The Skier
Copyright© 2026 by HAL
Chapter 3
Coming of Age Sex Story: Chapter 3 - Some of the slopes are real, but the story is all made up (I'm sorry to say).
Caution: This Coming of Age Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including mt/ft Consensual Heterosexual
Wednesday
He was a lot happier that night, and so were the rest of the family. His father had taken in several awful black mogulled runs – steep with hummocks all over them - and come back delighted with his progress. He had a competitive streak a mile wide; that was why he was good at business. Peter’s mother and Helen had probably spent as much time in the mountain bars having coffees as they spent skiing. Helen had tried to persuade her mother to have vin chaude and had nearly succeeded, she was sure they would the next day.
So the evening was spent discussing what they had done. Peter may have mentioned the runs, without the addition of who he was with. “I was improving my technique rather than thinking how to survive.” was his explanation.
The next morning, he was up and out buying croissants for all, including three for his lunch. His parents had offered him money for buying croque monsieur or something; or to meet one or other of them, but he assured them he was fine. He did buy a large bar of noisette chocolate and a bottle of water too. He was keen to take in some interesting runs in the morning before meeting ‘her’. In fact his focus was primarily on Angelique, so he made a couple of rookey mistakes before forcing himself to focus on his skiing in the morning. You should never be thinking about a pretty face when you are bombing down a slope with people coming at you from all sides. He decided that would be in his book on skiing, the one that he would write one day.
At lunch time, he skied down to meet her. He wasn’t thinking of showing off, the black was the fastest way down and came out just below the meeting place. He came down like a bat out of hell, conscious that he was only just in his comfort zone (or just out of it, it was hard to tell). In La Roche D’Or, his mother and sister saw the old, unfashionable jacket he wore. It had been his father’s (before his father put on a little too much weight). It was yellow with three blue ‘lightning’ strikes on it, one on the back, and one on either side of the zip at the front. Supposedly these blue material flashes were ‘anti-gliss’ to stop you sliding if you fell. Were they or was that just selling waffle? You’d need to test it out to find out, and nobody ever wanted to fall on a slope just to see what happened. Still, it made him stand out. They watched him zip down, and have enough speed to come up from the dip towards the area in front of the main lift, where Angelique was waiting. “Oh! He’s going to run into that girl!” said his sister, and then “Oh!” said his mother, as he took a risk and bent over and kissed the girl on the cheek. Then they skied off.
“What? Who was that?” Mrs Walker asked. Helen shrugged, but she’d make an effort to find out that evening. She suggested that their mother keep quiet, anything Helen found out, she’d pass on. She laid her plans carefully.
Meanwhile Angelique was following her guide down the mountain. They took a blue run which then just stopped at a red. “No, it’s alright. I did this this morning. Just down there there is a track back across the mountain. You just need to traverse across, do one turn and come back.” She tried, but she lost too much height and had to step up about five feet, then they went down the track until it reached a small cliff. He stopped, unclipped, and unclipped her skis and put them all against the cliff. He led her round the back and then they used the toes of the ski boots to climb up the side. Twelve feet up they were able to sit on the edge and look out over the trees below. It was a magical place.
“How did you find this?”
“Accident. I came down the red this morning and just wondered where the track went. It carries on very gently to where it joins a green again. This little cliff just looked wonderful. Here.” he gave her a croissant loaded with cheese. There was no ham today.
They ate their sandwiches, drank water, and started on the chocolate. Then they had to clamber down again. Climbing in ski boots is not easy, climbing down is even harder. He started first, and she followed. As they climbed down through the snow, he supported her feet, making sure the toes dug in to the hard deep snow.
Half way down, she slipped, his hand moved up and found itself rather pleasantly cupping her right butt cheek. “Okay? Dig your foot in, I Ooooohhhhh” They both slid down the remainder, his hand was now between her butt cheeks. He withdrew it quickly, but it confirmed how much more feeling there was of the body inside, compared to baggy salopettes. “Okay? Sorry about that.” She was laughing with him, she wasn’t offended. She admitted to herself, she quite liked it.
They skied on, slid out onto the green and arrived at a different lift station at the bottom. As it happened, Helen and Sarah Walker were in a rather nice hotel on the patio, having a late lunch. “There he is again ... and her. I wonder who she is?” Helen said.
“She’s pretty, no doubt about that.”
Peter and Angelique went to a much cheaper place and ordered two coffees, Peter insisted on paying. “We can stop again later.”
They talked about everything and nothing. He was lucky, he made no false moves. He didn’t apologise for accidentally feeling her up – which would have been an official recognition that it had happened; and she pretended she hadn’t noticed. They had their coffee and then both opted to ‘pop downstairs’. Ski cafes always have the toilets in the basement, which means struggling downstairs with concrete boots on that don’t bend nearly enough. This cafe also had unisex toilets. One cubicle was free, there were also saloon doors which (barely) hid the presence of two urinals in the corners. Peter thought he might as well use them. When Angelique came out, another man was going in, she got a very clear view of the boy she was skiing with, standing at a urinal. She looked away, when he came up, she said “Restons-en là” which he didn’t understand at all. She was saying that they were even now.
They skied all afternoon, greens to restore confidence, and then blues to test her. The impatience he may have felt with his mother and sister evaporated with her; if she was nervous, he was understanding; if she was clumsy in her turns, he was complementary. Even when he told her she did something wrong, he tried to say it was because she was trying hard.
When they finally came down, her friends were nearly giving up hope; her teacher felt she had to make sure she came down alright; his mother and sister just happened to be hanging around; it definitely was not to see if the girl was with him still. Oblivious to all of this, she and he kissed; not on the cheek this time but mouth to mouth. Not some tonsil waggling, saliva exchanging erotic kiss; but still mouth to mouth. “Do you want to meet up this evening? We could get a coke?” they were both underage, despite the temptation to get vin chaude if they could.