This is basically a work of fiction. It's something that I sure as hell wouldn't mind happening, but it is highly unlikely that it will ever happen. So all characters and events are products of the author's mind. Any similarity to people or events, past or present, is purely coincidence. I didn't get to ski over Christmas break as was my custom. I always went out there either with my family or a couple of friends, but this year I was so busy applying for a job or grad school that I didn't really have time. So I decided to make the trip during spring break. Unfortunately, none of my friends wanted to go; they were all heading down to Florida for some sun and sand. I really wanted to ski. I called a travel agency and started to make my plans. I was in luck; there was a small (very small) condo for rent that week that would fit one or two people. The owner was having trouble finding someone to stay there (most people went in large groups), so he was willing to rent it for cheap. I jumped at the chance. I drove out to Steamboat (no small task; it's 25 hours) and arrived at midnight on Saturday. I was utterly exhausted after the two-day trip. I slept in until about 10 (late for a skier) and then headed to the mountain. I got a half-day lift ticket and then walked around the base of the mountain for a while, looking in some shops. Afternoon finally came, and I hit the slopes. The skiing was magnificent. I skied until the lifts closed and then rode the bus back to my condo. A small bar for pizza and beer sufficed that night for entertainment. I was here to ski, not party. The next two days were just that: skiing, skiing, and more skiing. Did I mention that I skied? I skied on every trail they had to offer, concentrating on the meadows at the top. Now those were fun. Big bumps half way down, then nice soft powder the rest of the way. The perfect run. They tired me out quickly, but I wasn't giving in. I was going to ski until I collapsed from exhaustion. On the morning of the fourth day out there, I got in line for a lift located close to the top. The line was rather long, so I looked around for another single skier to ride up with. I heard "single!" shouted from close to the front of the line, so I shouted "single" back. I then cruised up to where the shout came from. She was definitely not a ski bunny. Her equipment was top-of- the-line, but it was also beaten up a little, meaning she skied hard. But she was gorgeous. She was a little taller than me (about 6'0"), had long, straight blond hair. That's about all I could tell because she was wearing sunglasses and a bulky parka. The stretch pants she was wearing did her justice, though. She had long, muscular legs that ended in a perfectly-shaped ass. I took my place in line next to her, glad that bulging eyes were hidden by my mirrored sunglasses. We chatted as we rode up the lift. She was April Hittell, and she lived in Nashville, Tenn. Which meant that she had a southern accent. I just about died on the spot. I think that southern accents are so sexy. Incredibly sexy. She was a senior at Vanderbilt University, and she wanted to be an elementary school teacher. I told her about myself, and then we changed the subject to how great the skiing was. Soon, too soon, the end of the lift came up, and we ended up going different directions, her down to the bottom to eat lunch and me over to the meadows for some more powder. I ate a late lunch to avoid the crowds and then I skiied the rest of the day up at the top. I was forced off the hill because the lifts were closed, so I meandered down to the bottom of the hill and went into the bar in the base chalet. I walked up to the bar and got a beer. As I turned around to lean on the bar and drink my beer, I noticed April in the corner, seated by herself. I debated about whether or not to go up and talk to her, but I decided that I was too chicken. Lift lines were one thing, a bar was quite another. I finished that beer and was just starting my second when I noticed her motioning to me. She motioned me over to her table. I walked over there without even spilling my beer (you try to do that with a full beer walking in ski boots). I got to her table and she told me to sit down. We talked for quite a while. Apparently her parents own a cabin in Steamboat, and she was here for a long weekend of skiing. I told her my situation. The conversation flowed on and the beers became more numerous. Suddenly I realized that I was in the middle of asking her out to dinner that evening. And she was agreeing. Pretty cool what beer can do to (for) you. At any rate, I slowed down with the beers so that I could sober up to be able to drive and pick her up for dinner. I rode the bus home and took a shower. I prepared myself for an evening out on the town and then drove over to her cabin, following her directions. She was already on the porch waiting for me when I arrived. We drove to a little cafe sort of restaurant that she said had great food. We had a charming dinner. Conversation flowed freely. I accidentally bumped her leg with mine (I needed to stretch out my legs every now and then), but she didn't seem to mind, so I just left my leg there. I started getting excited by the warmth of her leg against mine. Soon dinner was over and we drove quietly back to her place. As I pulled into her driveway, she asked me in for a nightcap "or something." I readily agreed, because I did not want this date to end quite yet. Her cabin was the stereotypical mountain retreat. Big stone fireplace, three room, wood cabin. Granted it was very large inside and very well furnished, but was was still pretty stereotypical. The only thing that could have made it more idyllic would have been a bearskin rug on the floor in front of the fireplace. But there was no bearskin rug; an Persian rug lay in its place. I set about making a fire while she fixed some dessert in the kitchen. Soon I had a roaring fire going, which flooded the room with warmth. She walked over to the fireplace and commented on what a fine fire I built. I beamed with pride. We ate little munchies and sipped at wine while we sat in front of the fire. She rested her head in the crook of my shoulder and I rested my arm around her. I was content to just sit there, holding this beauty. I soon began to get other ideas, too, but was too afraid to act on them. Finally, I decided that the time had come to make some sort of a move. During this particular conversation, she lifted her head and turned it to face me. That was my clue. I lowered my head down and met her lips with mine. She hesitated, almost as if in surprise, and then responded. Her lips were full, soft, and moist. I almost lost myself in them. Our kisses slowly became more and more hungry. Soon my tongue was searching her mouth, checking her dental work. She broke the kiss and all I could see in her deep blue eyes was desire. We kissed again, even more hungrily than before. She pushed me to lay back on the couch and I didn't argue. She climbed on top of me to continue the kiss. My hands slid up her bulky sweater and began to fondle her breasts. A small moan escaped from her lips. She kissed my chin, my cheek, and worked back to my ear and neck. Her tongue traced small circles on my neck as she went from left to right and back. I gently tugged on her sweater and got it to her neck. She raised her arms over her head, allowing me to remove her sweater. I also quickly removed her turtleneck while her arms were in teh air. She wore a black lace bra that pushed her breasts up a little, forming two perfect creamy hemispheres on her chest. I reached around with one hand and undid her bra. I noticed a little surprise in her eyes at my dexterity. I slid her bra from her shoulders and looked at what was revealed. They barely sagged. Just enough to testify to their mass. No more. They weren't huge, but they were very well shaped, they defied gravity, and they were topped by half-dollar sized areolas. Her nipples were hard and looked like they were pouting. I massaged them, occasionally pausing to pinch and pull at her nipples. She rolled her eyes and moaned with pleasure at my touch. I also massaged her stomach and played with her belly button. She was obviously ticklish, so I tickled a little while I massaged her. I brought her down for more kisses, the trailed my tongue down to her nipples. I licked circles around each one, flicking the tips with my tongue. She was almost in a frenzy after just a few minutes of this. Her hips started moving in tempo with my tongue. Her hands went to the buttons on my shirt and began to undo them. My shirt soon joined her sweater on the floor. She began to pull at my nipples, which started really exciting me. Soon our pants and underwear completed the heap of clothing next to the couch. She kissed her way down to my penis and began licking the underside of it. That drove me nuts. It felt so good while at the same time almost tickling. I reciprocated the 69, spending most of the time flicking her clit with my tongue. Everytime I did that, she drove herself down on my face. I also entered her with my tongue. She was almost continually moaning now, and her juices were starting to run down my chin because she was so excited. I pulled her around and was about to enter her when I remembered that I was missing something. I looked into her face and she realized that I hadn't brought anything contraception-wise. "Don't worry. I'm on birth control. Only in my case, it's period control." I started to enter a second time, but this time she stopped me. "Not here. I want to do it on the Persian rug. I always have. Can we do it there?" I certainly agreed. We moved to the floor and resumed our position. She was so excited that I just slid right in. I started slowly and worked up a steady rhythm. She was moaning loudly and throwing her head to and fro, all the while meeting my every stroke. After a couple of minutes she let out a shriek and I could feel her body shaking with orgasm. She opened her eyes and looked up at me, at once totally exhausted and wanting more. I slid out and she turned over. I positioned myself and entered her from behind. I slid in even easier this time. I knew right away that it wouldn't be long for me. I was very close. I teased her a little, just moving the first couple of inches in and out. Finally she was so worked up that the thrust her body back against mine, forcing me all the way into her. I lengthened and sped up my strokes. I was soon at the edge of an orgasm. I held it back for as long as I could, feeling me go over the edge. I could hold out no longer and I started coming. Wrapped up in my pleasure, I could barely hear her shrieking, signaling her second orgasm. When I had finished coming, she looked over her shoulder, "On your back, pal!" So I obliged. She got on and rode me. I must confess that I wasn't much help because I was spent, but I did the best I could and soon she was moaning with her third orgasm. But that was all she could take then because she slumped down against me. We were both sound asleep minutes later. I awoke at about 3 am because I was really cold. My fire had all but died out, and April was nowhere to be seen. I looked around and finally found her in the bedroom. I crawled in bed, and she mumbled something about trying to wake me up but not being able to. Which was probably true, because I sleep like the dead, especially after sex. We kept each other warm that night, and at 8 am, we were on the slopes again.