Replayed Snow Play

Every night was wild and tight. Every night with him was the end of eternity. I called him Pell, and I can't remember his real name, now. It's just been too long. He had dark hair, dark eyes, and his skin was a few shades darker than mine. I was a pink, pale thing next to him. My hair was pale, and my skin looked like parchment. I loved the way it was like that. The contrast was perfect. I had grown my hair long down my back. I twisted the gold locks into finger curls all around my head. I remember how he liked to come up behind me and grab hold of that hair of mine.

He could be gentle, it's true, but the moments when he was demanding were far more memorable. He stood a half foot taller than me, and when I looked up at him, I felt completely without resolve of my own. It has never happened like that, ever again. I don't spend a lot of time thinking about it, but sometimes, the mood strikes me, and I miss that spontaneous crash headlong into something nearly primal.

We started our short-lived affair in late fall, and it was spring when it was over. It almost seemed that he only liked me during that season, and even tried to win me back the next fall. I have a rule, though, a commitment to myself at the start of my dating years: I don't get back together with someone who dumped me.

It's important to set this scene in winter. There was one instance that stood out among all the others in our months of complete sexual abandon. I sometimes think on one day with a secret guilt and secret pleasure that I have never admitted even to my closest friends in "Truth or Dare" games.

Nothing was particularly out of the ordinary. It was late January, and the usual heaviest snowfall of the season had come by then. We sat on the ugly, old, yellow couch someone had given me, in my bedroom, watching a local channel from the antenna, since I didn't have money for cable. I could hear my roommates in their own routines, in their own rooms. I was grimacing at the snow that was still falling. I didn't really hate it that much, since it was the reason Pell had stayed all night and into the morning with me, for once.

I stood up, walked over splintered hardwood floors to the kitchen, while Pell stared at the fuzzy channel on the television. When I came back, he was smiling mischievously at me.

"I have an idea," he told me.

"What is it?"

"Remember I told you about the abandoned subway tunnels?"

"I know all about them. I think Vince and Gena have been going into them almost every night, lately."

"Well, let's go."

"Right now?"

"Yeah, now. Nothing else to do, is there?"

I couldn't think of any reason not to go. I didn't fear the tunnels, as not only had my roommate, Vince, been talking about them profusely, but I remembered an old friend, Mike, talked about them when we were in high school. No one had any horror tales from their trips down there. I felt restless, and it seemed perfectly fine after I thought on it a moment.

"What made you think of them?"

"There was a commercial about a show on the history of the city, and they showed the entrance to the tunnels."

"Ah, I see. Well, can I get dressed, at least?"

He seemed to have to think about an answer to that. I should have been warned by that pause. I wasn't quite thinking the same as he was, though. He nodded after that pause.

"You don't need to wear anything special. We have to climb over the gate to get in, anyway. I ripped my shirt on the spike at the top, last week," he confessed.

I didn't ask either what he meant by spikes, nor why he was down in the tunnels last week and he hadn't mentioned it to me at all, before that moment. That was the nature of our "relationship". Little talk, little communication, and no questioning or nagging.

I threw on a very old, faded pair of black pants. I also put on the same faded black sweater I'd worn the day before. He put his clothes from the day before back on his body, too.

He drove us to the bottom of a hill near the highway. We made tracks through the thickening snow, down to the side of the highway. We were back just far enough to be ignored by people driving up I-75. We climbed over the big, steel gates. There were spikes at the top with just about a foot between each. I managed to get over without snagging any clothing. Pell had gone before me. He helped me as I jumped the nine-foot drop to the ground. It was already much darker inside the tunnels, and I couldn't even see down a quarter of a mile into the tunnel.

Pell turned on his flashlight, and I decided to put mine on, even though I thought I might not need it for a few more feet. We walked over the dirt ground, on the left side of the tracks. We walked into complete blackness. The light of the flashlights faded into the absorbing darkness. Every now and then, a crack at the top of the tunnel showed us a sliver of dimmed sunlight outside.

It seemed like the walk went on forever, with just the tunnel walls, and the dirt ground for scenery in the little light of the flashlights. I worried about how far Pell intended to take me into that hole. I began to worry we would run into someone, too. I didn't particularly wish to be accosted by anyone living in the tunnels.

After a few miles of this long, dark stretch, there was a change in the tunnel pattern.

"Ah, there it is. That's the platform."

There was plenty of graffiti on the concrete walls. The concrete platform was much smaller than I thought it would be in hearing Vince describe it as a "station". It was merely a landing spot. At this point, Pell pulled out two candles, and grabbed my hand.

He led me into the back of the platform, past half-finished toilet stalls to a little room at the back of the platform. He lit the candles. When he turned around, he was quick and fierce. He grabbed me and put his lips to mine. His tongue actually seemed to lash out at me, angrily. Involuntarily, I felt myself go weak.

I put my fingers up to his shoulders, and grabbed at the cloth. He pushed me back, and I hit the back wall. He moved toward me and hurriedly forced all my clothes off of me. I began to shiver in the cold from both a chill and fear. There were plenty of moments of unbridled passion, but this was the first time I wasn't ready for it, at all.

Before I had a chance to ask any questions, he turned me around and tied my hands behind my back. He pushed me forward, and down. I fell on my knees, into the dirt. I held myself precariously balanced, so that my face would not go into the sharp rocks I felt go into my knees.

I had thrown my hair into a long ponytail, and he grabbed it and pulled me back toward him. Again, the press of his lips was hard and he was insistent about the movement between our whole mouths. He pulled back, and grinned at me, and stuck his tongue out to lick his bottom lip.

I heard his zipper go down, and he slipped his pants down. He was already hard as a rock, and a small droplet of precum was on the head. I didn't need instruction. I moved my lips over him deftly and yet firmly. My tongue pressed and released in a quick rhythm that I felt his cock mimic. I continued to swallow him, and slide him out of my mouth, and let him move me in the rhythm he wanted for a few moments. Then suddenly, I heard him gasp, and he pulled away from me.

"No-no, not yet, not yet." He pulled me up, and my back groaned at me in protest of that position in which I'd been kneeling for so long.

He kicked my clothes out of his way, as he led me deeper into the tiny backroom. There was an old stairway that had been roped off. He stepped over it, and I followed him. The steps were old, wooden, and incomplete. We got to the top of the steps, and I realized I could hear traffic. I saw light from outside grow stronger. I gasped.

"It's not visible from the highway. Or anywhere else, for that matter. Go on."

He pushed me forward, and I scrabbled under the boards that had fallen from the slanted doors overhead. He pushed at the door over us, and it swung open. Snow dropped on us. The ice stung me. I knew I was going out naked into that snow, and part of me rebelled.

In response, Pell pushed me a little more forcefully, and groaned a little displeasure at me. I still couldn't convince myself to move, and Pell got out the hole, and pulled me with him. I was suddenly fully exposed, reddened skin, gooseflesh, and stinging wind on every one of my tender areas. My nipples seemed suddenly huge as they swelled in the cold air. My thighs and my pussy seemed to tingle under the very thought of the exposure.

He hurried me off to one side of the very secluded landing. It was below ground-level, but fully exposed to the sky and the weather. Once more, I was shoved onto the ground. I landed on my butt, and the snow stung me, horribly. The pain began to numb and sting me in turns. The pain became a rhythm of cold blood trying to circulate to make room for my warm blood. I felt the pulse of blood and the stinging pain became intoxicating and blissful. I zoned into a trance, and Pell knew it.

He stood over me, and once again shoved his pants out of the way of his most beloved body part. I watched the flesh, purpled and fully engorged, bounce against his dark hair. His hands came out at me, and he forced my shoulders into the cold beneath me. He pushed my hands up over my head. He forced my legs out straight. My entire body was now swallowed up by icy, biting, terrifying pain.

I couldn't move, and felt I couldn't breathe as the cold pressed into my lungs. Pell went to work, quickly. He dug his fingers into my arms and dragged his nails down my arms. He bit at my nipple, and I jerked a little. He smacked my breast with his open hand, and laughed.

He returned to licking, sucking and biting at my left nipple, as his other hand gracefully caressed my right breast. I felt my face grimace at a sort of excruciatingly wonderful pain. Pell was now not paying any attention to me. He was completely absorbed into the pleasure he was taking in my absolute abject submission. A small ripple of pleasure swam up from my sex. It was something like a very small orgasm. I began to silently beg for him to take me.

His eyes were fierce and his mouth was wet. The red of his tongue moved slowly over his bottom lip as he moved into position over me. I could feel pain resurge in my hands and feet. I must have grimaced again, and he smiled viciously at me.

He was swift as he entered me. I expected pain of dryness and tightness of fear, but my body was fully ready for him. He was in his ecstatic trance, and I could feel him move with more speed and determination in only a few thrusts.

He was nearing orgasm, and I was nowhere near. He was quick to spend, and his face went slack. I was fully aware of every small shockwave of pleasure he had. I yearned for some release of my own, but his body stopped moving long before my body could catch up with him. His head fell over me, and his hair was now tangled, clinging wet to his neck with melted snow.

He stood up from me, and pulled me to my feet, and finally untied my wrists. He pulled on his pants, swiftly. We climbed back down the hole, and he helped me dress, again. We silently walked back to the gate, mile after mile without words. I wondered if he would stay with me long enough to let me have the orgasm he denied me. I got to the big, steel gate, and stared up at it with irritation. I couldn't find a comfortable foothold, and Pell had to help me up to the top. It was more difficult to climb out, and I was beginning to feel a sharp pain in my forehead. He drove me to my house, and dropped me off. He waved at me, smiled evilly, and drove away without so much as a "Goodbye."

I ran up the steep steps to my second floor bedroom. I quickly locked my door, and pulled off my wet and dirty clothes. I put on my satin, maroon robe, and quickly headed to the bathroom. As I sat in the clawfoot tub, the memory of that encounter played over and over in my head. I was still unsatisfied. I put my fingers between my legs, and began to imagine I had come at the same time as he did, out in the snow. My body finally released in a very satisfying orgasm, while the water around me swished and splashed.

We had plenty of great encounters, later on. That encounter led to strain between us, though. He hadn't had any thought for me. That idea drove me crazy, but some perverse part of me locked on that idea that he hadn't cared about me, whatsoever, and I replayed that memory in years of fantasies to come. Every day that I spent alone and horny, I was reliving that single moment of pure carnal, primal sex. It was not enough to sustain a relationship, but it was enough to sustain my fantasies.