ian kept speaking, 
"Even when we tell them that we don't want to trade in your car, they'll 
assume that we need financing, which they also profit from.  The 
checkbook, and my ability to pay cash comes last.  Pay attention.  This 
is a life lesson that will serve you far past our liaison."

"In my negotiations with car salesmen?"

"You're amused by my frugality?"

"No, Ian.  What I find funny is your strange take on pragmatism. You're 
quirky, and the ways that the lottery money has changed you, or better 
put, not changed you, is interesting, and it's amusing.  I'd like to say 
that I'm laughing *with* you right now, but I'm not.  I'm not laughing 
*at* you either, and I'm not laughing at all.  We're pot and kettle."

"We are, and what I was cautioning you against was being un-careful with 
money.  Nobody deserves to be wealthy, and you know that, but getting 
used to spending might make your future less happy.  I don't mind you 
spending my money freely, but when you leave your resources will be 
finite.  Substantial, but finite.  My own sense of well-being is 
dependent on leaving you better than I found you, and then there's Ann."

"If you weren't fucking me, I'd have trouble not confusing you with my dad."

"Two men who care about your future."

"Oh, take me Daddy.  Fuck me, then teach me how to buy a car."

Ian was consumed in laughter, and Winter joined him, grasping his waist 
and gazing up imploringly, "Spoil me Daddy.  Spoil me for all other men."

"First things first."

At the car dealership, it went pretty much as Ian had intended.  Winter 
drove, and they parked close enough that the salesman knew which car was 
theirs, especially since Ian excused himself to retrieve his "stronger 
reading glasses" from the car.  Rather than speak about the upcoming 
weekend's plans, Ian used the words, "By the time camping season gets 
here," to establish his time-frame for actually buying a Jeep.  At one 
point, he asked Winter, "What time does Ann get off school?  Because 
she'll be wondering where we are if we're not home."

"I think she's in class now," said Winter, "but she's good about 
checking her voice mail."

Ian called, and within earshot, indicated that he didn't expect them to 
be late meeting her.  He'd established a buyer's market.  They test 
drove the Jeep, and loved it.  On the drive out, Ian had told her that 
this was the point at which Winter could act excited, while he'd say 
they needed to really think about it, because it was a big purchase. 
"It's not exactly what we wanted, though it is white, and that's nice." 
All of these maybes set up the bargaining, and as Ian had told Winter, 
at some point in the negotiations the salesman had to "get approval" 
from his manager because the deal was unusually good, and when he 
returned, he had a price that Ian was happy with.  They signed the 
contract, and Ian had $1000 earnest money charged to his credit card, 
after turning down the offer to have Winter's car appraised for trade-in.

Ian had told the salesman that he needed to go to his credit union to 
get the balance, and it was suggested that they could drive the Jeep, 
and deal with getting their own tags on it after they returned.  Much to 
the surprise of the folks at the dealership, they were back in not much 
more than a half an hour, with a cashier's check for the balance.   They 
completed the rest of the routine, including getting temporary tags, and 
were ready to leave, but for one detail.  "Tomorrow," said Ian, "we get 
those winches installed, but tonight, tonight I spoil you," and he 
kissed her on the lips, closed mouthed but for several seconds.

Winter had steeled herself for this, "You're already spoiling me, Daddy."

Ian waited until this had thoroughly percolated up through the salesman 
and his manager, before saying, "She's not really my daughter."

Then Winter went off script and added, "He just likes to pretend."  Ian 
turned away, and went straight for the Jeep, without looking back, and 
Winter winked a smile at the salesman before heading for her car.  Ian 
drove away, but Winter called Ann, who had already walked more than 
halfway to Ian's, and told her about the new Jeep, and the camping 
excursion.  The conversation was brief, but it had put Winter enough 
behind Ian that when she arrived, he was already showing Ann the new 
purchase.  Winter practically leaped out of her car and pointed at Ian, 
"Gotchya!"  Then she explained to Ann how she'd embellished their 
planned routine.

Ann listened, then said, "You're naughty."

Winter answered, "I know."

"Ian?" asked Ann, "what's the place we're going to?"

"It's about three hours from here on pavement, and almost another hour 
on gravel."  Ian and Ann went inside, leaving Winter, who was busy 
inspecting the underside of the new Wrangler.  "Is it true that you've 
never been camping?"

"Never," answered Ann, "but it sounds like fun, and I can tell that 
Winter is pretty amped up.  You've made her happy.  She told me that she 
asked to go camping, then asked you to buy a Jeep, and you just did it. 
You're pretty sweet on her."

Ian corrected her, "Pretty sweet *to* her.  She does, after all, have a 
girlfriend."

Ann gave Ian's hand a squeeze, "You get to have feelings."  She didn't 
take her hand away, and Ian accepted the invitation to the limited 
physical intimacy.  They didn't lock eyes, both sensing that might cross 
lines, and while they didn't move their bodies closer, Ian didn't reject 
the proffered hand.  His instinct was to caress, and his fascination was 
centered less upon physicality than it had ever been with Winter, with 
whom feelings had a different set of limitations.  The interaction was 
brief, and when Winter came through the door, they appeared to merely be 
conversing.

They hadn't moved but a few paces inside the door, and Winter gave them 
both curious looks as she passed, "Now all we need are winches."

Ann gave Ian a questioning look, and he shouted, "And scullery maids." 
Winter shot back a smile before seating herself at the computer, and Ann 
directed Ian to the loveseat, where he explained to her that the winches 
were not wenches.

The way they played with words excited Ann.  She knew about winches, and 
if the vehicle were to get mired, she'd be useful, with her knowledge of 
vectors, but the casual innuendo was seductive, though it was only one 
aspect of Winter and Ian's banter.  Word play peppered their planning 
for the trip, and Winter proposed that they might want to go wading. 
Ian told her, "You might change your mind when you feel the water," but 
agreed that they buy the footwear just in case.  They decided to outfit 
the women with scuba diving boots and orthotic inserts.  Ian already had 
those, and his were custom fitted, but close approximations could be 
purchased, using a machine at a pharmacy.  "They don't provide much 
ankle support, but otherwise they're great.  Lauren and I have hiked 
miles up and down the creek, and the inserts protect the feet from pokey 
rocks."

Winter was obviously happy about the trip, and Ian's acquiescence to her 
desires.  She kissed him on the cheek and said, "Let's go," and they 
were off to shod themselves for the adventure.

Ann was fascinated by the scanning machine.  You stood on it in only 
sock feet, and it determined which of the pre-made inserts most closely 
matched your soles.  They took their new purchase to the local diving 
store to try on the boots, where Ian explained that they needed to fit 
the boots with the orthotics, and the use they'd be put to.  "We want 
the ones with the thickest bottoms, the most durable," he explained to 
the man behind the counter, who turned out to be the owner.  Winter 
asked for his name.

"It's Dave.  So, you hike creek beds.  Do you fish?" asked the man. 
Winter started giggling.  She was recalling what Ian had told her about 
hiking the creeks, and how you would never see anyone else more than a 
quarter mile from an easy access, save for smallmouth bass fisherman, 
and was delighted that the day had given her two opportunities for humor.

"Ian, here," and Winter motioned with her head in his direction before 
turning back to Dave, "He used to hike creeks with his late wife, and 
they liked to be naked, so it's funny that you asked that.  He said that 
they never had to worry about anyone complaining about them being naked, 
because the only other folks out there, and there weren't many, were 
smallmouth anglers, and if you weren't a bass, they didn't really care 
much about you one way or another."  Winter was shaking her head in a 
silly way, "and since we're obviously not fish..."  Everyone laughed.

"It's pretty cold," said Dave, "to hike naked."

"We're not hiking naked, at least not for a few months," said Winter, 
"but we might pull up our pant legs and cross the creek where it's 
shallow.  It's supposed to get warm on Friday."  Dave directed them to 
the area with the footgear, and Winter again elicited laughs when she 
said, "You're going to enjoy this.  I have very pretty feet."

"I'm sure you do, ma'am, but health codes require that you try them on 
with socks."

Ian kept up the farce, "I must apologize for my companion.  She's quite 
the exhibitionist."

Ann resisted the urge to add one word, but was able to hesitate for only 
a fraction of a second before she exclaimed with well played shock and 
admonishment, "Daddy!"

After they left the store, Ann was congratulated by Winter for that 
word.  “We’re becoming a troupe, performance artists, and in a sense, we 
are fish, big fish invading small ponds who flop out, grow legs, and 
drive off in a really kick-ass Jeep.


They’d set the alarms for five, but Ian had woken earlier, entered the 
girls’ room, switched off the clock, and roused them with mugs of 
coffee.  They were easily awakened, and Winter commented, “That smells 
so good.”

Ian elicited smiles when he replied, “This whole room smells so good.”

Ian left to give them a few minutes to clock their wares, but everything 
was already packed, and they were soon on the road, the Burger King 
drive-thru their first destination, then back onto the highway.  The 
women were together in the back seat, and with no admonishments against 
kissing, but these were highways that Winter had traversed, and Ian was 
taking them further into the past, into places that were once peopled, 
not ghost towns, but only because they were never towns proper, hollows 
named, then abandoned.  Winter had studied the topographic maps.  There 
were schoolhouses, with schoolchildren, the errant ones brought into 
line with the violence inherent in the idea that freedom spoiled 
children, and that the hickory switch was improving.  “Oh, Ann,” she 
thought, as her love waxed, “it could have been so much worse.”

The drive was nice.  Ian had set the cruise control to 7 MPH over the 
posted limit, and the highway was uncrowded.  “Interesting,” thought 
Winter.  The music he picked was two albums that had been spoken of on 
the night they met, and he had omitted two songs on each.  She knew that 
it increased her value to Ian that she was so familiar with his 
preferred music, and it might have played some part in him not haggling 
over her salary demands.  That aspect of herself was something she knew 
made her priceless.

*Dad not only paid for a good college, but he prepared me for probably 
the most lucrative job I’ll ever have.  Men who share their knowledge 
with women want to share their privileges.*

The music had ended, and Ann started, as she noticed that they were 
exiting the highway, and she asked, “Is this where we turn?  I thought 
we were going almost to Rolla.”  Ann had noted the green distance signs, 
and the exit number seemed too high.

“Cheap gas, right Ian?” asked Winter.

“Indeed,” he replied.

“Again, educating me in the ways of frugality?”

“It’s a virtue.”

That one sentence woke Ann to a new level.  She'd slept through nearly 
half the drive.  The austerity she’d experienced had nothing to do with 
which gas stations had the lowest prices.  That word, “Virtue,” was 
mostly reserved for girls’ bodies, objects to be kept pure in a battle 
between aggressive boys and unsoiled girls.  Everyone, or almost 
everyone, got less, but nothing was reserved, nothing saved.  Only years 
wasted.  Opportunities for the feelings like those between herself and 
Winter, gone—downstream in time, or she wasn’t sure if it should be 
upstream, but no matter.  You could never paddle fast enough to get 
there, to alter the past, and she remembered her dream.  Winter and Ian 
were there, and they were together, and she was a fairy, a young fairy, 
and she’d chosen them.  They were her first humans.  The parents who 
cautioned her were hers, but they were more like Winter’s parents.  They 
trusted her foray into involvement with the short lived, and had merely 
told her to be careful.   “I just had the craziest dream.  I was a fairy.”

When they stopped in front of the gas pump, Winter went inside, and Ian 
pumped the gas.  Ann rolled down the window and said, “You and Winter 
were there.”

“Where?” replied Ian.

“In my dream.  I was a fairy, and you were people.  I think I was about 
to do some kind of mischief, like in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, but then 
I woke up.”

“Ann, since the first day I met you, there hasn’t been a moment that 
I’ve been anything other than happy that you’re in Winter’s life, and in 
mine.”  When Winter emerged from the store she saw them embracing 
through the window, and it made her smile.

After they got back on the highway Ian said, “Winter, it seems that Ann 
is a fairy.  She’s here to bring magic into our otherwise ordinary lives.”

Winter looked at Ann suspiciously, and narrowed her eyes as she said, 
“That would explain my almost unnatural attraction.  Ian, do you think 
it’s wise to go into the forest with a known fairy?”

“I’m afraid that we’re about to find out.”

Ann had never been this far from the city, and when they stopped at the 
sawdust pile, she exited the vehicle, stretched, and surveyed the 
surroundings.  When the other two joined her she asked, “A fire did that?”

“It did, and I hope that the inside looks anything like it did last 
Autumn.”  They tramped around to the opposite side, where Ian had said 
they could get into the crater, and Ian said, “It's pretty much the way 
that I remember it.”

“Wow,” said Ann.  “Can we go inside?”

“Sure,” said Ian.”  He led them around to the side where he had less 
than a year before dug an ingress, and he slid in, then offered arms to 
receive the women.

Winter wasn't surprised, but was amused by his intentional setup of an 
opportunity to touch Ann, one that came across as incidental, and though 
one misstep on the obviously slippery surface would have landed Ann in 
his protective embrace, he held her at a distance; he helped her down 
like a loving father would have.  Winter could have leaped in behind 
her, but waited for Ian to receive her as well.

The evidence of fire was unmistakable.  White ash covered some of the 
surfaces while other areas were burned nearly black.  They soon climbed 
back out, vowing to return, because Winter had reminded them that it was 
nearly 11:00, and the hike they'd planned wasn't a short one.  The 
backpacks had been carefully provisioned, and Ian, over Winter's 
objections, had taken the lion's share of the weight.  They left the 
gravel road just south of where they'd parked, with Ian in the lead, and 
the second time they caught up to him, he was fiddling with his hand 
held GPS.  He'd given Winter one too, and it was tracking their 
movements, but she seemingly hadn't removed it from the sleeve of her pack.

Ian passed each of them a bottle of water, and Winter thanked him, then 
said, “I am really hot.”

Ann smiled at Ian, who said, “Of course you are.”

Winter responded by removing her backpack, then everything else other 
than her shoes.

Ian objected.  ”Your body is perfectly wholesome, but if you don't put 
those jeans back on, we can't go much further.  The sticker bushes would 
tear your legs up.”  Ian looked to Ann for support, but she had already 
begun to undress.

“It's too far anyway,” said Winter, “and you know that.  Besides, I want 
to drive my new Jeep, and think of the derrieres.”

“Winter, you spoke French,” said Ian, as he snatched her arm and applied 
kisses.

“Gomez.”

Ian removed his backpack, and stored his clothing inside as he heard Ann 
tell Winter, “I like being naked.”

On the return hike, Ian's ethics were challenged.  On one hand, he 
wanted to exploit every opportunity to position himself to view those 
parts of Ann's body that had been hidden from him, but the mere chance 
that he'd be noticed doing so, and might lessen Ann's experience, 
constrained him.  He knew that there was no wrongness in his desires, 
and he knew that Winter wouldn't fault him, but this wasn't the 
occasion, not the time.  She was no longer Winter's faceless lover, an 
easy object of lust, but a known and loved friend, though on the other 
hand, she did seemed to be displaying, climbing over logs and rocks not 
six feet in front of him, maneuvers that she had to know were revealing. 
   Ian let them get quite a ways ahead, and when he caught up, they were 
inspecting a patch of mosses.

“Look, Ian,” Ann said.  “I was imagining what it would be like to be 
really tiny.  It's really pretty out here.”  Ann kissed Ian's cheek and 
said softly, “Thank you for bringing us to this place.”

“Winter brought us here.  I just drove.”

“Thank you for driving then.”

“If you like *his* driving, Ann, you're going to love mine.”

Ann pulled her face to one side in a half smile and said, “It isn't a 
competition.”

“Of course it isn't, silly.  I was just being silly, you silly-silly, you.”

They hiked back up the hollow with Ian tramping in the lead, and when he 
saw the gravel road, he advised them to dress.  Winter's reply was 
swift, “My bare butt on the drivey seat of my Jeep.  I'm on a roll, and 
the sooner we're rolling the better.  Ann, back seat, and Ian, you're 
shotgun.”

All of Ian's concerns about Winter's driving were allayed by her 
performance, which was slow, and deliberate, not at all manic.  Even the 
final descent into the vale, straddling a ravine in the washed out road, 
didn't elicit fear, but praise, “Good driving.  You scratched up the 
driver's side of the Jeep pretty thoroughly.”

“Sorry.”

“No, you prioritized keeping the tires where they belonged even with 
branches grinding against your side, and you didn't flinch.  I declare 
you quite the Jeepster.”

As they crawled along the old stream bed, Winter scanned the path ahead 
before turning around and singing to Ann adoringly, “Girl, I'm just a 
Jeepster for your luh-uh-uh-ove,” and looked ahead for a moment before 
returning her attention to Ian.

Ann's gaze was fixed on Winter, and she didn't catch Ian's silently 
mouthed words, “I'm gonna suck you.”

They came to a stop on a level, well packed surface, and when Winter set 
the parking brake, Ian climbed down, and Winter leaped to the ground to 
open Ann's door.  She extended her arms and said, “Slide on out.”  She 
was smiling large, and shot a knowing glance to Ian, who had been slow 
in making his way to the door at Ann's right.  He flashed a parody of 
the bunny scrunch through the closed window.

As Winter received Ann, she held her and shook with mirth.  “What? asked 
Ann.

“Ian made a funny face at me.”

“Why don't you ladies have a look around?  The creek's right over there. 
  I'm going to go dig a few catholes.”

“What are catholes?” Ann asked.

Before Ian could answer, Winter encircled her waist to lead her away and 
said, “I'll explain.”  Their feet crunched on the gravel as they made 
their way to the creek, and Winter shared the ways of the woods. 
“People have to poop, and there aren't any restrooms out here, so you 
dig holes.  Ian is really practical, so he pre-digs holes beforehand.”

“That's so considerate.”

“It is, baby, but it's also efficient.”  When they reached the creek, 
and Ann saw the stones at the base of the bluff she teared up, and 
Winter held her.  “I know, it seems unspoiled, but I intend on spoiling 
you.”

“With Ian's money?”

“It's my money, Ann.  I earn it.  Ian even jokes about spoiling me for 
other men, and there's even a grain of truth there, but you, you've 
spoiled me for every other woman too.  We can get by on love.  If you 
want me to quit?”

“No.  I was only crying because it's so pretty here.  I don't need the 
money.  I'm going to be an engineer.  I'll design railroad trestles, or 
water treatment plants, or hydroelectric dams.  I don't need your money. 
  I only need you, and anyway, I like Ian.  He's my friend.  That's what 
you wanted, right?”

Winter sidestepped the question. “Ann, you've already built a bridge to 
my heart.  That's all that matters.”

The Sun was low in the sky by this point, and while the two had sat 
admiring the stream, Ian had assembled sandwiches, baguette sections 
piled so high with roast beef and Havarti that Winter declared them 
Dagwoodesque, and smashed hers between her palms before taking the first 
bite, and Ann remarked, “You'd never survive in Chicago.”

“What, they kill you if you squoosh your sandwiches?”

“It just isn't done.”

“Then I'd be content to be a pariah, and I can't imagine why this one 
would want to stretch my mouth.”  She motioned toward Ian's frontside, 
and Ann looked a bit mortified until Ian laughed.  “Ann, Ian is my baby 
bear.”

“But I'm the one with the Goldilocks.”

They finished their repast, and Ian busied himself with setting up the 
tent, leaving the women to converse.  Ann asked, “Can we lie together 
under the stars?”

“Like in your book?”

“You read it? asked Ann.

“Some of it, but that part, yeah.”

Ann lay naked in the fading sunlight that was dappled by the trees, 
"This should be perfect," but she hadn't really been truthful.  She'd 
told Winter that she'd at least felt love from her parents, even 
thorough the disapproval, but that wasn't exactly the case, at least in 
the later years.  If her father could see her now, he'd hate her.  He'd 
likely blame her mother, who had been her only feeble advocate, and 
she'd take his side because he dominated her, so indoctrinated her with 
the idea of a vengeful God who saw sexual aberration as evil that she 
would have to forsake her daughter for her husband.  Even if their 
communal nudity had no sexual components, having to wear clothes was 
punishment for humans losing their innocence, and it had been a woman 
who was responsible for that.  Ann didn't believe the story was 
literally true, and she'd talked about that to Winter, who said that she 
thought stories like that were written by men who wanted justification 
for oppressing females.  Winter had also pointed out that what was 
considered sufficient covering of the body was culturally relative, and 
that the cultures that required the most covering were always the most 
repressive, and those that allowed minimal or in some cases, no 
clothing, tended to be more female friendly.

Winter hadn't gotten worked up angry, but she made it clear that she 
considered requiring women to cover their bodies to be hostility.  She 
said she believed that in the most repressive cultures, men had sold 
women on the idea of modesty, convincing them that seeing female bodies 
caused men to be damaged by impure thoughts, and that the women were 
really better off than in Western cultures where men didn't respect 
women.  She called those women "bearded ladies," which Ann realized she 
didn't get at all, but Winter had been on a roll.  She seemed to be 
trying to walk a fine line between condemning Abrahamic faiths and 
offending Ann's sensibilities, but this was something Ann had confronted 
long before.  She saw it as God impatiently waiting for humanity to grow 
up.

Ann loved Jesus, and believed that Jesus loved her.  He was, and had 
been her only refuge.  Jesus loved everyone.  He was part of God, the 
perfect part.  She knew this went against what almost all Christians 
believed.    God, the Father was imperfect, consumed by jealousy, and 
was cruel, and capricious, even causing humans to fail, then taking 
delight in their punishment.  To her, there was no other way to read the 
Bible, but he loved his son, and Jesus often prevailed upon him to act 
with love.  Jesus was, and is, perfect, so perfect that he offered his 
life in a gamble to prove that love was the most powerful force.   His 
father loved him, and allowed him to prove that love can transcend even 
death.   His father loved him, and respected him, even though they 
disagreed.  Ann had concluded these things through the silence of the 
Quakers' worship, and this had been too much even for them.    Her 
heresy was the only way to reconcile the Jesus she knew so well with the 
Old Testament God.   She knew never to mention this to her father, or 
his church, and had concluded that while they professed to follow Jesus, 
they were still stuck in the fear of his father, and thought it was 
right for a father to rule by fear.  Suddenly, her mind was flooded with 
self-pity, Winter's father loved her even though she wasn't really his 
daughter.  Ann thought, "I can't believe this is happening," and at the 
same time, "I can't let myself cry.  Not now."

They had brought along a large tent, but had chosen not to use it. 
Winter told Ann, "It keeps the bugs off."

Ann had said, "I'm not afraid of bugs."  When they told Ian that they 
wanted to sleep sans shelter, and Ann announced with some pride her bug 
hardiness, Ian told them that there were very few nighttime bugs, even 
in the summer.  The bad bugs were the midday horseflies, and while the 
day had been warm enough to shed clothing, it was only March.  Horsefly 
season was still quite many weeks away.

Winter and Ian were lying at her sides.  They were naked as well, but 
she knew that they weren't feeling her anguish, her vulnerability, her 
confusion.  They were merely feeling the movement of the Earth, as their 
portion became shaded from the sun, and the air slowly cooled around 
them.  Winter took her hand, and Ann closed her eyes and thought, 
"Winter loves me."  She was surprised when Ian grasped her other hand.

Winter rolled toward her and kissed her cheek, and Ann said, "Love me."

Ian released her hand, and Ann said, "No, both of you.  Love me." 
Winter and Ian both embraced her, holding her close, and she felt 
Winter's foot caressing her leg.  Ian put his face next to her hair, but 
resisted the urge to taste her head, and instead parted her hair with 
his nose and barely kissed her behind her ear, and losing control, he 
said softly, "I love you."

Winter was taken aback, but only for moment.  Ian had never said those 
words to her, but she knew why.  That would have crossed a line, a rule, 
but spoken to Ann, those weren't words of passion or romance, or even of 
the desire that Winter knew Ian had.  He'd meant it.  He had come to 
understand what she knew the first time she saw Ann.  As desirable as 
she was physically, Ann needed to be loved, and loved gently.  It was 
Ann who was truly the little sister, and to them both.  It made Winter 
want him, but this evening belonged to Ann.

The Sun set quickly behind the hills, and Ann lay in stillness as first 
Ian, then Winter, following his lead caressed the soft blonde fur on her 
arms.  Oberon seemed to be showing her favor, and compassion, filling 
her companions' hearts with unselfish love.  The forest was nearly 
silent with no sound of whip-poor-will or cricket obscuring the faint 
sound of the water ceaselessly spilling over the stony shoals.

Ann fell asleep in Winter's arms, and Ian walked to the truck to fetch 
covers.  They slept close, huddling, with Ann in between.

Ian woke first.  The dew was falling like rain from the trees.  The 
drops were loud on the space blanket, and wondering, he checked the 
time.  It was almost six o'clock, still an hour before sunrise.  There 
was no moon, and it was profoundly dark without the flashlight.  He dug 
his clothes out of one trash bag and shoes from the other, and got 
dressed--dressed being shorts, a tee shirt, socks and shoes.  They'd put 
everything that needed to stay dry in, or under plastic.  Ian had 
anticipated the dew, and while he understood the physics of the process, 
it never lost all of its wonder, how rain can fall from a clear, starry 
sky.  He pulled the tarp part way back, and retrieved a handful of small 
sticks, and a few grocery circulars.  Scratching around in the ashes, 
Ian located a few orange, glowing coals, wadded up the paper, applied 
the sticks and blew a few times until the flames came, then went back to 
the pile for larger pieces.

It was good that they had driven out in the morning and done all the 
prep work; they'd gathered plenty of wood, and even found an ample 
supply of hickory for grilling that was segregated into its own pile. 
Ian had constructed what he called a "latrine system," that consisted of 
pre-dug cat holes, a cleared path that was marked for both day and 
night, with blue ribbons tied to small trees and solar lights made for 
suburban lawns, a shovel, a plastic zipper bag with toilet paper, and a 
pint bottle of alcohol for washing up.  Blue ribbons were also tied to 
sticks that had been stuck into the ground to mark each hole, to be 
removed when the hole was used.  He'd then brought stones, as large as 
could be carried comfortably from the nearby creek, and built the fire 
ring, while the women broke up the firewood.

Winter was at home in the forest.  For the past several years her family 
had gone camping every chance they'd gotten.  Ann was Chicagoland North 
Suburbs and knew nothing about camping.  She hadn't even been a Girl 
Scout, that organization having fallen into disrepute with her father, 
and was amazed at how effortlessly Ian and Winter were transforming a 
little sandy area near a creek into a home.  Winter found a forked tree, 
and showed Ann how to use it to break off pieces of larger branches, so 
they would fit nicely in the fire.  Ann, of course, understood the 
leverage, but this only increased her delight when she could both feel 
and hear the wood crack, and a short piece either fell to the ground, or 
occasionally ejected several feet from the break.

As the dawn was breaking, Ian heard the crackling of the space blanket, 
and heard soft voices.  The girls were awake, but he wasn't going to 
disturb them.  He wanted their time to be special.  This was Ann's first 
experience with wilderness--if you could call it that when they had a 
Jeep parked fifty feet away--and whatever was happening under those 
covers might be remembered fondly for their lifetimes.   The minutes 
passed without boredom or loneliness, as there was ample wood to feed to 
the fire.  As the sky went from black to purple, Ian could make out the 
silhouette of the Jeep, and remembered that he had a jacket in there. 
He tried to open and close the car door as quietly as possible, but he'd 
been noticed, and saw Ann, her head poked out of the blankets, smiling 
at him.  He walked over and fished her clothes out of the bag for her, 
and Winter popped out too, and Ian said, "I guess I'd better put on the 
coffee."

Winter agreed, "You'd better," and also accepted clothes from Ian, 
dressing quickly in the morning chill before she excused herself to *the 
latrine system*.

Ann confronted Ian right away.  "You could have had me last night," she 
said, as they ambled slowly toward the fire.

Ian answered, "I thought I did."

"No, *had* me.  You know what I mean."

"I'm not obtuse, Ann.  When you said you wanted to be loved, neither 
Winter nor I heard that as a euphemism."

"You do love me."

"Of course I do," Ian said.  He extended his arms, inviting an embrace, 
and Ann complied, her voice soft in his ear, "You'll get your chance." 
They held each other for a long time, and were only beginning to loosen 
their bond when Winter bounded down the path, announcing, "Just in time 
for morning hugs!"

The hugs were close, and enjoyed, but it was a light-hearted thing. 
Winter's comic relief was transformative, and brought the focus back to 
the more mundane issue of breakfast.  "I'm sorry that I can't provide 
you ladies the breakfasts to which I have accustomed you to, but I'll do 
my best."

Winter and Ann sat on a fallen log, and Ian concluded that they hadn't 
paid any attention to what he'd just said.  He'd provide the food, and 
after a short repose, they'd walk.  Walk.  He thought about every step 
they'd be taking, every crunch of the former year's leaves and mused, 
"I'm falling into dreaming of Babylon, and there's work to be done."

As warm as it had been when they'd arrived, the temperature had dropped 
overnight, and although it would have been a stretch to call it cold, 
the fire attracted them.  There was a light fog poised above the creek, 
and the forest was quiet.  Ian walked to the water's edge, filled a pot, 
and returned to place it upon the grate over the fire to heat, then set 
up the coffee apparatus.   He poured some of the water into the bottom 
half of a double boiler, and set both on the edge of the cooking grate, 
and went to the cooler to pour milk into the top half, and thought that 
some might find this regimen fussy, and too much to mess with out in the 
woods.  They'd be all about getting on with their day, beginning their 
day, but Ian's day had already begun, and he was in his element.   When 
Ann had woken, and given him a smile, his Sun had risen.  He didn't mind 
the least that the women were sitting on a log, conversing, not offering 
to assist in any of the breakfast makings, because they looked content, 
happy to be where they were.  He saw Winter point at something, and Ann 
laughed in response.  He didn't know what had aroused their interest, 
but it wasn't him.  Maybe, or maybe not, he'd ask later, but probably 
not.  He knew they'd just share, and it would be mundane, and it would 
make him seem pitiful, desirous of being a fly on the wall.  Not to Ann, 
of course, but to Winter.  Better to focus on a perfect pour.

Ian was pleased with the quality of the coffees he'd prepared, and felt 
that the way they'd been received validated his assumption.  Winter had 
taken one sip, and her subtle reaction was a clear thumbs-up.  Ann just 
seemed appreciative that he'd lovingly handed her a cup, and he turned 
away to fill his own, again leaving the lovers to relax, while he went 
about cooking.

The breakfast was simple, home fries and scrambled eggs with avocado 
slices, and Ian delivered the plates, sitting in the sand in front of 
them with his own, and as they ate, they planned their day.  "I'd like 
to explore the woods some more after breakfast," said Winter, "because 
it's not supposed to get any warmer than this.  Maybe we could hike up a 
hollow."

Ian thought about the topography, and was glad that he'd bought them all 
scuba boots, though he'd been doubtful when Winter had suggested they 
might hike the creek, as he answered, "There aren't really any hollows 
close to here on this side of the creek, a peculiarity of this place, 
but here's where the wading boots come into play.  We can cross a little 
ways downstream, and change back into shoes on the other side, but the 
booties should be fine for a short hike.  There's a hollow we can go up 
over there, and it probably has a little water in it.  I don't think we 
want to get our shoes wet."

Winter agreed, and Ann said, "You called them booties.  That's cute.  I 
want to wear the booties."

Just being out here on such a premature spring interlude would have been 
more than enough for Winter.  One year ago, if she'd had the means and 
opportunity, she'd have wanted to be exactly here, wetting her feet in 
the creek to the confluence with an Ozark hollow, and if she were 
unaccompanied, the surroundings themselves, their beauty, and the 
fragrance of the forest would have been friends enough.  But she wasn't 
alone.  She had Ann, and the hiking of the cleft was sure to delight her.

The creek was a smaller version of a river, but the little intermittent 
stream was a dollhouse version, and there were details.  You could look 
at the mountain on the other side and see shelves and crags.  There were 
places on Earth with tall waterfalls, but here, all those things were 
represented on a much smaller scale.  Winter knew that Ann understood 
the concepts of geology, and how such things came to be, far more than 
herself, but she hadn't seen the manifestations firsthand, and Ann had 
an attraction to miniatures.  She'd been primed by the previous 
evening's stargazing, and must have been thinking about her book.  The 
sky out here was probably larger, more filled with detail than any Ann 
had ever seen, though she had curiously not commented upon that.

Winter was poised to share the smallness, the tiny mosses, trickles of 
water that they could experience together, merging their two persons 
even more, as there was nothing so tiny that they couldn't grasp, and 
blow up into a landscape for their love, one that had started out 
little, but was growing day by day, and she had to admit to herself that 
Ian had never come between them.  He'd been nothing but kind to Ann. 
His sexual requirements had even diminished, and he'd told her that it 
was more important that she share slumber with her openly declared, 
"love of her life," than himself, but she didn't see that as a 
sacrifice.  Ian was generous, and made no secret that he, as he'd 
described on that first encounter, was the recipient of "dumb luck."

Their arrangement wasn't impractical, but casual, and the comment that 
she'd made months before, that he was generous with luck, flippant words 
that had confused her, even as they'd left her mouth, concorded more 
with her mother's concept of reality than with her own, that things 
happen for a reason.  Winter disliked the word, over-thinking.  It 
implied complacency, and resignation, and there were situations where it 
took one's attention away from participation, relishing the pleasures of 
the moment.  They were ascending to the pinnacle for no reason other 
than to get there, and then what?  However unlikely, this could be the 
best day of any one of their lives, and Winter thought, "Especially 
Ann's."  "Hey you two, wait up."

Ann stopped, but looked back with a big grin, and waggled her butt as 
she replied, "Hey you, hurry up."  When Winter caught up, and it was up, 
because they were far above the creek, she gave Ann a quick sideways 
hug, and Ann broke away contented.  Ian, she noticed, was breathing 
hard, and she knew why.  It wasn't the exertion, his heart was hale. 
The altitude aspect was troubling him, but he wasn't going to let that 
ruin the day, Ann's day.  Every spark in her mood seemed to enchant him, 
and she wondered why this delightful person hadn't been pulled close 
much earlier by someone who, like her, would hold on for dear life, or 
like Ian, was content to bask in her glow, with or without hope of 
consummation.

As they stood almost equidistant from the summit, Winter suggested a 
race, and Ian asked, "What's the prize?"

Winter smiled and said, "A kiss, Ian," and he took off like a hare. 
Winter was sure that she could outrun him, but Br'er Ian's jump, and 
Sis' Winter's overconfidence had made this a race.  While she'd wasted 
moments joking with Ann, and pointing, Winter had become the hare.  None 
of her quick scramblings, entering and leaving the obstructions of the 
intermittent stream allowed her to gain much ground on the surprisingly 
swift tortoise.

Ian was king of the hill, and Winter thought it only fair to wait until 
they'd both caught their breaths to bestow his reward.  Ann's squealing 
and clapping from below called for more than an obligatory peck, and 
Winter swooned as Ian took her in his arms and kissed her mouth like a 
soldier who'd just returned from war, with none of Scarlett's 
resistance, or deference to the Production Codes.

Ann was making her way up the hill hurriedly, still clapping and with a 
look of pure joy, and Winter pushed Ian away, her hands on his shoulders 
and said, "Oh, Rhett, no man has ever kissed me that way."

"Winter Sue," answered Ian, in the fashion of Clark Gable, "you know in 
your heart that no other man ever will."

Ann had summited.  The Sun was overhead, and her long yellow hair glowed 
as if she were taking all its radiance, and reflecting it, a youthful, 
mortal Galadriel set against a background of trees barren of leaves, a 
bringer of spring, bearing a message of rebirth.  That was what Winter 
saw, but what floored Ian was the tiny slice of time where her mouth 
opened, and her tongue extended slightly, touching her incisors as she 
said slowly, with conviction, "That was one of the best things I've ever 
seen."

Winter considered bowing, but wanting to stay in character, instead 
curtseyed, and when her legs straightened, Ann took two steps toward her 
and declared, "I am no man."

Winter was laughing uncontrollably, to the point of coughing, bent over 
to the point that she hardly noticed Ann ribbing Ian with an elbow, 
while she huffed, and puffed in an effort to get out the words, "We have 
to stop watching so many movies."

As they transcended the hollow, the temperature falling even as 
afternoon approached, Winter felt the magic around her, the hilltop 
events succumbing to rationally explainable coincidence, and the 
peculiarities of the day pushed back, not forgotten, but stored for 
analysis, both in dreams and wakefulness, a magic that was slowly 
fading, and she drank in the clean smell of the hills, reflecting on the 
lives of the folks who had managed to survive out here.  They weren't 
here for the beauty, and had left, but the hollow they'd raced up had a 
name, one given by those pioneers.  Ian's ancestors on his father's side 
had scratched out lives out here, but they were on a plateau, rich land, 
compared to these hills, where nothing could be extracted but trees and 
white-tailed deer, wild turkeys.  None but those and the ubiquitous 
squirrels had any value for their sustenance.  She guessed they'd been 
loggers, the men of course, but what had the lives of the women been like?

There had been alternating hand holding, with the false justification of 
helping them down the hill, when in reality, at least to Winter's mind, 
it slowed their progress, but seeing Ann so happy, looking back 
contented as Ian escorted her, guiding her steps with gestures, seeing 
him point, suggesting footholds, and seeing Ann's neoprene booties land 
just there; this trek was beautiful in a way that she'd have trouble 
describing, even to herself.  Winter wasn't indulging in self admiration 
for her embracing of expansive love, even though that was the very thing 
that removed the obvious distraction.  It was Ann.  Her body wasn't 
particularly special.  No one's was, except to its inhabitant, but every 
step she took tugged at Winter's heart.  Her past had left her with no 
immunity to love-sickness, and even when they held each other as closely 
as was physically possible, sometimes Winter wanted more.

With every other lover, it had been about the touching of surfaces, and 
that was astounding.  There was the silky smoothness of girls, and the 
rougher textures of boys, all good, and all the cuddling, the spooning 
with Ian where he ran his practiced hands over her body, and as good as 
that was, Winter had never felt what she did for Ann.

After they crossed the creek, Ian took charge of the cleanup and 
loading, and one wave off sufficed.  The *time on the mountain* was 
past, and Ian was aware of that.




-- 
--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