Chapter 2

We were lucky. There just happened to be a guy looking for a place to set up, who saw her go through. He threw her a rope and dragged her to the edge of the hole. She enlarged the hole three more feet before the ice would support her weight and he could drag her out. She’d only been in for four or five minutes, but there was a fairly stiff breeze so the wind chill was close to zero, if not below. She pointed to the tent and he brought her over.

His name was Glen and he offered to call somebody, but I told him I had it covered.

The problem was ... I didn’t have it covered.

She was soaked and all we had was a tent. True, I had a propane heater, but there was no way it could deal with this issue. She had dry clothes, but not a spare parka and in any case I had to warm her up before we did anything else. I stripped her down myself because she was shivering so badly she couldn’t do anything with her hands. I think the feeling was gone in her fingers anyway. I stuffed her into her sleeping bag and piled mine on top of her like a blanket. I got the stove going to heat up some soup for her.

All this happened at a somewhat frantic pace, so frantic, in fact, that I don’t actually remember paying attention to her naked body. I remember seeing one bluish breast, with a dark nipple, but that’s all. She was moaning and her teeth were chattering so hard I could hear them clicking together. She was so cold she was stuttering.

Or maybe that was the shivering. I don’t know. She was shaking too badly to drink the soup without spilling most of it all over the place.

What I realized was that being in the bag wasn’t enough. An arctic bag will keep you warm, but only if you start out that way. I guess that’s not technically true. If you get in it cold, it will warm up eventually, but only if your body is making heat. Hers wasn’t. At least not fast enough.

I only knew of one other way to warm her up quickly. I couldn’t haul her back to the truck. It was too far in her condition and it would take too long to warm up the interior enough to help her.

So I went back to my Boy Scout training. I zipped my bag to hers, joining them together.

Then I stripped naked and got in with her.

Her groans, as my warm body hit her ice-cold flesh sounded like she was dying. It was agony. You couldn’t interpret it as anything else. It sounded like she was being burned or something. But her body didn’t shy away from mine. Not even a little. As I hugged her, she was like a boa constrictor. Her arms went around me and she tried to merge our flesh. Her legs wrapped around mine and she just made noises. She felt like she was vibrating, and couldn’t be still at all.

Eventually her body began to slow down a little. It stopped shaking and then it became more sensual. She was still rubbing against me, but it was in a less frantic way. The best way I can describe it is to compare it to a starving man who gets food. At first he’s frantic. He can’t eat fast enough. He’s almost frustrated because he can’t chew fast enough, or swallow fast enough to make him feel like he’s making progress. She was like that at first, trying to touch every part of her to some warm part of me. Then, like the food begins to register with the starving man’s brain, her body registered the fact that it was warming up. It wasn’t warm ... but it was better. Finally she was able to speak coherently.

“You’re s-s-s-o warrrrmmmm,” she said against my chest.

I rubbed my hands on her smooth back, creating friction. I hadn’t been able to do that before this because she was moving too violently.

“What happened?” I asked. It was the first time I’d had a chance to talk to her. Glen had told me he saw her go through the ice, and that that air in her parka had kept her on the surface until he could get a rope to her. I pretty well knew what had happened, but I didn’t understand how she could get on thin ice.

“I d-d-don’t k-k-k-know,” she moaned.

It turned out she just wasn’t paying attention. She was centered on the speed, and on looking at the surface directly ahead of her feet, trying to avoid cracks and bumps in the ice that might make her trip. She wasn’t worried about falling down. She knew she could roll and her thick clothes would cushion the fall. But she didn’t want to fall, because going fast was too much fun. Falling would interrupt that fun. We worked all that out later. Much later.

It took an hour before she didn’t need her naked neighbor in bed with her.

Especially since her neighbor, because he was naked in a sleeping bag with her, remembered being naked in a sleeping bag with another woman and reacted to that ... physically.

At that point, however, she didn’t want her naked neighbor to get out of the bag.

I had hinted that I should get out of bed several times. Each time she squeezed her arms around me. Finally it was necessary that I get more forceful about it.

“The crisis is over,” I said.

“I don’t think so,” she said, her breath hot on my chest. Her hair felt hot on my shoulder, too. I know that sounds silly, but it did. Her head had been inside the bag since I put her there. Mine had been inside, too, initially, but when she finally stopped shivering, I poked my head out into the cold air.

I was uncomfortable for a number of reasons. I’m sure those would be obvious to the average, normal person. But I was feeling neither average, nor normal. I was in bed with one of the girls. That’s what I called them, usually: The girls. I referred to them that way to Gloria in conversation, and she used the same noun to collectivize them. Before this it had just been that, a noun that made it easy to identify who we were talking about. “The girls” was also a way, for me at least, to be less intimate about them. That might sound silly, too, but if I used an actual name, that evoked a flood of thoughts about that specific girl.

I’m not explaining this very well. I’ll just give you some examples. If someone said “Karla” to me, the image my mind filled with was Karla in her ballet tutu, whirling around on stage at a recital. Or I imagined her at the sewing machine, attention focused on the cloth as it flowed under the bouncing needle. If someone said “Sam” to me, I thought of her up in a tree, grinning down at me. I had chased her and she knew she was safe because I wouldn’t climb the tree to get to her. Or I remembered the first time I saw her in a bikini and realized she had grown up parts, all of a sudden. So if Gloria said “I need to talk about Samantha” to me, before I even sat down my mind was reflecting on all those memories of who Samantha was and what she’d done. If she called and said, “I need some help with the girls,” then I just went, and wasn’t thinking about anyone in particular.

That may seem a little like I’m in need of the talents of a good mental health professional, but it’s the way things were. I say “were” because once I’d been naked in a sleeping bag with one half of my sixteen-year-old twin neighbors, there was no way in the world I would ever be able to think of her as just “one of the girls” anymore.

I’d been okay for the first fifteen minutes. I was too worried about her to think about anything except looking for evidence that she was going to be okay. I was also trying to remember all the symptoms that indicated a visit to the ER was mandatory. Then I thought about the fact that, while she had dry clothes to put on (eventually) her parka was wet. Glen had said it floated, and the outer shell was made of nylon. I knew it was down-filled. If we were lucky, not much water had seeped through the seams. If the down was wet, though, the coat was worthless until it could be rendered completely dry, and she didn’t have a spare. I had insulated coveralls, but I didn’t like wearing them all that much. I much preferred my down pants and parka. Push come to shove, though, I’d have to give her the parka. She and her sister together would fit in the coveralls.

All this time she was moaning and whimpering and rubbing up against me. I rubbed her arms and back and, once, her ice-cold bottom. When I realized I had my hand on Sam’s ass, I moved it. She gave no indication that she was aware of my trespass.

After those first fifteen minutes, though, I’d reflected on everything there was to reflect on, medically speaking, and decided she was going to be okay. Then my mind began to think about where I was and what I was doing. Part of that was because she’d warmed up enough so that she shivered only a little, every thirty seconds or so. But what grabbed my attention the most was that now she wasn’t so much wiggling against me, as clasping me and ... well ... humping me a little bit!

I did not want to believe that. But as another ten minutes went by it became obvious. Her legs were still wrapped around mine, with her half on top of me and my right thigh was trapped between both of hers. Every four or five seconds she’d push her loins against my leg. And where her breasts were glued to my chest, her arms squeezed just a little, as her hips pressed against me. It was very subtle, but after a while it was also very obvious.

It became clear she was rubbing her pussy against my thigh... masturbating on me!

Then there was the problem that, whether my mind was elsewhere or not, my body knew very well where it was. It was pressed up against a naked female, one I liked a lot and one I’d admired on a number of occasions.

And no, I wasn’t some lecherous, drooling pervert. But if there’s a pretty girl around, not many guys can or will just ignore her. And this pretty girl had a great personality, and a great smile, and gave me hugs and kisses on the cheek with great regularity. I had only felt bad a couple of times about thoughts I had for Karla and Sam. One was the day I mentioned before when I first saw Sam wearing a bikini and had ... um ... impure thoughts about how grown up she suddenly looked. The other was a day I went to the beach with them, and they scampered around in their bikinis, looking ... delicious. They’d worn bikinis since they were little, but before this, the triangles of their tops just lay on their flat chests, little pieces of cloth covering unremarkable skin. Their nipples looked like boy’s nipples. They were fourteen that summer and, suddenly, they had bulges galore. Somehow I’d missed the gentle bumps growing under those triangles. I hadn’t paid attention as swells developed. When they took off their T shirts and shorts that day, and exposed identical white bikinis that set off their chestnut brown hair beautifully, they had breasts! And they had hips to go with them!

I felt bad because I got an erection, just looking at them. They were talking about something, eager to be out on the beach, free to frolic around in the water, ready to bedazzle unwary men and boys. So they didn’t see the look in my eye as I wished I had them confined in a dim room, where I could have my trollish way with them.

I averted my attention from them intentionally, looking at Gloria ... just in time to see her reveal her own bikini. It was orange and had a big bow between the cups. Both the top and bottoms were conservative, comparatively speaking. Her daughters had gotten me going, though, and I had to go for a run just to control my lustful thoughts about all three of them. I thought about Cathy as I ran, but all I could remember were her last words, exhorting me to move on with my life and find someone else to love. I remember spending an inordinate amount of time reading that day. Fortunately, I’d brought a good book.

So there I was with a girl I’d wanted to confine in a dark room so I could abuse her ... confined in a dark sleeping bag with her ... naked.

You know what happened. It didn’t even matter that it had been years since I’d had a woman. I’m pretty sure if I’d been in the process of having another woman when she had the accident, I’d still have gotten a monster boner for Sam, once we were in that bag and I felt like she’d probably be okay.

There comes a moment when the elephant in the room cannot be ignored any longer.

That moment came when her hand, which had been on my lower back, drifted around, over my hip, and managed to get between us, where it wrapped around the elephant’s trunk. That would be my erection, of course.

“Sam,” I said, a little breathlessly. That was all I had. Just her name.

“I thought so,” she said into my chest. “I thought I felt something between us.”

Finally she wiggled her head out of the opening of the zipped-together bags. She did not, however, let go of my traitorous penis.

“This should be awkward,” she said, looking at me with serious eyes. Her hair was still damp, but no longer plastered to her skull. She looked like she might have just gotten out of the shower. “So why don’t I feel awkward?”

“Because I’m feeling awkward enough for both of us?” I suggested.

“You saved my life,” she said, still gazing into my eyes.

“A guy named Glen saved your life,” I corrected.

“He got me out of the water, but you saved me from freezing to death,” she said.

“Your mother would have killed me if I brought you home frozen,” I said.

Her hand squeezed, gently, the same kind of gently that she’d been humping me with earlier.

“My mother does not need to know any of this happened,” she said.

“Sweetie, you probably need to go to the hospital. You were coughing your guts out when he got you out. If you got water in your lungs, it can cause infection. We can’t pretend this just didn’t happen. That’s a great way to get into big trouble with your mother,” I counseled. “Immense trouble. The kind of trouble that can last for years.”

“There’s no way I’m telling her about this,” said Sam, squeezing my cock again.

“If you mean the lengths I went to to warm you up, then we can agree on that,” I said. “Would you please stop doing that?”

“This?”

She squeezed again.

“Yes, that.”

“Come on. It’s the first one I ever got my hands on,” she said. She did not let go.

“I’m sorry that happened,” I said. “It was out of my control, an unfortunate byproduct of getting you warm.”

“I’m not sorry,” she said.

“What happened to my Tomboy buddy?” I asked. “What happened to ‘I’m not going to go on dates until I’m twenty-five!’?”

“I don’t want to go on a date, but there’s no way I’m going to pass up a chance like this,” she said.

“Sam, you almost died!”

“No I didn’t. I was scared, but as soon as you got in here with me and I felt how hot you were, I knew I’d be okay. Thank you.”

And then she kissed me! Right on the lips!

No, it wasn’t a long, lingering lover’s kiss. But it for sure wasn’t what I was used to, a quick peck on the cheek. Her lips were warm and soft, and the kiss lasted a lot longer than a peck. I don’t remember just how much longer, but it wasn’t a lip lock or anything.

What I do remember is that she squeezed my penis at the same time.

And, of course, I wished she’d do both a bunch more times.

“We can’t do this,” I said, as she pulled her face back.

“Too late. We already did,” she said.

The imp was back.

“You know what I mean.”

“Get a grip, Bob,” she said. “You’re not molesting me. If anything, I’m the one molesting you.”

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Ice Fishing With the Twins

Lubrican

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