Carrie Minberg, Female, 19-20

	- Narrator, freshman / rising sophomore at Bitterwood

	- Beige, freckled skin, 5'6, 145lbs, curly back-length dark-red or blue hair

Elise, Female, 19-20

	- Freshman / rising sophomore at Bitterwood, Norwegian

	- Pale golden skin, 5'10, 155lbs, shoulder-length light blonde hair

Elise was immediately immersed in ten hours a day of training. She registered for a competition to be held the last week of our visit. We had a few weeks, and most of her time was spent away from my arms.

That didn't help, to be sure. I wanted to mend us, to spend every minute making her feel my love, to let my body continue to beg for forgiveness. Being apart all day made it very difficult, but I tried when I could. I made her soup and coffee, brought it to her at the lodge where she too lunch breaks. I kissed her, held her every night, said “I love you” enough to be annoying. But she smiled, her eyes becoming softer with each day.

Elise had turned 20 in June, and I did the same in July. It was one of those round numbers that required reflection and I spent some quiet time considering what I'd done right, where I'd fucked up, and I came away with a mixed bag that was my life. That round number was much easier on me than the ones that followed, though I didn't know that at the time.

After a week in Russia, we finally had sex again. It felt good, I'd missed it, and so had she. But, there was a new element then, something I'd never had before. She spanked me. Hard. One hand fingering my puss, the other leaving hand-sizes prints on my ass. I never knew if it was born out of her desire to punish me in some way, her need to feel like she was in control of me again.

Whatever it was, I loved it. Loved it. Still do. I came so hard when Elise smacked my ass. She started calling me 'slut,' pulled my hair. I'd never been with anyone who played rough, and I loved it. I didn't know that I would love to hear the word 'slut' slide from her lips, almost in a sneer. A hard smack on my ass would be followed by another, and another. And I came hard that night, several times, and the following few nights. I fell in love with being spanked, pulled, called names.

It was fucking, to be sure, but we weren't making love. There was still something between us, and though I loved the rougher sex, I feared she had established a new balance in our relationship where the soft, fun times were to be replaced with a desire to punish me. I had mixed feelings about wanting that and dreading it.

I spent my days learning to ski solo. I usually found a partner to run with me down the hill, no one that I came to know well, just random people heading down the slope when I was there. I got better, but two weeks in, I twisted my ankle and couldn't make any more trips down the mountain for a while.

Late one night about two weeks after that, my ankle was feeling good enough to try some easy slopes, and Elise went with me to do my first night skiing. I made a couple of runs on the mostly abandoned slopes, and for the first time in weeks, felt like Elise and I might be ok. Our conversation came easy again, friendly giggles, jokes. The hurt was gone from the edges of her words, and her eyes began to sink into mine, leading to spontaneous hugs and kisses.

We made a last ride up the lift and waited at the top a moment for a stiff breeze to lay down, the attendant cautioning us to sit and wait for it to blow on. I held Elise's hand, gloves off, sitting in a small room with a fire roaring. We were the only ones there, along with the attendant who chain smoked sitting on the steps, out of sight.

The lights went out, humming power of engines quieted and fell silent. All I heard was Elise breathing and the wind whistling past the building.

The attendant opened the door, shined a flashlight in. We looked at him as he spoke in Norwegian, which Elise translated, “stay here. Generator should kick on in a few minutes. Worst case, I'll take you down on the ski-truck. Wait here, I'll be back.”

So we snuggled together as the temperature quickly dropped on the mountain. Elise wrapped her arms around me, and the way she hugged me said she needed me, more than just a hug. It was the most welcome feeling in the world. My fingers slipped inside her ski pants, the tight fabric making it difficult to advance.

She shifted, pushed down her pants and panties, exposed her bald puss to my fingers. I slipped two inside, kissed her neck, her lips, heard her panting, sighing. I fingered her, fingered her steadily, my hand becoming sticky with her discharge.

Elise held my other arm, and my head, held me tight, clenching, her vagina spasming around my fingers. I moved in and out, let my thumb slide around her hard clit as I stroked. She bucked and came, her cunt flooding, her moans barely stifled. I pulled my fingers out and sucked on them, tasted her sweet, sweaty juices. She kissed me, tasted herself on my lips, and I drove my fingers back between her legs, and brought her to orgasm again.

She pushed me back, helped me pull my pants to my thighs. Her fingers slid into my puss, and I was so wet there was almost no resistance. Her lips grazed my clit before she sucked me in, and her confident strokes left me ringing in climax in less than a minute.

I was just pushing her back, wanting to taste her, when a beam of light swept across the wall in front of me, and I froze. The attendant reached for the door, and in no less than two seconds, Elise and I had our fingers out of pussies, pants up, and were sitting quietly when his flashlight hit our eyes.

I grimaced at the blinding light and he moved it aside, said through Elise, “Generator's blown, no power. I need to get you two down the mountain.”

When he turned his back, I kissed Elise deeply, squeezed her hand twice, three times, tried with all my will to sink my love into her, to return us to what we had before.

And it worked. Her eyes were wonderful an inch from mine, bright, full of love, and the kiss we shared made it clear we were ok. I hadn't felt that from her since I'd told her about Lawton, and feeling it then, in that dark, isolated room at the top of a Russian mountain, was one of the most relieving and wonderful sensations in my life.

We followed the attendant to the truck. He stopped on the driver's side, pointed to the other side, and Elise told me, “says we can cram in up front or ride in the back. He'll go slow either way, wet snow falling halfway down the mountain, might get a little slick.”

I eyed the pile of trash and buckets and cones in the passenger seat and voted for the bed of the truck. We climbed over and held on to bungee cords as the truck rumbled to life and slowly rolled down the backside of the mountain, making a slow wind down and toward the lodge.

We kissed on the way, though it was a bit rough and we bumped teeth and foreheads often. It brought giggles, no serious hurts, and before long, I had my hand in her panties, again fingering the beautiful blonde to orgasm.

She returned the favor, and we licked my cream from her fingers as we neared the lodge.

That night, back in her bed, we made love properly, softly, hungrily. It was two hours of slow touching and fingering and kissing, tasting, smelling, laughing together. I loved it, needed it, so in love with Elise, and finally, I was sure that what I'd done to her was past us.

I wish I could have said the same about Lawton.

- - -

Elise completed her training and competed in the event, finishing fifth out of thirty skiers, and I was so proud of her. The field was deep, lots of potential Olympians, and finishing fifth put her on the map for the Norwegian skiing team. She was invited to tryouts to be held in November, and we were both excited by the opportunity before her. I hoped to be able to go with her for the week in Oslo, but knew it might be hard to get excused for that time.

We got back to Amsterdam late on a Friday, classes for our sophomore year starting on Monday. I'd heard nothing from Lawton in Russia, and I didn't expect to hear from him again.

Monday, I got a letter from him. The mail system was odd on campus. A student was assigned to collect it from the post office, and another usually distributed it to the students.

At least two of my classmates saw the address line which read, “Carrie Minberg, aka Loose Girl.” That sinking feeling that hit made me nauseous. It was from Lawton, and I had no idea what I was about to read.

He started off apologizing for 'pressuring me for sex.' The first paragraph was all about that and I started to believe he had accepted the reality I'd described.

Instead, the next paragraph seemed to sprout from a different mind, a different man, someone who was nothing like the Lawton I'd known and loved. He was harsh, called me a 'slut,' said that he knew I 'had a fucking boyfriend,' that 'he hoped he was a good lay, that he was worth breaking my heart.' He told me that I should be ashamed to be so 'loose,' so 'available to anyone with a cock.'

The third and last paragraph was worse, said that he'd never loved me, that 'you were just the lay I needed, so thanks for that.” Lawton's words stung me, I couldn't imagine how he wrote “you were loose, you know... work on that... stop fucking so many dicks.”

I couldn't cry I was in such shock. This wasn't the Lawton I'd spent so many months of my life with, sharing love and friendship and incredible sex. How could he think those things about me? How could I have missed that he felt that way about me? Why hadn't I known?”

The self-doubt threatened to crush me. I knew all the rational responses, that none of this mattered, that Lawton was in my past for good, that what I had with Elise would drown all of his hatred and banish it from my life. I knew all that, and I still felt horribly guilty, wondered how I was so blind to him, what I'd done wrong, besides sleeping with him that night.

I was sitting frozen, letter in hand, when Elise came in. “Hey, sexy!”

She saw the look on my face, my blank stare, my mouth slightly agape. She sat down her bag and knelt in front of me, took one hand in hers, said softly, “what, Love? What's wrong?”

I handed her the letter, shaking. She sat on the couch and read it, her mouth opening, anger on her face. Before I could stop her, she grabbed a lighter and set it on fire. I reached for it, dunno why I thought I should save it. Elise was determined, held it until the flames approached her fingers, then crushed it into the ashtray.

She said resolutely, “no, that's not fair. Not fair to say to you. And he's lying. Don't let him do this to you, Carrie. He's wrong, and he's behind you now.”

I nodded weakly, still thick with shock. She pulled me to the couch, laid back with me over her. Elise held my head and my stomach, stroked both gently, kissed my cheek and my ear. I didn't cry, the emotions not quiet settled on that, but I felt really confused. Angry, yes, I felt angry. 'Loose Girl?' That was the worst of all of it. He surely knew what that had meant in my life back in Texas. He knew, and he ground salt into the wound by using it in the address.

We rocked a bit, saying nothing, and eventually Elise's arms brought back my mood, albeit hindered by the hurtful letter from Lawton. She ate my puss that night but I couldn't cum, still bound up in my reaction to his horrible words. She didn't try to get me to go down on her, and for once, I was thankful for that. I just wanted to be held. I told her so, and Elise, the wonderful woman that she was, understood and gave me what I needed.