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They say that 30 is the age when your body stops working for you and you start working for your body. For skiers, the saying is if you claim to be a better skier at age 30 than you were at age 20, you’re either lying or you weren’t very good at age 20. But I refuse to believe that 30 is really that old. Not these days.
So there I was, ascending an express chairlift to elevation 11,500 feet, trying to prove to myself that I’ve still got it at age 30. It was the middle of a week in February, so all of my friends and siblings that I could normally cajole into skiing with were doing time in their 9-5 office jobs. I was a bit lonely, but that just meant more freedom to go where I wanted to go on the slopes.
I fancied myself a pretty good skier for a flatlander who was lucky to get more than 5 days of skiing a year. I could tackle just about any slope you could throw at me, save for the rocky, nearly vertical chutes with names like Elevator Shaft and AMF (short for Adios Mother Fucker) that were nothing short of suicidal for a tourist like me. But if the mountain had received 10 inches of white gold the night before, all the better. “Hero powder” some call it, because enough fluffy cushioning can make many a black diamond run achievable for the expert wannabe like me.
It was on the precipice of one of these runs that I saw her for the first time. She had stopped at the edge of the same drop-off, about 20 feet uphill from me. There’s usually not much to see of a person when they’re wrapped up in layers of winter wear, but this was spring skiing. The foot of snow that fell last night was slowly giving way to 45 degrees of bluebird skies. She was wearing only a thin, sleeveless fleece, complimented by a sheer, microfiber base layer.
The ski bunny looked at me, me looking at her. I nervously glanced away, then back again, too modest to let on that I was checking her out, but too drawn in to be satisfied with such a quick look. She wore no helmet: Just a pair of ski goggles and a pink headband to rein in her dirty blonde hair, tied in a pony tail. Very cute.
Immediately I imagined the crisp alpine air making her nipples push through the thin fabric. They would be the crowns atop a pair of perfectly rounded breasts. I could have been just this side of legally blind, and I still would have been impressed by the her proportions. Her chest was big enough to turn my head, but not so big as to be disproportional to the rest of her.
Ahh, the rest of her. My gaze descended down her body as the swell of her chest curved perfectly into her waist, then gently out again to a pair of nicely rounded hips. I could tell she had a strong core, but it was not overdone. No runway model skinny here. She had a waist that just begged to be grabbed.
Her tight pullover was complimented by a pair of shiny, figure-flattering pants. They were straight out of the 80s, both in their metallic blue luster, and in how tight they were. She definitely kept in shape: The heavenly curves of her bubble-butt were accentuated by the sunlight reflecting off of its surface. Her long, toned legs disappeared into a pair of pink ski boots with turquoise buckles. Her lower half was glistening, and I was hardening.
Not the time or place for that, I thought. Back to the matter at hand.
We had both hesitated at the edge of Lover’s Leap, she about 20 feet uphill from me. I peered past the edge of my ski tips to the snow about ten feet below. If I could land the initial drop, the slope flattens out and all I would have to do is two or three good turns to be in the clear.
I glanced at the ski bunny again, and she at me. I smiled lightly at her, as if to say “This should be interesting, eh?” She smiled back through a set of cherry lips so inviting that I couldn’t help but imagine kissing them. Then I imagined those lips wrapped around my monster-hard cock, her tounge licking the bottom of it like a–
NO! Not now! Dangit, I had to concentrate.
I looked at the drop-off and started calculating my odds. For all I knew, this hottie was a local pro, and I was about to make an ass out of myself. I figured I had two choices: fall and tumble a few times before I could stop my injured body, or just grow a pair of testicles go for it right now.
And so I did. Both.
I leaped off the edge and my stomach dropped. A shock of adrenaline speared through my body. And I landed it. One wide, arcing turn, and then another, and the slope began to flatten out. I made it! I didn’t fall!
That’s right, bitches! I thought. Thirty years old and I still got it!
Apparently the ski bunny goddess had decided to drop in at the same time as me because I saw her out of the corner of my eye. I glanced over to her. She was already looking in my direction. I was starting to relax a bit, knowing the worst was over. Our wide turns took us closer to each other on one pass.
That’s when a snow snake grabbed us both. We must have become too complacent, or perhaps canlı bahis şirketleri distracted by each other. She fell first, unexpectedly catching an edge about ten feet in front of me. I tried to avoid her, turning too sharply and catching an edge right before hitting her.
I don’t remember exactly what happened, but by the time we stopped moving, she was on her back and my head was face down…on her breasts.
I immediately started contemplating the benefits of hucking myself off of AMF, sans helmet. At least it was a nice, pillowy landing for my face, like landing on a pair of handful-sized water balloons that were full, but not ready to burst on impact.
One of my skis had released, but the other one was twisting my leg awkwardly so that I couldn’t immediately get up. I kicked it off with my free foot as the ski bunny started laughing.
“Oh God,” I said as I finally peeled myself off her. “I am so sorry.”
“Well thanks,” she said between hearty laughs, “But I’m not God. I’m Sherry.”
“And, my name is Mud.”
“Will,” I finally admitted. “I’m Will.” I put my goggles on my forehead so she could see me better. “Really, I am so sorry.”
Her smile was captivating. Her head must have whipped back in the snow during the fall because her goggles had flipped up crookedly onto her forehead. I could see her face for the first time. I was mesmerized by her beauty. The cold air and physical exertion made her cheeks rosy. Her blonde hair was tied back in a pony tail, and her cute, thin, ski-jump nose fit perfectly between her big eyes, so round and so captivating. The bright sunlight shrunk her pupils so that her blue irises shined brightly, seeming almost to pierce right into me.
I estimated that she was about my age. It was hard to tell. She could have passed for anywhere between 27 and 35. An ageless beauty, this was. Perhaps, like me, she was also trying to prove that she was still at the top of her game.
She smiled and said, “So, Will. Is this how you pick up chicks? Had any luck with it before?”
A sense of humor! That was the icing on the cake. She could have easily called me a pervert and quickly skied away. But no.
“I think I would have more luck if I invited women to my tool shed to see my boa constrictor,” I replied.
She giggled. “You might be surprised,” she sang and playfully backhanded me.
What was that? I wondered. Was she hinting at the impossible? We were holding eye contact now, neither of us able to look away until she realized her goggles were not on her face. She began to panic.
“Oh no. My goggles. Where…?” She began feeling the snow around her, then digging.
She was looking frantically in all directions when I approached her and said, “Sherry…May I?”
I reached toward the goggles on her forehead, pulled them off with the pink headband, and showed them to her.
She looked immediately relieved, and a bit embarrassed. “My hero. What would I do without you?”
“Probably ski down safely, without incident,” I said.
She looked at me from an angle. “Now what fun would that be?” she countered. A sly grin appeared. This woman I liked.
“Y’know,” I said, “what you should be looking for is your other ski.” I noticed that one of her skis released also, but I didn’t see it anywhere. It must have gotten buried under all the fresh powder.
“Oh crap,” she said. “Will you help me?”
Would I? How could I not? We both started digging. I walked slowly uphill, tracing the path of our fall and poking my ski pole into the snow. My imagination was already hours ahead of me, because I imagined poking my other “pole” into her soft abyss.
“Found it!” I said when my ski pole hit something solid. I dug out Sherry’s ski and brought it back to her.
“Oh, thank you! You rock my socks!” She reached out to me, hugged me, and gave me a hearty kiss on the cheek. “Ski with me,” she commanded.
“Umm, well, I dunno. I have to check my schedu–OK sure!”
Sherry giggled again. “Talked you into it, eh?”
“Twist my arm, why don’tcha?”
“Well, you do have a unique way of introducing yourself.”
“I beg your pardon,” I countered playfully. “But I believe it was you who fell first. Right in front of me.”
“Maybe I did, and maybe I DID!”
I laughed. Buy now, the playful banter had diffused an otherwise humiliating experience. I was amazed that someone as gorgeous as this would want to ski with me, especially after the way I plowed my face into her melons like I was eating watermelon at a summer picnic. I still had no idea who this woman was. Is she here alone? Does she live here or is she vacationing like me? Is she involved with anyone? Married? Kids? At this point, it didn’t matter to me.
We clicked into our skis and continued down the mountain, selecting a path through the trees. Turns out we both love to ski gladed tree runs. She was pretty good, and I was at my best. When canlı kaçak iddaa we reached the bottom of the express lift we rode it to the top and continued to ski together. We took turns leading and following, although I preferred to follow her since that allowed me to watch her round bubble-butt sway back and forth as she cut her turns.
We skied our asses off that day. The weather couldn’t have been better, the snow conditions near perfect, there were very few people on the mountain, and I was skiing with a hot-as-hell ski bunny who actually appeared to enjoy my company. I thanked God for this opportunity and asked him to help me not blow it.
Sherry and I caught the last ride up on the gondola. By this time most of the other skiers and boarders had called it a day, so we got our own cabin, and there were empty cabins ahead and behind us. We had already decided to make our last trip down the mountain a non-stop flight.
The gondola takes 14 minutes to climb 3800 feet above the valley floor. We sat next to each other, and Sherry pressed her hip up against mine. The cabin was already warm since the windows had been closed and the sunlight had been streaming in all day. We started taking off the ski equipment that would otherwise make us overheat: goggles, gloves, helmet, jacket. I wore a black, polyester base layer that wasn’t as quite as tight as Sherry’s but it did let her know that I had some upper-body strength.
Sherry took off her fleece, and I was finally greeted with a more clear outline of her chest. I was right about her nipples poking up from under her thin base layer. They were like small pencil erasers. I could even make out her areole. I tried to only take quick glances, but I’m sure she noticed. I hope she didn’t notice the slight bulge that was beginning to form in my pants.
Our gondola cabin exited out of the bottom station and began its quiet, smooth ascent.
“Today was fun,” she said to me. “I’m glad we ran into each other.” She placed a hand on my thigh.
“Yeah, you’re OK I guess,” I said, trying to conceal a smirk.
“I’ve been with better,” I said with a straight face. “You suck at moguls.”
Sherry’s jaw dropped and eyes opened wide. “You’re such an asshole!”
“That’s what they say,” I concurred, casually turning to look out the window.
“Oh no, no, no. You are NOT going to get away with that!” She lunged at me, and before I knew what was happening I was in the fetal position on the floor of the cabin, laughing in convulsions.
I regained control a moment later. “What the hell was that?!” I asked. Sherry just laughed from her perch atop the bench. “Was that a….Did you just tickle me?”
Sherry laughed more and nodded. I was flabbergasted.
“I don’t think anyone has tickled me since junior high.”
“Well it’s about damn time!”
“How the hell did you know I was ticklish?”
“Lucky guess. I had to do something, asshole!”
I got up, sat next to her, and put my arm around her lower back. We stared at each other for a moment. Her lips looked so inviting. Without breaking eye contact with me she reached into her jacket pocket and produced a stick of lip balm. She slowly applied a light coat to her lips, and put the stick away.
“Ready?” she said as she leaned into me. I smiled. She knew what was happening just as much as I did.
Our lips came together as if destined to do so at that moment. Nothing could have stopped us from devouring each other, tasting, feeling each other’s soft flesh. She was a great kisser and her lips so soft and moist. Her lip balm tasted of pepermint. Our tongues met next, first pushing against each other, feeling each other out, then dancing in circles around each other.
My cock had grown. It was straining to unfold and stick up, strong and proud. Sherry had moved her hand higher on my thigh and wrapped the other one around my neck, holding me against her. I could feel her breasts pressing against my chest, and I imagined what they would feel like in my hands. But I started with her perfectly round butt. I gently placed my left hand on it, feeling its contours through the shiny fabric. She let out a deep sigh, indicating her approval. We continued to lip-wrestle, the full force of our mouths and tongues pressing into each other.
“Will,” she whispered. She started kissing my cheek again. “Put your hands on me.” Her kisses traced a path all over my face.
I did as she commanded. My right hand went straight toward her left breast. I cupped it, and gently squeezed. Yup, they’re real, I thought. Soft enough to be exquisitely squeezable, firm enough not to sag too much, and big enough to fill my entire hand, and then some. I could easily feel her nipple trying to poke through.
Her hand had been inching its way up my thigh. She must have gotten impatient when I grabbed her breast, because right then her hand darted toward my crotch. If I had any illusions of holding onto the secret of canlı kaçak bahis my impending erection, it ended when she felt around down there.
“Mmmm, that’s nice,” she sang deeply. I couldn’t tell if she was talking about what my hands were doing or what her hand was feeling. She helped me adjust my cock in my underwear, straightening it out so that my hard-on could reach full force. It didn’t take long. She rubbed my shaft up and down through my pants.
The gondola rumbled past a supporting tower. I noted the tower number: nine. One-fourth of the way up.
Just then, Sherry broke our embrace, crossed her arms, and grabbed the bottom of her shirt with both hands. She lifted it over her head effortlessly. She looked incredible, topless except for a skimpy, pink, spaghetti-strap sports bra. It supported her globes and complimented her body so well that it seemed to be painted on. Her tummy wasn’t perfectly flat but darn close, and that was perfect to me. She was beautiful and real. It made my mouth water.
I took off my shirt and we went back to making out and feeling each other up. She traced a path of kisses down my chest, all the way down to my abs. I may not have as much of a six-pack as I would like, but I kept in good shape and Sherry was appreciating it. I took this opportunity to slide my hands under her pants and grab her ass. It felt just as it looked: round and firm.
Sherry continued to kiss my chest, flicking my raised nipples with her tongue. Then she straightened up and crossed her arms again, this time more tightly, at the bottom of her sports bra.
“I know you’ve been wanting to see these,” she teased.
“See what?” I teased back. “I don’t have any idea–“
“I caught you looking,” she interrupted. “You think you’re so sly.”
“When we first got into the gondola here. And on the Exhibition lift. And when we stopped for a Cliff Bar. And all the way back at the top of Lovers’ Leap.”
Dangit! She caught me all those times? I made a mental note to stop underestimating this clever vixen.
“And don’t forget when you face-planted right onto my tits!”
It was at this moment that she finally peeled that cute sports bra above her head and revealed one of the most amazing set of tits I had ever seen. Her sports bra must have been doing a great job at compressing them, for they seemed to spill out of those cups, as if they were relieved to finally be released. Sherry ran her fingers through her golden hair as I stared at her pert, milky white orbs. They were firm enough to scarcely avoid folding over themselves at the bottom, but allowed gravity to hang them just enough so that they didn’t look fake. The domes were each capped by a thumb-sized, tanned areola and an erect nipple a little smaller than a pencil eraser.
I finally came around to responding to her. “That face-plant was just a prelude of good things to come, my lady.”
I dove my face in to her breasts again. I used both hands to grab them and push them onto my cheeks. Then I traced kisses around them, being extra gentle when I reached each nipple. My tongue traced circles around her areola, spiraling inward to finally end up at the nipple, which I flicked several times. They were hard with arousal.
Sherry’s breathing had increased to the point of nearly panting and she let an occasional moan slip out. Her hands were caressing my head, pulling me into her heavenly chest.
Our gondola cabin rumbled past a particularly rough tower assembly. I looked up just long enough to catch the tower number: 18. Halfway up.
Sherry pulled me forcefully back to her chest where I continued to suck like a vacuum and nipple-flick like it was a lollipop. The breast that wasn’t receiving attention from my mouth and tongue was getting it from my other hand.
Sherry’s right hand regained its previous position on my crotch, except this time she snuck it deftly under the top of my ski pants, beneath my underwear. She grabbed my cock and began rubbing it up and down.
“Oh my god, Will,” she said between pants. “It’s so hard.” She wasn’t kidding. I was so horny and cock so hard that it almost hurt.
She continued to rub my dick as I continued to enjoy the bounty of her breasts. After another minute, she grabbed the waist of my pants. I raised my hips enough for her to bring my pants down over my hips. I was then naked from the knees up. She looked at my cock, rock-solid and pointing straight up.
“It’s huge!” she exclaimed breathlessly. This made me proud. I’m not going to lie and say that I’m an unrealistic eight inches. But my six and a half inches is above average. And I have the girth to match.
Sherry immediately kneeled on the floor of the cabin, one hand on my hip, one hand on my dick. She used this hand to guide my throbbing cock into her mouth. Her lips slid slowly over my mushroom tip, then more than halfway down the shaft. Her tongue gently caressed the underside of my cock.
I was in heaven. I have had blow jobs before, but none as sensational as this. She must have had lessons. It only took one pass down my shaft before I started wondering how long I could hold out. I had never gotten to that point so fast. My panting started immediately.