The Snowman and the Dreamer
Margie’s eyes scanned quickly from left to right and from top to bottom as she devoured the pages. Her head was propped up on two pillows. The bedside lamp illuminated her hands; the left holding the paperback novel and the right making rhythmic motions in the nether folds of her nightgown. She heard him rudely calling but she was so engrossed in her book that his demands weren’t penetrating her consciousness.
“…The urgent grip of his embrace was almost painful, but she wished she could be even closer to him. Her lips felt bruised from their kisses. Still, sought for his mouth with her lips, desiring more kisses, as his huge hands cupped the cheeks of her buttocks through her dress and petticoats. Her pelvis crushed against his. His pulsing pole of flesh, not content to be sandwiched between them but, rather, wanting solely to be buried to its hilt inside her. She craved more of his kisses. She could not have enough. She could feel the muscles of his broad back ripple beneath her touch. She sensed his desperation. Suddenly he gripped her dress at the neck behind her head and with a mighty surge of strength tore loose the buttons that held it together. She heard the buttons clatter to the floor. She felt him tearing at the belt about her waist. He stripped the dress down over her arms and lifted her free of the train and petticoats. She found herself before him clothed only in a corset and underpants.
It was as if the clothes they wore had become their mutual enemies. As he warred with the laces on her corset she battled the tie on his cummerbund. Next, she attacked the buttons on his trousers. Escaping from her corset, she watched him tear free of his tunic. His attention immediately focused on her ample bosom, her breasts exposed to him. Large melons, they were, ripe for the picking with dark succulent nipples. His lips fastened to one nipple, then the other as her hands, entangled in his long blond hair, guided his efforts from side to side.
Suddenly, as if his spinal cord had been severed by an enemy’s arrow, the prince dropped to his knees before her and yanked her underpants to the floor. His hungry lips sought her womanhood. She started to swoon, but he caught and hoisted her with arms like the branches of a huge oak tree. She found herself with legs over his shoulders, her sex level with his mouth, while he lapped at her womanly nectar. He stood to his feet. She took handfuls of his luxurious hair to hold herself aright. She thought he was walking, taking her somewhere but the sensations at her center were so intense that she couldn’t be sure. Her surroundings were a fog. As she descended from the very apex of the mountain of pleasure, she felt her lover, firmly but gently, lower her body onto the soft bearskin rug before the huge crackling fireplace.
Gracefully she rolled to her knees before him and, with hunger in her brown eyes, lowered his trousers to uncover a flawless male member of generous proportion. She licked her lips greedily as she took it in both of her hands and guided it to her waiting mouth. She lavished the impressive tool with oral delights until the handsome prince indicated that she should recline on the rug. She released his incredible manhood with a “plop” from her mouth and it smacked his defined pectorals as a panther might bat a deer.
She lay on her back, totally open to him and inviting. He positioned himself accordingly as the firelight danced on their bodies. He felt her small hand latch onto his quivering lance and pull it toward her salivating cavern. He began to lower himself into the heavenly delights…”
“Margie! Margie! Hey, where are you? Are you deaf? I need a beer in here. Bring me a goddam beer and be quick about it!”
Margie closed her book over the ribbon to mark her place and put the romance novel down on her bedside table. “Be right there. Just a minute!” She looked at the cover of the book. Typical of this sort of novel, it showed a blonde Adonis in a passionate embrace with a beautiful dark heroine. “I wish! Oh, how I wish,” she whispered to herself as she walked toward the kitchen to get Big Dave his beer.
The cold was making his nose run. He wiped his upper lip with the back of his gloved hand and returned to shoveling the fresh snow from the concrete walk in front of his house. He hoped within himself that there wouldn’t be more snowfall during the day. Shoveling once a day was more than enough! He finished with the walk, right up to the property line on both sides of the house and started making passes in front of the garage door to clear the driveway that led to the street. He noticed that the tips of his index and middle fingers of his right hand were getting very cold. “I’ll have to ask Doris if there is enough room in the budget for some new gloves next time we go to Walmart,” he thought.
Quickly finishing his early morning chore, he put the snow shovel away, and stomped the snow from his boots before entering the warmth of the güvenilir canlı bahis siteleri house. His glasses instantly fogged over as his wife, Doris, sharply barked, “hurry up and shut that door! I can only imagine what the heat bill is going to be this month!” He removed his scarf, coat, and hat before taking a step toward a chair in which to sit while he removed his boots. “And don’t track that cold wet snow all over the house” she said looking over the top of her reading glasses. “I hate it when I step in your cold puddles in my bare feet.”
“Sorry,” Mitch mumbled as he untied his laces. He put his boots on an old newspaper spread on the floor by the door that had been placed there for just this purpose. He picked up a few little bits of snow that had fallen from the tread of his boots and tossed them in the trash. Returning to the living room he said, “we need to add a pair of gloves to the shopping list. It seems I’ve worn out the pair I have.”
Doris looked up from her magazine, obviously going back through her memory. “Didn’t we just buy those gloves last spring? You need to be more careful with things. We can’t afford to be replacing stuff all the time.”
“Yes, we got them at Walmart because we knew I’d need them for pruning the bushes.”
“Nothing lasts anymore. Everything they sell comes from China and falls apart as soon as you pay for it!” She scowled before continuing, “I remember my dad telling me about how, when they were kids during the Great Depression, they would wear holes in their socks. Then, they’d turn the socks over and wear them that way until they wore holes in the tops. Maybe you can do that with your gloves.”
Mitch knew there was no sense in arguing. Doris was always right. “That might work. I’ll try it,” he said. He went in the kitchen and put his half-full coffee cup in the microwave. He looked out the window as his coffee heated. The lady from next door was now shoveling her walk. Her brown hair came to her shoulders beneath a white stocking cap. She was wearing large sunglasses and a puffy maroon coat. He envied her blue insulated gloves. She stopped moving snow to rest. Mitch could see her rapid breaths in the cold Colorado air. Suddenly, he felt guilty. There was no reason that he couldn’t have shoveled her area while he was doing his own. Mitch didn’t really know her. They had been neighbors for a year or two and only spoken brief hellos when watering or mowing the lawns. Doris and Mitch mostly kept to themselves. Doris said they couldn’t afford to “do a lot of socializing.” As for the neighbors, Mitch couldn’t recall their names. In fact, now that he thought about it, he could only remember seeing the husband once and that was when they were moving in. He was on crutches and it seems like he was a very large man. He watched his neighbor resume her shoveling. She wasn’t particularly large. Very average, Mitch thought. She was probably about the same age as he and Doris, early to mid-50’s. Just then the microwave “dinged” loudly. He slurped the hot liquid as he returned to the window. The neighbor had finished her sidewalk and was cleaning the driveway. She had opened her garage door and started her car so it could warm as she completed the snow removal. Mitch decided she was an attractive woman. No raving beauty, obviously. He couldn’t see many physical details, of course, because of how she was dressed against the chilly morning but he could tell that she was perhaps a bit overweight. Not dramatically so but she would be soft and curvy. “Very different from Doris,” he thought to himself. Doris was a tiny, bony woman. She was skinny with a prominent nose that sometimes resembled a bird’s beak. She had a rapid, sharp way of speaking and moving about. Mitch would never have audibilized the fact, but she made him think of a skinny old hen in the barnyard. The neighbor lady was much different. She moved in a very normal fashion. She disappeared from Mitch’s sight as she put the shovel in its place and got into her car. She backed out of the garage and happened to look in Mitch’s direction. She flashed white teeth as she smiled and waved her gloved hand. Mitch stepped back from the window quickly with a trace of guilt as if she could know that he had been evaluating her physical form.
He spent the remainder of the day, as he did most days, trying not to anger Doris. His mind kept going back, however, to his neighbor and how he should have shoveled for her. He should have just waved back from the window. Why did he recoil when she waved?
Snow falls frequently in the winter months in the Colorado mountains west of Denver. That night it snowed again. When Mitch noticed that he needed to shovel again the next morning he got an early start. With the right glove on his left hand and the left glove on his right hand, he attacked his chore with a gusto that had long been lacking. He soon had his own portion shoveled and was almost finished with the neighbor’s driveway when their garage door opened. güvenilir illegal bahis siteleri The lady, dressed much as she had been the day before, stepped out into the cold with shovel in hand. Her mouth fell open in shock for a few seconds as she saw that her task was already completed.
“You sweet man! Thank you, neighbor, but you didn’t have to shovel my walk.”
Mitch was very pleased with her reaction. “You’re welcome. It really wasn’t any trouble. I had to do mine any…” his mumbled response trailed off as she stepped up to him and interrupted.
“Well, thank you, nonetheless! And you couldn’t have chosen a better day to help me because I was going to be late for work if I had to shovel.” Mitch wasn’t sure how to respond. She continued on, “I’m Margie, by the way. I don’t think we’ve ever introduced ourselves,” she said brightly as she extended a hand in greeting.
“I’m… I’m,” Mitch stuttered as he struggled to extricate his right hand from the glove designed for his left hand. “I’m Mitch.” She grabbed and shook his hand as he awkwardly continued, “I live right over there.”
She giggled pleasantly. “Mitch, it is very nice to finally meet you and I want to thank you again. Maybe I can return the favor sometime.”
“Oh, you don’t have to do that. You don’t have to return anyth…”
“I know I don’t HAVE to but I’d LIKE to,” she interrupted with a big toothy smile. “Now, Neighbor Mitch, please forgive me as I scoot off to work so I won’t be late.”
“Okay. Okay. Uh… you have a good day. Okay?”
“You too! Bye!”
Mitch was still smiling as he stepped into the house with a picture of Margie’s smile in his mind.
“Hurry up and close that damned door!” Doris said adamantly. “We have to watch the heat bill, you know”. She cocked her head and glared. “What the hell are you grinning about?”
The weather pattern over the Rocky Mountains changed about that time and it didn’t snow again for almost two weeks. During the lull in snowfall Mitch couldn’t shovel the neighbor’s walk but he could watch her leave for work each morning. He knew that she would drive away at 7:45 so he made sure to be positioned at the window at that time. And the interesting thing was, she knew he’d be at the window because she had noticed him a few times. Before long it became a ritual that she would smile and wave to him on her way to work.
Doris and Mitch did not sleep together. They had shared a bed for a short time following their marriage, but Doris said Mitch snored and disrupted her rest. She banned him to the sofa. This had gone on for years. Doris and Mitch had a horrible sex life. Actually, that statement is only half true. Their sex life was perfectly satisfactory as far as Doris was concerned. The typical routine was for them to watch television in the evening. They would watch the 10 o’clock news and she would go to bed. He might watch another half an hour of tv before turning out the lights. On occasion, maybe once or twice a month, she would call out from her room, “Mitch, I have a job for you.” He knew what this meant. He would go into her room and find her nude on the bed with her legs spread. Her dark nipples would be protruding sharply from her almost nonexistent breasts and her glistening wet pussy would be shining from its sparse covering of fine hair while she operated a small vibrating dildo on herself. “Give me a lick,” she would instruct him. Mitch would position himself between her thighs and lick her repeatedly from back to front; starting softly and increasing in intensity as she’d trained him. At the precise moment her orgasm peaked she would yell, “now”! That was the signal for Mitch to get out of her way. She would rub her clit with one hand and plunge the toy inside herself to heighten her own pleasure. If Doris was in the mood she would mutter “again,” and they would repeat the process. If, for some reason, she was particularly horny they would repeat the process a third time. By the time Doris was sated Mitch was very turned on. She would say, “go take care of yourself and don’t make too much noise.” He would return to his sofa, remove his shorts, and stroke himself until he climaxed. Mitch knew from what he’d read and from what he’d seen on television and in the movies that his sex life was sadly deficient. Lately, however, it had improved somewhat because he would imagine that he was making love to Margie as he brought himself to orgasm.
When the snows returned Margie and Mitch continued to develop a neighborly friendship. He would finish shoveling about the same time she left for work. This gave them an opportunity to chat for a few minutes. Mitch smiled as he reflected on the fact that he used to dread snowy days. Now he looked forward to them.
One Saturday, after a particularly snowy week, Margie knocked at the door with a plate of cookies. Mitch had never mentioned to Doris that he was removing the snow from the neighbor’s walk because he was sure that güvenilir bahis şirketleri she would not approve. Doris answered the door, as she nearly always did, and thank goodness was at least cordial. She thanked Margie for the cookies. As soon as the door clicked shut her demeanor changed. “Why are you wearing out our snow shovel on the neighbor’s walks?”
Mitch was not normally a quick thinker, but he responded well on this occasion. “I was just being neighborly. Besides, they sometimes water and mow part of our lawn,” he lied. “I didn’t think it would hurt anything.”
Doris let it drop as she turned her focus to removing the Saran wrap from the cookies and sampling one. “Mmmm. Not bad. Good cookies.”
Mitch was very relieved and felt as if a major altercation had been avoided.
Margie walked back to her own house, opened the door, and was greeted with the wonderful smell of warm cookies and with the blaring sound of a football game. She went into the kitchen and began washing the bowl and spoons which she had used to make the cookies. A few minutes later there was a loud “bing” from her timer signaling that the last batch of cookies was ready to remove from the oven. She put them on the rack to cool. A coarse yell came from the living room, “bring me a beer, wouldjya?” She quickly put some cookies on a saucer and grabbed a can of beer from the frig. She hustled into the living room and handed the beer to a huge man wearing gray sweatpants and a t-shirt. Sturdy metal crutches leaned against the wall behind his recliner.
“Here you go, Dave. Would you like a few cookies?”
He took the beer first and popped it open. He took a long deep drink before taking the saucer of cookies. “Chocolate chip? I hope you didn’t put too many goddam chips in ’em this time. You’d choke a man on chocolate chips.” He took one and stuffed it all in his mouth. Margie watched his face in hopes of a comment or at least a look that expressed approval. There was none. Just then the crowd roared from the television’s sound bar and speakers. She could feel the bass vibrating the soles of her bare feet. Dave’s eyes widened as he watched intently. “Run you lazy sonuvabitch, run!” he yelled, spewing cookie crumbs over his massive belly. Margie glanced up at the huge 65 inch television screen. The picture was so crisp and the colors so vibrant that she was sure it was better than the actual view a fan would have had from the sideline. She returned the kitchen and her dirty dishes.
Big Dave was passionate about sports. He was a devoted football fan but he really loved baseball. He had played both football and baseball in high school and even made the cut for a couple years at a small college where he walked on to play football. He had the size but never had the strength or quickness to play more than “garbage time” at the college level. His perception of those facts was different. He believed that he was discriminated against. He thought he didn’t get to play more because he had spoken his mind about some of the team rules. He always contended that he had not been treated fairly. After dropping out of college he worked several jobs before landing a gig as a mailman. That job was working out for him until he walked into a post office restroom one day that had water on the floor from a leaking sink. He slipped and twisted his knee. He had to have a surgery to repair the knee and, after several attempts, found a physician that said Big Dave would never be able to work again. It took a great deal of wrangling and a good attorney, but he was finally placed on disability. For seventeen years Dave had sat in a recliner, drank beer, rooted for his teams, and piddled away his health. At 52 years of age he weighed 340 pounds and couldn’t come close to tying his own shoes. He could ambulate from his chair to the bathroom and from his chair to the bed. His life was playing out in those three rooms.
Dave and Margie were married a few years after Dave left college. He was never a considerate lover. He was big, strong, and he was passionate about getting what he wanted. Even though Margie knew that sex could have been better in those days she never complained. Sometimes she even had an orgasm with Dave. If she didn’t have one with him she knew how to take care of it herself. Sad to say, things didn’t get better over time, they got worse. As Big Dave became bigger, he lost his ability and desire to perform in the bedroom. They hadn’t made love in almost 15 years. Dave would never admit it but he hadn’t even had an erection in 12 years. Margie knew in the rational part of her thinking that it was Dave’s fault but there was a part of her that somehow blamed herself. Maybe if she was sexier. Maybe if she was thinner. Maybe if she had said and done the right things it might be different for her and Dave. Maybe if she were more like the women in the novels that she read.
They could squeak by on Dave’s disability money, but she really needed to get out of the house. She needed time away from the television. She needed time away from Dave. She found a job at a small local motel four years ago. She ran the front desk from 8 in the morning until 5 in the afternoon. Her boss let her run home to feed Dave his lunch. She only made minimum wage but having a place to go kept her sane.