Aurora, Chapter 01 

"Wrong Foot Forward" 
(P-M1g1, H-N)
An (eventually) erotic story by Katryna
Last updated 12/17/06 

This adult story is (C) by Katryna. It may be redistributed subject to a few 
provisions but may not be sold or otherwise used for profit and must have this 
heading attached. Please read my legal notice as downloading, redistributing, or 
reading this story signifies your agreement to the terms and conditions outlined 
within it. 

He reached for the remote and pressed the power button, flicking the TV off in 
mixed disgust and resignation. He'd already heard as much of the damned weather 
report as he needed or wanted to, and he was cheerily anticipating a delightful 
time all but burrowing out of the snow drift that would pile against his front 
door in the wake of the predicted storm. "Possibly reaching blizzard conditions 
in the Sierras," the weatherman had said, and he shuddered slightly. "Blizzards 
already," He muttered. "And it's only mid-November." 

He headed out of his bedroom and down the stairs, pausing before that same door. 
He opened it, half-unconsciously, and cocked his head, listening intently and 
ignoring the burst of cold wind. The sparse forest around the cabin seemed to be 
consumed by an ominous hush, the proverbial calm before the storm. He wondered, 
idly, how it was that the silence seemed so loud... 

A half-smile slowly spread across his countenance as he surveyed the frozen 
landscape. The snow that blanketed the ground was for the most part still the 
pristine white of the afternoon's gentle snow, though he suspected that more 
than one petulant high-schooler had left his (or, perhaps, her) "mark" on the 
snow somewhere. He sighed, glancing upward. Up here, away from the city lights, 
he'd have a decent view of the night sky, of the constellations and the Milky 
Way, if the reflected light from the pale gibbous moon looming halfway overhead 
wasn't swamping it. "It'll be full in about four days," he thought to himself. 

The gentle breeze caressed his face as he stood in the doorway, absorbing the 
tranquil, sterile beauty of winter. Despite his sweater he still shivered, but 
only slightly and only by contrast with the warmth inside the cabin. "You could 
put on a light coat and decent boots and go for a walk," the breeze seemed to 
whisper. "It'll be fine, it's so nice out. Nothing to worry about." He shivered 
again as these thoughts trickled through his brain, less from the cold than from 
the unnerving lure of the winter landscape. While it seemed harmless, he 
remembered well the dire weather predictions. The soft breeze that brushed his 
cheeks reminded him, now, less of a cool, gentle caress and more of a smiley 
face painted on a bomb. 

He thought back to the weather report. The storm was approaching fast, but it 
wouldn't be reaching the area for an hour or so. What the hell, he thought, a 
walk won't hurt. He could use the chance to stretch his legs and think, anyway. 
He closed the door momentarily, kicked off his slippers, and shoved his feet 
into his boots, lacing them up. He slipped off his sweater and tossed it aside, 
in a t-shirt and jeans now. He grabbed his leather jacket from the overstuffed, 
unclosable coat closet, and, slipping his arms into the sleeves and zipping it 
up, he headed outside. 

A strange sense of trepidation seized him, paralyzing his hand, as he grasped 
the doorknob, half-expecting the tranquil scene to have vanished among the 
hungry, writhing tentacles of the coming storm. He swallowed and shook his head, 
mentally kicking himself for giving in to childish paranoia. With one forceful, 
willful movement he twisted the knob and pushed the door open, sighing 
involuntarily with relief at the unchanged landscape before him. 

As he stepped through the door, he looked up and to his right, as if compelled. 
The moon seemed to have shifted, bulging suggestively, seeming, for a brief 
instant, swollen--even pregnant--though what sort of child the moon would bear 
was beyond even his vivid imagination. The impression faded as rapidly as it had 
bloomed, and he chuckled at the thought of the moon bearing offspring. He closed 
the door, not bothering to lock it. 

As he started walking he glanced up at the moon again and shivered. Its 
appearance was normal, but a subtle yet powerful sense of foreboding washed over 
him. He swallowed again and looked away, across the rest of the small ridge 
where his cabin was built and rebuilt, across the frozen meadow, and down the 
tree-lined slope to the small cluster of lights that marked the town proper. He 
tried to remember what the population was; less than a thousand still, he 
thought. He wondered idly why people hadn't come flocking to this oasis of quiet 
beauty in the vast desert of sprawling cities and vast grazing ranges, of urban 
gangrene and suburban cancer, which marked and marred the expansion of humanity. 
An answer popped immediately into his mind. 

"It's too fucking cold!" He finished aloud, then chuckled. The temperature was 
about twenty degrees Fahrenheit; tolerable for him but likely to inspire 
terminal histrionics in most Californians. He chuckled again at the mental image, 
took one last, long look at the town, and then turned his attention to the path 
ahead. 

"Path" was a strong word, he thought, as he trudged through the snow. He glanced 
briefly at the pine and spruce trees as he walked, but found himself paying 
alarmingly little attention to where he was going. He trudged aimlessly through 
the forest, his path meandering slightly, here and there, and found himself 
standing in sight of a largish creek, with little memory of his journey. 

He blinked, pulling his wristwatch from his sleeve and looking down at it. 23:42. 
Hell. When had he left his cabin? How long before the storm arrived? As if in 
mocking reply, a stronger wind began to whip against him as he stood. He 
swallowed, and shivered, his sense of alarm renewed. How far was he from home? 

He glanced around, alarmed, but could see only a hint of light through the trees, 
behind him and to his right. He had no idea of its source; it could have been 
the town, his cabin, a campfire, a will-o-the-wisp, a UFO... 

He decided that train of thought was unproductive and derailed it. He swallowed 
again and tried to think. The creek...it clicked. He slapped his forehead and 
chuckled sardonically. The creek formed a small waterfall and then through the 
town. He tried to remember what he'd seen of it on a map, and recalled, to his 
relief, that its course was mostly straight. And his cabin was about a quarter 
mile from the creek, at about a fifteen degree angle from its course. He should 
be able to find it by following-- 

"Beautiful out here, isn?t it?" A voice from behind him. Soft. Youthful. 
Completely unexpected. He gasped and whirled around, feeling waves of adrenaline 
coursing through him. 

The girl gasped too, tensing visibly, startled by his reaction. Her eyes widened 
and she stammered something unintelligible. He exhaled, feeling himself relaxed, 
unclenched the fists he had no memory of making and lowering the hands he didn?t 
remember raising. He was breathing hard, shivering a bit as he looked at her. 

The girl was about 11 or 12, he guessed. Gold-brown hair, wavy, long, and 
clearly wind-blown, cascaded from under a blue-violet woolen beanie down, he 
guessed, to her shoulder blades. She was in jeans and snow boots, like him, navy-blue 
woolen gloves, and a thick, burgundy-colored woolen sweater that mostly hid her 
body. He noted that she had a slim build and guessed that she stood about 5' 
even. 

She was as tense as he and looked about ready to bolt. He'd obviously scared her, 
and he wasn't surprised; he was probably twice her size. He swallowed, shook his 
head, and smiled sheepishly. She blinked, and a moment later a reciprocal 
embarrassed grin started to spread across her face. "Hi..." She almost whispered. 

"Geez. I'm sorry...you just..." He fumbled for words. "You startled me. I'm 
sorry if I scared you..." He shrugged apologetically. 

"I'm sorry I scared *you*," She replied, still smiling. He smiled back, warmly, 
fixed on her soft brown eyes until she finally broke eye contact to look around 
at the frozen scenery, seeming a little embarrassed. He cocked his head, a bit 
puzzled, then shrugged. 

Another gust of wind blasted them, her hair blowing into further disarray. She 
giggled, and he chuckled for a moment before his smile vanished, he thought 
later, faster than a CHP officer's smirk at the words "four-oh-eight-oh-one." He 
swallowed, looked at his watch again. Yeah. He'd definitely been out here an 
hour, he decided. 

"Um...did you...catch the weather report on TV?" He asked her cautiously. She 
was strolling along the stream bank, heading away from him. Half-consciously he 
began to follow her, about ten feet behind. 

"No...why?" She asked. 

"There was a nasty snowstorm predicted to arrive here in a little more than an 
hour. That was an hour ago." He responded. 

"Yikes," She exclaimed, and shivered, grinning nervously. She pinched her chin 
for a moment in thought, and he couldn't help but smile at the adorability of it. 
"Hmm...we're a ways out here...I know where we can take cover," She said, and 
grinned. "C'mon, I'll show you." 

He glanced up at the moon, now merely a pale white light as the storm clouds 
engulfed it. The wind began to blow steadily, and he spotted a few snowflakes in 
the air--and a haze up ahead, where the storm was approaching. Flakes began to 
fall faster, whirling outward towards them as the storm approached. They had 
about five minutes, he guessed. 

She picked up the pace and he did likewise, following the creek northward, away 
from the town. They rounded a bend in the creek and he saw, obscured by trees, 
an obviously venerable log serving as a makeshift bridge, about four feet above 
the icy surface of the creak. As she reached the base of it on the near side of 
the creek, he looked it over and swallowed. Fungus festooned it and the wood 
seemed cracked in several places. He shook his head. 

"Look kid, I really don't think we should try to use this..." He started. 

She looked at him strangely. "Huh? It's fine. I came across it the other way 
like ten minutes ago. Here, I'll show you." She put one foot, then the other, on 
the log, generating a dull creak. She began to walk across it, the log trembling 
slightly under her feet. 

He felt vestiges of adrenaline creeping back, generated now not by surprise but 
by an almost parental instinct to protect her. "Kid...please...get off of that 
thing." He pleaded, a note of alarm creeping into his voice. 

She looked at him over her shoulder, wavering a bit. She swallowed and shook her 
head. "Really. I'm fine, mister..." He watched as she put one foot forward. 

He watched it descend to the log and his eyes widened as he recognized the 
narrow, jagged crack running almost the width of the log. Only a narrow portion 
of the log--perhaps just the bark--at the bottom of it kept the bridge together. 
He opened his mouth, but she was already lifting the other foot. "NO!" He yelled 
as she put it down right atop the crack. 

She looked at him strangely again. A moment later, her eyes widened, and her 
puzzled and slightly exasperated look shifting seamlessly into a gasp of 
undiluted horror as the section of the log on the near side gave way with a 
cracking splintering noise. She screamed in terror as the near section fell out 
from under her back foot, crashing through the ice layer of the frozen creek. 
She didn't notice the drops of ice water splattering her legs; she was too 
intent on lunging forward, trying to catch her balance on the end of the 
quivering, but still standing, far side log. She wheeled her arms as it started 
to tilt downward, its anchorage on the far side giving way. She almost caught 
her balance, and seemed about to make it across after all, though the log she 
was standing on would fall soon as well. 

With an almost deliberate fury and a nearly mocking howl, a strong gust of snowy 
wind blasted along the area of the creek bed. Time slowed to a crawl as he 
watched her body tilting backward, the one foot she'd managed to firmly plant on 
the log losing its hold. With a nearly silent gasp of terror the girl fell 
backwards, landing with a splash in the widening hole that the first log had 
made of the ice. 

"NO!" He screamed again and lunged forward himself. His feet slipped on the half-frozen 
mud of the edge of the creek bed, and he half-leapt, half slid down the two and 
a half feet it took him to land in a smallish, mostly dead thornbush of some 
sort. He grunted, clenching his teeth as the sharp needles tore into his legs 
and hips through the jeans, feeling a few scratch his exposed face. He was glad 
the leather jacket, at least, kept them out. 

He climbed into the surface of the ice. The water under it was flowing very 
slowly, he noted, to his considerable relief. Leaning forward, trying to glimpse 
her into the seeming abyss formed by the pool in the ice. He could half make out 
shades of light and pale below him, and on impulse, he knelt and plunged his arm 
into the icy creek. 

He groaned, clenching his teeth again as the ice water enclosed his arm, needles 
of frost piercing every square millimeter. He felt it going half-numb as he 
fumbled under the water, grabbing frantically. His hand finally closed on 
something soft and fibrous, and he pulled, hard, desperately praying that he 
held the cloth he hoped for. 

She gasped weakly as her head broke the surface. He planted his feet as best he 
could and hauled her out of the pool, ice water dribbling from her saturated 
clothing. Her face was several shades paler than it had been and her movements 
seemed slowed, but she was alive and more or less conscious. He tried to 
remember his Red Cross course years ago. She coughed weakly and he nodded and 
swallowed again, noting that no water came out. She didn't seem to have inhaled 
any despite the shock. Still... 

"Can you breathe?" He asked, forcibly dispensing with the handwringing and 
placating that usually undermined any adult's attempts at responding to a crisis; 
his training hadn't completely deserted him, he noted with relief. 

"Huh? Yeah..." She murmured, teeth chattering audibly. 

"I mean, is there water in your lungs?" He forced his voice to remain calm. 

"Uh-uh..." She murmured, blinking sleepily. He sighed with relief and nodded. 

"Where do you live?" He asked her. 

"In town," She gasped out, shivering violently in his arms. 

He'd completely forgotten the flurry of snow and the fierce winds surrounding 
them in his desperation to rescue her, and now, in a kind of "SMACK! 'Pay 'ttention, 
stupid!'" gesture, the wind began to whip against them, the snow and mist 
starting to obscure visibility. He realized that he'd also forgotten that they 
were standing on ice, ice that, having broken, had a decent chance of cracking 
further and dumping them both into a cold grave with a whole new subtext. And 
they couldn't stay out here. She was undoubtedly suffering hypothermia. He wasn't 
sure where the road to town was and he couldn't carry her down the slope without 
risking a fall that would break more than just ice, for both of them. Bottom 
line, though, it was-- 

"Too far," He said, shaking his head. 

"Gotta...get..." She whimpered, chattering enough to make coughing difficult. 

"Here." He knelt and slipped an arm under her thighs, a little below her butt, 
and one under her shoulders. He found her an easy burden to bear, lifting her 
slender body almost effortlessly, between her lightish weight and the adrenaline 
still surging through him. He struggled to climb the slope with her, and finally 
he had to let go of her with one hand and grab a tree root. He managed to pull 
himself up enough to find a footing on solid ground, then dragged her with him 
up the slope. 

Lifting her, feeling her shivering violently in his arms, he tried to work out 
the geometry of the area in his head, shook it, picked what he was almost half 
sure was the right way, and began walking as fast as he could. The water in her 
clothes was starting to freeze and her skin was chill to the touch. His hands 
were going numb as he stumbled through the wind and snow, gasping for breath but 
refusing to break stride. He briefly debated opening his coat to try and warm 
her with his body heat, but decided against it. She needed him to be in a 
condition to get her to somewhere habitable. 

He quickly lost track of time as he trudged through the snow, but he was vaguely 
aware that her shivering and chattering was weakening, soon become almost 
imperceptible. His lungs were burning despite the icy air, his hands and feet 
were painfully numb, and the stitch in his side seemed to have unraveled and 
torn by the time his squinted eyes finally registered a faint yellow glow 
through the whipping wind and blinding snow and fog. He staggered towards it, 
nearly stumbling nearly a dozen times before the layer of fog between him and 
the light thinned enough for him to discern its source. Peering through the snow, 
he recognized it as his porch light. Panting and mumbling incoherent curses at 
the weather, he hauled himself and the girl the last hundred yards or so to the 
porch. 

Extracting the key from his pocket and fitting it properly into the door seemed 
as difficult as the trek through the snow to the cabin, but fortunately for them 
both it proved much less time-consuming. He had to set the girl down and remove 
a glove, but his numbed and trembling fingers finally managed to slip the key 
from his pocket to the lock and turn it. He found virtually no resistance, and 
after a puzzled moment he kicked himself, realizing that he'd forgotten to lock 
the stupid door in the first place. He pushed the door open, stumbled through it, 
dragged her with him, and slammed it shut, noting in passing that the entryway 
and living room lights were on and that most of the lights in the cabin probably 
were as well. He made a note to turn them off the next time he went out; the 
cabin had plenty of power, but not an infinite supply. 

He unzipped his coat with trembling fingers, placing it over the girl like a 
blanket as she lay on the stone floor of the entryway, then gave himself a few 
seconds to catch his breath, thinking dimly that, gasping like this, he must 
look and sound a bit like a beached trout. He bent forward slightly, looking 
down at her as he did so, and felt something like a snake of ice, perhaps a 
demon out of the storm, coiling up in his stomach. Her skin, initially pale, now 
seemed determined to match the snow, the effect marred mainly by a faint bluish 
tinge. Having been soaked in ice water, he thought, and then hauled for--he had 
no idea how long--through the icy wind and snow, her slender young body's 
chances of survival would be slim. In all likelihood, he thought, he had spent 
most of his arduous journey risking his life for a corpse. He felt a bit annoyed 
for a half second, then pushed it away. He'd meant well, and the girl's family, 
at least, deserved to have her body returned to them...whether or not "she" came 
with it. 

He shook his head and knelt beside her, still breathing deeply. Her eyes were 
closed, her body was silent and still. He swallowed again, paused, then leaned 
downward, closer to her. He could see her chest moving slightly. He sighed 
audibly, smiled weakly, and shook his head again. She was alive, but probably 
unconscious, and definitely suffering from hypothermia. She needed to get warmed 
up, as quickly as was safely possible. Still kneeling, he slipped his arms under 
her again, then rose, slowly and laboriously this time, hurling a mental trash 
can and string of obscenities at his protesting muscles, rounding the corner 
from the entrance into the living room and heading towards the fireplace. 

With her body clutched against him and without the coat, he fully registered the 
soaked condition of her clothes. He swallowed, setting her down on the rug in 
front of the fireplace; then, remembering, as the adrenaline wore off and his 
head cleared, that fireplaces needed fires to generate any warmth, he looked up, 
hoping the damn coals hadn't gone out. The fire had burned very low, and while a 
few glowing embers pronounced it "salvageable," he figured that it would be 
quicker and more efficient to start a new fire. He rearranged the jacket over 
her torso, hearing her murmur softly without stirring, then, thanking the 
relevant power that feeling and dexterity were gradually returning to his 
fingers, he quickly grabbed several big logs, a wad of old newspapers, and a lot 
of kindling. He arranged the logs in the fireplace with space between them, 
slipped and stacked kindling under them, and crumpled the pieces of newspaper 
into balls beneath those. Next he fumbled for his lighter, in his jeans pockets 
and on the mantle, for a moment before remembering that he'd left it in his 
jacket pocket the day before. 

He reached over, fumbling with the jacket, checking pockets. He checked one side 
pocket, then reached around to the other. As he checked it, pulling it towards 
him a bit to reach into it better, she stirred slightly, turning a little, and 
he found his fumbling hand pressed, through the jacket, against something softer 
and more yielding than her ribs ought to be. He looked up for a moment, glanced 
at her face, and blushed slightly when he realized why, for a moment selfishly 
glad that she was unconscious. He kicked himself mentally; she'd have realized 
it was an accident. And anyway, there was no lighter in this pocket. He had to 
suppress a chuckle as he withdrew his hand from the second pocket and, 
ironically, reached to check the jacket's breast pocket. His fingers closed 
around the smooth chrome barrel and he pulled his lighter from the jacket pocket, 
ignoring the cylindrical shape and the "butane microtorch" printed on the barrel 
that distinguished it from the average person's "lighter"; no time to consider 
them now. He flicked the trigger and a small spurt of bright yellow flame 
erupted from the barrel and faded almost instantaneously to a small blue cone. 
Turning quickly to the fireplace, he touched the flame to one of the balls, 
which immediately flared up, pouring smoke into the chimney. The flame spread 
like...like fire, he supposed, shaking his head wearily, and soon a merry blaze 
of paper and kindling crackled under the logs, which were beginning to smoke 
satisfyingly. 

He allowed himself to the count of thirty to warm his hands before he kissed her 
clammy forehead, feeling her stir again, and almost ran, to the entrance and 
then up one short flight of stairs, the landing, and the other flight, nearly 
tripping several times on his half-numb feet. He took a right turn at the top 
and dashed through the door into the spare bedroom, pausing barely long enough 
to flick on the light switch. This room, initially carved out of empty space as 
a guest room, had, with the cabin in his sole care and occupancy, metamorphosed 
into a combined general-purpose storage room and diorama display of his 
extensive dust collection. Since the long, narrow design of the room severely 
hampered its actual habitation, this, he thought, was just as well. Among the 
dusty furniture, knickknacks, and assorted, questionably functional, 
questionably purposed electronic devices cluttering the room were two large 
chests of drawers, and he pulled open the second drawer from the top of the one 
nearer the door. The drawer was stuffed with five or six blankets, sharply 
divided between the obviously brand-new and the extremely well-worn. He grabbed 
three of them, almost without looking, flicked the light switch off out of habit, 
and headed downstairs. 

Unsurprisingly, the girl was lying in front of the now-crackling fire, precisely 
where he'd left her. She stirred a little as he crossed the common room and 
knelt by her side, setting the blankets down. "Honey, I brought you some 
blankets," He said softly. She didn't respond. "Honey, can you hear me?" 

"Uh?" She murmured, more sleepily than anything else. 

"Are you awake?" 

"Uh huh..." 

"Can you feel your skin?" 

"Kinda..." She half-turned towards him, eyes opening a little. 

"Feet, hands?" 

"Not really..." Her eyes slowly opened fully, and he found himself staring into 
their soft, coppery depths. She smiled weakly. Her skin remained deathly pale, 
but the bluish tinge was fading. Looking down at her he realized that her 
posture had changed slightly; she was a little more huddled, under his jacket 
and her clothes-- 

Her clothes! He smacked his forehead, shaking his head. "Huh?" She murmured 
quizzically, as he realized that her clothes were still soaked with slowly 
melting, half-frozen water and still pressed against her still-clammy skin. He 
swallowed, trying to think of how to phrase this best. 

"Um...look honey...you need to get your clothes off..." She blinked, staring 
uncomprehendingly, and perhaps a little suspiciously. He sighed. "Don't take 
this the wrong way, ok? It's just that your clothes are kind of soaked with half-frozen 
ice water. That's going to make it difficult for you to warm up." 

She nodded her understanding. "Can't..." She murmured, confusing him for a 
moment until she emphasized her point with a conspicuously feeble movement of 
her left arm, under the jacket. She was recovering, but slowly, and it would be 
quite a while before she was "fine" again. 

"Right...that's what I was afraid of," He said, and sighed. "I'll have to help 
you then. Is that all right?" He cocked his head. She hesitated for a moment, 
but nodded, the almost imperceptible hint of blush creeping along her cheeks the 
first real sign of healthy color he'd seen in her complexion since the log had 
given way. He couldn't help smiling a little, and after a moment she returned it, 
pinkening a little further. "Um, here..." He said, reaching down and slipping 
her beanie from her head, setting it aside. Her hair, he realized, was soaked as 
well, but there was little he could do about that. He made a mental note to get 
her a towel once he was finished undressing her, blushing a bit himself at this 
mental phrasing. 

He lifted the jacket and tossed it aside, then unbuttoned her wool sweater and 
opened it, noting that the water that had frozen between the fibers had mostly 
re-thawed already. The knit turtleneck underneath, a sort of pale lavender that 
probably had a name of its own in the fashion catalogues, was soaked but didn't 
seem to have frozen. That was a good sign, he hoped, though he realized that 
this was most likely in large part due to it steadily absorbing ("stealing," he 
thought) her body heat. He tried to avoid staring at her figure, but he could 
definitely make out the gentle curves of her small breasts under the cotton and 
the smaller swellings of her nipples. He slipped her arms out of the sweater, 
then helped her lift herself enough for him to slip it out from under her, and 
finally tossed it on the floor a couple feet away from his jacket; the water and 
leather wouldn't get along very well. In the process, her turtleneck hiked up a 
few inches, baring some of her smooth, pale stomach. He nodded, tossed the 
sweater aside, and reached for the right sleeve of the turtleneck. "Here, let me 
help you get your hand out," He said, and she nodded. Between her pulling and 
twisting her hand in towards her and him pulling and inching the sleeve, he 
finally managed to get her arm out of it, and she folded her arm against her 
side under the shirt. He reached across her body and helped her slip her other 
arm from the left sleeve in the same fashion. 

He swallowed, and she seemed to as well. They looked at each other, then down at 
the turtleneck surrounding her body, then at each other again. Both turned 
slightly pinker, and, determined to act before any giggling spells had a chance 
to take hold, he reached down, took hold of the hem of her turtleneck and began 
to lift. She managed to lift her back feebly off the rug, tensing almost visibly 
but making no move to stop him, and without any apparent sign of discomfort. 
They both understood the necessity here, he thought. What the hell was the big 
deal? He swallowed, watching as her soft white skin was slowly revealed; her 
stomach was smooth and largely unremarkable. Her build was slender, but as he 
lifted the hem further he found that she didn't have an obvious rib line. "In 
good shape, but definitely not starving; must be decently taken care of at home," 
he thought to himself. He eased her turtleneck up further, until the hem paused 
just under her small breasts. 

He swallowed again and shrugged, lifting the hem above them. The result was a 
little bit anticlimactic. He eased the fabric up and over her breasts, baring 
the pale, gentle swellings, mildly surprised that she wasn't wearing a bra of 
some sort. Being barely an A cup she hardly needed one, but neither did most 
girls her age and he as he recalled from his occasional glances past and present, 
bras were quite popular with pubescent girls whether they needed them or not. He 
bit back a laugh at the reflection that her light-pink nipples genuinely did 
resemble the proverbial pencil erasers stuck to the swellings of her young body. 
He caught himself almost staring, and forced his eyes to move on. He pulled the 
turtleneck upward, watching as it bunched around her neck, pulling it off her 
head, stealing another glance at her chest as he did so, then tossed the shirt 
on top of her sweater. 

"Um, here." He reached behind him and began to unfold one of the blankets, a tan 
wool blanket with sienna geometric designs. He looked up as her arms were 
sliding into place over her chest; she'd finally had the presence of mind to 
cover herself. He laid the blanket over her body. She smiled weakly, still sort 
of blushing. 

He swallowed and glanced at her waist and hips, cocked his head. She understood 
and nodded slowly, turning redder as she helped him lift the blanket, re-exposing 
her ice water-soaked jeans, and he realized she still had her boots on--for that 
matter, he recalled suddenly, so did he. He shook his head slowly, chuckling, 
glancing at the floor in the entranceway. There were quite a few puddles on the 
worn, once-polished boards beyond the doormat, where the snow he'd tracked in 
had melted, but they were manageably small and he had other things to worry 
about. 

He fumbled with the laces of her right boot for a moment before he got them 
undone and slid her boot from her foot. The thick blue woolen sock, he observed, 
was wet only about halfway down; the tightly laced boots had done a decent job 
of keeping the water out. Her toes shouldn't be frostbitten, then. More good 
news. He moved to her left boot and repeated the unlacing, pulling it off. Most 
of her left sock--bright red, he noticed--was damp, but the toes were fairly dry. 

After setting the boots next to the pile he'd started for her clothes, he moved 
the blanket up further, to her hips. He swallowed, looked at her sort of 
apologetically, and then, after a moment of fumbling, got the button of her 
jeans undone. He unzipped them with some trepidation, mentally kicking himself 
for acting like a high school senior on prom night, and began to ease them off 
her hips. The girl planted her feet flat on the floor, bent her legs, and lifted 
her pelvis slightly. It was obviously a substantial effort for her, and he 
quickly tugged her soggy jeans from her hips, sliding them down her thighs as 
her butt returned to the floor. 

He couldn't help pausing for a moment, glancing at her pelvis once more. Her 
panties were plain white cotton, fairly thin, and soaked through. The curved 
outline of her mound was faintly visible through them, highlighted by the way 
the damp cotton clung to her skin. From what he could see, she didn't seem to 
have any hair there, a little surprising since she was growing breasts, and--he 
kicked himself, forcing himself to look away. She was, what? Twelve years old? ...for 
fuck's sake. He slid her damp blue jeans past her knees and off her feet, 
tossing them onto the pile. Turning back to her, he gently slipped off one of 
her socks, then the other, adding them to the pile. 

He looked back to her, still feeling a little bit nervous. "All right, honey..." 
He started. "That's...well, I'll leave it up to you whether that's 'everything.'" 

She blinked, cocked her head, then her face brightened--and reddened--slightly 
as she understood. "Y'mean my undies?" She asked, glancing down at the blanket 
that had slipped halfway over her pelvis. 

"Yeah, those. They're soaked and pretty cold, I imagine. But, I don't want to 
embarrass you..." He shook his head, reflecting that, having stripped her down 
to transparent panties and having gotten several good looks at her chest, it was 
probably too late for that. 

"S'ok." 

"Do you want me to take them off, then?" 

She smiled nervously, reddening further, then nodded. "Go 'head." 

He nodded back, lowering his gaze to her pelvis, resisting the impulse to just 
stare at her inadvertently see-through panties, instead reaching to grasp the 
waistband, one hand by each of her hips. She paused, reddening further, then 
looked straight ahead, lifting herself wordlessly. He pulled on the waistband, 
encountering resistance, and so he rolled her panties down more than pulling 
them down. He tried to work quickly, as holding herself up was clearly a strain 
for her, and in the process his fingers brushed along the still-cool skin of her 
hips, her buttocks, and the lower edge of her stomach, eliciting almost 
imperceptible shivers from her. As the roll of cotton lowered, exposing more and 
more of her mound, she tensed noticeably, but still didn't protest or move to 
stop him. He glanced at her face, quite pink by now, then back to her pelvis, 
and with one more roll of the cotton revealed perhaps a quarter inch of the 
cleft where her mound ended and her lips began. 

He paused for only a moment, again forcing himself not to stare, and then gently 
tugged the rolled, soaked cotton from her hips, quickly sliding her underwear 
down her thighs to her knees. She lowered her butt to the floor again, shivering 
slightly at the touch of the wood on her sensitive skin. He was hardly paying 
attention, his gazed fixated on the soft, gentle pair of folds between her legs. 
Her mound and lips were, as he'd initially suspected, hairless; they were small, 
soft, smooth, and simply beautiful. Alarms went off in his brain as he felt 
himself stirring, and he looked away again, his cock still swelling slightly in 
his pants, as he pulled her underwear past her knees and off of her feet, 
tossing them atop the pile of her clothes, then pulled the blanket down over her 
hips and legs. 

She relaxed, sighing, looking up at him apologetically. "Are you all right?" He 
asked her. The half-erection, to his relief, was rapidly receding. 

"Yeah..." She replied, her expression suggesting she was on the urge of either 
tears or a giggling spell. 

"Are you sure?" He asked, lips pursing and brow furrowing with concern. 

"I'm fine...just...I..." 

"That's never happened before...?" She cocked her head questioningly. "Having a 
guy undress you, I mean." 

She blushed deeper and shook her head, giggling a little from embarrassment. "Hasn't," 
She confirmed. 

"Sorry. I didn't mean to emb--" 

"S'ok." 

He nodded, unfolded another blanket, and then arranged it over her. She must 
still be pretty cold, he realized, despite warming slowly and steadily under the 
blankets and beside the fire. He pondered, and a moment later resisted the urge 
to slap his forehead as he thought of another way to help warm her. "Are you 
gonna be ok for a few minutes?" He asked her. 

"Uh huh. Why?" She responded. 

"I had an idea to help you warm up." 

"Uh..." She looked embarrassed again, and he shook his head, blushing. Poor word 
choice, he supposed. 

"How does a warm bath sound?" 

"Sounds lovely..." She murmured, a lazy smile spreading and receding on her 
countenance. Looking up at him seriously, she smiled slightly again. "Hey, 
listen...thanks for saving me mister..." 

"Don't mention it." He smiled weakly. 

She nodded, smiled, then paused and cocked her head, looking up at him 
quizzically. "Hey...what's your name, anyway?" 

"Joseph. You can call me Joe." 

She slipped an arm from under her blankets and weakly extended it, palm open and 
fingers held together. He grasped her hand and shook gently. "Hi Joe," She said 
softly, "I'm Aurora." 

Footnote: *California Vehicle Code Article 40801: "No peace officer or other 
person shall use a speed trap in arresting, or participating or assisting in the 
arrest of, any person for any alleged violation of this code nor shall any speed 
trap be used in securing evidence as to the speed of any vehicle for the purpose 
of an arrest or prosecution under this code." 

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