Chapter 11
Laura Stockland wanted to be the first to leap from the still open convertible when she halted it in front of the girls' dormitory at Whitfield College, but she was unsuccessful in this accomplishment. Margie and Pixie, Kay and Carla, and the tall, handsome boy, York, who had driven north with them, bounded over the sides of the car even before she brought it to a full halt.
For a moment, Laura was disappointed. She liked to be first in all things. But her disappointment faded as fast as regret for the passing of a mean mother-in-law when she turned to the side and saw Ron Bolton running with all his Olympic might toward the car. He ran like he was besieged, as indeed, Laura guessed, he was. But, in very un-trackman-like fashion, he was grinning broadly as he ran.
"Watch out, I'm coming," he shouted. "Give me room, baby. Move over."
Laura laughed and scooted out of the driver's place behind the steering wheel. It was good that she did, for Ron Bolton did not slow and halt before the car. He leaped over the side and settled behind the wheel. Then he jerked the car into motion and away from the curb.
"Hey, what is this?" Laura protested, smiling happily. "An abduction?"
"That's it, baby," Ron said excitedly. "I'm abducting you forever."
"Humph! A fine thing, and not even a welcome home kiss."
"No time, baby," Ron said. "I've got to be on the field in an hour."
"There you go," Laura said. "Always thinking of training."
"And you. Mostly you," he said, not taking his eyes off the road as he zoomed the car up a steep, snow-covered hill.
"Oh, then you have missed me," she said.
"I've missed you," he answered. "Still do, but I'm going to take care of that in a few minutes."
"Oh, are you?" she said, kidding, hoping that he meant it. She moved over in the seat so that she could press close to his side, touch his leg with her thigh, then move her hand and rest it on his knee in a slight touch of anticipation, for him, and for herself.
Ron remained silent. But he smiled. So did Laura when she saw that Ron's destination was the cabin at the top of the ski hill, the cabin that had so often been the place for their love-making, the place where she had bid him good-bye. It seemed very right that they should say their first real hello there.
The car nosed forward, then jerked back when Ron braked it in front of the cabin at the top of the hill.
Now he did not leap from the car. Instead, he turned toward Laura and opened his arms to her.
She entered his arms and lifted her face.
"Hello," he said. "Hello, my girl."
"Hello," she answered.
Ron reached up and removed her sunglasses. "Hey, you look different. All kind of puffy and everything."
"I am," she said. "I had a fall from a surfboard."
"Aw, poor baby," he said. He touched lightly at her eyes. Then he said, "Jeeez, but I've missed you. Missed you like everything."
"I've missed you, too," she said.
Ron brought his arms all the way around her back and pulled her closer. Laura lifted her face and parted her lips and made a round welcome for Ron's darting tongue. They kissed a long time. They crushed their bodies as close together as they could, then parted, then crushed together again.
Laura felt loved and wanted. And she felt excited, too. She had really not thought that she would feel excitement with Ron Bolton, not ever, because he was usually serious and severe, intent upon many things, intent upon her, too, but not in the way that she demanded. But he did excite her. Greatly. And it was more than a part of homecoming, it was a kind of comfort that she realized she really needed. And Ron Bolton offered it.
Slowly, he brought his mouth away from hers. "Come on, let's get out of this damn car."
He jumped over the side, then skirted around the front of it to open the door next to Laura. He held it for her as she crawled out.
"Oooh, it's cold," she said, clasping her arms around her body.
"Cold, nothing," he replied. "The thaw's already started up here."
"No kidding, has it, Ron?"
"All right, don't be funny," he said, smiling. "I've thawed out just by thoughts of you."
"Have you, Ron?" she asked quickly. "Sure."
"Really?"
"Hey, what's with you anyway? You act like you don't believe I still go for you or something."
"I just want to be sure, I guess," she said.
Ron pushed open the door of the ski shed. It creaked, having grown rusty from non-use since the thaw had stopped all skiing. Laura entered the shed, moved to the center, then whirled around, looking at all of it like a long absent friend. And everything seemed the same since she had last been there. Skis and sleds and boots and other odds and ends of the winter were scattered about the room. For a moment, she remembered Fort Bixdale and all she had known there. Then she thought how quickly she had been returned to her natural surroundings, those of snow and ice and winter, those of college and friends and dances and classes and teachers and and Ron Bolton.
"Oh, Ron,' it's heavenly," she said, whirling again, extending her arms to take in all of her surroundings.
"You are nothing else but you could possibly be heavenly or hellish or anything," he said seriously.
His voice sounded different, Laura decided. Very exciting and confident and very, very masculine.
"Come here," Ron commanded.
Laura walked over to him. He looked at her a long moment, then did not kiss her but turned quickly and moved to the far wall. He snatched up a mat that leaned against the wall there. Then, with a strong throw, he tossed it to the center of the room.
Laura looked down at it, then up at Ron. Then her eyes narrowed, making the green of them seem darker, as dark, almost, as the sweater she wore, just as the slacks that covered her were as black as her hair.
"Oh, gymnastics, eh?" she said, trying for lightness.
"Don't be cute," Ron said, coming close to her again. "This is no time for cuteness."
"What's it time for, Ron?" she asked, raising her face to him again.
"It's a time for hello. A time for you and me, Laura. A time for love."
She was quiet a moment. She thought of the seriousness of his words, the way they sounded very comfortable to her. And then she said, "Yes, Ron, I guess it is a time for this for us and love."
He grabbed her to him. They kissed again, more furiously this time, each trying to give to the other some semblance of all they felt, all the love that had nurtured between them during their separation.
Ron finally pushed her away from him, even as she cooed and tried to make their embrace last. Then he smiled and reached to the bottom of her sweater. He gripped it, then paused.
"Ready?" he asked.
"Ready," she replied.
He pulled the sweater upward and over her head. Then he reached behind her and undid the clasp of her bra. He let it join the sweater upon the floor. Then he stepped back and looked at the glory of her breasts.
Laura actually blushed as Ron's eyes held tight to her breasts, as they moved over all the roundness of them, then centered upon her well-centered, and firm, nipples. And then she could stand his eyes upon her no longer. She had to break the spell he cast upon them. And she" meant to break it by greater love, closeness, and by the clash of their bodies.
"Hurry, Ron, please, hurry," she said.
Laura unbuckled the clasp of her slacks, then stepped out of them. Then she kicked off her loafers. And then she was nude and waiting as Ron whipped off his sweater, dropped his slacks and shorts and finally stepped toward her, naked, and very, very anxious.
Their bodies smacked together. Their hands roamed as their mouths glued to each other and as their tongues twisted and darted and played and frolicked with the abandon of children.
And then they urged each other to lower upon the mat. They reached it at the same time without breaking their embrace. But then Ron did break it. He pushed up and looked at all the long, lovely length of Laura as she stretched her arms over her head and raised slightly, puffing her breasts outward, making the nipples wave at him, causing her stomach to go flat and hard and inward in a way that emphasized the flare of her hips, their perfect roundness and the slope of them into her perfect legs that were strong and meant for clasping about the waist of a slim, young man.
"Oh, come to me, Ron, please," Laura pleaded.
"I will," he said huskily. "But not until until . "
He bent and kissed the nipple of each breast. Then he gently mouthed them. Then he grew more dynamically moved and lowered his mouth to all of her flesh. He consumed each breast in turn, taking all of it, loving it, letting Laura feel the heat of his mouth, the lash of his tongue and even the small, nibbling bites of his white, strong teeth.
And then he released her and raised and looked at all of her body again.
"Oh, Ron Ron, Ron, Ron it's so good to be home again," she said.
Laura reached out and dug her fingers in a tight grip within his short, curly hair. Then she leaned back again, pulling him to her, forcing his face to her body again.
He went to it willingly and happily. He went to her ribs, to the far sides of them even, causing Laura to turn first on one side, then on the other, as he explored her flesh with his kisses and his tongue, as he mouthed her until she turned pink and rosy and hot, hot, hot. And then he mouthed down the smooth path of her flesh until he reached her navel. He paused lovingly, caressingly, passionately endowed for this never-never land of feminine glory. He kissed her perfectly. He kissed her with the fight pressure of pursed lips. He kissed her with the very tip of his tongue, which he had made sharp and anxious for that endeavor. And then he flicked his tongue over her body, from side to side, and back again, then lower, and finally lower still until Laura gasped, screamed out a delirious call of passion, then wound her thighs tightly to him even as she bent to a position that offered her Ron's body, his for loving, for kissing and tonguing and great, great intimacies.
They wound together like opposite numbers upside-down. They cried out, then quieted only to blubber new adorations of the great gift of each other's body. They worked like beavers they steamed like engines and they thrashed about the mat, over it and off it, around and around as if they were one, first one atop, then the other, then both on their sides while they continued to give of all the orality that drove them to the other.
And then Ron pulled away, evaded Laura's reaching hands and raised to his knees. She rose and half-fell toward him. He caught her by the arms, but refused her lips and the new front-embrace she offered. He twisted her around, adjusted her to her knees, made her go high in buttocks and low in front, where she turned her head to rest her cheek upon her crossed arms.
In a moment, Laura felt Ron's hands upon her hips. Then she was jerked toward him as he pounded forward. He twisted as he moved and she twisted in the opposite direction and they created between them the grind and howl and great, great sensation of opposite giving that was really close, so close that neither seemed capable of further movement. But they did move. And, miraculously, they were able to persevere and still conserve themselves, their energy, their love, their erotic giving.
Ron thrust harder. Laura cried out, but not in anger, not in shame for this remote and opposite way of love. She cried out in pleasure, for the pleasure that bubbled inside her, that grew and grew and grew, then threatened explosion and was saved from it as Ron, shouting out a tragic cry of wanting, tore himself away from her body.
Laura rolled to her back, braced herself, and opened her arms for her strong man-lover.
Ron did not go immediately to her. He fell to a sitting position facing her, and beside her, as he panted to regain his breath, to bring it from the stammering rupture of his body that it was causing. And while he labored for breath, while he waited, he reached and fondled once again her large and cherry-topped breasts. Then he trailed his hands down her body until he reached her thighs. Then he touched her there.
She arched and cried, "Ohhh, Ron, I can't stand it. Don't don't do anything more to me I can't can't can't . "
But his fingers rolled and he caressed her while he stared into her eyes, saw her eyes roll in rapture, show white, then look at him again in an expression of faraway pleasure, the far, far, far kind of pleasure that at first seemed a mere hope, then bloomed and blossomed into reality the reality of eruption, climax, churning and burning and thrashing end.
And Laura arched violently against his touch, arched so deeply that she was supported by her heels and head alone. And still she thrust to go higher and harder against the touch that he deliberately kept light and loving, very teasing and encouraging. And then he stopped his caresses.
Laura flopped to her back. Then stiffened and braced again and opened herself like a clam shell for the assault Ron was meant to bring.
He brought it, tortuously slow at first, moving from side to side, burrowing, cuddling, holding tight, then withdrawing in the same slow, loving manner. And Laura went to him in like manner slowly, upward, tight against him, clasping and pulsating, then holding until it was his will to move again. And slowness set their course for speed.
Suddenly, neither could endure any more. They thrashed together like explosive powder, rubbed and ignited that powder, then moved faster and faster and faster still, then still faster as Laura cried and blubbered sounds of love, of passion, of her great, great happiness. And Ron cried out, too. Loud, then hissingly low and savage as the genes of passion gathered for their unleashing. He bent far over her. Their mouths locked as their bodies thrashed harder. Then they pulled their mouths apart and each clasped their teeth to the other's shoulder. They bit hard. Then drew blood as their bodies churned and bounced and seemed independent of the tight clamp they committed to each other's flesh, to the savage hold their teeth invoked.
And then they reached End of the trail, that high, high trail of rapture that ended beyond the stars, beyond endurance, that ending that set the clamp of their teeth harder, so hard that they drew blood at their mouths even as their bodies knew the healing of splashing release.
So intense was their love-making that reality returned slowly. But with it was the realization of the love they shared. And for Laura, it was the answer to many things: to comfort and security, to restlessness ended, to the adventure that beckoned from the future that would include her with Ron, always with Ron.
When they had dressed, when they stood at the door of the ski shed, they embraced once more. Softly and sweetly, they embraced and told each other of their love. Then Ron extended her at arms' length.
"Hey," he said. "I forgot to ask you. Were you a good girl while you were away from me?"
"Pretty good," she said, smiling vividly.
"Pretty good," he repeated. "I'm not so sure I like that. Now, what about it, no more vacationing at Fort Bixdale, eh?"
She cuddled into his chest and put her arms around his waist. She smiled, but kept her face hidden as she said, "Oh, I don't know. Bixdale was great. But so are you, Ron. I'm off vacations for a while, but maybe well, you can never tell. Maybe I will go to good old Sexdale again some day just to make me appreciate you all the more."
First, Ron stiffened. Then he relaxed. Then he laughed hard. So did Laura. But she kept her face hidden in the comfort of her lover's arms.