Steaming up the Gondola

Two skiers have a chance encounter on the mountain. The narrator is impressed by the woman's skiing skills and decides to chase after her. After a fall, they introduce themselves and continue skiing together. They share a passionate moment in the gondola before heading down a challenging trail. The narrator is in awe of the woman's abilities and reflects on her career in cardiothoracic surgery. Let's just say it's a good thing they don't have security cameras in gondolas. I thought I had the entire mountain to myself until I saw her, expertly pounding down the steep, heavily-mogled trail below the gondola I was riding up. I could tell she was a she because of the white-and-gold, perfectly-fitted ski suit she was wearing, which clung to her long-fit body and accentuated her narrow waist with a shiny gold belt buckle. There's often an inverse correlation between a skier's fashion and their ability. I was used to seeing women in fancy ski suits snow-plow down green trails or follow thousand-dollar-a-day ski instructors on intermediates in slow, exaggerated S-turns. This woman was a true expert, and I craned my neck to watch her effortlessly descend. I unloaded at the top. A light wind blew into the air a bit of the snow that had just stopped falling, and the newly-emerged sun reflected off of the snowflakes, which looked like little specks of glitter dancing against the backdrop of the deep blue sky. It was a perfect day, fresh powder and clear skies, which is why I was on the mountain at 10 a.m. on a Monday and not in front of a computer screen. I wondered how fast I'd have to thrash down Exhibition, the double-black trail below the gondola, to catch her. I decided to find out. I locked into my skis, and instead of looping around the gondola peak, where mounting the trail was less harrowing, I took the treacherous shortcut, which is a fifteen-foot vertical drop onto another fifty feet of the steepest ski terrain in Wyoming. I stood at the edge of what can only be described as a cliff, and I spotted her halfway down the trail. Motivation. I pushed myself off, and I felt my stomach and my lungs as I flew down the face, landing on a forgiving pile of powder. It was a thrill. Why hadn't I always taken the shortcut? Hers were the only set of tracks in the fresh blanket of white, and I followed them, admiring how tight and symmetrical her turns were. I knew I wouldn't catch her on this run, but I skied as fast as I've ever skied in the hopes of catching her on the next. Here I was, literally chasing tail. By the time I got to the bottom, I was delightfully winded and realized only when I stopped that I was wearing a giant grin. It had been the most exhilarating ski run of my life. I looked up at the line of gondolas and spotted the only one carrying a pair of skis just a few cabs up from the one I was boarding. I'd catch her on this run. I imagined what I might say to her as I glided up the mountain. You make the most elegant turns. Where'd you learn to ski? When I was just about at the top, I saw her making her way down Exhibition again. She paused and looked up at me. My heart jumped in my chest. I leapt out of the gondola, grabbed my skis, and snapped into them as quickly as I could, digging my poles into the snow and pushing off like an Olympic downhiller breaking through race gates. I didn't even pause at the cliff this time. I just skied right off of it, pumping my arms in mid-air until I splashed into the powder below. I saw her only a hundred feet down the trail. She seemed to be skiing a little slower on this run. I wondered if it was because she wanted to be caught. I charged down the mountain and closed the distance between us to fifty feet. She was on the right side of the trail, and I hugged the left. I picked up my pace and pounded through a line of moguls, keeping my eyes ahead. I wanted to get to the bottom before she did so that I could catch my breath and find my chill before talking to her. I'd have to cut across her line to get to the base of the gondola, so when I glanced to my right and I didn't see her, I made my move. If I hadn't been searching my peripheral vision for her, I certainly would have seen the four-foot drop that I was suddenly flying off, and I definitely wouldn't have fallen and sent both my skis flying as I tumbled down the face of the hill. Are you okay? She shouted as she skied towards me. Yep, just caught an edge, I said, totally lying. I sat up and spotted one of my skis about ten feet below me, and I turned to watch her ski up to me, carrying my other. This was not the first impression I'd hoped to make. You know, when I saw you earlier, I thought I was just the second best skier on the mountain, but now, she said, grinning down at me, I can't be sure if it was the fall, but when she raised her goggles, I got lightheaded. Her eyes rivaled the blue of the sky behind her. Her cheeks were rosy with the cold, and her full lips stretched across teeth that could sell a duck chewing gum. She was astonishingly beautiful. I don't accept defeat that easily, I said, raising my own goggles. How about you unhand my ski and we'll take a run together? Are you sure you don't need to take a nap after that spill? She said. That was such an epic yard sale your skis are already on Craigslist. I let out a guffaw. Is that where you got your fancy ski costume, or did Daddy buy it for you? She raised her eyebrows and smiled. Daddy only bought me the lessons you clearly should have taken, she said. Why don't you ski with me for an hour, and I'll give you some tips, no charge. Already having words, and I don't even know your name, I said as I snapped into my ski. You need to prove you know how to ski before you know my name, she said, as she skied past me. So this is what love at first sight feels like, I thought to myself as I slid down to my second ski. She was waiting for me at the base of the gondola, shaking her head and smiling. You looked a little shaky coming down the hill. You sure you don't want to go take a nice warm bath? I appreciated the invitation, but how about we take a few more runs and get to know each other a bit better? Her guffaw was louder than mine. I followed her into a gondola, and we sat across from one another. We both took off our helmets, and she ran her hands through long chestnut hair. I still felt lightheaded. So what should you actually be doing right now instead of skiing, I asked. This is actually exactly what I should be doing, she said. I just wrapped a fellowship, and I'm taking a month off. What are you studying? Cardiothoracic surgery, she said. I tried not to look impressed. Cool, I said. You rented a place in town? My parents have a ranch just outside of town, she said. A ranch outside of Jackson, Wyoming typically means the owners have the kind of wealth that's ranked in Forbes. Ah, so your family spends a few weeks here a year, and the rest of their time in, let me guess, Dallas. I figured with that gold belt buckle she came from oil money. You think I could mop the mountain with you if I only skied two weeks a year? I'm fifth generation Wyoming. My dad's probably on a horse right now. Mistaking her for a flatland petroleum heiress was not the hottest thing I could have done. She narrowed her eyes a bit at me, but I could still see a smile in them. Your dad must be very proud of you, I said, conceding the first moment of sincerity between us. We held each other's gaze for a few seconds. Why didn't you sit next to me, she said. I liked it. You better on this side, I said. I considered my options. I never wait until the end of a first date to kiss someone if I like them. Kissing someone before it's traditionally expected melts any lingering ice, and it turns the rest of the date into a conspiratorial adventure. I stood up and sat right next to her. I had a lot of ice to melt. My name is Adam, I said. Beth, she said, almost in a whisper. I leaned in and kissed her gently on the lips. I held my face close to hers and opened my eyes. If you were this smooth on the mountain, maybe you wouldn't have fallen, she said quietly and grinned. I put my arms around her, running one hand through her hair to find the back of her neck. I kissed her deeply, and she kissed me back. The gondola lurched, and I realized we were at the top. We quickly gathered our things and stumbled out of the sliding doors, grabbing our skis and dropping gloves and helmets onto the snow, laughing. It sort of felt like leaving a club at dawn. The lifty smiled and nodded at me. We put ourselves together and hatched a plan. We'd take a leisurely blue and then tackle Yeti, a double black even gnarlier than Exhibition. I loved watching her ski. She was so graceful and athletic. But really, all I wanted to do was get us back into the gondola. Okay, you're starting to redeem yourself, she said as we stepped into the gondola. Maybe we can make out again. I wasted no time, and neither did she. It never occurs to you how many impediments to intimacy there are while skiing until you try to quickly remove them. Helmets, gloves, jackets, and gaiters flew off until we were only a few layers away from naked. She kissed like she skied, confidently and passionately. I felt her hands on my chest, and I ran my hands down her back. She struck the perfect balance of soft and muscular. She swung a leg over mine and straddled me, reaching between my legs to find the only warm pull in the gondola. Fuck, she breathed. I might be ready for that bath, I said. She smiled. I don't think you've quite earned it, she said. Yeti awaits. Damn it. How am I supposed to ski a double black with no blood in my legs? Just follow me down, she said. You'll be fine. We quickly got back into our outer layers just in time to exit the gondola. The cold air felt particularly biting against my body, now very aroused and very disinterested in skiing. I followed her across the ridge to the gated entrance of Yeti. She looked back, standing next to one of the many caution signs. Ready? She asked. You know I'm only doing this to get you naked, I said. Well, I guess you'd better not fall and break anything, she said, and with that, she disappeared down the legendary fifty-five degree pitch that made Yeti fearsome. I stood at the edge, watching her for a bit. She could have easily been a pro skier, but instead she was fixing hearts. How fucking sexy is that? We made it to the end of the steepest stretch, winded and exhilarated. You're not as bad of a skier as I thought, she said. Have I earned a bath with you? I have another idea, she said, grinning. A race to the bottom. Loser gives the winner head in the gondola. I laughed a bit nervously. This seemed bold, even for an adrenaline junkie heart surgeon. I'd say that's a win-win no matter who comes first, I said. That a pun? She said. Before I could answer, she was a cloud of snow. I chased her half-heartedly, realizing that she wasn't skiing particularly hard either. I skied up behind her at the base, and she looked back at me. You know you could have won, she said. I did, I said. She smiled. The third trip up the gondola was probably the most memorable ride of my life. She stood as the car left the dock, unzipped her onesie and let it fall to the floor. I kneeled in front of her, running my hands up her toned legs to her firm, round butt. I lifted her fleece base layer and kissed her belly as I slid her tights down and lowered my head along with them. I'm not sitting down on that cold bench, by the way, she said with a laugh. You just stand right where you are. I pushed her legs apart and kissed the insides of her thighs, making my way up. Other than my cock, my tongue was probably the only warm part of my body, so I let it do all the work. I licked her folds up and down, then found my way in between them. I loved the feel and taste of her. Her breath quickened, and so did my tongue. I focused squarely on her clit once I felt she'd warmed up enough. I looked up and saw that she'd grabbed the handrail above the seats. I looked between her legs for a second to see how much time we had before docking. Not much. I flattened my tongue against her clit and licked fast and furiously. Oh, fuck, she said. Holy shit, I'm going to cum. And that she did, very loudly, just as we hit the dock. Her heavy breathing turned into a laugh as the doors opened. The liftie manning the top of the gondola was twenty-two or twenty-three and was probably very stoned. Finding a sober lift operator on an empty Monday morning was about as unlikely as giving someone you'd just met head in a gondola. He saw us scrambling to get dressed. How about you two take it back down, he said, and gave us two thumbs up, nodding his head and grinning. Good idea, I yelled out. Thank you. The doors shut. We laughed. Your turn, she said, zipping herself back into the warmth of her onesie as I unzipped mine. Hard as a rock, and my cock jumped out of my long undies as she pulled them down. Now I see why you ski with such B.D.E., she said, smiling at me. She took me in her mouth, and the contrast of the ice-cold air and the warmth of her mouth was pure ecstasy. I lasted a third of the time she did. I'm going to cum, I said. I'm going to cum, fuck. She didn't stop, and she took me in even deeper. I'd basically been edging for over an hour, and I came hard. She hummed approvingly on my cock, and the vibration of her voice made me shiver. She looked up at me. I guess we can call today a tie, she said. Are you always this competitive? Only when I meet a worthy competitor, she said, as she pulled up my long underwear. We got dressed, she said. We can't take this thing back up again. We'll get kicked off the mountain for indecency. We didn't need to discuss a plan. It was obvious. We skipped the last run, got into our cars, and she followed me back to my house, where I drew a bath for us. We sat in the warm water, talking about our travels, her calling to medicine, and the book I was writing while massaging and caressing one another. We got dressed, I made us dinner, and she left. Let's do it again tomorrow, she said, looking back as she walked into the night towards her car. You're on, I said. I fucking love skiing.