My writings here will originate from my life experiences in Electrical Construction along with Dog Sled Racing, and years of working on and around the Trans Alaskan Pipeline as an Electrical Inspector. Recently I have written many stories for erotic web sites which brings me much pleasure.
I live in Alaska with the long time love of my life, Toni. I have written a story of how we met and embellished the tale with some fictional adventures. It is a work in progress. I may enter chapters of our story here in this medium.
I have retired so I am not a spring chicken but I keep myself busy working as a maintenance electrician in a large facility in Anchorage Alaska and of course there is my writing.
Recently the subject of frost bite came up at work. Many of the guys had stories about when they competed in Snow Machine races and how fast that they could freeze parts of their bodies while going eighty miles an hour.
My only contribution to the discussion, was the time way back in the early seventies when I was sled dog racing in Ottawa, Canada.
The course ran down through the city on a green belt and then out on to a lake. There was about five miles of trail through the city and about ten miles of trail out on to a large lake.
Just as soon as I approached the starting line I felt the urge to urinate real bad. Too late!
"Five, four, three, two, one:" As the count down was completed; the team of fifteen dogs tore off the starting line. The temperature was cold; about zero. This was great; the dogs ran better when it was cold.
We did the five miles downhill in the city in record time. If I had to stop during these first miles I could not. Sled dogs run for the pure love of running, if you have a command to stop your dogs it is only to convey to them that you are suggesting that they could all stop if they felt the need.
You would have to convince all of them to stop; for if one was still gung-ho to go the others would side with the eager one. You just pray that nothing happens during the first few miles of a race or training run. Later in the season with the dogs well conditioned they tend to listen to you more. This was one of the first races of the season and they weren't listening.
But back to the frost bite. I was so happy to get to the relative seclusion of the lake where I could relieve myself as we went along. I couldn't wait any longer so I most likly attempted to urinate sooner then I should have. However I turned around in my position where I stood on the back runners of my sled and tried to find myself with zero temperature outside and chilled fingers.
My member was reluctant to show itself under those conditions. Finally after I reasoned with my little buddy to show at least his head so that I could relieve the pressure on my bladder, he showed himself enough to stay relatively dry during the elimination process. Relativly dry, not completely dry. I finished what I had to do and got everything back in place, so I thought.
Driving sled dogs is very strenuous. The driver doesn't just stand there. A good driver pumps the sled with one leg or runs behind his team constantly. I was always very active behind the sled during a race. During training I did less to help them. They soon became aware that when I ran and pumped, it ment that we were in a race and they gave more of themselves.
As we finished the loop trail on the lake and began the agonizing drive uphill on the green belt of the city, I noticed some discomfort originating from my private area. By the time I was amidst the crowd lining the green belt race course, I was in mortal pain.
It seems that my reluctant member was reluctant to withdraw back to the warmth of my crotch. In fact the little guy's head was up against the brass zipper of my jeans. No amount of gyrations that I attempted, could move him back where he belonged. I determined later that the moisture left on my skin froze my little buddy to the zipper and no amount of dancing for the crowd was going to shake it loose. Although some did applaud my enthusiastic expression of the twist.
Pumping and running behind the sled was very painful. Standing on the runners doing nothing meant that I would take longer to get to the finish line. I chose to run. Upon crossing the finish line, I stepped off the sled and ran for the truck. My wife at the time and my three children thought that I was daft. They took care of the dogs while I sat in the truck with the engine at high idol with both hands over my crotch. I remember the three faces of the children pressed against the truck's window trying to figure out why I was in there instead of helping them put the dogs away. They assumed that my hands were cold and that is why I held them between my legs. It wasn't long before the moisture around my member melted and released my little buddy to hide deep in the recesses of my belly.
It's a story I don't mind telling for I often make fun of myself, I have no choice; too many funny things happen to me to keep them selfishly to myself.
March marks the end of the racing season and my birthday. We always had a large celebration of both at that time. For a present, Barb, the wife of my very good friend Sandy lined a jock-strap with a piece of genuine Mink fur from her mother's Mink Stole. Barb didn't say that her mother gave it willingly.