Snowbound erotica – part 1

This is your content advisory. This is erotica.

There was a misleading suggestion of purity in the blinding white of the snow. All sins and reality were hidden underneath a thick white layer of nature’s icy paint. Only silhouettes and suggestions of what might be hidden underneath and even then, only the most impossible to disguise because of their magnitude of offense or defiant presence in magnitude.

The knock at the door was unexpected, and unwelcome. When Mother Nature tucks you into her white, paralyzing blankets, she intends for you to stay in place. You can only wait until she pulls back some of her staying force against your mobility and mentally prepare yourself for safe isolation in your new cocoon until then. The knock persisted. Who else but a madman or a threat would boldly announce themselves to ask you to greet them?

Unless it was an emergency being delivered by a guardian appointed to make these rounds and do these tasks that no one else would. Curiosity and annoyance drive you toward the door, and trepidation accompanies you like a protective dog. You look out the small view you can manage without opening the door as an invitation. All you can see is a stuffed winter suit and mittens. The hood trimmed in fur with a frosting of snow scattered across it like powdered sugar.

“Sir, I am with the community patrol. If you don’t mind, may I come in for a second to speak with you.”

It was a woman’s voice. This is a small community and you don’t remember any of the community patrol women sounding like her. Behind her, you can see the community patrol van parked. She is tall for a woman and you guess that she is easily 6 feet tall and limber bodied from the fit of her winter pants below the parka. In spite of the erotic appeal of a tall woman, you still mentally calculate the risk factors against your ability to own strength and agility if she turns out to be a threat. The snow is piling up faster on her hood and shoulders as she stands there. Behind her, the windows of her vehicle disappear as the snow continues to swallow it up too. You let her in. Decency and curiosity win the sporting bet made between your fear and confidence. Meanwhile, you remotely turn on your surveillance cams before opening the door, just to be on the safe side.

She is looking down at you. She is so tall that she is looking down at you and for a moment, you wonder if you have made a bad bet with yourself.

“Can I get you something to warm you up?” you offer politely and point at coat pins by the door, “You can hang your coat there.”

“Thank you and anything with some heat in it is fine.” After putting her mitts inside her jacket pocket, she unzips her parka and carefully hangs it on a coat peg. When she turns to face you, she is even more stunning with her height makimg her even more impressive. There is a tattoo on her chin that informs you that she is Inuit but now you are confused. Inuit women are never this tall. Was she something else? Who was she? What was she doing out here? And why was she knocking at your door during a snowstorm?

The erotic appeal of the exotic and unknown

Her voice is calm and authoritative as she asks you if there is someplace she can sit. You suddenly realize that you have been gawking at her during this time and immediately move your gaze to a chair by the wood stove and point to it. You watch her walk across the room with a light foot and unexpected grace given the cumbersome presence of snow pants and boots. Even while dressed for a snowstorm, her strong, feminine presence commands the room, and your thoughts. You look through your liquor collection and try to decide what might appeal to her most and decide to take an extra shot for yourself before returning to her with a round of drink.

When you return, she is sitting back in the chair languidly. Her hair is long and as black as the days of no sun. Her gaze is even and intense as she watches you approach. Her skin was the color of milky amber making the blackness of her eyes as intense as the blackness of her hair against it. The tattoo on her chin was an unusual color. Instead of the normal bluish black, it was black or red depending on how she turned her face. There was an unreal quality to the coloring of the tattoo that made it seem as if it had been made of a very special and rare pigment. Again, you find yourself spellbound until her voice breaks you free from your trance. Who was this woman and what had you just let into your snowbound cocoon of privacy?

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