I put my other holiday travel alternatives on hold. Flying to San Francisco to meet my doctor lover Mark seemed too depressing under the circumstances. How could I face him? I had just been sexually victimized and sodomized by a black football team. And I didn't want to fly to Orlando and give the players a return engagement. Not one of them had kissed me. Not on the lips under my nose anyway. I'm definitely a romantic at heart.

Having sex without tenderness and caring didn't appeal to me. I needed to be loved not just used as a sexual plaything. And it couldn't be Mark. I had to get my head together before I saw him again. He was extremely disappointed when I told him the made up story that I had a serious battle with strep throat. Fever, prostration, toxemia, and all that bad stuff. I hated to lie but I had to. I certainly couldn't tell him the real reason my throat hurt. We postponed our reunion and planned on Valentine's Day.

I decided to visit my estranged uncle and his family a few days after Christmas. My father would have nothing to do with his brother and he would not tell me why. It had been about eight years seen I had seen my uncle and his daughter. My grandfather told me that Uncle Tom, who lived about five hundred miles away, had reserved a cabin at a local ski lodge for the holidays. Grandpa had cancer and only a few months to live. My guess was Uncle Tom wanted to spend one last Christmas with his father. My own father wouldn't tell my grandfather either why he refused to talk to Uncle Tom. I knew it had to be something very serious.

My cousin Emily and I had been very close during our early years. She taught me how to masturbate. We progressed from playing with Barbie dolls to playing with each other. I still remembered fondly those days when we tasted each other's budding breasts as we fingered one another. Emily had gotten herself into a lot of trouble in the last few years so I heard. Very unfortunate because she had a flourishing career as a top runway model but she trashed it all with the drugs.

My other cousin Kathleen kept me posted on Emily's sordid affairs. Her latest brush with the law involved an arrest for attempting to fill a prescription for a tranquilizer, Xanax, often used to prolong a high from other drugs, or soften the crash that ultimately followed. As a condition of her probation Emily entered a Christian rehabilitation program for ninety days and had just been released. Her first arrest occurred while in college for possession of marijuana. She didn't graduate but instead left after her sophomore year and headed for New York City and the modeling. But the big money ended up being snorted and smoked away.

Emily had gained huge notoriety but not just because of the modeling and magazine covers. Of all the outrageous vignettes the most newsworthy, because it occurred on live television, involved a star outfielder. She ran onto the field very stoned and wearing nothing but panties and shoes and embraced him. Unfortunately for the team he embraced her back and before play could be stopped a batted ball, which could have been easily caught under normal circumstances, flew lazily over his head and the winning run scored. Naturally it caused a huge controversy and gave new connotation to fan interference. But that incident and her arriving for modeling gigs wired on cocaine ended her career in the big time.

The cabins of course are advertised as chalets but look like cabins to me. But they were built in the style of a Swiss cottage with a wide roof overhang. Basically just one large room with a knotty pine interior and maple floors. The bathroom facilities, consisting of a shower, sink, and toilet could be made a little private by closing a curtain. A wood burning stove provided the heat. The cabins were furnished with three bunk beds, rustic wood chairs, a queen sized futon, and a picnic table. No stove but a microwave and a small refrigerator. There was a grill on the deck outside. The accommodations may have seemed to be economy class at first but I had heard these cabins rented for more than a hundred dollars a day.

Uncle Tom and Emily greeted me warmly at the door. We hugged and cried.

"Annie," Uncle Tom mused, "you have turned into a beautiful young woman. And your hair is as red as ever. But the freckles have disappeared." I didn't want to tell him he looked much older since his hair had grayed. But he still was very handsome and almost the spitting image of my father. They could always pass for twins although my father was a year younger.

We sat and talked for hours. Emily and I held hands and she stared at me and I stared at her. So beautiful. No wonder she had graced the cover of so many magazines. Jet black hair and milky white skin. Deep blue eyes like mine. She is even taller than I am and has legs that don't quit. When we embraced I could feel that sexual tension between us again as we pressed up against one another. My pubescent experimentation with Emily had been my only experience with someone of the same sex.

Emily had traveled all over the world when she had money and wealthy lovers. She told of her trips to Israel and Egypt. A deputy assistant secretary of State for international energy policy had financed her Mid East trip in return for services rendered she reported with a wink. And an Israeli high government official, during pillow talk, had told her that her eyes were the color of an ancient dye only recently rediscovered. The deep blue pigment is made by crushing a certain deep water snail the Israelis thought to be extinct.

"Your lover told you your eyes are the color of a dead snail? How romantic!" I joked.

Emily, at my insistence, continued reminiscing about some of her favorite assignments as one of the most in demand models in the world. She told of romantic adventures in London and Paris. But her most memorable experience involved modeling lingerie at the Explora Lodge in Chilean Patagonia. She claimed to have earned $100,000 for a few night's extra-curricular activities.

I simply could not believe that Emily talked about her sexual liaisons so frankly in front of her father. Mine would certainly never hear about my unscheduled ball game in the locker room with that rather well-known football team.

"Well, let's go ski!" I eventually suggested, becoming a little embarrassed by Emily's explicit accounts of her erotic adventures... "Mine are on top of Daddy's white Lincoln Navigator. He finally let me drive it. I wrecked his black one a little over a year ago. Now there's a story I really have to tell you. Of course I didn't tell him about visiting you or he would have locked me in my room. Uncle Tom, perhaps we can talk about that later. I'd like to know what the problem is with you and Daddy. You two haven't spoken for years. We need to do something about that."

"No more skiing for me," Uncle Tom responded firmly. "I've been out on the slopes for a couple hours already. That's the limit for this old man. But you two girls go ahead. I think I just might take a nap."

Emily and I chatted incessantly on the ride. I couldn't help myself from asking how she got hooked on cocaine.

"Well, Annie, I couldn't keep losing enough weight to suit the modeling agencies. Diet pills, laxatives, Dexatrim and starving myself no longer did the trick. My agent suggested the cocaine. It does really help burn it off. When you smoke crack, food is the last thing on your mind. You could almost make the grade--top runway model. Lose about five pounds. Want to smoke a pipe?"

"No thank you, Emily. I don't do drugs. I thought you just got out of a rehab."

"I did, Annie. No, I don't have any drugs. But I could obtain some easily around here. There is a big fraternity reunion going on at the lodge. None of the dudes brought their significant others. I already got hit on repeatedly and offered everything from Crank to Blue Heaven for sex. One guy offered me an entire bottle of Stacy pills if I gave him a blow job. I'm frigging tired of being treated as a sex object so I declined quite rudely. What I need now is someone who loves me unconditionally. That's why I'm spending time with Daddy. And now you, Annie."

Emily's talk of drugs brought back vividly my own involuntary experience with the Roofies and Special K and what I had done in the locker room while under the influence. "Please don't do any drugs, Emily. Relationships are so much more emotionally satisfying when you are sober. I know that from my own personal experience, but I don't really want to talk about it. When you are stoned you sometimes can't even remember what you did." Yes, I thought, unless someone made a video and showed it to you. I still couldn't believe how those black football players had ravished me. It never would have happened if they hadn't drugged me. "Emily, please tell me about the rehab."

"It's a Christian camp secluded in the country on about thirty acres of land. About twenty women reside in the dorm. Six hours of Bible study every day. The inmates aren't even furnished with vibrators." Emily laughed and I smirked. "Daddy got me in. He's an ordained minister now, you know."

"I didn't know Uncle Tom is a preacher. My father told me your father always had some very unique ideas about religion."

"Yes, I guess Daddy does. But his ministry is thriving. In two weeks we start our twenty-four hour a day seven days a week religious programming on cable. Daddy exposits scripture and answers questions. I sing and be the pretty face. Spiritual people are desperately seeking religion that is not full of hypocritical crap and nonsensical interpretations of scripture that only bring guilt, particularly with respect to sex. I met some real characters at the camp. And I thought I had problems. Some of these girls were really messed up."

"Tell me about some of them."

Emily elaborated on the sad stories the residents had to tell which seemed endless and often difficult to believe. One young woman, Jessica, had been apprehended by authorities with almost a hundred condoms filled with heroin in her stomach. She began having medical problems at Kennedy Airport after arriving on a British Airways flight from London. Frightened by the pain, she confessed the likely proximate cause of her quandary. They gave her a laxative and the fragile packages of heroin soon began passing through her system. Further investigation revealed she had been an international mule since turning fifteen. Jessica chose the intellectual and physical rigors of the camp as opposed to the penitentiary.

Emily giggled uncontrollably. "Jessica and I became very close. The only meal you are required to attend at the camp is dinner, although you do not have to partake if you don't want to. But the only thing you can have to eat the rest of the night is peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Jessica and I pretended we were the bread and spread peanut butter and jelly all over us. Use your imagination regarding the rest."

"Emily! You are a very bad girl." I snickered, just imagining how my oh so gorgeous cousin looked all dolled up like a sandwich and incredibly gooey. "So if you studied the Bible for six hours every day for three months, let me give you a little quiz."

"Sure. Ask away."

"Okay, what items are in the ark of the covenant?"

"The tablets upon which are written the Ten Commandments."

"Very good. What else?"

"Manna."

"And what is manna?"

"Dope?"

"Say what?"

"Is manna dope?"

"Nope. It's angel food." I reminded Emily that the miracle food from God sustained more than two million children of Israel for forty years in the wilderness. "Okay, there's one more thing in the ark. What is it?"

"Aaron's rod."

"Right! How did you know that?"

"When I attended parochial school a nun hit me with a stick that she call Aaron's rod. I deserved that one I suppose. She caught me masturbating with her favorite pencil during recess. I had this eraser on the end of it that was... just... you know... just right."

"O--kay."

"Do you remember when I taught you how to masturbate, Annie? We really had some good times together when we were young. My finger was inside you as I sucked your little nipples when you had your very first orgasm." I'm sure I blushed at Emily's recollection of that memorable event.

"Here we are, Emily," I mumbled, distracted and becoming a little stimulated at the thought of those pleasurable moments we shared so many years ago. "You know, I find it quite... uh... unusual how you discuss sex in your father's presence. I just can not imagine sharing such private matters with Daddy. What course should we try first?"

"Annie, you remember when my Mom died when I was fifteen. You and your family were right there for us. In fact, I think that's the last time I saw you, until now. Daddy and I became even closer after that. All we had was each other. My mother was my best friend. I never would have made it through that experience without Daddy being there for me, in so many ways." Emily began to sob miserably.

I put my arm around her. "Emily, I'm here for you now. And for Uncle Tom. We have been estranged for far too long. I missed you both so very, very much. I love you, Emily... and your father."

Emily wiped the tears from her deep blue misty eyes and smiled weakly. "You love me, Annie? I love you, too. I always have. And I know Daddy is crazy about you." We hugged so tightly we could have broken bones.

"So let's ski, Emily, and we'll cry on each other's shoulders much more later. Which course?"

"Let's go for the big bad Buffalo Jump. Daddy wouldn't do that one with me. Too dangerous for an old man with brittle bones he whined."

"Your father is very handsome, Emily. He has a great deal of charm and sex appeal. How come he never remarried?"

Emily laughed softly. "He looks just like your father, Annie. Are you sexually attracted to your Daddy?"

"Huh? No way! Never even thought about it. Couldn't possibly imagine such a thing."

"I don't believe you, Annie. You mean Daddy never made you wet thinking about what it would be like?"

"Emily, let's ski. Your dirty mind is disturbing me a little. What's this Buffalo Jump like?"

Emily sounded like a tour guide as she described the approximately five hundred acres of skiing terrain. Nine-two runs with 15 percent beginner, 35 percent intermediate, 45 percent advanced, and 5 percent expert. Nine lifts including one high-speed quad, one high-speed double and one gondola. The Buffalo Jump had the reputation of being the most difficult expert run. It is named after the Native American practice of stampeding great herds of the buffalo over cliffs to their deaths.

"I hope we don't end up being buffalo burgers," I jested.

"Well, if we do, Annie, I'll eat you and you can eat me." Emily looked at me seductively and licked her lips. That left me speechless for awhile.

I try to embrace the winter weather rather than complain about it as many do. Well, except for that time I slid off the road and sat upside down for hours and nearly froze to death. But for the doctor who rescued me from frigidity, in more ways than one. Skiing is exhilarating and when you are on the slopes you feel a sense of unbridled freedom and considerable accomplishment when you master a challenging run. The wind and sun and cold, provided you are properly attired, just add to the chills and thrills.

We went down the Buffalo Jump half a dozen times until we both were exhausted. Emily begged for mercy first. "Hey, Annie, I was out on the slopes already for a couple hours with Daddy. Let's go back to the chalet and hang out. Rest up. I think Daddy wants to take us to dinner later."

"That's a cabin if I ever saw one, Emily. Uncle Tom's cabin. It's rather famous. I didn't bring evening attire."

"Not to worry. I have Daddy's plastic. He said go shop at the boutique at the lodge and treat ourselves to whatever we want. Let's go!"

Pretty in pink. Pretty in black. Emily picked pink and I picked black. We both selected a bra-top dress with an empire waist and slightly flared A-line ankle length skirt. I gasped when she mentioned she had worn designer dresses on the runway that cost $5,000 as compared to the $100 price tag on our new rags. We matched our dresses with leather flower slides with three inch wooden heels.

Emily had suggested we share the same dressing room so we didn't have to run in and out showing each other how we looked in the various items we tried on. Our hands tentatively touched the other's body as we helped dress and undress one another. She admired my body with lust. I have no doubt I did the same to her.

"Let's just wear these dresses and we won't have to change again for dinner," Emily suggested.

"Good idea, favorite cousin." Bad idea as it turned out. Walking to the cabin from our vehicle I twisted my ankle. Those three-inch slides did not have much traction on the icy driveway.

"Oh, hell. Yeow! It hurts." Emily put her arm around my shoulder and dragged me into the cabin.

"Sprained ankle no doubt, my dear Annie. I've had three. Once on the runway I was so wired and wearing four-inch spikes and just lost it, tripping over my own two feet. I'm prepared for this calamity."

"Damn!" I blurted. "I can't believe it. We just spent hours on a bad-ass slope and I sprain my ankle in the driveway. Doh! Color me stupid."

"Take off the dress, Annie, and lay on the futon over there. I'll fix you right up."

"No way! Your father is right over there on the bunk. I don't want him to see me half naked."

"He's sleeping. Very soundly. I can tell by the snoring. If he stops cover up with a blanket. Hurry up. Get that dress off and get on the frigging futon. We have to get some ice on that ankle and quickly. Your ankle will feel better in no time. Now hurry up!"

"Well... uh... okay." I took the dress off and reclined on the queen-sized futon in my panties and bra. Emily placed two pillows under my leg.

"I bought this kit for a hundred dollars. An ankle brace, ice packs, elastic ankle wrap, and bands to strengthen the ankle. Plus a cheap folding pair of crutches. You have to be prepared you know. Once you've had one ankle sprain you are at a much higher risk to do it again. My doctor recommended I have one of these kits at the ready. Especially when skiing or engaging in other activities where that part of my body is susceptible to injury. Didn't you see how much attention I paid to the binds on my skis? I did the safety check to make sure the adjustments were appropriate and the springs inside the binding mechanisms were properly cycled to encourage predictable release loads."

"Yes, and I also noticed you slip your hand down your pants. I thought you were just playing with yourself again, Emily." I laughed and then screamed, "Now don't make me laugh, it just hurts more!"

"I had a wedgy. We have to ice your ankle for about fifteen minutes, Annie." She applied the ice. But before the fifteen minutes were up she began to run her fingers much higher than my ankle. She massaged my calves and tickled the underside of my knees. It did take my mind off the ankle. I seemed almost mesmerized by the feel of her very cold hands on my very hot body. And then she gently caressed the inside of my thighs. When she touched the edge of my panties I screamed.

"Oh my God! Emily, don't do that! Your hands are cold!"

"But you want me too, don't you, Annie? You want me to run my fingers up your legs. You want me to touch you all over. You want me to touch your breasts. You want me to push your joy button. You want me to make love to you. Don't you, Annie?"

"Uh... well... uh..."

"I want you, Annie. And you want me." I sighed noncommittedly, but knowing it was true. And then she kissed me. A kiss like I never felt before. So soft but senuous. Tender but bold. After removing her dress, she unsnapped my bra and then hers and our erect nipples touched tentatively as we explored each other's mouths gently with our tongues.

I pulled away and stuttered, "I think I need some medication, Emily. You know, pain killer." Probably to deal with the guilt over what she just might do to me I thought.

"Uh... like... what? I'm sure I can get anything with a little effort. I'll have to run over to the lodge. I'm sure those fraternity dudes will get me anything I want as long as I give them a little something in return."

"No, don't go, Emily. I'll just suffer with the pain." Actually my ankle really didn't hurt all that bad once she had iced it. Kind of numb.

"Well, we could get a drink or something. They have room service to these chalets."

"Cabins! I don't know, Emily. You shouldn't be drinking. I seriously doubt that an addict should embibe in any mind-altering substances."

"Annie, you are such a prude! We need to loosen you up a little before I fuck you. I can tell you are a little tense and bashful about being sexually attracted to me." She shocked me again.

"Emily, who wouldn't be attracted to you--man or woman? You are one of the most beautiful creatures who ever walked the face of the earth. And I don't think you have the right equipmet to... as you put it... fuck me. Besides, I don't want to be fucked. I've been fucked enough lately. It did plenty for my body but nothing for my mind. If anything, I want to make love."

"That's what I meant, Annie, and you know it. And you are the most beautiful woman my blue eyes have ever set sight upon. They have admired more than a few naked female bodies in the dressing rooms. I understand you have been doing a little modeling yourself but I guess you are too modest to tell me about it. Now let's make a call for alcohol to take the edge off your nerves and pain. What will it be?"

I shrugged indifferently. "Well, I suppose we could. After all, it's not like booze is your drug of choice. Do you like beer?"

"No."

"I don't either, Emily. We'll get a six-pack of beer. What kind?"

"I have no idea. Budweiser? They have funny commercials."

"Those ones with the bear are better. Labatt's Blue I think. Or is that Molson?"

"I always wanted to bleep a bear. Along with a horse and a dog. But the Bible prohibits a woman from having sex with animals." We both started to giggle hysterically. "But I think that both Labatt's and Molson are Canadian," Emily continued. "I'm a patriot, you know. Let's make it Bud Light. I need to shed a few pounds." Emily got up and ordered the beer.

"Yeah right, Emily, you need to lose weight like I need another sprained ankle so I can drive a wheelchair. You're not bulimic are you?"

"Never had that problem, Annie. Like I told you I kept thin with cocaine. But some of the girls I modeled with sure suffered from Bulima Nervosa so said the doctors. They would binge and then purge, self-inducing vomiting. One of my friends would stick a toothbrush down her throat and stimulate her worn out gag reflex. Another girl used three fingers. They both regurgitated more partially digested food than one could possibly imagine. Other models misused laxatives, diuretics and enemas."

"Yuk!"

"Yes, yuk, yuk, yuk. Rhymes with fuck. Get ready, Annie. As if you aren't already. Don't you think I can't see that spot on your panties?"