Jerome’s Chronicles by 7.92x57
(Mg, ped, rom, slow)
Available at http://www.asstr.org/~792x57/

I’d like to apologize ahead of time to the people of Canada, I have taken liberties with their land in this story.  I’m quite sure that the Northwest Territory is not as sparsely populated as I have portrayed, I’m not sure there is anywhere on Earth that empty.  I needed it to be so it is, at least in this tale.  The cities of Redmond and Towland don’t exist.  The Canadian National does exist but I made up the CanWest line.  Making up things saves on research and you don’t have to worry about getting the details right. 

	Catharsis, that’s what I was after.  I’m sure of that…maybe.  It might also have been the shock of turning 40.  Who me?  I can’t be 40, I was a teen just yesterday!.  It might also have been the need for the primal scream, macho style, the need to prove that I could cut it.  That I… the almighty ‘I’ still had enough sand in my gullet and testosterone in my balls to stare eternity in the face and flip it off.
	Whatever the reason here I was, Jerome T Jarret, ex accountant, ex stockbroker and recently ex husband.  I shivered as the bush plane circled back for a last pass.  His wings waggled once then he was a rapidly dwindling dot headed south.  I watched till the roar of the engine vanished, leaving only the moan of the wind for company.  
	I looked around and took stock.  I was standing as far north as one could get on the continent and still be within the jurisdiction of any North American government.  The Arctic Circle was a week or so south by my reckoning.  My goal was actually a simple one.  All I had to do was make my way nearly 1200 miles through some of the most remote terrain on Earth.  My end point would be the US border.  To make things more interesting it was mid-October with winter coming on.  My resources, would be myself, $5000.00 worth of high tech clothing, tentage and sleeping gear, and a 60+ year old M1903 Springfield sniper rifle kitted out in modern carbon fiber furniture.  I had a few other things along, there was my sled, a modernistic thing of aluminum and titanium tubing of my own design.  Hopefully it would be light enough for me to pull even loaded down with 200+ pounds of freeze-dried nutrition.  I had a pistol too, a ported, vented and lightened by god Colt Commander.  The latter was maybe redundant.  If anything hostile got close enough for me to make a 0.45 count I was already in a world of shit, but my macho psyche demanded it so it rode on my hip securely ensconced in Nomex.
	I shifted the rifle to a more comfortable position, snuggled down my pack and took up the sled’s leads.  I figured with a heavy load I’d be lucky to make five miles a day.  As the sled grew lighter and my body toughened my mileage would increase.  By the time I reached the first of my supply caches I expected to be doubling my initial daily distance.  Of course then I’d have a heavy sled again and the entire process would begin anew.  All of this was assuming I didn’t step in a hole and break my leg on the first day.
	Which brings me to what was not in my gear.  No where on my person, on the sled or at any of my caches was there any form of communication device.  No phone, no radio, not even a single flare.  The scream demanded it.  I was working without a net.  That was the grand experiment.  Had the twentieth century office bred male lost what it meant to be male?  Did I have to cringe away from the spirits of men like Jim Bridger, Bill Cody and Daniel Boone or could I turn and stare their shades in the face.  The question had been asked, an answer was required.  Was I a man or a nebbish?
	I scuffed my feet to seat my Tech-Land alloy snowshoes and threw my shoulder against the sleds harness.  The dry-lubed runners ‘screed’ lightly as they started to slide across the hard crust of yesterdays snowfall.  It was time to find out.
       Even in summer the Northwest Territory was a very sparsely populated piece of real estate.  Known worldwide as ‘The Sportsman’s Paradise’ it was a mecca for hunters and fisherman during the fair months.  When the first icy breath of autumn came roaring down from the north all of that stopped.  The cabins were shuttered, the tents struck, and the bush pilots settled in for the winter at their favorite pub with a beer and a yarn.  The world’s deserts were bustling masses of humanity compared to the Northwest Territory in winter.  I was smack dab in the middle of the least populated stretch of acreage on Earth.  It was entirely possible that there was not another human being within hundreds of miles.
       At first the going was fairly easy and my spirits, jarred by the departure of the bush plane, soared.  I congratulated myself for the hours I’d spent on the Stairmaster and the rigorously enforced daily jog.  I looked around at the terrain, the gently rolling snowfield that was all that could be seen in all directions.  I figured it would be three weeks before I saw a tree.  To the west the Brooks range played on the horizon but I knew it to be a trick of the atmosphere, a refractory golem thrown up for my amusement.  The foothills were 300 miles away.
	My Euphoria lasted almost till noon.  By then my calves had began to burn and my thighs ached.  When I stopped for a lunch of dried meat and snowmelt the muscles in my legs jumped like tiny frogs.  
	By dusk I was a basket case, my legs had turned to wood and even with all of the vents wide open my oh-so-efficient thermal clothing had turned into a sauna.  I pitched my tent, stuffed something vaguely chicken tasting down my throat, had four Tylenol for desert then collapsed.  I did have the presence of mind to turn my clothing inside out so my sweat could dry but then I was done.
	I awoke in the predawn thoroughly in pain.  Every movement caused some muscle or tendon to scream in agony.  I laid there for awhile trying to will myself to death.  That didn’t seem to work and the pistol was too far away so I decided to get up and piss instead.  Getting out of my tight mummy bag took a month or so and almost a year elapsed before I made it to the tent door and zipped it open.  I staggered out to greet the pink horizon of an arctic morning.  I made a yellow hole in the snow then swallowed another handful of Tylenol and lurched back to bed.
	The sun was up before I felt like moving again.  I dressed, leaving off several layers this time then melted some snow for breakfast.  It takes a lot of snow to make a quart of water.  Fortified with porridge and coffee I loaded the sled and got back into train. 
       Today was worse, far worse.  Each painful step was a triumph of the will.  I stopped twice before lunch, both times adding to my Tylenol overdose.  I’d brought plenty but at the rate I was going through them I might run out.
	I called it a day well before dark, having covered maybe three miles.  I used the time for a more substantial supper and rehydrated some lasagna.  It tasted gritty.  I climbed into the tent and contorted myself into my sleeping bag.  I was tired to the bone but sleep was for some reason a long time coming.
                                                          *    *    *
	My life had been pretty mundane till a few months before.  I was your classic WASP.   A minor gridiron hero in high school, I’d gone off to a good college then returned to marry the homecoming queen.  A string of good, stable, safe jobs followed.  We had the requisite 2.3 kids, a dog named Skippy and a sport-ute in the garage.  It hadn’t been an exciting life but it had been satisfying.
	The trouble might have originated with me, at least I can’t place all of the blame on Stella.  As I approached the big four-oh I’d grown increasingly dissatisfied.  At 38 my conservative sedan was traded for a Mustang.  A year later that was traded for an SVT Cobra with all the go-fast toys.  Stella felt it too but she reacted differently.  She dumped the ladies bridge club and took up rollerblading.  Her crowd changed, instead of attending PTA meetings she became a regular at the local strip club’s Wednesday night all male revues.  
	We tolerated each other’s whims.  She didn’t approve of my cars and I didn’t think a great deal of her watching Juan or Peter shake his tiny tiger-striped g-string in her face.
	The problem was angst, middle aged angst.  In high school we’d been a pair, Rebel’s without a clue.  We’d broken the rules just because they were there and gleefully taken the consequences.  We’d made great plans, we were going to join the Peace Corp, we were going to work our way around the world as deckhands on a freighter, we were going to climb mountains.  What we’d gotten were dental appointments, parent-teacher conferences and Brownie Scout meetings.  Our clocks were ticking and our dreams had slipped away like sand through a grocery cart.
	One fine day I came home early from work and caught Stella in bed with Juan, he was not wearing his g-string.  The resulting scene was ugly, I am not a big man but I’d kept in reasonable shape and I had anger on my side.  I hit Juan three times before he untangled himself from the sheets and four more times after he gained his feet.  He lost them shortly thereafter and went down in a bloody heap.  Stella was screaming and tried to intervene.  Still seeing red, I hit her twice.  They both ended up in the hospital.  
	When the dust and tears settled I was labeled a domestic abuser and barred from my own home.  I wasn’t allowed to see my children except under court supervision.  In the divorce proceedings Stella got the house and the kids.  Juan moved in a week later.
	I tried to pick up the pieces but the whispering got to me.  It was a small town and everyone knew what had happened.  Co-workers shunned me as a wife beater, there was no sympathy for why I was a wife beater.  That would be politically incorrect.  I was pariah.  I put my head down and took it but the pressure was building.  I walked into a room and conversation stopped, I walked through the cubes and muted voices and muttering followed in my wake.  Finally the gauge was in the red, it was decision time.  I could walk in the door with an AK-47 or I could do something really stupid.  I opted for the latter.
                                                     *    *    *
	I awoke to see the pale gray dawn bleeding through my deep blue tent.  Every movement sent fire racing up my neural pathways.  I wanted nothing more than to simply lie there but my bladder was urging me otherwise.  Get up or piss myself, get up or piss myself…..decisions, decisions.
	Groaning and hissing like a leaky boiler, I managed to get free of the tent and stagger out to greet the day.  The aurora was playing to the north.  Pale greens, reds, and oranges shifted and shimmered in the gathering light.  I contemplated the show for a moment then turned my back on it and made some yellow snow.
	Breakfast was the increasingly familiar cocktail of high calorie mush and Tylenol, washed down with scalding coffee.  I got in harness and headed south.  Every footstep was a study in torture.
	The next three days passed much the same.  I generally made something over two miles a day.  My mood grew bleak and then bleaker.  When I wasn’t so damned despondent I was pissed at myself for getting into this fix.  When I wasn’t pissed at myself I was pissed at Stella and all the other pricks in my dickwater hometown who had forced me into this fix.  Given my mood I don’t know why I kept going.  I’d like to say guts and gumption or mouth some quaint phrase like ‘when the going gets tough the tough get going’ but I honestly think I was just too fucking stubborn to stop.
	On the fifth day I did take a break.  After breakfast I stripped to my skivvies and gave my clothing a snow bath.  Synthetics are wonderfully light and have great insulating qualities even when wet.  Wear them for any length of time however and they’ll stink to high heaven.  While my clothes dried I curled up in my sleeping bag with one of the handful of paperbacks I had brought and munched Tylenol.  I ventured out after lunch and despite my aching body enjoyed a brief hike without the encumbrance of pack or sled.
	That night I slept soundly, the first good sleep I’d had in several days.  I awoke refreshed and though I was still sore I could move without gritting my teeth in agony.  This day I made something close to the five miles I’d reckoned on from the start.  I stopped in a small hollow and rewarded myself with a steak, one of the few items on the sled not freeze-petrified.
	The next day was better.  I think I actually bettered five miles.  The Northern Lights were playing over my shoulder as I set off and they were center stage again before I stopped.  I felt satisfied I had finally hit the groove.  My spirits soared, all was well in Mayberry.
	Isn’t it just like life to throw a curve ball with the bases loaded.  I awoke the next morning to buffeting fabric and howling wind.  The season’s first snowstorm had hit, and with a vengeance I might add.
	I had to fight my way out of the tent then dig for the sled.  I’d been leaving my pack outside so I had to dig for that too.  I retrieved something powdered and egg colored along with some dehydrated potatoes from the sled then drug myself and the pack inside.  
	I melted snow and rehydrated breakfast.  By mixing the eggs and potatoes together I had something nearly palatable.  I’d have liked some salt and pepper but it wasn’t worth braving the wind again.
	I read till noon when the wind seemed to slack off a bit.  I ventured out to see if perhaps I could salvage a portion of the day but the snow was still coming down hard.  I couldn’t see 10 feet.  I read some more then turned in early.
	The next morning was quiet and clear.  I ventured out to find a world remade.  Gone was last year’s tattered crust.  In its place was a pristine blanket of blinding white.  It was almost dreamlike in its smooth perfection.
	I wasn’t so appreciative an hour or so later.  After digging out the sled and wolfing down some concentrate I set out to make up for lost time.  I soon discovered that fresh powder was an altogether different beast than what I had become accustomed to.  Last years snow had hardened and compacted with time, giving it a fairly firm surface.  In contrast the fresh fall lay on the ground loose and light.  Even with my snowshoes I sunk to mid calf with every step.  The sled dug in as well.  It was rather like walking in loose beach sand and trying to pull your fat Aunt Grace in a Radio Flyer along behind, tiring, very tiring.
	I refused to get down about it and plodded along, perhaps my soul was toughening along with my body.  Days passed,  the new fall compacted and my mileage went up.
	I was starting to become concerned about my food supply.  I was burning a lot of calories and even with the wonders of mummification I was going through five pounds a day.  That meant I’d started with a 40 day supply of grub.  I’d been conservative and sited my expensively placed food caches 30 days apart.  I wasn’t making near the mileage I’d planned though, even counting my safety factor I was looking at trouble.
	At the two-week point I sighted my first tree.  It was a straggly fir and looked rather lonely.  I passed a dozen more before the day was out.  In the fading light at the end of the day I could see a dim green line ahead.  I’d reached the tree line.
	Once amongst the still sparse trees I started looking for tracks.  When the Canadian government had grudgingly given me permission to carry arms in their fair land they’d stipulated that it was only for defense.  I reckoned that starvation was an enemy as deadly as a bear so I was ok.
	On my third day in the forest I sighted my first game.  I’d stopped at midday to follow a set of fresh tracks in the snow.  These led dutifully to a snowshoe rabbit standing stock-still and pretending to be part of the landscape.  I shouldered the Springfield, took careful aim, and promptly blew the poor bunny in two.  A 30-06 might me excellent bear medicine but it’s a mite strong for Thumper.  I managed to salvage a few scraps of meat but the result hadn’t been worth losing half a day.
	My second storm hit a day later.  I had been moving for a couple of hours and was making good time when I noticed I could no longer see blue through the trees, a solid overcast had closed in.  The sky darkened over the next hour till it was a dark slate gray.  The wind picked up and began to tug at the treetops, first in fitful gusts then a in a constant angry drone.  Clumps of half melted snow was dislodged from the swaying branches and plopped or crashed to the ground.
	It didn’t take a genius.  I found a rock outcropping with a sheltered overhang and a couple of sturdy pines to serve as a windbreak and dug in.  I had no sooner set up the tent when the snow came, thick and wet.  The fat flakes smacked against the tent fabric with an audible ‘spat’.  Visibility began to close down as I bustled around gathering up wood.  By the time I’d dumped my second armload it had dropped to yards.  
	I got a fire going without much difficulty then sat in the door of the tent and watched the snow while coffee brewed.  The wind was really whipping at the treetops but down on the forest floor there were only restless eddies.  The snow even did a pretty good job of muffling the roar making the blow seem distant and remote.
	The storm lasted two days.  When it finally abated it left a foot of fresh snow on the ground.  A final overnight cold snap had frozen it solid, making for firm but treacherous footing.
	It was still snowing when I started out but it wasn’t that heavy.  Visibility was more limited by the trees than the snow.  It was very still, a sort of New England picture-post card snow.
	It took two spills and 30 minutes before I surrendered to common sense.  I removed my snowshoes then installed the little metal studs that were optional on my boots.  The kit, of course, was at the bottom of my pack.  I’d just started moving again when another rabbit burst into view and then tried his imitation of statuary.  I fumbled for a moment but managed to clear the Springfield and shoulder it.  He was close enough that I could pick my target.  His cute bunny head swam in the crosshairs before I blew it clean off.  The shot roared in the silence of the woods and a moment later I got a pound of icy snow down my back as the report dislodged the burden of an overhanging branch.  
	I made good time with my studded boots, maybe my best day so far.  I moved on into twilight and finally stopped on the bank of a deeply sunken stream.  Cleaning the rabbit proved a chore, he had stiffened and partially frozen.  That and my inexperience at the task combined to create a thirty-minute ordeal.  Finally however, Bugs was cooking over a small fire.  I reclined at my leisure and picked off pieces as he roasted.  Some was nearly raw and some was overcooked but it was all good.  Even burning my fingers several times didn’t diminish my ‘all’s right with the world’ glow.
                                                    *   *  *
	Nearly everyone had tried to talk me out of this adventure.  At first my boss and co-workers had simply written it off as a ploy for sympathy on the part of the wife beater.  Once they realized I was serious they attributed it to a ‘Walter Mitty’ pipe dream and reasoned it would blow over.  When they finally decided it wasn’t going to blow over a few began to drift into my cube or chat me up at the water cooler.  Guys who hadn’t spoken to me in months now tried to play the wise sage and instill wisdom in my hard head.  Finally, my boss had pulled me into his office for a heart to heart.  This ended with him threatening to fire me if I pushed on with my plans.  I saved him the trouble by quitting on the spot.
	The various levels of American and Canadian officialdom I had to wade through were the next level in the discouragement chain.  At every permit office and stamp counter someone had pulled me aside and tried to get me to call it off.  At the last the folks from north of the border had even dug up some moldy old adventurer type who had lost all of his fingers and most of his face to frostbite.  He’d given me a scratchy 30-minute rendition of the horrors of the northern wilds then tottered off for another pint.  
	Even the bush pilot who’d brought me out had made a last plea for sanity, offering to let me winter at his place then bring me back out in the spring for a ‘nice little hike.’
	Of these the only one that had even made a dent was my ex-wife.  I don’t know who called her.  I hadn’t talked to her in months.  She tearfully begged me to call it off, ending with ‘what about your children?  They need a father!’.  Odd, considering she hadn’t let me see them since the divorce.  I hung up from that call with a lump in my throat.  Despite it all I still loved Stella.  I’d sat in contemplative silence for a few minutes then resumed my packing.
                                                     *    *    *
	In the morning I smashed some ice in the stream and found for-real liquid water under it.  This saved me the trouble of melting snow.  I wolfed down oatmeal and an energy drink and was soon on my way.  One of my milestones was ahead and I was anxious to see some sign of progress.
	The Canadian National’s CanWest line is not the furthest north railroad in the world.  It is on the 10 best list however.  The line operates only six months out of the year, servicing the town of Redmond.  Redmond in turn was a company town,  CanWest’s cadmium mines 3, 4 and 7 were its sole reason for existence.  The mines were only marginally profitable, that meant they weren’t worth the extra cost of keeping them open in the winter.  Each fall the mines close and except for a tiny caretaker staff the town is abandoned.  In late spring the workers come flooding back and the drills, pumps and hammer mills roar back to life.
	I reached the right of way about midday.  A twenty-foot wide gash had been chopped through the forest.  At its middle was a raised roadbed that supported the single-track line.  That line was now buried under drifts five feet thick in places.  In another month the drifts would be a dozen feet thick.  That was another reason Redmond shut down in the fall.
	I checked the date on my watch and frowned.  I dropped my pack and fumbled around in the side pockets.  I found what I was looking for amongst a small packet of travel worn informational brochures the lady at the Canadian customs office had shoved on me at the last moment.  The only reason I still had them was the reasoning that they might make good tinder.
	I opened the scuffed brochure.  There at the bottom was the CanWest lines schedule.  The last run would be tomorrow.  
	If you’ve ever seen a picture of a modern diesel consist, snowblower at full howl, smashing its way through towering dunes and drifts, chances are good it was the Canadian National’s CanWest.  It is by all accounts a spectacular sight.  By my original timeline the road would be a week behind me at this point.  During planning I’d felt mild regret that I’d miss the last run.  A week was simply too valuable to throw away though.  Now the line wasn’t behind me.  It was 10 feet ahead and the last run was tomorrow.  I briefly debated then decided that another day was not going to do fatal hurt to a schedule already in intensive care.
	I set up at the wood line then spent the day hunting.  I was becoming more confident in my skills in this department but I found nothing but faint tracks.
	I had soup and pasta for supper then watched the stars and the tattered banner of the Aurora for awhile before turning in.
	The next morning I packed up and moved to the far side of the tracks.  Once in the woods I left my pack and sled a dozen feet in then found myself a good vantage point and waited.  My ego wanted to be standing out in plain view, rifle slung and hip shot out to emphasize the Colt on my side, every inch the rugged explorer.  There was only one problem with that.  It was damned rude.  Due to the inhospitable nature of the wilderness this far north there were two unwritten rules.  One, if you sighted anyone away from a populated area you stopped to see if they required assistance.  Two, there were no exceptions to rule one.  For that reason, if you weren’t in trouble good etiquette was not to be seen.  If I’d adopted my John Wayne pose I had no doubt that the engineer would have leaned on the brakes and brought his entire consist to a screeching, grinding halt.
	I dug into my dwindling jerky supply and munched for a while.  Sated, I lay back and stared up at the blue sky with its fleecy clouds, a sight that would become increasingly rare from now on.  
	I must have dosed because I started a short time later when a deep rumble impinged on my senses.  I sat up and peered through my blind.  There was nothing for a long moment then the blade wielding dervish of a snowblower hove into view, 5000 HP worth of GM muscle backing it up.  The train grew swiftly till the very ground vibrated.  Around me the woods came alive as numerous hidden creatures started away from this rude intrusion.
	Suddenly it was upon me.  I’d position myself opposite one of the deeper drifts.  It exploded as the snowblower bit into it.  The machine howled and spewed twin plumes of snow to either side, like a dragon breathing ice instead of fire.  I hunkered down as chopped snow and ice rained from the sky.  I hadn't realized the damn thing would throw it this far.
	The engine thundered by, a single elderly ‘A’ unit bellowing in assist, then the cars began their clanking passage.  First came the flat cars, loaded down with machinery that either needed repair or was too sensitive to leave over the winter.  Next came a single auto carrier, this carried the private autos of company bigwigs, Lexuses and Cadillacs seemed to predominate.  Rank after rank of rusty, snow encrusted boxcars followed.
	At the rear came the passenger coaches, most of the dozen or so elderly cars were badly weathered.  White faces peered from the windows.  A couple of more clanks and the caboose was past.  I looked after its dwindling form.  Sure enough, the green, ‘last run’ flag fluttered from a mast attached to its rear platform.
	Life is so freaking mysterious.  You get it figured out and the bitch tosses you a slider.  I’d just started to tun away and head for the sled and my pack when a spot of bright orange caught my eye from across the tracks.  It was deeply embedded in a drift and hadn’t been there before.  I shook my head in disgust; some asshole had dumped his garbage from the train.  There is a tendency amongst Americans to think of our northern cousins as more environmentally aware than we are.  That is not necessarily the case.  Canada has just as many fucking pigs as we do.
	I started to turn away again then swung back.  I took a step closer, then another.  Then I was fucking running!  Most garbage does not have arms and legs!
	I reached the drift and dug frantically.  In seconds I had disinterred a slight figure in a Day-Glo orange and yellow snowsuit.  I brushed the snow away and found myself staring at the face of a very pretty back girl of maybe nine years of age.  Like an idiot I stared at her for a moment then back at where the last train of the season had passed.
	I drug my sled and pack out and again set up camp.  This time right on the right of way.  It was the work of minutes to get a fire going.  I started snow melting then gently carried the girl to the tent and stretched her out on the floor.  A gentle probing followed.  I couldn’t detect any broken bones but it was hard to tell through the thick, quilted insulation.  I reached for the zipper and began the awkward job of stripping the pre-teen out of her snow suit.  Her boots came off first, they were a fashion brand.  A little showy, a favorite among the Aspen set, but serviceable nonetheless.  Her suit was likewise designer and would have fetched a premium in any boutique in Manhattan. 
	Underneath she wore a sweater over a boy’s plaid shirt.  Designer jeans hugged her full little hips.  I kept peeling and unearthed a pair of blue synthetic long johns like my own.  I paused here but reasoned I needed to see if she was hurt.  There were no blood stains on her thermal underwear but I pulled them off anyway, leaving her clad in only a tiny pair of cotton, little girl panties..
	I checked her for injuries but aside from bruises found nothing.  Her legs were smooth and very well formed.  The cleft mound of her little vagina showed prominently through the thin fabric at her crotch.  After checking her front I gently rolled her over.  Her little butt was almost a perfect heart shape.  Damn, my dick was getting hard.  It had been a long time since I was with a woman.
	Feeling guilty, I pulled her panties down to bare that sweet little ass and planted a chaste kiss on each cheek.  I then eased her into my sleeping bag and went outside to get some broth going.
	I managed to get some of the steaming mixture into the child.  She coughed and spit during the process and briefly opened her eyes but she was gone again before I could speak.  I tucked her in then lay down on the tent floor beside her.  Now what the fuck do I do?
       I dug the map out.  My options were not good.  Redmond was actually the closest habitation at 300 miles away but some very rugged terrain lay between it and us, very rugged.  The best option seemed to be to stay on my original path for another 400 or so miles then veer west for another 100 to reach Towland.  It was a small tourist town but it was there year round.  I was folding the map when I felt like I was being watched.  I looked up to meet a pair of big, almost liquid brown eyes.  My guest was awake.
	We stared at each other for perhaps five seconds before she broke the silence.
	“Could I have something to drink?”
	I nodded and ducked out of the tent.  A pot simmered on the dying fire.  I pulled if off and packed in more snow, watching it dissolve.  I tested it with a finger then added a little more snow.
	She was sitting up when I returned, demurely holding her shirt up to cover her flat chest.  “Did you undress me?”  Was there a hint of accusation there?
	I handed her the soot-covered pot.  “Yes, I needed to see if you were injured.”
	She was looking disdainfully at the titanium pot.  “Don’t you have any glasses?”  Her tone was petulant and annoying.
	“No, sorry.  I wasn’t expecting guests.”
	She grimaced and took a tentative sip.  She must have been really thirsty because she finished the entire pot.
	I took it from her and backed out of the tent.  “I’ll let you get dressed.”  I was melting more snow when she emerged a few minutes later.
	She looked around and then down at me.  “I need to go to the bathroom.”  Her tone was snotty,  the manner a princess would take with a wallyworld clerk.  
       I retrieved a roll of paper from the dry-bag on the sled then pointed at the woods.  
       She took the toilet paper and looked from it to me and then back at the woods.  Finally comprehension dawned in her eyes.  “I can’t go outside.  Where is the toilet.”  She didn’t stamp her dainty little foot but by the tone she wanted too.
       I turned and gave her my full attention.   “There is no toilet.  We, that is you and me, are 300 miles from the nearest water pipe and I am not sure there would be a toilet connected to it.  There is no toilet, no glasses, no television, no haute-cuisine and no room service.
       The scorn in my voice must have come through clearly, I had known this child all of ten minutes and already disliked her.  I didn’t even know her name but I knew she was spoiled, rich and annoying.  I’m really quite perceptive on occasion.
       Her chin began to quiver and she looked around again.  “Where is you’re car?”
       “I don’t have a car.”
       “A truck?”
       “No truck, no snowmobile, no motorcycle, no vehicle.”
       “But-“
       I cut her off, deciding it was time to put her in the know.  “We are in the middle of nowhere little lady.  We have no vehicle, no phone, no radio.  As I said we are three hundred miles from the nearest town.  The only way we are getting out of here is to walk.”
       Horror dawned on her pretty face.  “We have to walk 300 miles?”
       “No, actually we have to walk 500.  The terrain is too rough between here and Redmond.”
       She looked from me back to the train tracks.  “Well we can just wait for the next train.  It’ll stop won’t it.”  Desperation was creeping into her tone.
       “It will, when it arrives.  That should be sometime in April.  The one you fell off of was the last one this season.  Want to tell me how you managed that?”  Before she could answer a new thought crept into my mind, a happy thought.  I wasn’t looking forward to spending several months in this brats company any more than she was in mine.  “Then again, when the train arrives one passenger short they’ll send an inspection car or a chopper to search the tracks so maybe we should just sit here.”
       Her chin began to quiver again and tears painted a silent track down her face.  She slowly crumpled to the ground in abject misery.  “No one’s going to look.  No one knows I was on the train and I didn’t fall off.  I jumped.”
       Slowly through her sobs her story emerged.  For most of her life she had lived with her aunt and uncle.  The aunt was a warm, caring person who the child truly loved.  The uncle on the other hand was cold and domineering, too interested in the pursuit of wealth to have room for human concerns.  The aunt had succumbed to cancer the month before leaving her frigid uncle as her sole guardian.  He was constantly belittling and yelling.  He’d struck her on several occasions, once hard enough to cause the entire side of her face to swell up.  They had arrived in Redmond via chartered plane the previous day to arrange some mineral purchases.  When her uncle had left their empty hotel this morning for a round of business meetings the girl had packed and fled.  With no money she had done the only thing she could think of, hopped the last train out, though she hadn’t known it was the last.
       She was mature enough to know that without a ticket she would be detained when the train arrived and then returned to a highly perturbed uncle so she had hidden in a toilet for several hours.  The staff had finally grown suspicious about the locked door and had been working to force it when she panicked and jumped from the lavatory window.
       As her tearful tale drew to a close I was left with several ponderables.  Would the train’s staff figure that a locked door and an open window equaled a missing passenger?  Maybe, maybe not.  In the mad rush to mothball some equipment till spring and switch the remainder to other revenue lines would the incident even be reported?  Maybe, maybe not.  Would the authorities in Redmond, caught up in the shutdown rush, tie a missing little girl to the train?  Maybe, maybe not.  Damn, so much for flowcharting the problem.
       One thing was certain.  If the Canadian National folks realized they’d lost a passenger, paying or not, they would come looking.  In that case a track car or maybe a chopper would be along in a day or two.  If that occurred our best option was to sit tight.  If they did not realize it then no one was coming and all staying would do was lose us another day or two of travel time.  When you factored another mouth to feed into a food situation that was already borderline serious that was not good.
       I factored and I fumed.  You could almost smell the lube burning as the gears spun in my head.  A solution finally poked its way through the obscuring mists, it wasn’t ideal for either scenario but such is the way of compromises.
       I smiled down at the girl.  I might as well try to get along.  We might be together for awhile.  “Well honey, you might as well tell me your name.”
       She stared up at me and wiped the tears from her eyes.  “Tamara, Tamara Carter.”
       “Pleased to meet you Tamara.  I’m Jerome.  Now I’d suggest you go into the woods and take care of your needs while I see about getting us out of this mess.”
       My solution was simply to leave a message informing any searchers that we were bound south and to watch for flashes.  My little shaving mirror would make an adequate signaling device unless we were in deep woods.  Luckily the forests were still thin enough this far north to let us avoid that.
       I’d brought along a journal that I had yet to start.  I wrote out a concise note on a page from it and enclosed it in a ziplock bag.  I rummaged through the sled until I found a bright orange bag of chips.  The chips went into another ziplock.  The empty chip bag I stuffed with paper to puff it up.  I then taped it closed and fastened the note to the outside.  I used more tape to attach this ensemble to a sturdy 5 foot high pole I cut from a sapling.  I sharpened the opposite end of the pole and jammed it tightly down into the ballast between two ties of the track.  Anyone in an inspection car could not help but see it and it would be noticeable from a helicopter as well.  As insurance I scuffed four arrows in the snow around the pole pointing toward it.  I stepped back and admired my handiwork.  The arrows would vanish with the first fresh fall and the pole and message stood little chance of surviving even a moderate storm.  I privately gave the entire arrangement a week tops.  Not a great loss, If no one had arrived in a week then no one was coming.
       Tamara had returned from her nature call in time to watch the tale end of the preparations so I explained my reasoning to her.  She watched silently as I broke down the tent and packed up.  Remembering something, I dug through the diminishing food supplies on the sled till I found what I was looking for.  I had a funky set of new wave snowshoes that I’d picked up in Ontario.  They were mostly carbon fiber with only a little bit of metal in bindings and were untraditionally square in appearance.  I’d yet to try them.
       I had to adjust the bindings to their smallest size but finally managed to get a decent fit on the child’s tiny feet.
	We had only a few hours till dark but made use of them.  I set a good pace but Tamara, unburdened, had no trouble keeping up.  She did have trouble with the snowshoes, falling several times till I took a moment to demonstrate how to walk in them.
	We stopped at dusk and deliberately camped in the open.  The chance we would be spotted at night was poor but I would take what was going.  I fixed noodles with dried chicken and peas for supper.  Tamara had said little since leaving the railroad and was still in a pout.  She broke her silence to complain about the food but ate it all nonetheless.
	The next crisis came as we prepared for bed.  I had only the one sleeping bag.  Luckily I had brought a large model because I am slightly claustrophobic.  Tamara frowned when I mentioned we would have to sleep together.  When I stated we needed to do so naked she really looked askance.
	I wasn’t making up the naked part.  I’d been doing it since starting out.  There were several reasons for it.  First, a sleeping bag insulates better with nothing but bare skin in contact with it.  This lets your body heat build up an envelope of warm air in the bag.  Second, our clothes were wet.  We were slogging through snow and a certain amount of it worked its way into the fabric and melted.  Synthetics are wonderful.  Hang them in a cold tent and they will dry overnight.  They will not do so if worn in a sleeping bag where the air cannot get to them.
	I tried explaining these things to Tamara but she just backed away and shook her head, her eyes big and wild looking.  I sighed, too many pervert lectures in school.  Kids these days think every adult they meet is out to molest them.  With no option save force I relented and said she could remain dressed.
	As a placating move I retained my thermal underwear, Tamara piled in fully clothed, snow suit and all.
	We had to work at a sleeping arrangement.  Finally we found that the only thing that worked was for us to both lay on the same side with me snuggled up to Tamara’s back.  One arm was beneath her while the other I had to either keep tightly at my side or slide between her legs.  It was going to be a long trip.
	The next morning was bright and very cold.  The temperature had dropped during the night.  Tamara was stiff and very sore, the aftereffect of a thirty mile per hour impact with a snow drift.
	Breakfast was a high protein energy drink and a bagel.  Tamara grumbled something about bacon and eggs then we were off.
	I was soon miserable.  My damp long johns chilled me and the wet fabric chafed.  Tamara was far worse, at least my outer garments were dry.
	By mid morning Tamara was lagging badly.  I finally looked back to see her sitting down a hundred yards back.  Sighing I dropped the sled’s traces and trudged back to her.
	She was crying and shivering when I arrived.  Her snow suit was actually frozen stiff in places.  She was freezing.  I cursed all of the way back to the sled.
	I set up the tent then ordered Tamara to strip and get into the sleeping bag.  She said nothing but did give a nod pronounced enough to be discernible over all of the shaking her small body was doing.  Pissed as hell I grabbed up the Springfield and headed for a patch of forest nearby.
	I spent several fruitless hours following a variety of small game tracks that seemed to begin and end nowhere.  I was sitting on a fallen tree taking a breather when a muffled thud behind me brought my head around.
	It was a small reindeer, probably not even a yearling and cute as hell.  We both stared equally startled.  Cute doesn’t fill the stomach, the Springfield came up.  Rudolph must have had some survival training from mama because at the first twitch of the rifle he bolted.  I fired, succeeding only in blowing a divot out of a pine.  By the time I worked the bolt for a second shot he had vanished.
	Dejected, I hunted for several more hours but saw nothing.  The report of my one shot had probably sent everything within five miles scurrying.
	I arrived back at camp to find Tamara frantic.  She had heard the shot and being a city girl assumed someone had died.  Since I was the only someone she knew out here she’d worked her way into quite a state.  When I pushed through the door of the tent she leaped from the sleeping bag and wrapped herself around me.  She was wearing only her panties so when I returned the hug out of instinct I found one hand cupping a soft little girl butt.  I jerked my hand away at about the same time that Tamara realized her state of undress.  She squeaked then dove for the sleeping bag.  Once safely ensconced she shot me a shy grin, the first expression I’d had from her that wouldn’t pit chromium.
	Supper was more pasta, only the flavoring changed.  Pasta packs a lot of calories in a nice tight, easily rehydratable package.  Take a cross-country hike and you’ll eat a lot of pasta.  
	Tamara went to bed shortly after dark.  I gave her ten minutes then stripped off and gave myself a snow bath I was freezing when I pulled a dry pair of briefs on and, pulling my clothes behind me, crawled into the tent.  Normally that uncomfortable ritual was reserved for the mornings.  My houseguest had changed the routine.
	I found Tamara’s clothes hung neatly over the tent’s built in clothes line.  Apparently she had learned her lesson.  I hung mine alongside them and slipped into the bag behind her.  Damn, her skin was smooth as I slid down her back.  The back of one hand slid over the panty-clad mound of her little ass.  She murmured as I settled in.  Fuck!   My cock was resting right in the cleft of that little chocolate butt and the rebellious bastard was starting to swell.
	I tried fighting it down but it was no use.  Within less than a minute I had a raging boner lying between the cute panty-clad cheeks of a little pre-teen.  Fuck it, I gently slid my hand between her legs just above her knees, she was asleep and there was fuck all I could do about it anyway.  My dreams that night were luridly erotic.
	The morning arrived clear and slightly warmer.  Within hours the sky began to cloud over.  The snow held off till afternoon but when it came it was heavy.  We pushed on, making distance despite the weather.  We stopped again at dusk, soon the days would be so short we would have to move after dark but we weren’t at that point yet.
	We ate in silence then had a cup of hot chocolate.  Tamara then went to bed.  I waited for a few minutes to make sure she was settled then stripped off for my snow bath.
	Slipping into the bag was another game of touchy feelly.  Tamara shivered as my cold body slid in behind her.  I let the back of my right hand slide lightly down her smooth, bare back and over the softness of her little fabric covered butt before sliding it between her thighs.  I felt a twinge of guilt but I reasoned a little feel wouldn’t hurt anything, especially if she didn’t even realize I had taken the liberty.  Damn I was turning into a letch.
	We had to dig out the next morning.  We accomplished the chore and then set out.  Tamara was grumpy.  I thought I knew why but said nothing.  With each passing day the chance that anyone would come looking dimmed.  Surprisingly, I was not disturbed.  I hoped the reason for my acceptance of her presence wasn’t the admittedly pleasant experience of sliding into the sleeping bag behind that warm little ass.  I didn’t dig deep enough into my psyche to find out.  Turning over rocks is a bad idea if you suspect something nasty beneath.
	So far the terrain had been mostly flat.  This day we started getting some elevation changes.  They were just wrinkles at the moment.  They would get more serious.  It began to snow again at our noon break.
	The next several days passed much the same.  It got colder and snowed more.  Despite the trend toward ever-colder weather as we moved toward winter several times it warmed up enough to get a wet gushy snow.  This froze when the temperature dropped.  The result was a hard, slick crust on the snow with the delightful consequences I had discovered earlier.  The advent of a third dimension to our travels added another bit of fun.  On down slopes the sleds oh so efficient dry-lubed runners would allow it to play catch up with its motive power, namely me.  Depending on the severity of the slope the consequences could vary from a bump in the shins to being bowled over by a runaway pantry.  After the second incident of the latter I rigged a spare strap and Tamara belayed the sled on slick descents.
	The girl and I settled into a sort of uneasy camaraderie.  She seemed to have accepted that she had gotten herself into a fix and was going to have to walk out of it.  With this her gloomy mood sloughed off and she began to appreciate the beauty of the northern wilds and even the humor of her situation.  As she became more pleasant to be around my earlier resentment diminished and I actually began to enjoy her company.
	After a few days she finally broached the subject of hygiene, a difficult thing to maintain in normal climes if away from the proper facilities, in the great white with winter roaring in, almost impossible.  I explained my dreadfully uncomfortable snow bath invention, whereby one stripped off and scrubbed ones body with gritty handfuls of the white stuff until ones core temperature had dropped to that of a bowl of lime sherbet then dove into the sleeping bag to share ones joy with ones tent mate.  She tried it one night and came charging into the tent about 10 minutes later chattering something about ‘a-a-a b-b-b-bet-t-t-t-ter w-w-w-ay’.
	I didn’t particularly like it either and after some brain storming came up with a more pleasant alternative.  Among the sleds burden was a folding bucket that I had not though to have a use for till we got much further south.  I had actually cursed myself for a fool for not stashing the thing in one of the caches.  Now it found a use.  After supper we would start melting snow.  As we got a pan full it was dumped into the bucket.  If the bucket was kept close to the fire it would not refreeze before it could be used.  When there was enough water it was carried into the tent and utilized in a traditional sponge bath.  
	The system was not perfect.  Modesty, Tamara’s not mine, demanded that only one person bathe at a time.  That effectively meant we each could only do so every other night.  It also needed a fairly abundant supply of fuel.  The woods were still not thick and if we were forced to camp in the open it meant no bath.  Stove fuel was far too precious to waste on such extravagance.
	One night after Tamara’s bath I gave her an extra thirty minutes before slipping into the bag behind her.  Despite not having touched anything remotely resembling soap in over a week she smelled clean and fresh.  As I slid down there was more contact between us than was strictly necessary.  Damn she felt good.  I lay there with my dick getting hard for five minutes or so then gently spoke her name, nothing.  I raised the volume and sharpened my tone, adding a poke for good measure.  She didn’t even grunt.
	Satisfied I allowed my right hand to gently palm that little ass.  Damned I was becoming obsessed with that butt.  Ever since the first day when I kissed it I had known it was prime little girl butt but now it seemed to dominate my thoughts.  I gently squeezed first one cheek then the other, enjoying the way the soft flesh reacted to my tough.  I drug my fingertips down her tiny crack.  Fuck, my dick was going to explode!
	I had to have a better feel.  Listening carefully for any changes to the child’s breathing I gripped the waistband and ever so slowly pulled her panties down.  Now there was nothing between my questing fingers and their goal.  My hand slid across hot flesh that was far smoother than the finest silk.  Briefly I cupped one little cheek then the  other.  The thrill of just holding those warm globes of wonderful girl-flesh almost caused me to lose it.
	Slowly I extended a finger to lie in the humid groove of her dainty little ass cleft.  I began to stroke the length of it, probing a little deeper with each stroke.  I took my time, enjoying the illicit fondling of this pre-teens butt.  After a long minute I finally felt my fingertip brush the dainty flower of the child’s little asshole.  I circled the opening several times then pushed in slightly.  The first joint of my finger slipped into her butt before resistance stiffened.  Not wanting to risk waking my darling little bedmate I stopped pushing and just enjoyed the feeling of part of me in the child’s ass. 
	I finally eased my finger free and continued my explorations.  Down that little crack I went till it met her tightly closed thighs.  The bunched fabric of her panties brushed the back of my hand as I sent one lone finger on a reconnaissance between her sleek thighs and up onto the perfect mound of her bald little pussy.  I stroked the fat lips of her twat then slowly traced the groove that separated them.  There was just a hint of moisture there.
	That was enough and too much.  I withdrew my hand and grasped my steel hard cock.  Two jerks and I blew a massive load of cum over my chest and the child’s back.  It seemed it would never stop, spurt after spurt of hot, molten spunk pulsed through my prick to coat us both.
	I lay. Panting and recovering for several minutes then eased out of the bag enough to grasp a towel from the clothesline.  I snuggled back into the bag and gently blotted and wiped my spunk from Tamara’s smooth back.  After cleaning her up I wiped myself clean and tossed the towel outside.  I gently pulled the child’s panties up then eased my hand between her thighs just below her now fabric covered twat.  I snuggled up behind her, planting soft kisses on her shoulder and graceful neck then slept.
	As the days wore on my liberties increased.  My right hand rest had started just above the child’s knees.  It had moved up till it sometimes brushed that fabric covering of her crotch as we shifted.  My nocturnal explorations grew bolder as well.  Soon I was pulling my cock out and rubbing it’s drooling head over that fine little butt.  Twice I blasted massive loads of cum over those cute cheeks.
	We moved south for another week.  The forests grew thicker and the terrain more rugged.  Despite the fact that we had both toughened our mileage began to shrink.  The sled’s larder was a shadow of its former self.  
       At exactly the one month point in my trek another storm struck, snow and ice stung and visibility dropped to only a few meters.  Prudence suggested stopping but the grocery situation dictated otherwise.  We pushed on into a howling and growing darkness.
       That night was Tamara’s bath night.  I huddled around a guttering fire and tried to dodge the small glowing coals that the wind kept pulling out and flinging into the abyss.  Around me the half-frozen trees popped and groaned.
       I gave her twenty minutes then crawled into the tent and started to strip.  As my over garments came off I shoved each article out the door and shook off as much snow as I could then hung it on the line.  I was down to my briefs and trying to hang my somewhat smelly thermal undies up when cold fingers fumbled and I knocked most of mine and Tamara’s clothes from the line.  Swearing, I started to pick them up and carefully re-hung them, maintaining spacing so everything would dry by morning.  I was halfway through the task when I stopped in shock.  Wadded in my hand was the wet, cold mass of Tamara’s freshly washed panties.
       She had mentioned several days before that she wished she could wash her panties.  I’d idly suggested that she simply do so.  When she’d asked what she could wear to bed I’d simply shrugged.  Now the question burned in my mind.  What had she worn to bed?
       I took a quick inventory of her clothes, all were present.  I quickly re-hung the remaining clothes then stood for a moment in contemplation.  Decision crystallized.  With trembling fingers I tugged my briefs down over my hard cock and hung them alongside her panties.
       All kinds of lecherous thoughts passed behind my eyes as I slipped in behind the lovely black child.  My hard prick bobbed and brushed all the way down her back as I slid down.  I let the back of my right hand serve as a pilot, sliding it ahead.  Soon I felt the swell of her exquisite buttocks.  It was gloriously bare.  Tamara was naked.
       I settled in behind her with my hard dick nestled into the crack of her ass.  I was in pervert nirvana.  I gave her a minute to settle from the disturbance of my entry then began to explore that wonderful body.  I gently kissed her neck as my hand molested her little butt and pre-teen, baby twat.  I licked at her, little dabs that let me taste the forbidden spice of her skin.  Starting at the nape of her neck I kissed, licked and nibbled my way to one dainty ear.  I made a brief probe inside then proceeded down to the hollow of her throat and then up her jaw line.  All the while my right hand kept fondling and caressing her soft butt and bald sex.
       Finally I took my cock in hand and began to gently drag the head up and down her tiny ass crack.  Shit she was fine.  Gathering courage I bent my dick down and gently eased it between her sleek thighs.  When I released it the head nestled right up against her hot little pussy.  Fuck!  My bare dick was rubbing up against a nine-year-old girl’s hairless, baby cunt.  The thought alone almost made me cum.
       I pulled my cock back and rested the head in the cleft of her butt.  A half dozen jerks and I drowned her crack in cum.  I cleaned her up and then slept the sleep of not-so righteous but definitely sated.
       I awoke the next morning with an urgent need to piss.  Despite my condition I remained still.  Tamara was stirring and I knew from experience that she would be in the same state.  The minutes ticked away and I though I was going to have to abandon my vigil and go empty by bladder.  Just as I was about to throw in the towel the girl gave a great sigh and began to wiggle her way out of the sack.  This forced her little buns to massage my cock, an experience that would have been far more pleasurable had I not been about to pee all over myself.  Even so it was damned stimulating.
       Tamara froze as soon as she felt it.  She sucked that little ass in to break the contact and held that pose for long seconds.  Finally she eased back till her flesh just kissed my cock, it was a tentative move, sort of a ‘did I really feel what I thought I felt’ kind of thing.  As soon as she had confirmation she let out a muffled squeal and scrambled out of the bag.
       Now I had purchased an extra large sleeping bag, but the mouth was still quite restricted.  In the past I had either been asleep or pulled my head back to give Tamara room to enter and exit.  Not this morning, no way was I going to miss this.  I pretended sleep, forcing her to wiggle past my head.  As she did my nose slid right down the crack of her sleek little black butt.  Her cheeks slid across my lips like fine satin.  She smelled of girl butt and man cum.  The last was not a turn on for me but it didn’t detract that much from the moment either.
       She popped out of the bag and crouched.  I watched through slitted eyes as she shivered her way into her panties and jacket then slipped out the door.  Next time I’d stick out my tongue.
       Tamara was quiet when we set out.  I figured I was in for a row about climbing in nude with her despite her own state of undress but she never mentioned it.  By afternoon she was again chatting away.
       I had noticed a gradual change in her as we trekked on.  She had started as haughty and imperious.  That had given way to forlorn despondence when she finally came top realize just what a situation she was in.  She’d kept that state with minor relapses till all hope of rescue had vanished.  With the realization that she was in it for the long haul acceptance had come.  Since then she had become sunnier and was really starting to enjoy the beauty around her.  More than once we’d been brought to a halt as she stopped to gawk at a particularly striking section of landscape, wondered at the grace of a hunting hawk or simply paused to take in the piney grandeur of a boreal forest.  At first I was annoyed at these little stops.  When finally I looked inside myself that conceit vanished.  Just what the hell was this trek about anyway?  
       The row I had expected and not gotten in the morning arrived without expectation that afternoon.  A bull reindeer in full winter regalia stepped over a rise ahead of us.  In a flash I was out of harness and the Springfield was at my shoulder.  He swam in the crosshairs for a moment and then the sear released.  My shot roared out before I realized that Tamara had gone into contemplation mode again.  She was admiring the strength and beauty of the beast when I turned him from meat on the hoof to meat crashing down on its side.
       She stood stock still for a shocked moment then ran past me toward the fallen animal.  She stopped halfway to the plainly dead animal and stood in indecision for a moment.  When she turned to face me I could plainly see the tears in her eyes.  I felt like I’d been kicked by a mule.  The anguish on her face was heart rending.  The excitement of the kill fled to be replaced by remorse at the pain I saw in her eyes.
       After about thirty seconds she dropped her head and fell to her knees.  Sobs shook her slight body.  Camelot had been despoiled.
       I scuffed my feet for a moment then dropped my pack and leaned the rifle against it.  I covered the ground between us and stood like a nervous teenage wondering what to do next.  Anything I did was going to be wrong it was just a matter of picking the least wrong thing.
       I finally decided to try the mother approach.  Making soothing sounds (well I thought they were), I dropped to my knees and pulled her shaking body gently into my arms.  Tilt, Tilt, Tilt, ‘DANGER WILL ROBINSON’, that branch of the logic tree must have been fairly high on the no go list.  Tamara exploded at my touch and began to rain blows on me with her tiny fists.  I gathered her in and held her tight but it was like trying to hold on to a two-lung engine with a bad miss.  I barely felt her blows through the heavy layers of my clothing but she really gave it her all.  I grimly hung on till she eventually ran down and just hung in my arms and sobbed.
       I knew we’d get no more travel in this day.  Our still forming partnership was badly rent and was going to need some extensive repairs.  I eased Tamara down and started setting up the tent.  She said nothing as I worked but shortly after I moved off and started setting up the rest of our accouterments she crawled inside.  I could still here her sobbing.
       After putting it off as long as practical I pulled I knife, trudged over and began to slaughter Dasher.  I’d never cleaned anything this big and he’d already started to chill with the cold.  By the time the noble beast was converted to 150 pounds of ragged, bloody meat it was full dark.  I was covered with sweat on the inside and blood on the outside.  I stacked the hunks of meat onto the skin and drug the assemblage back to the sled.  I wrapped the bundle as tightly as possible and wrestled it aboard the sled.  A little artful rearrangement of the dwindling stores served to camouflage if not hide it.  I then went back and mounded snow over the grisly remains, retrieving fresh white stuff from a distance till all the bloodstains were hidden.
       I rolled in the snow and scrubbed my clothes.  Luckily the outer shell of both parka and pants was water-resistant so everything cleaned up well.  I then stripped and had an old-fashioned snow scrub of my own.  Shivering and shaking, I entered the tent and after hanging my clothes, slipped into the sleeping bag.  Somewhat to my surprise Tamara was nude again.  I had half expected to find her in parka and pants if not plate mail, the better to avoid contact with the murderer.  Despite our undress and the fact that my cock was pressed into her little ass I felt no arousal.  Before I drifted off to sleep my stomach informed me noisily that neither of us had eaten any supper.
       The next morning was cold and silent.  Tamara sat by the fire and watched me fix breakfast.  It was powdered eggs and dehydrated ham, not reindeer.  We weren’t ready for that step yet.  Her expressionless eyes moved from me to the burdened sled and back again.  More than once I caught her gazing at the snow grave I’d erected over the carcass.  
       After eating I broke camp and loaded everything up.  I expected a problem when it was time to move.  But she readily fell in behind when I set off.  
       The sky darkened to our backs as we moved and a fresh wind came whistling down from the north.  As the day wore on the black advanced across the sky till it passed the zenith.  The wind strengthened as well.  I recognized the signs by now.  We were in for it.
       I steered us into a thick copse of trees and pitched camp in the shelter of a fallen pine.  I dug the snow out from a tent-sized area and set up on top of it to further lower our profile.  The forest giants were flexing and groaning before I was done.
       Getting a fire going was a chore but eventually I had a cheery blaze hissing and spitting in the wind.  I pulled one of the hunks of meat from the sled and set it near the fire to thaw.  Tamara said nothing but her countenance darkened.  It was time to talk.
       I started slowly, speaking in a low conversational tone.  I kept any wheedling out of my voice.  I told her about nature’s food chain, how the hawks ate the rabbits and the wolves ate the reindeer and caribou.  While still talking I managed to saw a small strip from the hunk of frozen meat.  I spitted it and slid it in close to the coals.
       I told her about the food chain and our place in it, how very early man was probably pretty low in the pecking order.  We hadn’t the teeth of the wolves, the claws of the bear nor the swiftness of the antelope.  All we had was a large watery mass of gray behind our eyes.  That however was all we needed.  When man discovered weapons his stock went up.  It wasn’t long before we stood astride the food chain.  I told her this.  I spoke of how primitive man with only fire hardened spears drove the mighty mammoth to extinction.  I told of the buffalo hunters hired by the U.S. government to slaughter the bison and let them rot so as to deprive the Native Americans of their food source and drive them from their land.  I told her of the sport hunters that would slaughter a magnificent stag for nothing more than its horns.  I spoke of the poachers who even today slaughtered the great elephants for the ivory of their tusks.
       I told her this as I carved another piece of meat and set it to cooking, I told her that anything in extremis is generally wrong.  Too much water drowns, too much fire destroys, too much money corrupts and too much slaughter of game denudes the Earth of life.  Then I flipped to the other side of the coin.  In moderation, few things are harmful.  Water is needed for life, fire gives warmth and cooks food, money buys the things one needs, and two vagabond travelers marching across one of the greatest wilderness areas left on the planet were not going to unbalance the web of life because they killed a reindeer for food.
       The first sliver of meat was ready if maybe a little rare.  I burned my fingers pulling it from the spit then cut it in half.  I popped my half into my mouth and chewed slowly.  The flavor was wild and wonderful.  After a month on concentrates and freeze-dried it was a little slice of paradise.  The other half I offered to Tamara on the blade of the knife.
       She looked from it to me then down at the ground.  Finally she spoke.  “Is that what Simba’s father talked about in the ‘Lion King’ the ‘web of life’ stuff?”
       I had never seen the movie but quickly said, “Exactly.  That’s what they were talking about.”
       She sniffed then reached forward and took the meat.  She sniffed it then nibbled a little.  It must have been agreeable because the whole thing vanished into her mouth a second later.
       I carved more meat.  When the second sliver was ready Tamara was ready and eager for her share.
       We talked more as we ate.  When we finally turned in our bellies were full of reindeer and the breach between us had healed.
       I awoke in the middle of the night with the wind howling and the tent pressing hard on my back.  I pushed back but it only gave a little.  Swearing like a longshoreman I shimmied out of the sack past Tamara.  For some reason, perhaps residual guilt I hadn’t fondled her tonight.  As I wriggled out my cock slid up the groove of her little ass and then across the smooth flesh of her back and narrow shoulders.  The bastard thumped her on the ear as I emerged into the deep freeze of the tent.  Now I had hypothermia and a hardon, lovely.  
       I fumbled about, pulling on my long johns and my jacket before stuffing my sockless feet into the cold, stiff cavities of my boots.
       Either my crashing about of cursing had awaken Tamara.  She moaned and then asked groggily, “What is it?”
       “Too much snow honey.  I think it’s drifted up against the tent.  I’ve got to clear some away before it collapses.  Go back to sleep.”
       She snorted, mumbled a vague, “Ok,” then dropped away.  Kid could sleep through a prep-bombardment.
       I unzipped the tent just enough to slip through and stepped into a world gone wild.  The beam of the flashlight was swallowed before it went ten feet.  White swirled and billowed at the winds whim.  I stared for a moment while the wind tried to pluck me from my feet then put my head down and got to work.
       I had a folding shovel but I’d left it on the sled and I wasn’t going looking for it in this.  I trudged around to the backside of the tent.  As I’d suspected snow had collected in the cavity between the fallen tree and the tent.  I waded in, flailing away at it with my bare hands and using my body as a bulldozer.  In less than five minutes I managed to break up the mass and shove the bulk of it up under the old pine.  Cold and wet I trudged back around and shimmied back into the tent.
       I stripped and hung my freshly wet garments back up before sliding back in behind Tamara.  The child murmured in her sleep as my cold body slid against her warm one.  My cock was one again against that sweet little butt.  As it warmed the bastard started to get hard again.  I fucking ignored it and went back to sleep.
       I don’t know how long I was asleep, maybe an hour, maybe ten minutes, maybe who fucking knows.  I didn’t awake with a start I just awoke.  I lay there a moment trying to figure out what had disturbed me.  I was still trying to figure it out when the answer materialized from the darkness.  A feathery touch ghosted across my balls, barely enough to tickle the hairs.  It was back in seconds and this time tickled the flesh itself.  My first thought was that some animal had gotten into the tent and sought refuge from the cold in the sleeping bag.  The image of a mouse trying to decide whether my nuts were edible or not almost caused me to flinch away.  That idea fled even as it was crystallizing however.  It didn’t feel like a mouse, it felt like a small finger, a stealthy, covert little finger.  Fuck!  Tamara was feeling me up!
       That hypothesis was confirmed when the rest of her hand joined the festivities.  Slowly her fingers enfolded my balls till they held my nutsack in the palm of her hand.  Her fingers slid over the hairy, wrinkled flesh, exploring.  She hefted my balls once or twice, weighing them then let her hand slip away.
       Let me tell you, my dick was like a steel bar.  A nine-year-old girl was copping a feel off of me.  If that doesn’t get your motor running check your fucking pulse. 
       I lay still and kept my breathing even as I waited to see what was next.  It wasn’t a long wait.  Like a thief in the night that warm little hand fumbled around till it found my cock.  Slowly she explored the shaft, sliding her fingers over my hard flesh.  When she reached the helmet she explored the rim then moved onto the smooth dome itself.  I was leaking pre-cum like a faucet.  Tamara found this out when she reached my piss-hole.  Her fingers played in the slick pool for a moment then began to smear it around the head of my cock.
       She continued to gently play with my cock for several minutes.  Not once was their any movement that could have been called a ‘stroke’, she was exploring not masturbating.  That was good, because I was so close that any concerted effort at wall would have fired all tubes and I didn’t want this to end yet.
       After a time she gently curled her hand around my dick and began to rub it across the smooth, round mounds of her hot little ass.  My prick smeared her soft little cheeks with pre-cum as she pulled it slowly back and forth.  I felt her shift and her legs moved slightly then my cock was suddenly in the cleft of her butt.  I thought I heard a muffled moan as she worked her delightful little ass crack up and down my drooling dick.
       The coup de grace for me was when she shifted again.  I was still trying to decode her movements when I found my cock nestled against the hot little mound of her bald baby sex.  Once, twice, three times she humped her sexy little twat against the drooling head of my dick.  The last time the tiny groove between her labia parted slightly.  That was enough, stifling a jig ending scream I came like a fire hose.  My cock twitched in the child’s grip as it painted her twat and the insides of her coltish, chocolate thighs with hot, slimy man spunk.
       She gave a muffled screech and released my prick at the first discharge.  Unattended my dick jerked and fired a half-dozen more times then lay spent.  I wanted to see what she would do now but the hard day and the mind numbing cum took its toll.  I was asleep in less than a minute.
       I awoke the next morning when Tamara’s heel struck me a glancing blow to the nose as she wiggled out of the bag.  I’d missed my try at tasting that cute little girl ass but I did open my eyes in time to watch it vanish into her tiny panties.
       I stretched and felt of the sleeping bag where Tamara had lain.  There were only a few spots of moisture and almost no smell so she had cleaned up after I had conked out.  Thinking of the night before got me hard again.  I fought down my dick and struggled out of the sleeping bag to greet the day.
       It wasn’t much of a day.  Last night’s howler was still in full blow.  We bundled up and staggered outside to into a white maelstrom.  Finding the sled proved a chore, it was a white lump in a white world.  Tamara was the one who actually stumbled into it, literally.  I helped her up then we rifled the sled for something edible, the stove and the cook-set.  I sent Tamara off to the tent with that burden.  I tarried long enough to retrieve the folding shovel then followed.
       Once inside Tamara burrowed back into the sleeping bag and drooled as I converted powder and snow into tomato soup.  It smelled very good and by the time it was simmering my own mouth was watering as well.  We had the soup along with some stale crackers.  It was a mean breakfast but kept the growling from down below to a minimum.
       We spent the morning in the tent.  At first we tried reading, but the light was poor and Tamara’s choice, my battered paperback copy of ‘The Call of The Wild’ set her to shivering more than she already was.  We ended up talking for most of the morning.  I learned about Tamara’s friends and her favorite stores, shopping seemed a big part of her life.  Not ten yet and she was well on her way to becoming a typical woman.
       To my surprise I opened up to her.  I told her about my divorce and the events leading up to and following it.  I got a little choked up when I spoke of my kids.  Damn, I thought my armor was tougher than that.
       Lunch and supper were rolled into one.  I ventured out to the again buried sled and hacked off some reindeer and grabbed some noodles to go along with it.  Cooking the frozen reindeer took some time and really cut into the dwindling supply of fuel for the stove but hot meat and noodles really perked us both up.
       Several times during the day I thought back to the previous night.  Tamara had felt me up!  Did she know I had done the same to her and simply reciprocated?  Was she ignorant and just exploring on her own?
       If she knew I had been molesting her did she know I knew she had done the same to me?  If a mare had balls would she still be a mare.  Damn, this could make your head hurt.
       I didn’t take any liberties with Tamara that night nor to my knowledge did she with me.
       The storm was still raging the next day.  We held a powwow and decided to try and make some distance regardless.  The reindeer had eased the food crisis but we were both brewing up a monumental case of cabin fever and we didn’t even have a cabin.
       Just breaking camp and loading up took over an hour in the billowing white but we finally managed.  We then set off, me harnessed to the front of the sled and Tamara hanging on to the belay.  
       We gave it up in less than a mile.  The fresh powder, knee deep in places, combined with the brutal force of the gusting wind sucked the energy from our bodies like a leach.  We were both blowing like steam engines and sweating rivers when we finally stopped.
       Setting up was more arduous than taking down.  We had to fight the wind every step of the way.  Finally the tent was up and we tumbled inside.  
       I woke in the small hours.  At first I wasn’t sure why, had Tamara tried for another feel.  No, I could hear her sweet little child snore and her hands were curled in front of her.  What was it then?  It took a moment to place it.  It, was not even an it, it was the lack of an it.  The howling wind had abated. 
       Tired and dispirited we had munched on cold venison and potato chips then turned in early, the moan of the wind and the popping of the tent fabric had seemed a permanent part of the world.  Now silence reigned.
       I gave Tamara a paternal pat on her shapely bottom then wiggled up and out of the bag.  I shivered in the chill of the tent and my breath froze an inch from my face.  I fought the zipper down.  The moon was high and bright and it lit a carpet of seamless white.
       I thought for a moment then nudged Tamara’s bag ensconced form.  No telling when the next storm would hit.  We were reasonably rested and we had light.  Time to make tracks in my book.
       I expected groggy complaint from the child but when I explained my reasoning she crawled out of the bag and started to dress without a word of protest.
       We broke camp and loaded under the brilliant moon then got in harness and headed south.  It was like walking through a fantasyland.  The fresh fall seemed to glow in the cool, pure light of the moon.  The absolute silence almost hurt.  The fresh fall was fluffy and sucked at our feet with each step but our spirits soared.  The scenery and the feeling of actually moving more than compensated for the extra work.
       At dawn we stopped and cooked a real breakfast.  The eggs were powdered but they still tasted divine.  We got back into harness and headed out.  The terrain was fairly flat so I pulled and Tamara pushed.  We were making some serious time.
       We both wanted to push on until dark but by noon we had been going for ten hours straight and were worn out.  We picked a good spot in the shelter of a pine thicket and collapsed.  We were dog-tired but it was a good tired.  An impromptu snowball fight broke out but the light powder didn’t pack worth a damn.  We finally fell down giggling in each other’s arms.  We rested that way for a while then set about putting the camp together.
       We had fuel and daylight remained so we both decided to have a bath.  Tamara got the first bucket.  While she was bathing she handed her outer clothes out the door and I gave them a scrub in the snow.  I brushed off as much of the white stuff as possible before handing them back in.
       Once Tamara was done and buried in the sleeping bag it was my turn.  I stepped in with clothes in hand and hung them alongside hers.  I then finished stripping and started my own bath.  Tamara had turned her back per our agreement but I heard a few tiny rustlings that could have been someone peaking.  I kept my back three-quarters to her so she could get away with it but still get a view of my cock.  Said cock was of course impressively hard at the thought of the lovely pre-teen child checking it out.  I made a great show of washing it and my heavy balls, even giving it a few test strokes.
       I dried off and slid into the bag behind her.  My hard dick thumped off her back and butt as I wiggled in.  It was still light out and would be for several more hours so I read one of my battered paperbacks.  After about forty minutes I heard Tamara’s breathing settle into the deep rhythm of sleep.  A few minutes later her breath began to whistle in little girl snores.
       I marked my place and put away the book.  There were now greater amusements at hand.  I leaned in and planted a kiss on one smooth, chocolate shoulder then sent my tongue out to taste that fresh, spicy flesh.  At the same time my hand went to her ass and began to caress those lovely mounds.  I kissed and licked my way to the back of her graceful neck as a finger probed the length of her crack.  I was licking the inside of a delicate ear when the finger circled her little bottom hole.
       I was drooling pre-cum so I smeared my finger in it and transferred it to that tiny butt.  I did that two more times, lubricating her little bum.  When I applied pressure my finger slid in easily.  
       As I gently started to finger fuck the child’s fine ass stray thoughts drifted through my head.  Was she really asleep, or was she faking it so she could see what I was going to do?  Did it matter?  If she was faking she wanted me to do it and wanted to feel me doing it.  I kissed her ear and whispered to her how sexy she was.
       After a few minutes I pulled my finger from her bottom and slid gently between her coltish thighs, my prize seemed to radiate heat.  Her smooth, puffy little pussy slid beneath my fingers.  I massaged the lips then sent my finger sliding down the tightly sealed groove between them.  She was damp there.  I gathered the moisture and smeared it around her lips.  I quested upward for her clit and felt a nubbin where it should be.  She shifted as I rubbed over it but her breath maintained the same even rhythm.
       I took my cock in hand and rubbed it across her smooth, soft bottom, smearing pre-cum across those perfect cheeks.  I next pulled the head down her crack, loving the feel of silky little girl butt on my prick.  I bent my cock down more and slid it between her thighs.  I eased it forward till I felt the heat of her wet little twat and then let the head rest against it.  I slept then, wonderful child pussy against my throbbing dick.
       I awoke sometime later to the feel of fluttering digits on my prick.  I struggled to keep my breathing even as Tamara’s little fingers massaged the head of my cock.  She found a pool of pre-cum and slowly smeared it around the helmet.  Slowly she quested down the shaft till she found my nuts.  She gently weighed each ball.  I had to bite my lip as her nails scratched teasingly across my sack.
       For several minutes the child explored then she pulled my cock back between her thighs and began to rub the head up and down the smooth satin of her hot cunny.  Fuck!  She was masturbating with my prick!
       It was sweet torture as that velvety little honey pot caressed my cock.  Lube, hers and mine, soon coated both organs, making the contact less intense but even more erotic.
       Tamara hissed and began to circle my cock in a tight arc over one spot.  She’d found her clit.  She began to hunch against my prick, her pace picking us as she grew more aroused.  A musky scent began to permeate the sleeping bag, the smell of child sex-pot in heat.
       She closed her thighs around my cock, making a hot tight tunnel that she fucked up and down on it.  My nuts were bubbling and I tried to divert my thoughts.  I tried to think on non-erotic things, cars, asparagus, the smell of copier toner, anything to keep me from blowing my cork before my little molester got her cookies.
       It was a closely run race, but I held out, barely.  Soft whimpers whuffed from Tamara’s sweet lips and the child increased the pace of her rubbing.  She crested in a flood of little girl juices.  The warm spray on my cock sent me over the edge and I added to the aromatic mess by painting her twat with cum.
       My eyes got heavy as Tamara slowed down.  I briefly wondered how we were going to clean up this mess, very briefly.  My last thought was ‘she made it, let her clean it up.’
       I awoke in the brilliant dawn as Tamara tried to wiggle past me.  When the swell of her butt touched my chin I remembered to stick out my tongue.  As she went past I drug it the full length of her crack.  She must have noticed the wet contact because once clear of the bag I sensed her turn and look back at me.  I slept the sleep of the righteous, eyes and mouth tightly closed.
       The next several days passed much the same.  The storms held off so we made good time.  It got even better as the latest fall compacted and settled.  I didn’t fondle Tamara every night though I generally copped a feel or two.  She however only missed one night, and that after a 12-hour marathon that wore us both to a frazzle.
       The start of the seventh week on the trail, the fourth for Tamara found us closing in on the first of the caches.  We still had quite a bit of venison left but were becoming very hard pressed to find anything to accompany it.  We stopped at noon and I carefully took stock of our location.  I’d personally sited each and every cache and then took notes on the location as I tried to commit it to memory.  Each was marked with an orange flag on a ten-foot fiberglass pole, but even had the banner survived the storms we would have to be on top of it to sight it.
       I rummaged in the sled and pulled out the battered little notebook I’d recorded the data in as well as a little plastic wrapped box the size of a cigarette pack.
       I did the four-corner routine.  Checking the sight lines at each of the cardinal points and comparing them to my notes.  The match was good.  With trembling fingers I unwrapped the little box and extended the antenna.
       My one concession to the age of electronics was about to be tested.  Early on I’d recognized the difficulty of finding caches sited months before in a terrain possibly radically altered by storms.  Half of my solution rested in the palm of my mittened hand.  The other half, at least the first of them was hopefully within five miles of where we stood.
       The hand unit was a combination transmitter receiver.  It was simplicity itself.  It sent a coded signal then listened for an answer on the same frequency.  A digital signal strength gage set into its surface would then be used to determine from which direction the signal was strongest.
       Each of the caches had a receiver, they listened for the signal and upon receiving it began to transmit, like I said, simplicity itself.  Both systems only had about a five-mile range so in theory if I was not within that distance of the cache the transmitter should not activate.
       That was the danger.  With ionization effects, especially this far north that could not be counted on.  A freak atmospheric could send my little hand units signal dozens of miles, I’d used rolling codes to insure against activating caches further down the chain but what if I activated the one I was looking for when I was still 10 or 20 miles away.  The freak condition that allowed that might be only one way so I would never pick up the answering signal.  Even if I did the transmitter would go dead long before I got within sight of the cache.  Because of the cold and long dormancy time I’d had to use some pretty exotic batteries.  Once activated they were only good for about an hour.
       These thoughts raced through my mind as I stared at the little gray box in my hand.  Finally, with a sigh I pulled up the antenna and mashed the button.
       To my relief the signal strength meter registered a return signal immediately.  I did a pirouette in the snow.  It was strongest from a big stand of pines to the west.  I went trudging off.  Tamara remained with the sled for a moment then charged after me.  We made our way through the thick mass of trees.  It was only about a half-mile to the far side.  Beyond was a broad, shallow valley with an orange flag sticking out of a humped spot at its center.  Whooping like preschoolers my accidental partner and I went charging down the slope.
       I’d originally planned on using WWII surplus supply drop canisters for my caches.  The kind you see dropped to the surrounded troops in the old war flicks.  They’d proved costly and difficult to locate in numbers though so I’d gone to plan B.  Each of my caches was a steel 55 gallon drum purchased new from a chemical supply house.  I hoped they’d prove strong enough to resist inquisitive or hungry bears.  They’d been loaded, sealed and then steam cleaned, the latter in the hopes of not attracting inquisitive or hungry bears in the first place.
       The cache was deeply buried.  Only about three feet of the flag protruded above the surface.  I liked that very little.  If this much snow had accumulated in this short a time how would the later caches fare.  The antenna was atop the flag but how far would the transmitter reach under a foot of snow, or ten foot of snow.  I shook my head.  Burn that bridge when you reach it.
       We danced around a bit then went back for the sled.  It took an hour to maneuver it back to the cache but finally the shovel came out and I began to dig.  Tamara assisted by playing human bulldozer and excavating machine all in one.  We were soon sweating but in short order had uncovered the top of the drum.
       I popped the band and pried off the lid.  Everything was enclosed in thick plastic bags as a further precaution and these I started to heave up to Tamara.  She shouted out the random item sighted through the transparent sacks as she shoved them behind her, “macaroni, bread mix, coffee, chocolate”.  I thought she was going to orgasm as she lovingly shouted the last.
       We heaped the sacks temporarily on the sled then retreated to the wood line, leaving the empty drum behind.  I’d had to pay a hefty deposit on each of the caches to pay for their removal in the summer.  Whether I survived to use them all or not.
       The sled was heavy, very heavy.  There was actually more in each cache that the sled could reasonably haul.  My original plan had been to pause at each cache site, resting up and consuming the excess before setting out again.  That was before Tamara entered the picture but it still seemed like a good plan.
       I got a fire going and set up the camp.  Tamara helped somewhat but most of her energy was spent on passionately devouring a Toblerone bar.  I found the right sack and dug out the two things I wanted most.  The first was a pair of thick steaks.  The second was a bag of freeze-dried coffee.  I had to open the bag and sniff.  I almost fainted.  We’d had no coffee in two weeks.
       I relaxed with a cup of hot java as the steaks thawed then cooked.  Both of our mouths were watering long before they were done.  Venison was good, but even it could wear when there was nothing else.  I also whipped up a batch of instant biscuits and the aroma of cooking bread added to the growls of our stomachs.
       As an afterthought I’d tossed a 6-pack of beer into each cache.  This was frozen solid, the cans bulging.  I set It by the fire to thaw and by the time we finished eating they were drinkable.  I had four, allowing Tamara the other two.  She was soon giddy and a belching contest ensued.  We belched and giggled as the sun vanished and the stars wheeled overhead.
       I put Tamara to bed then policed the camp.  The cache held a can of spray meant to remove any food scent from the bags as a precaution against bears.  We were now getting far enough south for that to be a worry.  I didn’t bother with it.  Most bears would be in their dens for the winter.  Besides, it seemed sort of redundant with 60 or so pounds of venison still on the sled.
       I slid in behind the child.  I was sated, slightly buzzed and wanted sleep so I didn’t fondle her this night.  I expected the alcohol would either knock her out or kill any amorous nocturnal activities on her part as well.  I was wrong, boy was a I wrong.
       I don’t know how long I slept but I awoke with my cock being pulled up and down the child’s lovely ass cleft.  She must have been at it a while because her breathing was already heavy.  She pulled the head in deeper and rubbed it across the little speed bump of her asshole.  
       She massaged her rear entrance for a further moment then pulled my prick head between her thighs and began to rub it across the bald puffiness of her sexy little twat.  Fuck!  She was a swamp, in seconds my prick was coated with warm, slick little girl cream.  I bit my lip and recited the alphabet backwards as she humped her slit up and down the steel hardness of my shaft.
       When she stopped I held my breath.  I felt her hunch forward, now what was she doing.  She pulled at my dick, actually straining it painfully.  I felt the silkiness of her thighs on each side of the head and then she was moving down and pushing.  
       Confusion fled as I felt the lips of her cunny grudgingly spread over the head of my cock.  She moaned and pushed harder and with exquisitely painful slowness the head of my cock slid into the tight confines of her cunt.  Fuck, I was in her cunt!  The little minx had put the head of my dick in her cunt!  I could feel the slick, tautness of her hymen against my cock head.  It was all I could do to keep the cork in.
       We lay that way a minute or so with Tamara getting used to the feel of my prick head in her twat.  She wiggled experimentally and I heard several low moans escape her lips.  I felt a rhythmic movement then a series of fluttering, almost accidental touches on my shaft.  Shit!  She was diddling her clit with the head of my dick in her.
       Another minute passed and then she hunched forward, pulling off of my dick.  Her pussy released my cock as reluctantly as it had accepted it, again I almost came.  She rubbed the head of my cock across her clit a few times then again pushed down on the head.
       An evil thought invaded my mind.  I wanted to turn it over and examine it for a moment or ten but there was no time.  A decision was required and I made it.  As Tamara’s delightful twat again began to ooze over the head of my cock I gave a snort and then ‘shifted in my sleep’.  As she pushed down I hunched forward.  Before the child could so much as squeak the head of my cock had ripped through her cherry and slid four inches into her bare, sexy, no longer virgin, little girl pussy.
       She did squeak, actually it was more of a scream.  She muffled it but it was still loud.  She moaned too but they were moans of pain not passion.
       Her sobs took the edge off me and filled me with concern and not a little guilt.  I wanted to ease out of her and cuddle her up as I told her how sorry I was but that would of course mean admitting that I was awake and did it on purpose, nope, not a good option. I searched for another but they were few.  I finally just decided to lay still and let her pull off.  The festivities were definitely over for the night.
       Only it didn’t work that way.  Tamara did try to pull off, but while guilt and sympathy had taken me off a hair trigger my cock was still deep in nine-year-old twat and harder than a drill bit as a result.  She pulled forward but my lunge, in addition to burying my dick had pushed her against the mouth of the sleeping bag.  She couldn’t push forward far enough to get off my cock, her efforts to do so elicited new sobs from her as my big cock rubbed against her torn flesh.  Next she tried to release the drawstring on the neck ring but it was pulled taut and locked.  The only way to loosen it was to take some of the pressure off of it and that drove another inch of hard dick into her pussy.
       She finally quit trying and just lay there in misery.  Her soft sobs tore me up and I was about to ‘shift in my sleep’ again and let her off.  My dick rebelled at the idea and before I could tell the lecherous fuck to shut up Tamara took things into her own hands, well actually her twat.
       She realized she was stuck as long as my dick was hard, if it softened she could get off.  She knew how to soften it, she’d done it before.  Before I could resolve my perverted internal debate the sexy black child began to slowly fuck me.
       It was tentative at first and I thought the motion might be unintentional.  She was still quietly crying but as the motion proved bearable she began to increase the length of her strokes.  It was like hot tight paradise sliding up and down on my cock.  After a minute she began to saw her hips, putting some swing into the motion.  She soon discovered the limit that caused additional pain and gasped as she crossed it.  After that she kept her strokes short but the pace picked up.  I stifled a groan, fuck!  I was going to paint this child’s cervix with cum!
       She picked up the pace, her sexy little bottom rubbing my stomach as her bald pussy did wonderful things to my cock.  I still heard the occasional sob but the tone had changed and I wasn’t sure all of them were from pain.  
       When she reached back and began to rub my balls that was it.  I bit the inside of my cheeks to remain silent as my cock fired pulse after pulse of steaming cum into her tight, clasping cunny.  She made a noise that could have been a whimper or a moan as she felt the hot spurts painting her insides.  Just as my dick pulsed its last a cold thought occurred that sped the shriveling of my cock.  Fuck!  What if I got her pregnant out here in the middle of the great fucking nothing!
       I must have dozed because the next thing I felt was a cold, wet towel as Tamara cleaned up my cock and balls.  She followed up with a disposable hand wipe then wriggled around and pushed her bare butt into my limp cock.  In minutes she was snoring her cute little girls snores.
       I woke to the smell of burning bacon.  Tamara had decided to have a go at breakfast.  Julia Childs she wasn’t.  I gave her what I thought was a good-natured ribbing and got some fresh fat on the fire.  It was only when the fresh bacon was starting to sizzle that I noticed the tears in her eyes.
       Feeling like a heel I gathered her into my lap and apologized.  She felt good in my lap and made no indignant protests when I smothered her face and hair with kisses.  I considered trying to go further down this line of inquiry but decided not to push my luck.  Instead I started explaining the finer points of cooking.
       After breakfast we policed up the camp.  I kept a sideways glance on Tamara and noticed a well-concealed grimace now and then.  She was sore, that was to be expected.  As the day wore on I examined my own feelings.  I had little guilt, I hadn’t actually raped the child I’d just helped her own youthful explorations get out of hand.  It was a rationalization of course but I was willing to live with that.
       I figured it would take us at least a week to eat up the excess food and fortify ourselves for the next leg of the trip so some form of formal latrine was a good idea.  I picked a good spot and spent several hours chopping a suitable hole in the frozen ground.  A tarp hung from saplings provided at least a nod to modesty.  There was no seat so everything would be a squat job but it beat nothing.
       That night we both bathed then snuggled down to sleep.  I settled for caressing Tamara’s fine little butt, wondering as I did so if she was really asleep or faking it.  I dozed off shortly thereafter and if Tamara did anything to me I slept through it.  
       Breakfast was venison and powdered eggs.  We were headed into wolf and bear territory so I’d decided to eat up the fresh meat first.  After gorging ourselves we policed the camp and set off on a leisurely hike.  
       We’d decided to do several miles a day, even if only in exploration.  The idea being not to lose our conditioning while we sat around on our fat happy butts eating.  At midday we crested a ridge and sighted three caribou.  Tamara cooed and ohed then shot me a sidelong look.  I smiled and shook my head.  We didn’t need the meat, the Springfield stayed on my shoulder.
       Tamara didn’t do anything that night either at least not to me.  I did feel her hand brush mine in a rhythmic way.  She was rubbing her clit!  Having the child masturbate with my hand less than an inch from her twat got my motor running fast.  I was however left out of the fun.  Briefly I wondered if I’d traumatized the child out of her youthful exploration stage.  I hoped not, oh how I hoped not.
       The next day, after another meat heavy breakfast, we strapped on our snowshoes and did a fast four miles, nearly jogging for much of the way.  We pulled up in a little swale with a frozen stream at the bottom.
       After a snowball fight cum wrestling match I took out the Colt and began to explain its workings to Tamara.  She shied from the gun at first but after I explained that we were headed into an area where wild animals were a very real threat she settled down and listened.
       I showed her the various safeties and releases and then how to change clips.  I explained about chambering a round and how to safe the gun after firing.  I then took aim at a dead sapling and slowly emptied the clip. By the time number seven roared out the child was on her knees with her hands over her ears.
       I cuddled her some then offered her the empty pistol.  She took it and after some hesitation dropped the spent clip and got the fresh one seated.  It took three tries and a jam before she got a round chambered.  With much encouragement I got her to take aim at a root a dozen feet away.  The pistol bucked fearfully in her gloved hands and tore a divot from the snow six feet short of the target.  I murmured some more, rubbed her shoulders and kissed her cheek.  Again she fired then again and again.  By the time she’d worked her way through the third clip she was hitting more than not and no longer flinching when the gun went off.
       I unshouldered the Springfield and we began again.  On her first shot the old monster tossed her onto her butt, the girl and the rifle landed side by side in the snow.  I couldn’t help laughing and was still bent over in mirth when I caught her recriminating gaze.  Another chuckle died in my throat and I was formulating soothing words for the expected tears when she stood and picked up the rifle.  She glared at me and worked the bolt, a feat in itself since the 03 extracts AND cocks on the opening, requiring a fair bit of strength to accomplish.
       Her second shot came no nearer the target than the first but she kept her feet.  As she struggled with the bolt for her third try I went back to coaching,   I explained how to use her body to absorb the recoil and then the finer points of aiming.  By the time we were ready to head back to camp I had another dozen pieces of brass jingling in my pocket and while I wouldn’t have called the child a good shot she was no longer completely incompetent with either weapon.
       I don’t know how long I had been asleep that night but I awoke with Tamara masturbating herself with the head of my dick.  The slick smoothness of that hot, butter soft twat coupled with the hard speed bump of her tiny clit soon had me groaning to myself.  It wasn’t yet in danger of painting her thighs but I was fucking rock hard in an instant.
       Tamara was getting into it too.  Her little hips swiveled, rubbing that sexy bottom on my stomach.  Her thighs caressed my shaft with each rotation.  I could hear muffled sighs and grunts from her.
       Suddenly she stopped.  For a moment I thought she’d cum but that wasn’t the case.  After a moment she hunched forward and pushed my dick back toward my chest.  I held my breath, was she-!
       She was!  She positioned the head of my cock at her tiny opening and pushed.  It felt divine as her little bald lips parted and my cock slid into the hot, wet prison of her pre-teen pussy.  She paused with just the head in.  I bit my lip and vowed it was all her show.  I would do nothing.
       I needn’t have bothered, after pausing a moment she again applied pressure and my throbbing dick slowly oozed deep into her sweet cunt.  
       She lay with me inside her for a while then began to slowly work up and down.  Now I was in danger of popping my cork but I was determined not to get off till she did.  I thought of an erotic encounter with Janet Reno while the child lengthened her strokes and really began to work that tight pussy on my dick.  
       She started to whimper and picked up her pace.  Janet was starting to look pretty good so I switched to Hillary Clinton.  That worked for a bit but soon Hillary was bending over to gobble my bone.  Oh shit!  I imagined the Dallas Cowboys locker room after a big game, all those sweaty balls and hairy asses.  Yeah that was better.
       Tamara was hissing like a leaky boiler and starting to slam up and down on my cock.  Oh fuck!  The cheerleaders just sauntered into the locker room.
       I was loosing the fight but providence saved me.  Tamara suddenly froze in mid-stroke.  Her pussy spasmed, I could actually feel the child cuming hard around my cock.  I followed a second later adding scalding cum to the copious fluids she was producing.  That seemed to drive her own orgasm to a higher plane.  She clamped hard on my cock and then tried to tear it out by the roots!  Shit!
       I awoke again when Tamara snuggled back into the bag and cleaned me up with a damp cloth.  The child was almost clinical in the way she handled my spent tackle as she cleaned it.  She then rolled over and shoved her bottom into my crotch.  I was asleep before she quit wiggling.
       We took a long circular hike the next day.  I let Tamara lead, paying just enough attention to our path to make sure we could find our way back.  Not that getting lost was much of a worry.  All we had to do was follow our tracks.
       The child prattled on about this and that, stopping now and again to ooh over this or that.  If she noticed my silence she didn’t mention it.  I think she didn’t notice.  Children can be quite self centered though that’s more of an observation than a criticism.  
       Me, I was doing some high powered thinking.  Did she actually believe a person could sleep through the kind of orgasms she’d been giving me or was she just pretending ignorance, a ‘you don’t notice and I won’t notice you not noticing’ kind of thing?
       Should I bring the sex out into the open?  Was she waiting for me to bring it out into the open?  Maybe she was simply too embarrassed to mention it and would welcome me breaching the subject.  Conversely maybe doing that would destroy the magic and drive us apart, ruin everything.
       Or was it me?  Was I reluctant to go ‘public’ because it would remove the last shred of deniability left to me.  I could still in the main claim innocence, to myself if no one else.  I’d felt her up, sure I’d done that, but as far as the sex went I was guiltless.  Sure I was, and what was that little thing about popping her cherry?  My macho whimpered and tried to crawl under a rock.
       We had lunch on a small rise than declared war on each other.  Tamara opened the hostilities but I jumped in with enthusiasm.  The snow was dry and didn’t pack well but we still gave it a game effort.  We each had enough of the white stuff filter through to our inner garments that we were cold and wet when we got back to camp.
       We spent another five days at the cache, eating down the excess stock.  We’d made absolute pigs of ourselves but there was still 50 odd pounds of venison strapped to the sled when we set out.   We policed the camp and set out.  We stopped at the empty cache drum and dropped in all of our non-combustible garbage, we’d had a grand bonfire the night before and torched everything else.
       There’d been no more sex, well no more fucking.  I’d fondled Tamara and she’d fondled me.  Almost every night the child masturbated herself to sleep.  Her little squeak as she came became a familiar bedtime lullaby.  I whacked myself onto her smooth butt a couple of times.  I was getting good at, taking paper towels and wet wipes into the bag with me.  Was the real sex over, had she satisfied her curiosity and now her fingers were enough?
       The going was hard on the first day, I’d expected that, but it was not as hard as it would have been without our daily hikes.  We huffed and blew some but nothing at all like I had at the start.  We were toughening, so however was the terrain.
       The wind picked up on the second day at around noon.  An hour or so later the sky began to darken.  We knew the signs, we were in for it.
       Unfortunately we were in the middle of nowhere, quite literally.  We were still far enough north that there were only islands of forest instead of continents.  We were between two islands with the next patch two or three miles ahead and the last one nearly that far behind.  Not wishing to get caught in the open we picked up the pace.
       We didn’t make it.  The storm rolled over us with a vengeance before we’d gained a half mile.  Swearing, me anyway, we secured the sled and fought the tent up.  Just getting our gear in the door was an effort.  We tumbled inside thoroughly wet and in foul temper.  We stripped and huddled together in the sleeping bag.  There was no ardor present.  Even if there had of been having to struggle back into wet clothes and out of the tent every hour to break up the drifts that threatened to flatten it would have cooled that.
       At supper time the world was a crazy, howling maelstrom.  By common consent we decided it wasn’t worth the effort and drifted to sleep.  Having to get up three times during the night to go drift bashing didn’t make my growling stomach any happier.
       It was still nasty at dawn.  By now we were truly ravenous however.  We bundled up and stumbled out into the heart of the beast.  Just finding the sled was an effort and getting something off of it almost Herculean.  I finally thrust the stove at Tamara and grabbed some powdered stuff and we headed back to the tent.  
       After quelling the grumbling from below we held a conference.  It was a bitch outside, a cast iron bitch but we didn’t want to spend another day and night in the open.  It took an hour to break camp and stuff everything onto the sled.  Visibility was under fifty feet but I estimated the direction to the trees, took a compass bearing and we set out.
       It was murder.  The powder lay thick and loose and we were breasting it to our waists.  Throw in a thirty mph wind in our faces and millions of kamikaze ice crystals stinging our faces and filtering down into every crevice and you have the picture.
       Every five minutes or so we halted so I could take another compass bearing.  As the day wore on it was getting harder and harder to get started again after these pauses.  Lunch time came and went.  We munched some chips and stole sips of water from a bolo bag I kept inside my parka and pushed on. 
       Once I looked back and didn’t see Tamara.  In a panic I dropped the traces and headed back along our path at a lumbering run.  My heart sank as I saw how fast the storm was erasing our tracks.  I’d covered maybe a dozen feet when a shout brought me up short.  Tamara had both hands on the back of the sled and was pushing for all she was worth.  Her bent over stance and the towering load totally hid her from the front.
       I stretched the intervals between sightings, first to ten minutes then twenty.  Our meager fair for the last day and the grueling strain of the trek were telling we were fading fast.
       I’d almost resigned myself to another night on the bare plain when a stray gust briefly cleared the snow curtain and revealed the black mass of trees to our right.  I’d been off in my estimate.  We’d been paralleling the forest for some time.
       We struggled in fifty or so feet and collapsed.  The wind moaned through the trees and occasional gusts were still quite strong but nothing like outside.  We lay panting for some time then I groaned my way up and started setting up the tent.  Tamara said something unladylike and struggled up to join me.
       We got the tent up and a fire going.  I hacked off a hunk of venison and set it to thawing while Tamara started melting bath water.  
       We were both worn out so supper was nothing fancy.  The meat was seared till the blood wasn’t running out and salted.  We dove in like the half starved pigs we were.  Sated and bone weary we tumbled into the tent and slept.  Tamara even forgot her bath.  It was frozen solid the next morning, luckily the bucket had some give and didn’t split.
       The storm was bad, we ended up stranded for four days, long enough to make me kick myself for the week we had lost at the cache.  It was not however without compensation.
       Our first day in the little forest we had a hearty breakfast of eggs, bacon coffee and biscuits.  The latter was from a mix but still tasted pretty good.  Afterwards we sat about the fire while I finished off the coffee then set about exploring our woodland prison.  
       The storm was at full howl and fitful gusts swept through the groaning trees.  The snow came down thickly, shrouding the trees and obscuring everything more than fifty feet away.  The light was wan, watery and weak, rendering the little wood into perpetual twilight.
       It took only a couple of hours to completely explore the area.  We found a good sized spring, frozen thickly but with still liquid water under the ice.  There were also the remains of an old cabin nearby.  The roof was long gone but the log walls were still fairly sound.  It made a wonderful windbreak so we spent the remainder of our morning moving the camp.  
       The balance of the day passed in boredom and I turned in just after supper.  Tamara crawled in after me.  She had the steaming canvas bucket with her.  That surprised me.  I knew she had reheated the water but as she’d said nothing about bathing I assumed she was just going to dump it to get the ice out.
       She turned the hissing lantern all of the way up then began to wiggle and grunt as she stripped down.  Trying not to be obvious I peeked over the lip of the sleeping bag.  Despite our sleeping arrangements we had remained modest in bathing habits.  I hadn’t seen the child nude for more than a second or two since our adventure had begun.
       As more chocolate skin emerged my cock began to stir.  She shucked her snowsuit then stood with her smooth brown back to me.  Her shoulder blades were very prominent.  Her jeans loosened then slid down her smooth hips, exposing her panties.  Her long coltish legs emerged then she kicked the jeans free.   
       She paused and then her slim neck rotated as she peered over her shoulder to see if I was watching.  Warned, I closed my eyes but peered through my lashes.  She stared at me for a second then her head rotated back to the front and she began to wiggle out of her panties.  Fuck!  I was iron hard.  That didn’t make any sense.  I had felt this child up, hell I’d fucked her several times.  Well maybe she had been the one doing the fucking, but I’d damn sure been a participant.  Now here I was sprouting a fucking woody over seeing her nude.
       As the panties came down, exposing that fine butt I decided it was the manner of the view that was getting to me.  She took her time with the panties and wiggled a lot more than necessary in the process.  She was stripping for me, putting on a show.  She didn’t know if I was watching or not but it was a show regardless.
       One the panties were gone she bent over to get the rag, spreading her legs slightly and giving a perfect view of her bottom and bald chocolate pussy.  She washed herself slowly and at least to my eyes sensually.  When she reached her little cunny she stood on one leg and lifted the other away and out, this caused her bald pussy to gap open and show its pink insides to me.  The washrag slid slowly up and down her treasure, causing the soft, round lips to alternately open and close.  She repeated this with her bottom.  Her little pink asshole winked at me on each stroke.  Fuck!, my dick was throbbing.
       She washed out her panties, hung them then flung the water out the door and turned off the lantern.  A minute later her cold, wet form was wiggling into the bag.  When my hard cock dug into her bottom she paused then one cold little hand came down and moved it aside.  She settled with my cock in the cleft of her soft, cool bottom.
       Several minutes passed then I felt the little movements that told me she was diddling herself.  I’d just about decided that I wasn’t going to be included in the night’s activities when a slim hand reached back and slowly encircled my cock.  She stroked it a few times then a finger smeared its way through the pre-cum puddling on the head.  The hand vanished and a second later I heard her moan.  It came back, and swept through the slime a second time before vanishing again.  She was on the third round before it hit me, the little minx was tasting my pre-cum.  Oh fuck!  She began to shake as her masturbation went into high gear.  My cock was forgotten as she emitted a series of little whuffs.  A moment later she stiffened and let out a muted squeak.  
       She relaxed and within minutes was lightly snoring, fuck!  Talk about blue balls!  I thought about whacking my dick off into the cleft of that round, hot little butt.  Instead I willed the bastard down and drifted off to sleep myself.
       Gentle movement awoke me some time later.  I could feel Tamara against me but she was all wrong, she was hard where she should be soft and soft where she should be hard.  In my sleep dazzled state I fumbled out with a hand and enclosed something smooth and slender.
       Tamara froze at the touch and I let my hand relax but kept it in contact.  I was still groggy but had the presence of mind to keep my breathing to a steady, sleeper’s rhythm.  I let a trace of nasal whine in and felt Tamara relax.  I still had no idea what was going on but given the little witch’s proclivities I figured I didn’t want to miss it.
       She slowly began to move again and I realized two things at one.  It was one dainty shin that my hand was holding and that gentle tickling I had just felt on my balls was her soft breath.  She was upside down in the bag.  Oh shit!
       A second later I suppressed a jerk as her tongue touched my cock head.  She ran her tongue through my tiny slit then circled the helmet.  My cock was hardening so quickly I imagined a scene out of the movie ‘Alien’ where the creature slid out of where it had hidden on the lifeboat.  Tamara continued to lick, letting the shaft slide by her face and dropping down to wet my balls.
       Had my sexy little molester been more experienced she would have known that my dick got hard way too fast for it to have been the stimulation of her tongue alone, and that therefore I had to be awake.  The again, had she been more experienced I’m not sure the experience would have been nearly as erotic.
       She licked her way back up the now hard shaft and kissed all around the head.  When her lips parted and allowed the tip into her mouth I thought I would faint.  She paused with the head in her mouth and gave it a thorough exploration with her tongue.  She then slowly pushed forward, taking more and more dick.  I felt my prick slide between her muscular little lapper and the roof of her mouth.  It kept right on sliding till the head hit the slope going toward her throat.
       She backed up and released me, coughing quietly.  The cool air on my wet dick could have caused a softening under normal circumstances.  Knowing that a sexy nine-year-old was giving her first blow-job and that I was the recipient, hell you could of dipped the fucker in Freon and it wouldn’t have gone soft.
       She kissed the head and let her tongue play across the slit.  She moaned as she again tasted pre-cum.  I knew that if the kept this up she was going to taste a hell of a lot more than pre-cum.
       Here mouth opened and I slid in again, all the way to the back.  She applied suction and backed off till the head was just wedged in her mouth then took it in again.  Shit!  She might not have known much about giving head but she sure was bringing a full share of enthusiasm to the task.  Her head began to bob up and down, a full four inches of dick was slicing in and out of her mouth.
       She sped up, little growls emerging from her throat on the down stroke.  She was breathing through her nose.  I could feel it on my balls.  She was sucking to beat the band.  The little slut was trying to inhale my cock!
	As she got faster my prick head started to bounce off the back of her throat.  She gagged slightly but didn’t slow down.  The soft little impacts became part of the overall sensation.  An elbow briefly grazed my upper chest and I realized she was diddling herself in time to her cock sucking.  That was good and bad.  It turned me on even more so that was good.  If she got her cookies before I did however she might just stop and given my present state that would be very bad.  I’d have to go find a bear to rape or something.
	I needn’t have worried.  Tamara’s mouth was filling with saliva and pre-cum.   When she swallowed the feeling of her mouth collapsing around my pistoning cock drove me to the brink.  When her little teeth scraped across the length of the shaft I went over it.  
	I shuddered and fired the first burning pulse of boiling semen into her mouth.  She gagged a little but she swallowed, she also kept sucking.  I suppressed a groan as jet after jet fired from my draining balls.  Tamara pulled back to make more room for my cum but she didn’t break her lip lock on my prick head.  She sucked and swallowed till I was spent.
	I didn’t remember moving but I must have flexed a bit.  I was now in a semi-fetal position with my head between Tamara’s bony knees.  It wasn’t very comfortable and as my softening cock slipped from the child’s lips I almost pulled back.  A stray thought stopped me.  When she went to wiggle out I was going to get a face full of bald, pre-teen pussy.  That was worth a little discomfort.
	 Tamara rested a moment then began to wiggle out.  The bag was designed to breath but it had to be getting a little stuffy down there.  She tried to push me back but she couldn’t get much leverage and I resisted just enough to thwart her.
	She finally gave up and began to ease out again.  Her smooth thighs slid past my cheeks, then as I’d planned her smooth, little twat banged right into my nose.
	It was hot and wet and the smell was enough to give a eunuch wood.  I stealthily let my tongue protrude just a bit from my lips as she wiggled past.  It bounced over her clit and then down the smooth groove of her bald little muffin.  Shit!  She had cum too.  I could taste her secretions on her bare pussy.  It tasted wonderful.  My spent dick began to stir again.
	Once out of the bag the child knelt and cleaned up her drooling little slot.  She then eased back into the bag the conventional way.  In minutes she was snoring away while my again hard dick rested in the furrow of her lovely tush.
	The storm lasted two days.  Tamara didn’t repeat her oral explorations but she did gently fuck me once more.  I worried again about pregnancy but didn’t see what I could do about it without bringing things into the open. 
	My mind was on other things as we set out again.  We were well behind schedule and despite making up some time during good weather we were losing it again and then some to the bad.  The storms were only going to get worse.  We were soon going to have to start pushing on through them or we were looking at serious trouble.
	The going was hard, the new snow was thick and fluffy.  About noon we hit an area of thick drifts.  I bashed a path, breasting snow to my chest.  The sled and Tamara followed, the walls of our little trench were higher than the child’s head in places.
	The weather held for the next week but the trek was taking a toll.  At night we would drop in our tracks, barely having the energy to set up the tent and crawl inside.  Neither the child nor I had the energy for any extracurricular activities.  Muscles jumped and bones ached till exhausted sleep took us.  Making it worse was the knowledge that we weren’t making up any time.  Despite our efforts the deep snow was limiting us to between three and five miles a day.  We were falling further behind.
	The fall was compacting a little as we entered the second week since the storm.  Our mileage picked up.  My anxiety also eased a little.  I gave up on the schedule.  We couldn’t maintain it.  I had the rifle though and could keep us in food.  The diet might get a little monotonous in the long stretch between caches but we would press on.  That new thinking prompted a stop when we hit the hot springs three days later.
	It was Tamara that sighted the steam.  We’d crested a low hill and her arm shot out.  “What’s that?”
	It looked like a small cloud but it was far too close to the ground.  It was hanging above a small vale a few miles east of our track.  At first I didn’t want to detour and check it out but Tamara’s childish curiosity was contagious.  Besides, the sun was bright and the day was fine.  I laughed at the little girl’s antics then turned the sled and away we trudged.
	As we got closer you could see the cloud billowing slowly and dissolving at its upper reaches even as it was renewed somewhere still out of sight.  Curious now myself I threw my weight into the traces and we moved out smartly across the rolling white sea.
	It wasn’t much of a spring.  Really just three holes where hot water roiled up slowly from the ground.  The smaller two of these were no more than hot mud puddles but the larger was about twenty feet long and half that wide with an exposed rock outcrop that formed a natural bench and deep enough to swim in.  It was in fact almost a perfect natural sauna.
	Someone else must have thought so too because there was a small cabin set in a stand of trees to one side.  To my surprise this caused anxiety.  I didn’t have to dig very deep for the cause.  If there was someone in residence and they had a means of communications then I would shortly loose my traveling companion.  The regret I felt at that was deep and unsettling.
	Tamara may have felt a bit of the same because her enthusiasm had waned noticeably as we slipped and skidded into the little valley.  In that case both of our anxieties were misplaced.  The cabin was tightly shuttered and padlocked for the winter.  It was also innocent of wire or antenna.
	I regretted the padlock and thought of breaking in.  I refrained however.  We had food, and the tent so we didn’t really need to damage someone else’s property. 
	Tamara pulled the bindings loose and drug the tent from the sled.  We hadn’t really discussed stopping here, it was only midday but we were both on the same wavelength it seemed.  A day or two to soak tired muscles and get some real food in our gullets was not to be passed up.
	After the tent was up I built a fire, guiltily raiding the neat woodpile corded up alongside the cabin.  I carved off several hunks of reindeer and sat it beside the fire to thaw.  We still had coffee and a few other luxury foods, these came out too.  We’d feast tonight.
	I hadn’t half finished before a splash and a whoop informed me that Tamara could wait no more.  This was almost immediately followed by a shriek, the water was a tad on the hot side it seemed.
	I followed a trail of discarded clothing to where a shivering child stood on the rock ledge and dripped.  The cold was as bad as the heat because she began to ease back into the water as I came up.  My appreciative eyes noticed she was completely naked.
	I started to disrobe myself.  By the time I was bare Tamara was again completely submerged.  “Come on, jump in!  It’s great!” she taunted.
	I grinned, “I’m not as silly as some people”.  I slowly began to ease my way in.  Damn it was hot!  Tamara’s fixed stare took a moment to register.  She was ogling my cock.  I gave her a second to look then eased lower and let the almost painful warmth take my balls and then the heavy shaft.  Only then did our eyes meet.  Damn, I hadn’t known a black child could blush but she did and turned away.
 	We soaked and explored the confines of the spring.  It turned out to have a gradient, hot at one end where the water welled up from the ground, cooler at the other where runoff from snowmelt was coming in.
	Horseplay started with splashing and before long we were wrestling.  As we ducked and groped each other various parts of our anatomies came together.  A dozen times Tamara brushed my cock and my hand probably slid across her smooth ass or hairless little peach an equal number of times.  The climax came as I picked a shrieking Tamara up and prepared to fling her bodily to the far end of the little spring.  It seemed to occur to both of us at about the same time that her bare cunny was only about an inch from my nose.
	She went silent, awaiting my reaction as I ogled her fine little twat.  I licked my lips then leaned in and placed a chaste kiss on that perfect child pussy.  I let her ease back into the water, my hands sliding up the silky perfection of her ass.  “You are truly beautiful did you know that.”  She blushed again and turned away.
	We soaked a bit more but that effectively ended the horseplay.  After a bit I braved the cold to dash to the sled and return with a towel.  We dried and dressed then sat about cooking supper.
	Gorged, we sat by the fire and talked and giggled.  The incidents at the spring went unmentioned.  After a bit the aurora came out to dance and play and we oohed and ahhed till fatigue pulled us to the tent.
	I was awakened some time later by movement in the sleeping bag.  I mentally shook the wool from my mind and tried to piece together what was occurring.  I thought I knew but it wasn’t till I felt my little tent mate’s breath on my cock that I was sure.  Tamara wanted to try some cock eating again.
	I stifled a groan as her hot, wet lips slid over the head of my prick.  Her little tongue teased my slit before she slid forward, taking more dick into the tight, wet cavern of her mouth.  Her tongue slid around the circumference of my cock, exploring the veins and ridges.  She pulled out a bit then it slid up under the rim of the head and lingered there a bit.  It found the valley that led up to my now seeping slit and followed it again to the source.  I stifled another groan as she licked off my pre-cum then tried to stuff the tip of her lapper inside.
       Foreplay done, the child started eating dick with a vengeance.  She swooped in, not stopping till I hit the slope at the back of her throat then pulled out till just the head was inside.  Again she went forward and then backed off.  Slowly, like a steam engine coming up to throttle she sped up.  An obscene slurping sound filled the tent as she hit her rhythm.  The little growls I remembered from her previous oral attention came back.  I felt her shift and a slender arm slid between us.  A second later her little growls grew in intensity as she began to play with her slick, bald little twat.  
       My cock was firing all kinds of signals to my lizard brain and all of them were pleasurable.  The need to stay still and quiet though was torture.  
       She sucked for another minute then abruptly pulled off.  Before I could wonder what was next she was back but this time it was teeth instead of lips.  She took me deep then gently clamper her incisors around my cock and then slowly pulled back, raking me the entire way.  The sensation wasn’t exactly pleasant but it was erotic as hell.  Even so, primordial instinct took over and my unit shrank at what it perceived as a potential threat.  That took the edge off and when Tamara went back to bobbing again it was another minute before I was fully back with the program.
       No sooner was I again in the saddle than she stopped again.  She slowly eased forward until I was touching the softness at the back of her hot mouth.  She held there a bit then applied pressure.  Her throat caressed me as she swallowed.  Fuck she was trying to take me into her throat.  The thought alone put me on a razor edge.  She backed off coughing then drove in again.  When, on the third try, she actually got about an inch of throbbing dick into her esophagus it was all hands on deck time.
       This time I did groan as my cock fired a mighty slug of spunk down the lovely black child’s tight throat.  Some of it must have gone the wrong way because she jerked back, pulling my dick from her mouth and heaved in a coughing spasm.  Unattended my dick continued to fire spurt after spurt.  I couldn’t see anything but since I could still feel Tamara’s face against me I knew I was painting the child’s face with hot, smelly spunk.
       When her coughing fit subsided she lay still for a moment then began to diddle herself again.  She worked up quickly and was soon going at her little cunt furiously.  She kept it up for several minutes then slowed and stopped.  As she shifted around and started to crawl up and past me I thought I heard a quiet sob.  It came to me that she hadn’t gotten off.
       Something came over me, well actually it slid past me.  When I felt Tamara’s silky bottom sliding past my face I brought my hands up and grasped her around the thighs.  She gave a shriek at the unexpected contact but I ignored it.
       My lips were all over her round little ass and my tongue followed.  I lathed her soft, smooth bottom alternating licking with sucking and biting.  I skipped from cheek to cheek giving each perfect half equal attention.  After a bit I slid into the hot crack.  I licked its length, marveling at the soft, humid cleft.  I slid my nose down the wetness I had made, letting it drop into the wonderful dimple of her anus before returning to the tongue action.  I again licked her length this time moving up the small of her satiny back where I planted a series of feathery kisses.  I went back to her bottom.  I quested till I found her little opening and gave it a few licks before burrowing inside.  Her sphincter tried to resist but I bulled it aside and forced my way into her tight ass.  In the back of my mind I expected the bitterness of shit, I’d rimmed my ex-wife on occasion and knew what shit tasted like, but the pre-teen’s hygiene was exceptional and I tasted only hot, buttery kiddy ass.
       She had frozen in shock after the initial shriek but now she began to try and get away.  Her hands pushed at my head while her feet kicked feebly at my chest.  I ignored her.  She didn’t have that much upper body strength and the thick sleeping bag kept her from getting a good enough swing to deliver a good kick.
       I drove deeper into her bottom, tongue fucking her ass.  One of my hands slid up her thigh and began to caress the hot puffiness of her hairless pussy.  I pushed deep feeling the muscular tube of her butt constricting my tongue and trying to force it out.  I pushed to full extension, fighting for the last fraction of an inch.  Her tight, smooth ass slowly oozing open to allow me passage was one of the most erotic things I had ever felt.
       I ate ass for another minute then pulled out and began to again bite her bottom.  I scraped my teeth across her fine little rear, stopping to nip here and there.  She was still struggling but not as hard now, at each nip she gave an affronted little squeak.
       Sated on butt, I pushed her further out of the bag and pulled her thighs apart then attacked bald baby twat from the rear.  For weeks I’d been dying for a taste of that unripe pussy and I was going to get it.  I covered her mound with my mouth and tried to suck the whole of it inside.  The softness of her bare mound was beyond belief.  I licked the length of it.  It was perfect in a way only a child’s little cunny could be.  Her outer labia were perfectly round almost like a small butt in appearance.  The inner labia that would eventually grow to mar that perfect round symmetry were still tucked invisibly away.  I pushed past the thick lips and nearly gasped at the hot softness within.  If the outside had been delightful the inside was nirvana.  She tasted good.  There was none of the muskiness of a woman.  There was a flavor though, the thin, oily nectar of an aroused little girl pussy.
       When I pushed into her cunt Tamara shuddered and her thighs clamped closed on my bearded cheeks.  Her hands again found my head but they didn’t push they just roamed around a bit.  I tongued and explored then quested up till I found where her little treasure was hiding.  I teased her miniature clit from its hood then began to softly caress it.  She cooed and ahhed, now pulling on my hair.  I escalated the assault, in seconds I was using her tiny bud as a punching bag, battering it with the hardened tip of my tongue.
       She didn’t go off like a bomb, just sort of tipped over the edge.  When I attacked her clit she started to cum and she didn’t freaking stop!  She shuddered and squeezed my head as her orgasm went on and on and on.  Her hands jerked in my hair but luckily she was too far gone to think about pulling.
       Her little cunt didn’t gush but it ran a constant stream of little girl cum.  There was enough that I couldn’t get it all and I made a damn all game effort at it.
       When she began to make rattling noises in her throat I relented and eased my tongue from her bald little slot.  She slumped bonelessly and began to take deep shuddering breaths.  Her eyes were closed but the lids twitched in time with her still occasionally shuddering body. 
       Had I stopped there all might have been well.  I’d pleasured the child, forcefully but I had pleasured her.  I didn’t stop there though; something had come between us again and it demanded attention.  I pushed Tamara’s light form completely out of the bag and then followed.  The cold was a slap but it effected my arousal not in the least.  
       I pushed the child onto her back and spread her thin, coltish thighs.  I planted a kiss on her glistening twat, her cute little belly button and each of her breastless little nipples.  Her eyes flickered open as I finally brought my lips down to hers.  She squealed into my mouth as my cock pushed aside the outer lips of her cunny and pushed into her.
	I’d like to say I made sweet, gentle love to the child but it would be a lie.  I rutted like a dog with a prime bitch.  I groaned as my cock pushed into her furnace hot little twat.  I grasped her shoulders and put my hips in gear.  She grunted as I hit bottom each time.  I was so turned on that even with the recent blowjob it only took a dozen strokes before I was firing scalding cum into her sullied little cuntlet.
	I rolled off after a minute and lay panting.  Tamara covered her eyes with her arm and rolled onto her side, presenting her back to me.  Her tiny body shook to quiet sobs.  As I got my breathing under control what I had done came crashing down on me.  Fuck!  I had just raped the child.  Previous covert intimacies aside, I had pushed her down and used her as a thing, a vessel for my lust.
	I pulled the sleeping bag over her body and then grabbed my clothes and exited then tent.  I soaked in the spring but it didn’t wash away the guilt, instead the guilt washed over me.  After a bit I dressed and fixed some breakfast.  I fixed a plate for Tamara and then quietly slid it into the tent.  I then stoked up the fire and spent the morning staring into it.  
	At lunch the child still had not emerged.  I went to the tent and slowly pulled the zipper.  She was in the sleeping bag.  She pulled back in fear when I stuck my head into the tent.  The shadows hid all but her sad eyes but I could see her shuddering.  Her breakfast was cold and untouched.  I took the plate and silently withdrew.
	I cooked some of our dwindling venison supply for supper and again silently slid a plate into the tent.  I ate mine in lonely isolation.  By the time I finished I had reached a decision of sorts.  I wrapped myself in my parka and spent a cold night fitfully sleeping by the dying fire.
	In the morning I groggily fixed coffee then got the maps out and studied them.  If I turned west and pushed on fast and light I could reach Redding in three weeks.  I would have to average about fifteen miles a day and cut through some pretty rugged foothills but I though I could do it if I kept the weight off.  I would contact the authorities, admit what I had done and then direct them to Tamara.  I’d leave her plenty of food, without exertion perhaps enough to last her through the winter, and the pistol.  I’d need the rifle since I planned to travel very light I’d have to hunt.
	I spent an hour or so mentally fine tuning the plan then set about making preparations.  I gutted the sled, arranging the bulk of it so the child could find what she needed easily.  A few select items went into a much smaller pile, the gear I would need for my dash.
	That done I fixed a late breakfast and slid a plate in for Tamara.  She hid from me again.  At least her supper had been nibbled at.  Calmly and without emotion I laid out the plan for her.  I told her she had plenty of food and the hot springs for water and bathing.  The copse had a lot of deadfalls so she would have no fuel problem.  I told her she’d be alone a month, no more.  Finally I choked up and apologized for what I had done.  I then withdrew and resealed the tent.
	I puttered away the bulk of the day making final preparations and fidgeting.  I’d chosen a course that if it worked would put me in prison for life.  If it failed I at least would die, and I might take an innocent life with me.  There was no hope on the horizon.
	That evening I bathed in the springs, perhaps my last bath.  I then cleaned my clothing the best I could and stoked up the fire.
	I’ve said it before.  Fate is fickle.  The sky had been closing in all day but it wasn’t till after dark that it delivered on its promise.  I expected snow, what I got was rain, freezing rain.
	I awoke from a fitful sleep to feel the iciness sluicing down my body.  The fine rain was freezing on my outer clothing.  Icy rivulets were gathering around my neck and then trickling down my collar to soak my upper body.  My hair was soon sodden and partially frozen.  Damn it was cold, I hadn’t felt such cold before.  Alarm bells rang somewhere but in my dull apathy I ignored them.  After a bit I slept some more.
	I fell over some time before dawn.  I remember feeling fairly comfortable.  The fire was out, ice was actually forming on the partially burned logs.  Something seemed important but I was too tired to worry about it at them moment.  I’d figure it out later.  I closed my eyes and slept some more.
	I think I regained consciousness several times after dawn.  I seem to remember light anyway but maybe they were the dreams of a feverish mind.  An open night in the rain had done what the whole of the wilderness had not managed to date.  My core temperature had crashed and I had fallen quickly into hypothermia but I didn’t realize that at the time.  Soaked and half frozen I wouldn’t have lasted another night.  
	Not hearing me the next day Tamara finally emerged to find me lying by the cold fire.  I remember some of that; at least I remember being tugged and pulled and someone sobbing.  I went away for a while and when I came back it was to pain.  Frozen flesh was being heated and protesting the whole way.  I groaned a few times and I think I threw up.  
	Tamara had done the only thing she could think of.  She’d drug my stiff, frozen form to the spring then shoved me in, clothes and all.  I have blurry and dissociated memories of being bent this way and that as my clothes were removed.  Several times my head dipped under the water during the procedure and I almost drowned.  
	How the child got me to the tent I do not know.  I outweighed her three to one and was in no condition to render assistance.
	The next week was a blur.  My body had taken too much punishment and it protested by descending into the depths on pneumonia.  My fever went up and up.  Tamara kept wet cloths on my head and spoon fed me bitter aspirin laden broth.  She later told me that I told her about the aspirin but I have no recollection of it.  She said that in fact I had several lucid moments, once setting up in the middle of the night and giving her quite detailed instructions about what to do and how to survive after I died.  I then collapsed back into a sweat sodden heap.  It was all news to me.  To this day I cannot recall it.
	I came back fully to the world around noon, eight days after my mind at last had departed.  I was soaked in sweat and could smell my own sour stench.  My stomach rumbled emptily.  I briefly tried to get up but I was weak and the effort too great.  I closed my eyes and slept some more.
	I awoke again with Tamara holding my head up and forcing more of the vile broth past my lips.  I spat it out.  “I’d really like something more solid if you have it”, I croaked.
	She dropped me and scampered back.  I briefly expected her to scurry back into the corner and hide again but instead she shrieked and threw herself at me in a ferocious bear hug.  After a moment I weakly returned it, gently patting her on the back.
She crawled out of the tent and returned quickly with some reindeer.  It was tough, overcooked and has some ashes on it.  I chewed the small pieces she hand fed me.  It tasted fantastic.
	After eating I really felt like a bath.  Tamara helped me to stand and together we hobbled from the tent.  The cold air on my sticky nakedness was a slap that almost knocked me off my rubber legs.  Somehow we stayed up and finally made the distance to the spring.  
	I slid into the warmth with an audible sigh of gratitude.  I could actually feel the filth re-liquify and sluice off my skin.  I rubbed at my arms, legs and torso to help it along.
	Once Tamara had decided that I wasn’t going to slip underneath the surface and drown immediately she had gone away.  Now she slid back into the water and began to wash my back with a course washrag.  She’d brought soap and soon the water around up was milky and frothed with tiny bubbles.
	Once my back was done she eased me to a rock and began to wash the rest of my body.  It was then that I noticed that she was wearing her panties.  I sighed, I couldn’t blame her.  I did notice that the brief garments were beginning to look threadbare.  Wet, they did nothing to hide the child’s charms.  I fought my dick down and for once won, though I don’t know if that was due to willpower, guilt or my general weakened condition.  
	Tamara washed all of me but my male tackle.  She gave me the soap and I handled that part.  Bath done, she turned away to rinse out the rag.  I stared at that fine butt under those wet, worn out panties.  She turned again and I was looking at the puffy, splt peach of her bald cunny.  The thin fabric had pulled up between her lips.  I felt my cock give a twinge, weakened or not it was still a hell of a fine sight.
	I finally raised my eyes to find the child staring at me.  I had been caught and there was no doubt about what I had been caught at.  Our gazes locked for a moment then she blushed prettily and looked away.
	We dried off then tottered back to the tent.  I stopped along the way to drain my bladder.  Tamara held me up as I pissed in the snow.  I had no idea how the child had handled the toiled arrangements while I had been out and was not inclined to ask.
	Something had to be done about the rancid sleeping bag.  I dressed in insulated pants and parka while Tamara drug the heavy bag to the spring.  It was synthetic and would dry quickly.  Hell, it would even insulate when wet and we had to get the stench out of it.
	I had some broth and more solid food for supper.  Tamara bustled about, quite the domestic, and waited on me hand and foot.  I was completely worn out and slept soon thereafter.
	I awoke in the pre-dawn, cold and achy.  Tamara was bundled up in full kit and had wrapped herself around me.  I could feel her shiver in her sleep.  In the sleeping bag we shared warmth and generally slept comfortably.  I didn’t feel too comfortable now.
	I eased the child free and managed to stagger from the tent.  I was still hideously weak but today was better than yesterday.  I managed to open my many layers of clothing enough to make another yellow hole in the snow then tottered to the sled and checked on the sleeping bag that was draped over it.   At my direction Tamara had heated rocks and dumped them in the bag.  That had been intended to make sure the appliance could dry before it froze.  It seemed to have worked, at lease it felt dry and I could detect no icy stiffness.  
	I got my snowshoes off the sled and after a bit of contortion and several bouts of dizziness managed to get them on.  I started around the cabin at a walk and then slowly picked up the pace.  After half an orbit I was jogging, a rolling, ungainly act in snowshoes even if one was whole and hale.  I fell three times but managed two full circuits before a quite cross Tamara exploded from the tent and fell on me like a wrathful fury.  She took my arm and scolded me all the way to the fire.
	I endured more tongue lashing as she stoked up the flames then laid out the makings of breakfast.  She had started to repeat herself before she looked up and caught me grinning at her.  Her mouth snapped shut in mid word.
	After breakfast it was again bath time.  Tamara helped me to the spring then stood by while I divested myself of my clothes.  Only when I was in the water did she began to strip off herself.  She got down to her panties then hesitated.  Finally she shot me a challenging look and peeled the threadbare garment off and eased into the water nude.
	There was no play, for one thing I was still too weak and for another I was still carrying a heavy load of guilt.  I avoided touching her and while she scrubbed my back I again vowed to make a try for Redding.
	Dressed, I again donned the snowshoes.  I mentally sketched out a wider circuit around the cabin and started off at a lumbering gait.  I avoided running this time.  I hadn’t gone far when a ‘mush-crunch, mush-crunch, mush-crunch’ from behind told me I had company.  Tamara easily caught up and fell in beside me.  She kept silent till the inevitable happened, a watery knee gave out and I measured my length in the snow. 
	She helped me into a sitting position then brushed the snow from my face and beard.  “You should be in bed.”
	Annoyed I pushed her hand away, “I’ve been in bed for over a week.  Now I have to get back in shape fast.”
	She frowned.  “We haven’t eaten much.  Do we have to leave so fast.  Can’t we stay another week or two?”
	I frowned then met her gaze.  “We’re not going anywhere remember.  You’re staying here and I’m going to Redding.”
	She recoiled, landing on her own butt in the snow.  I struggled to my feet and stood swaying.  After a moment she looked up and asked in a small voice, “What will happen to you then?”  She looked down, her dark hands toying with the white snow,  “After you get there and send the people for me what will happen to you?”
	“I’ll go to jail.”  It was simple stark truth.  
	Her head jerked up, “For how long?”
	“I shrugged and turned away.  “The rest of my life probably.”  This time when I set out she didn’t follow.
	She was in the tent when I got back.  I could here her quietly sobbing.  I went to the sled and started to pull off the fixings for lunch.
	I recovered my strength quickly.  I wolfed down the calories and walked then jogged morning, afternoon and evening.  We slept together in the sleeping bag, at first partially clothed but again nude after the second night.  There was no touching beyond the inevitable contact of two bare bodies however.  On the fourth day after my awakening I again started sorting the supplies I would take with me.
	That night after supper I started putting a pack together.  Tamara sat of the far side of the fire and amused herself by throwing handfuls of snow at the cracking flames.  The little puffs of powder hissed and cracked before dissipating in short lived puffs of steam.  She’d been quiet the last several days but had been almost mute this day.  She was building up to something and I was pretty sure I knew what it was.
	I was right.  She threw a last handful then I heard her swear softly.  She stood and circled the fire before stalking up to me with her fists on her little hips.
	“I don’t want to stay here alone.”
	I nodded and kept packing.  “You’ll be safe till I send someone.”
	“What if you don’t.  What if a wolf eats you or something?”
	I stopped, I didn’t really expect a wolf to eat me but a quick mental inventory revealed any number of ways I could die.  If that happened Tamara would be well and truly screwed.  Maybe she would be found anyway, maybe not.  In that vein, even if nothing happened to me she could succumb to random chance here.  I sat down.  Why was I doing this anyway?  What was my motivation, to protect Tamara or punish myself?  I’d been running on a full head of guilt since that morning in the tent.  That didn’t explain everything however.  
       My original motivation for the solo run was because Tamara no longer trusted me, with reason, and it was the only out I could see.  That reason vanished in one rainy cold night but I’d pressed on, why?  If it was absolution I wanted I could still turn myself in at our original destination.  
       My hands had kept on sorting gear but they were on autopilot now.  I dug deep, throwing aside the mental debris.  C’mon you can do it, no one knows you better than you.  Why?
       It finally came to me and my hands went still.  I was playing the martyr for an audience of one.  I was practically dripping with nobility; I was so fucking anxious for redemption in one child’s eyes that I was willing to risk her life to get it.  I was trying to unburden, to shift the guilt from me to her.  I dropped my hands into my lap and began to cry.  Quiet sobs rose up from the depths and I curled up in a fetal ball and rocked to them.  After a moment Tamara came to me.  I enfolded her and we both cried in that cold, clear night.
       We had a talk over breakfast the next morning.  We would go on with the original plan.  Left open was the question of what would happen at the end.
       We had to move though and now.  We had been here long enough for this little wood to take on the trappings of an almost permanent camp.  Scattered gear had to be located and packed and trash had to be policed up and either burned or buried.  It was after noon before we finally got in train and headed out.
       It was hard, the idleness had softened us up and we felt it.  I played the slave driver and pushed on till well after dark.  We made maybe five miles, maybe.
       The weather was good and we really humped it for the next four days.  Sore muscles were alternately ignored and cursed for twelve hours and more at a stretch, meals were freeze dried or concentrates and Tylenol was the condiment of choice.
	The woods were more common now, in less than a week we’d hit the solid belt.  Despite the grueling pace our spirits soared.  We were staring down adversity and spitting in the face of fate, two against the world.  That was when the storm caught us right in the middle of the last major clearing we would encounter. 
	I had actually considered skirting around it.  But that would have added several miles to the trek.  As each mile had to be paid for with pain and frozen sweat I was loathe to just give two or three of them away.  The sky was clear when we started across but an hour into the crossing a black line rolled in from the east.  In minutes the first gusts of wind came, the snow followed and soon it was all building toward a full scale blizzard.
	We did find a slight depression.  We got the tent up and parked the sled on the lee side.  We just had time to toss our sleeping bags inside before the blow hit with full, icy force.  I went out twice to clear the snow off the tent inside an hour.  It was no use, it built up faster than I could clear it.  The tent bulged in but after a bit it got no worse.  I concentrated on keeping the door clear, we’d put it on the lee side but even that was a chore.
	Our second day in captivity dawned only slightly darker than the night.  I awoke feeling less confined than normal.  It was soon clear why.  The bag had been completely unzipped and folded out to form a coffin shaped blanket.  Tamara lay on the opposite half on her stomach.  She had her knees bent so her feet hung over her butt and read a tattered paperback by penlight and idly chewed on a lock of hair.  She was also completely naked.  I could see the goosebumps on her shapely bottom.
	I looked down, I was of course exposed as well.  My tackle was limp and flaccid.
I looked up to met Tamara’s gaze.  “What’s going on?”
	She tried to meet my gaze but her eyes flickered away.  Was that a hint of a blush?
	She looked back at me.  “Nothing’s going on.  It’s warm enough to be out of the bag and there’s nowhere else to go.”  She rolled her shapely shoulder’s in a gesture that took in the tempests still howling outside.  
	It occurred to me it was fairly warm.  My breath still frosted but I estimated the temperature at around fifty.  Not a heat wave exactly but positively balmy compared to what we had become accustomed too.  The small size of the tent combined with the insulation factor of the snow heaped on top had let out body heat warm the space up.
	I reached around and fumbled for my shorts.  “Well in that case don’t you think we should get dressed?”
	Her voice stopped me.  “Why, like I said there’s no where to go and I just washed my clothes.”  She sighed at my upraised eyebrow, “I gave them a snow scrub.”  Her eyes dropped again, “besides we’ve seen each other naked before.”  The words were nonchalant but she was blushing again.
	What the hell.  I remained naked as well.  I didn’t know what was rolling through her convoluted nine-year-old mind but I was fairly certain something was.  It would reveal itself in due course.  
	I got the stove going and heated some snow in the door, the icy gusts that puffed through forced Tamara to the sleeping bag.  I toughed it out and fixed us some concentrate for breakfast.  I had icicles on my dick before the water boiled.
	We ate together in the bag, nakedness on silky nakedness.  I ventured out first and grabbed another tattered paperback.  Tamara followed and for a bit we read and pretended to ignore one another.
	After an hour or so I sensed the child looking at me and met her gaze over my book.  She was nervously chewing on her hair again.  When she saw she had my attention her gaze dropped.
	“What we did…what you did…..”, she stuttered.
	I softly interrupted.  “Honey, what I did was wrong.  I can’t tell you how sorry I am about that.”
	She didn’t look up.  “Why did you do it?”
	I let out a breath and laid the book down.  “The things we did…the other things..the things you did to me and those that I did to you…you know the things I’m talking about?”
	She didn’t look up but after a moment jerked a nod.
	“Well those things excited me….they turned me on.  I….a man doesn’t always….a man almost never”, I corrected.  “A man doesn’t have any control over what he finds…stimulating.  Those things made me more and more excited as time went on.  That morning I was very excited.  You are pretty and sexy-“
	Her head flew up.  “You think I’m sexy?”  I sensed a heavy weight riding on that question.
	I dropped my gaze.  “Yes, I shouldn’t but I do.”
	“But I don’t have any boobs or any hair…you know down there.”
	I felt tears forming.  “I know.  Like I said, I shouldn’t find you sexy.  But I do.  Anyway, I hurt you.  I betrayed your trust.  I…we should never have played our little games.  I should have stopped them.  If I had you would never have gotten hurt.”
	All was silent for a moment then she asked in a small voice.  “Why didn’t you?”
	I met her gaze.  “I didn’t because I enjoyed them.  I enjoyed them maybe more that I’ve ever enjoyed anything with an adult woman before.”
	The conversation stuttered to a halt and we went back to our books.  After a bit Tamara shifted position.  I looked up to find her sitting cross-legged.  Her bare pussy was gaped slightly open and was only inches from my face.  I dropped my gaze back to my book and willed my dick down.  I sensed a decision had been made.  The picture was firming up.  Despite my resolve so was something else.
	I had to brave the sled for lunch.  It was that or starve.  Tamara went with me.  Idiots that we were we didn’t bother getting dressed first.  Two naked people digging like crazy in the snow in the middle of a blizzard might have been funny if we weren’t too frozen to laugh.  We grabbed the first edibles to hand and practically dove into the tent; though I did tarry long enough to make some yellow snow.  We huddled together in the sleeping bag until the worst of the shivers were over.  Tamara remained in the bag while I cooked lunch.
	An hour or so after eating Tamara began to fidget quite a bit.  Finally she stood and headed for the door.  She hadn’t made any yellow snow and needed to do so badly.  I grunted in sympathy as she unzipped the door and shimmied through then went back to my book.
	She was gone long enough that I was considering going out after her but about the time I formulated that thought she flew through the door and threw herself at me.  Her hair was full of snow and she was shivering badly.  I cuddled her up and began to rub her to warm her up.  
       The tremors slowly subsided.  I kept idly rubbing and went back to my book.  After a bit it occurred to me that she had quit shaking completely and in fact was beginning to purr.  Something in my animal hindbrain had concentrated my rubbing on her soft little bottom.
       She stretched and pushed her butt against my hand.  Her legs spread slightly and it seemed to me that I could almost feel the slick secretions of her bald little twat.
       I removed my hand but not before an impish impulse made me swat that shapely derriere.  She squealing in outrage and shot me a dirty look.  I tried to go back to my book and Tamara wiggled around and picked up hers.  The problem was that at the end of the wiggling her bottom was camped right under my nose.  I was supporting myself on one elbow and she had slid one leg down either side of my body and positioned her shapely little butt an inch under my chin.  I told myself it couldn’t get worse, and willed my dick down.  Then she slowly spread her legs, presenting me with her bald little quim a hand’s breadth from my nose.  Fuck!  I could smell the little minx.  
       I ignored the display, or at least pretended to.  That did not sit well, no that did not sit well at all.  I felt her leg brush my hair.  I looked up find her on her back with her cocked knees either side of my ears and her pussy staring me in the face.  I stared at it, I could just detect a glistening in the cleft.  Shit!  She was wet.  
       I raised my gaze and met hers over our books.  She was biting her lip and had a pensive, almost fearful look on her face.  Her fear was not that I would attack her; her fear was of rejection.  I read her in that instant.  Her cards were on the table.  She was trying to seduce me and with little experience had gone at it with the subtlety of a blunderbuss.   The picture was now clear.  She had decided what she wanted but was it what I wanted?
       I knew what my cock wanted but that traitorous bastard didn’t get a vote.  Not this time.  Tamara looked on the edge of tears.  I sighed then leaned down and gently kissed her little pussy.
       I met her gaze again.  She licked her lips then raised her pelvis, pushing her cunny back against my lips.  I held her gaze and kissed it again, a dry, chaste kiss.  She moaned and banged harder, this time my nose traced her slick girl groove.  
	I cursed myself for weakness and gently lapped her slit.  She moaned and pushed up at me.  I lapped again, digging deeper.  Her smooth little slot was impossibly soft.  I tried to think of a comparison, ‘soft as…….’, and failed.  There was no comparison.
	I dropped my book and slid my hands up her silky thighs and onto the enticing roundness of her sweet butt.  Using that delectable bottom as a handle I pulled her in tighter and pushed my lips to her bald pussy.  I started slow, digging deep and gently probing her channel then swimming upward though her hot, soft tightness to tease at the pebble of her clit.  Her hungry thighs and soon her hands in my hair urged me deeper and faster.  Who was I to refuse?  
	I dove in tongue first, eating child pussy like a demon.  Her moans rose till they overpowered the snow muted shriek of the storm.  She went up the octave, switching from moans to shrieks of pleasure.  Her hands tugged till I feared she was going to pull my hair out by the roots.
	She crested in a tent shaking exclamation of ecstasy, her hands gave a final tug then went limp while her sleek, coltish thighs alternately squeezed and released my face.
	I waited till she started to come down then gently but quickly flipped her onto her stomach.  This time her perfect little ass was the target.  I started by tonguing and licking her sexy little cheeks then zeroed slowly in on her rear entrance.  As my tongue slipped into her butt my finger slid into her still wet cunny.  Soon she was moaning again, she progressed to the shriek level faster this time.  With my head unavailable she balled up a section of sleeping bag and mauled it with her hands.  In short order she again screamed her cum to the wind.  
	After she had recovered she wanted to suck my cock.  I didn’t suggest it, it was her idea.  She even wanted me to tutor her on how to do it better.  So I sat cross-legged and coached her in the fine art of eating dick.  She was a quick study and had me a gibbering wreck in short order.  I did manage to warn her that I was going to cum but she just sucked harder, pulling the cum from my balls and drinking it down.
	She liked sucking my cock, liked it a lot.  In fact she insisted on blowing me twice more that day though I did nothing else to her outside of gentle fondling.  She kept pace regardless, rubbing her drooling little twat as her pretty face bobbed on my hard dick.  Each time I filled her mouth with steaming spunk she came in her own little explosion of paradise.
	We slept that night as we always had before, the only difference was that I didn’t wait for her to sleep before my hands molested her little body.  She giggled herself to the land of nod with my hands reveling in the smoothness of her back, the soft, roundness of her butt, and the sleek, wet, hairless sexiness of her sweet, sweet pussy.
	She wanted to suck me off the next day before breakfast but I’d had enough of that one way street.  A wrestling match ensued that after a bit of tussling settles into the truce of an impromptu 69.  Her short stature made it a challenge but we managed, rolling around with our heads going at cock and sweet cunny like we had invented the position.
	We ate and she was ready for more.  My battered tackle wouldn’t cooperate though and I had to explain to her how a man, especially one my age, needed time to recover.  She seemed to grasp the concept and we went back to our books.  That didn’t stop her from positioning herself with my cock only inches from her face.  Every fifteen minutes or so she’d take a break from her book and nurse on me for a bit.  The little minx managed to coax two more hardons out of me before lunch.  Both times she was happy to show her growing proficiency at reducing that particular form of swelling.
	At my insistence (and that of my aching balls) we took a break from sex for the remainder of the day.  We did caress and kiss.  The caressing she liked, cooing and purring as my hands roamed her tiny sexiness from her graceful neck to her dainty feet.  I introduced her to the kinkiness of the tongue bath.  She alternately giggled and shrieked as I sucked her toes into my mouth one by one then sent my tongue probing into the tight spaces between them.
	The kissing she liked a lot.  She’d never French kissed and the novelty of feeling another tongue in her mouth produced equal parts giggling and panting.  She caught on quickly and we were soon wrestling in that no mans land between our lips.
	We had a simple supper and had a final piss before settling down for the night.  I spooned in behind her, my cock fitting into the sexy cleft of her chocolate, pre-teen ass.
	She reached around behind to caress it.  Her small fingers slid over me, fondling the helmet before trailing wistfully down the shaft to the hairy nest of my balls.
	Her head was tucked into the small of my throat, her cotton-soft hair tickled as she turned toward me.  “You said no more sucking, right?”
	I gently kissed her forehead.  “That’s right honey.  Old men need time to recover.”  
	She gave a few experimental tugs as if judging the heft.  “What about the other thing?”  Her face was just a shape in the darkness but I could almost see her biting her lip, a pensive, expectant look on her pretty features.
	My heart gave a double thud.  Yeah, I knew about the other thing.  Despite our new intimacy I was still conscious I had raped this child.  I gently reminded her of that now.
	“Honey, the only time we did ‘the other thing’ I hurt you, badly.”
       She kept up her fondling, “Nuhuh, we did it a bunch of times.  Well…I did it a bunch of times, when I thought you were sleeping.  Remember we talked about it.  I liked those times…except the first one…well I liked that too a little but not at first.”
	I reached down and began stroking her from her silky shoulder to her sleek hip.  She snuggled in tighter and I felt more than heard her sigh.  I kept silent and willed her to sleep.  Let’s table that last question for now.  Give me time to sort it out in my own head.
	It wasn’t to be.  She was quiet and I thought she was on her way to the land of nod but after a bit her soft voice cut the darkness, wide awake and with barely concealed eagerness.  “Well, can we?”  With the query her hand renewed its molestation of my dick.
	That dick, damn the bastard.  A nine-year-old was offering her bald cunny to it and the son-of-a-bitch was rising to the occasion.
	Tamara felt it and giggled, “Is that a yes?”
	I spoke softly, “Are you sure you want to?”
	She said nothing but I felt her cotton soft hair as she nodded in the darkness.  I sighed, a little in resignation but more than a little in anticipation.  I started to move into position and felt the child stiffen up.  She wanted it but at the same time was afraid.  I relaxed.  “You do it”, I said quietly.
	“But I want you too.”
	“You start.”
	Knowing I was fully aware this time made her hesitant and self conscious but with a little fumbling and nervous giggling she managed to get her wet little quim lined up with my now throbbing prick.  She rubbed her wet, hairless little twat over the head for a moment then eased slowly onto me.  We both groaned as hot tightness met hot hardness.  
	I gave her a minute to become accustomed to her intruder then began to fuck her.  This wasn’t the mindless rutting of our last coupling.  This was a gentle, caress of a fuck.  I allowed my free hand to gently stroke her body.  I caressed her cheek, sliding down far enough on her face to feel the warm ‘whuff’ of her breath.  I traced a dainty ear then moved down across the graceful curve of her neck.  I went across her chest where I softly tweaked a tiny nipple then marched up to her shoulder and down her back.  I counter her vertebrae then slid up onto her curvy bottom.  All the time I kept gently fucking into her welcoming little cunt.
	She began to moan, enjoying the fuck but not climbing the peak too fast.  For long minutes I held that pace, feeling her climb higher and higher.  Only when I felt and heard her reach the precipice did I speed up, pushing her over and rocketing off myself, filling her with pulse after aching pulse of my seed.  As we both drifted for oblivion my last conscious thought was that we were going to have to talk about fertility and its possible consequences.
	The storm abated some time in the night.  We awoke to suffocating quiet.  It almost seemed you could hear you hair growing.
	Tamara wanted more play but I swatted her on her bottom and told her we needed to make time.  That was true, but a greater truth was that my balls really, really ached.  I wasn’t a teenager any more.
	We were badly snowed in.  Locating everything and digging it out took hours.  Once in train we had a brief concentrate breakfast and moved out.  
	It was very rough going.  The new powder was both deep and soft.  Even with the snowshoes we were sinking to our knees.  Without them it is likely that Tamara would have sunk out of sight.  The sled wallowed like the pig it was, digging in at every opportunity and having to be fought, cursed and pushed out.
	By nightfall we had covered perhaps two miles.  We had freeze dried stew for supper then collapsed into the tent, too tired to even think about sex.  
	The next day was a repeat but by day three after the storm the new fall had began to compact.  The going was still hard but not as hard.  Flagging spirits picked up.
	Toward noon I was trudging along, feeling pretty good and admiring the scenery.  We had just crested a rise and were entering a small valley.  Trees grew thickly on either slope but the center was a gently curve of white.  Doubtless it was a watercourse in more temperate times.  There were boulders here and there, deposited by some glacier in ages past.
	Tamara trudged past me, taking the lead.  That was not unusual.  I didn’t need her on the sled at the moment and she wanted an unobstructed view.  I returned my gaze to the valley then snapped it back to the child in the fashionable snowsuit, well part of a fashionable snowsuit anyway.  She wore her boots, snowshoes and parka but from her waist to mid shin she was completely naked.  Not even panties covered her tight little rump, and it was a balmy five degrees out!
	She marched to a boulder, brushed the snow off then lay across it on her stomach.  She looked back at me with a grin and a twinkle in her eyes then waved her bottom like a chocolate flag.  “I thought you might like a snack.”
	I was out of the traces and kneeling at her bottom in an instant.  I ate her goosebump covered ass and pussy for several minutes than stood and fought my dick out of its many layers of protection.  There in front of the great Canadian wild I fucked the child, a perfect fuck in that perfect valley.
	She was incorrigible after that.  In the mornings she wanted to be eaten and then blow me, maybe both at once.  At our lunch stops she just wanted to eat my cock for desert.  In the evenings she wanted to fuck, at least once and more than once or even more than twice was just fine thank you.  Interspersed in the mix were more of her naked hiking routines, routines than never failed to get her what she wanted, namely stiff dick up her itchy little cunny.
	We did have the pregnancy talk and she proved surprisingly well informed on the subject, telling me that since she wasn’t having periods yet she obviously wasn’t ovulating yet.  All the same, I starting pulling out and ejaculating on her back or butt.  She didn’t like the waste and when aware enough would turn around and take my spurting load into her mouth.  My hormones must have kicked into gear, I fucked more and ached less.
	Sex aside, it began to dawn on us that were in trouble and getting deeper in every day.  The reindeer was gone and the sled was growing lighter and lighter.  Twice more in coming weeks we were halted by weather for extended periods.  This was great for the sex but bad for the schedule.  Both times we had slow going until the new snow compacted and settled.  The larder was over half gone and by my reckoning we had covered less than a third of the distance to the next cache.  I had been leaving the rifle on the sled.  Now I started carrying it slung.  I saw brief glimpses of movement in the woods but nothing worth a shot.  We pushed harder; soon we’d have to start halting to hunt in earnest.
	It was Tamara that sighted the steam rising off to the east.  She thought it might be more hot springs but I thought it was probably just a low cloud.  Of course I’d thought that about the last spring.  It was miles out of our way and again I didn’t want to divert to look.  She pleaded and batted her eyes and I crumbled like a paper anvil.  Grumbling all the way I tugged the sled in her wake.
	It was a spring; a glorious blue pool maybe fifty feet across steaming in the cold afternoon.  Tamara gave a cry of delight and ran to it.  She tested it cautiously then began to happily and rapidly strip.  I shook my head and watched her for a minute then noticed the dark cabin brooding among the trees.
	I dropped the traces and moved up to it.  It was of rough logs with a steeply pitched metal roof.  It was larger than the one at the previous springs and actually had windows.  The last structure had been a windowless box.
	An impressive padlock sealed the door and the windows were shuttered.  The latter had an exterior latch though so I unsealed one and peered inside.  There were bunks, a table and several chairs in the limited view I had but what caught my eye was the row after row of cans and boxes in the well stocked larder.  Hams and other cured meats hung from the rafters in front of it.  In one swoop here was enough food to solve our problems.
	I went to the sled and rummaged for my little tool kit.  Only in the movies do they shoot off locks, first it doesn’t work, and second it’s damned dangerous.  I had a min-hacksaw and was soon at work.  The lock was hardened steel, the hasp however was not.  In short order half of it clattered to the ground and I opened the door and stepped inside.
	I had no thought of larceny in my mind.  We needed food and here was food.  I’d leave a note with my name and address and make good on what we took and the damage I’d caused by breaking in.
	There were two rooms, I had only been able to see into one.  I stepped into the other.  It was a kitchen with an ancient wood cookstove taking the place of honor.  I’d been wrong.  What I’d seen through the window was not a well stocked larder. It was the overflow for a very well stocked larder!
	I stepped back into the first room.  There was a trap door in the floor.  I hoisted it up and peered down.  It was dark but I could make out even more shelves of food.  There were only four bunks but this place was stocked for an army.
	My original plan had been to stock up the larder and press on.  The wealth before me was altering my thoughts though.  There was enough that we could comfortably ride out the winter right here.  In the spring, when the owners came to open up their cabin for the summer, we’d hitch a ride back to civilization.  It was a good plan and I was patting myself on the back for it for all of thirty seconds before I spotted the radio.
	It was a huge old military surplus tube job with a heavily louvered metal case.  There was both a mike and a code key.  The wires were neatly coiled.  The whole rested on a shelf above the generator that powered it.  I followed a length of coax and found the antenna leaning in the corner.
	I knew it worked, just knew it.  I also knew that if I looked I’d find gasoline for the generator.  I wasn’t a rocket scientist but I didn’t doubt for an instant that I’d be able to get the whole thing set up in a day or so and then call for help.  The trip was over.  We’d be back in civilization in a few more days and I would go my way and Tamara would go hers.
	As if summoned by thought Tamara appeared, nude, dripping and shivering in the doorway.  She’d finally noticed my absence and came looking.  I pulled a heavy old wool blanket from a bunk and gently enfolded her in it.  I took her through and showed her the food then told her of my plan to winter here, paying the owners for the food and damages.  She seemed to like the plan and perked up happily.
	I then pointed out the radio and told her we could call for help.  She went silent and stared from it to me.  Her face was unreadable.  I hugged her and caressed one slim shoulder then stepped outside.  I was going to bring the sled up and park it beside the cabin, why I wasn’t sure.  It just seemed neater.
	I hadn’t covered three steps when there was a crash from inside the cabin.  I spun and was back through the door in a bound.
	The radio lay on its end on the floor, the case actually slightly deformed by the fall.  There was no way the tubes survived that.
	Tamara bit her lip and stared at me.  “I tripped and fell against it.  You can pay for it too, in the spring I mean.  Can’t you?”
	I could see the fear in her eyes as she uttered the lie, fear of anger, fear of rejection, fear of being alone after learning to like not being alone.  I kept up my stern face for a five count then grinned and enfolded my strong willed child lover in my arms.  It was going to be a very hot winter.
	
	
	
	  
	
	
	

	  
	
	
	  
	  
	 
   
       
       
       
       
       
       
       
       
       
       
       
       
       
       
       
       
       
	
	

	
	
	
	
	
