Chapter 46 — White Cotton Snow
Rufus contextualizes the racy chapter ahead, from the writer’s perspective.
Followed by Chapter 46 —— White Cotton Snow, in which Saskia and Mica share an intimate moment.
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Hello Friends,
People often talk about lanes, and I have to confess that staying within mine is not something I’m particularly good at. Maybe I’m too scattered to maintain the focus required to ponder and deliver exactly what an audience is looking for. Or perhaps I’ve just taken too to heart the racing adage that says: if you’re not coming off the track once in a while then you’re not driving fast enough.
If you ask me, I think it has more to do with wanting to reflect back the diversity of the world within which we live.
Anyway, for those who have been listening for reasons of mathematics and AI alone, be warned: today’s chapter might be considered by some to be unnecessarily racy for the story that we have enjoyed so far. To me, it is just another dimension to what it means to be a functioning adult. Personally, I’m more concerned by depictions of violence and the cavalier inclusion of guns in stories (though I’ve been guilty of the same in my own past), but I’ll leave those hot-button topics of their own for another day.
In any event, I’m not the first author to include a racy scene into a novel that isn’t otherwise hot and steamy, and as a reader I find such scenes can be a welcome break that mixes the narrative up. I’d certainly be curious to hear your thoughts one way or another. For what it’s worth, I’m kind of proud of how this chapter turned out.
So, for those of you uncomfortable with titillating text, errr … earmuffs?
For the rest of you, let’s dive into the most sensual chapter so far.
Until next week, be kind to someone and keep an eye out for the ripples of joy you’ve seeded.
Cheerio
Rufus
PS. If you think of someone who might enjoy joining us on this experiment, please forward them this email. And if you are one of those someone’s and you’d like to read more
And now, without further ado, here’s chapter forty six, in which Saskia and Mica share an intimate moment.
— 46 —
White Cotton Snow
Waiting to be released, Saskia considered skipping ahead in time to hurry her escape from the hospital, but there were two problems with that idea: Firstly, it wasn’t clear that her own recovery would be accelerated by slipping in time. Far from it, slipping in time risked retarding her healing progress, since decoupled from the standard flow of time, she would still be moving to her own beat. As evidence of that, she recalled tiring while slipping in time; she would still need to live her body’s healing time. Beyond that, there was the added risk of inducing another arrhythmia.
Second, though, and more importantly, untethering from time didn’t just mean decoupling from the prosaic march of the present, it also meant uncoupling from Mica, the best thing about her new life. That, Saskia was even less keen on. She’d missed Mica, and had no intention of again leaving her ahead or behind.
She held in her hands a physical instantiation of Mica’s considerateness: fresh underwear. Mica had specifically ducked out for the thoughtful gift. Best of all, they weren’t the sexy frilly kind; no, they were comfy cotton panties. The sort of briefs that made being isolated in an uncomfortable hospital environment bearable. Without getting out of bed, Saskia had wriggled into a pair.
Watching Saskia, Mica stifled a mischievous chuckle.
Saskia raised one eyebrow at her. “What?”
Mica blushed. “I was thinking about your life-curve looping back. And ...” she trailed off, self-consciously flushing redder at the prospect of what she was withholding.
“And...?”
Mica glanced back at the curtain separating them from the rest of the hospital before turning back to Saskia. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Well, I could have gotten greedy. I could have asked for two of you in my here and now. Or back in my bedroom.”
Saskia glowed inwardly at the thought. It was one thing not to race ahead, but how was it she hadn’t considered this gift to Mica? The here and now could be foliated, like the delicate layers of a croissant, laminations pressing them together until they touched.
“What happens when you go back in time?” Mica put her finger on the tip of Saskia’s nose. “Can you have two here and nows at the same time? At least one of them would be different from mine.”
“Maybe, but we’re both here and now now.” Saskia reached up and caressed Mica’s cheek.
Mica placed her hand on the edge of Saskia’s bed to prop her body up as she leaned into Saskia’s palm on her face. “We’re just two skiers slaloming together down the mountainside?”
“Paths criss-crossing as we cut to and fro through the powdery snow.” Saskia’s fingers ran past Mica’s ear and into the forest of her hair. She pulled Mica closer.
Mica’s fingers skated across the white expanse of the taut fitted sheet, and slipped under Saskia’s top sheet. When they met Saskia’s body, they trekked up the new snowy cotton that covered Saskia’s hip.
“You know snow only looks soft and powdery,” Mica crooned as she let the tips of her fingers rest on smooth zenith of her thoughtful gift. “When you lay your fingers upon it, leave them there . . . maybe it’s the heat, maybe just the touch. It gets wet.”
“I missed you,” Saskia murmured.
Mica let her fingers linger, gently moistening the hidden fluffy snow. Saskia was tempted to stretch time in a selfish act of hedonism, but the thought was overridden by her desire to stay synced with Mica’s experience. To match heres and nows, like skis perfectly carving lines down the powdery snow of a secluded back-country run. Instead, Saskia savored the flow of time.
The blades of Mica’s skis leapt over the berms and cut through to the flesh below. She left sluicing wet tracks in the airy white softness.
Saskia’s own fingers glided under the hem of Mica’s skirt and along the silky skin of her inner thigh——a sheet of slick ice at the top of a chasm. The only thing yoking her hungry slide down, was the rough edges of her raw cuticles as they caught and then pulled free of the fibers on Mica’s silk slip. Had Mica deliberately worn such an accessible garment? Between that and her gift——was this premeditated?
Mica’s index finger rode the sheer drop between Saskia’s legs, brushing past the elastic edge of Saskia’s panties. Her fingernail kissed the soft cotton as the tip of her digit moved towards Saskia’s lips beneath. With her thumb she freed Saskia’s pubic hairs from the weight of the white fabric and grazed across them.
Saskia felt that yearning in the pit of her stomach. And while the fabric cocoon surrounding them created a visual barrier, Saskia had to muffle her moan.
She focused on the parallel paths of Mica’s skis. Slaloming, side by side. Crossing and recrossing. Quick cuts back and forth fed on the momentum that built as the slope steepened. Teasing slow arcs were a vain attempt to slow the descent into a frenzied climax.
Yet again, she pulled back, right at the edge of control. Once more a deeper, deliberately slow arc, to stretch out the moment. For both of them. Saskia could feel the lip of the cliff approaching. Her body convulsed. Her eyes burst open. Mica’s eyes were still closed, pupils bouncing about wildly under their covers.
Then, Mica’s lips parted in a tender “o”.
Time stopped. Saskia lower jaw triggered in palpitations as she sucked in air and held it. Desperate not to make a sound. But she was lost. Lost in the moment.
Then, the alien rhythmic clicking of the rollers in the ceiling glide track screeched like a scratched record.
A nurse peeked her head through the curtains.
All three women stopped. Mica and Saskia, schoolgirls caught in the act. Nurse, the unfortunate matron.
Three faces blushed bright red.
“I’m glad to see you’re OK.” The nurse smirked. “Dr. Siebling will be in shortly to run through check out.” She retreated and pulled the curtains to again as she left them to recover.
