Top Of the World

                         by Katherine English

 

Some said it was the product of terrorists.  Still others contended that it had been caused by our own deadly hubris, but my father had the answer curled into his fist, a weapon to hurl at the unrighteous world…the end of civilization had been the price levied for our sins by the hand of God.

 

He, the good reverend Dr. Charles, a missionary of the Brotherhood of Martyrs, had been assigned to that frozen place long before my birth.  There, on the edge of the continent he had made his place, with my mother by his side, and sought to lead the “unenlightened” of Barrow from their errant ways.

 

That he had not been successful, was less because of his zeal for scripture, than because of the strict interpretation he placed upon it.  There was no word but THE Word, no valid genuflection that was not at His feet.  To think otherwise was to invite the wrath of the Almighty.  Sinners all, the world south of the Brooks Range had failed the ultimate measure, and had been brought to its knees in penance.  It had been inevitable.

 

The people of Barrow respected the good Reverend, a badge of recognition for his sincere benevolence on their behalf.  But in matters of faith they kept their own counsel, for the most part, and only a tiny flock of the most zealous had chosen to follow in his footsteps.  It had been enough, however, to keep him painting the citizenry with hell and brim fire for over 20 years.

 

And so there we were, my parents and I, cut off from the silent world below.  No airplanes had crossed the Brooks Range in seven years, no barges had offloaded supplies in at least as long.  The phones had long since outlived their usefulness, and even the ham radio that my father brought to life each and every Saturday morning had been silent for thousands of days.  Either the world beyond the frozen mountains of the Brooks Range had forgotten us, or it had ceased to exist.

 

They had called it Virus #112, but to those of us who lived in fear of its deadly embrace, it was known as “The Kiss of Death”.  It would be hard to say where The Kiss began, for it seemed to spring up from everywhere and nowhere all at once.  One day the world was worrying about educating its children, and the next day it was burying them.

 

As far as rumor went, The Kiss had almost no incubation period, no physiological enemies, and once it was contracted, it gave no hope for recovery.  Thousands died within days, millions in the weeks that followed.  The satellite stations and radio news were filled with the voices of the new apocalypse. 

 

A few months later, the bush plane links that serviced our small, isolated part of the world dwindled and ceased to exist.  The barges that brought our much-needed supplies failed to arrive that summer.  Finally, as though we had been written off entirely, the voices from beyond were stilled as well.  Phones gave no response, radios no lilting tunes, and our cherished televisions became black holes that mocked our vulnerability.

 

To my father it was both a vindication of his beliefs and an opportunity to increase his flock.  Suddenly those who feared their own mortality began to hedge their bets and give lip service to any god they found available.  The pews began to fill, and the sounds of hymns, sung in Inupiaq, began to drift across the frozen tundra on Sunday mornings.  The world may have been lost, but my father was content with the side effects…a happy man in spite of it all. 

 

And so it was on the day after my 18^th birthday, the day that Aiden arrived in Barrow.

 

It was one of those perpetual days that fill the summer months for those of us who lived that far north of the Arctic Circle.  The sun, lazily circling the sky until August gave it leave to find a resting place, had been far to the north when I first spotted him.  His sail was but a bit of red, a fiery silhouette against the northern sky, and I squinted to make it out.

 

A boat!  But why was it wind driven?  Had the world beyond reverted to nature’s own generator?  I watched for an hour as it rode the current to the northeast, vanishing occasionally behind an errant berg, tipping precariously beneath the icy breeze, then barely righting itself until it seemed as though the fragile craft would ultimately sink from sight and be lost all together.

 

Quickly I ran along the graveled beach, plopped myself determinedly into my father’s rowboat and began to make my way parallel to the frigid shoreline.  It took a good half hour, for the wind-borne vessel had a good breeze behind it, but finally I pulled alongside and cast a rope over a cleat.

 

It was then that I first saw him.

 

He was thin, unnaturally so, his skin pale and ashen beneath its weathered mask.  I saw no food in his craft, and his water jugs appeared empty and useless.

 

I feared at first that the inhabitant of the small sailboat had lost his battle with life, for he lay still and deflated against the deck of his tiny craft.  But, as I thumped my paddle against the wooden façade of his vessel, I saw him stir and try to rise.

 

“Anniqsuiruq?”, I called, more comfortable in Inupiaq under the circumstances.  His eyes, glazed and dilated, gave no indication that he understood.  And so, in my parent’s tongue I called once more.  “Hello!  Do you need help?”

 

It was a silly thing to ask, really, for his need could not have been more apparent.    But, I was shaken and uncertain.  What else was there to say?  He opened his mouth to speak then, but the only sound that escaped his lips was a feeble croak, not English at all, but some form of fantasy language conjured out of the depths of thirst and fever.

 

Troubled in the extreme, I realized the folly of my actions.  Could I tow his craft to shore with my small rowboat?  Already the winds that ruffled his sail mocked me.  I was but a girl, what right did I have to snatch their victim from the sea?

 

Once more my gaze fell upon him, and my heart fairly broke in two.  He needed me.  His life was in my hands.  I had to enter the battle.  I had to win.  I had to…

 

The wind began to quicken once more, and the sail blossomed along the mast.  Quickly I secured my boathook and jabbed along the edges of the cloth until I felt it catch, tear, and finally fall deflated against the deck.  Then, securing my line around the apex of the vessel’s prow, I began to row.

 

An hour passed, and a second until the sun had circled to the east and my muscles screamed in protest.  Finally, my keel ground into the gravel near the Shooting Station, a barren point on the low peninsula to far to the northeast of town, and my body sagged against the oars. 

 

Why had no one come to help me, I wondered?  Couldn’t they see the plight I’d been in?  And then it came to me.  Of course they’d seen.  They’d seen my tiny boat, and the unfamiliar craft that it towed and chosen to isolate themselves from the threat.  The invader was from the “Outside”, land of The Kiss.  He was not welcome here.

 

Trembling, both from exhaustion and the fear that they might be right in their hesitation, I threw my anchor above the high-water mark and tugged upon the tow-rope until the derelict craft was well grounded.  Then, wading into the icy water in my break-up boots I surveyed the situation.

 

The wasted body that lay before me looked to be at death’s door.  Certainly, he would not be able to greet another day without help.  But, was it safe?

 

His skin was pale beneath the ravages of the sun, and the hollows of his eyes spoke of dehydration and extreme exposure. His tongue was thick and cracked, as though he’d been sipping sea water in his desperation to survive.  His arms were thin, and his ribs pressed against the ragged fabric of his shirt, but of the boils and bruises that accompanied The Kiss, there were none.

 

Finally, he raised his eyes as if to plead for his very life, and I was undone.  They were blue, so very blue, and in them I saw the man that he had been, and wanted once more to become.  I had to help.

 

And so, bracing my shoulder beneath his arm, I tugged him from his craft and wrestled his body to shore.  Then, taking the small length of canvas that had once been his sail, I gathered the tatters and formed a lean-to of sorts along the beach to block the prevailing winds.

 

Driftwood was plentiful here, six miles from town, and in short order I had a warm and welcomed blaze beating back the chill of the arctic afternoon.  It wasn’t long, however, until I heard the first ATV churning across the gravel from the direction of Barrow.  It was my father!  Apparently he had been informed of his daughter’s indiscretion, and had come to evaluate the damage.

 

The ATV slowed prematurely, then stopped altogether almost 50 yards away.  My father sat on the padded seat, his voice lost on the breeze, drowned among the squawking of the sea birds.  Finally, I was able to make out his message.

 

“…is…he sick?” I heard over the interference.  “Has he The Kiss, Abigail?”

 

How could I answer him?  I’d never seen The Kiss upon a living soul before!  All I had to guide me were the early reports of the plague, as reported on those final television broadcasts that had vanished with the end of the world.

 

“I…I don’t think so, Father!” I called uncertainly.  “He’s terribly sick though, so I’m not certain!”

 

My father paused at that, his footsteps frozen in place.

 

“…you’ve…touched him, Girl.  Can’t…..home now until we know…” 

 

I was shocked!  Had he said I couldn’t return home?  What would I do?  How could I keep this man, and myself for that matter, alive?  I’d been rash, so very rash, and now there was a price to pay.

 

My father, as though reading my mind, called across the distance once more.  “Keep…warm, Abby.  Wait here!”  Then,   remounting his ATV, he sped back in the direction of town.

 

I turned again to my charge.  He was shaking by then, and the fire was slow to warm his thin body.  So, taking off, my “atigi”, my jacket, I covered him with it and brought more wood for the fire.  By the time it had begun to dwindle, I could once more hear the sounds of ATVs in the distance.

 

This time there were three four-wheelers coming my way, my father in the lead.  Again I heard them pause where my father had stopped so recently, and call to me over the cries of the gulls.

 

“Take him…to…the Sugarshack this side of N.A.R.L..  They’re putting supplies in there for you.  Don’t…come to town!”

 

The Sugarshack!  Visions of the aging Quonset hut, so isolated now that NARL, the Naval Arctic Research Lab, had been abandoned, filled my mind.  It was crude at best, a storage unit in its prime, but it would do.  The gas lines from the wells to the west had been extended to the Sugarshack long ago, and it was insulated.  It was a barren choice, but it would suffice.

 

As I watched, one of the men dismounted his ATV and straddled the seat behind my father.  Then, with a last look, he turned his machine westward and roared from view.

 

The ATV that remained was obviously for my use, and as I neared it I spied a sled tethered to its rear.  It would be hard going, dragging a sled along behind me on the barren gravel, but it could be done.  It was the only way.  And so I drove the encumbered machine over to my “patient”, rolled his body aboard, then headed in the direction of our new “home”.

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Chapter 2

 

The Sugarshack had been well supplied, I noted with satisfaction.  Dried fish lay in cords upon the racks that lined the eastern wall, home-canned vegetables from my parent’s greenhouse, along with dried beans and wild berries.  Muktak, seal, tuttu and the bounties of our short growing season filled the dimly lit space.

 

A drum of fresh water had been placed near the heater in the center of the room, and a tiny kitchen had been established near our impressive cache of food.  Our living quarters had been hastily organized along the western wall.  There I found two mattresses, one atop a base of wooden Blazo boxes, and the other lying on a palate on the floor, our bedroom, I presumed.

 

The thought made me blush.  I’d never been alone with a man before, at least not in so domestic a situation.  The fact that the stranger was unable to function as a man was inconsequential.  He was still a man, and not of my ilk.  How would I cope if…

 

Suddenly he coughed, and I was shaken from my reverie.  How foolish of me to lose myself in fantasy when reality was so demanding!  Quickly I dragged his emaciated frame to the bed, and lay him upon the higher of the two, pressing a tin cup of cold water between his lips.  Then, setting a filled kettle atop the tiny cook stove, I lit the burner in preparation for Eskimo tea.  Into a second pot I hurriedly placed some wild chive and dried grayling, the beginnings of a thin soup to quell his hunger.

 

What else…what else, I wondered, panic-stricken.  What can I do now?

 

The clothing on his body was filthy and matted with things I chose not to think about, and he had become wet in my attempts to drag him onto the shore.  What needed to be done was obvious, but could I do it?

 

Quietly I considered my options.  If not I, then whom?  This man needed someone to care for him until he was strong enough to care for himself.  His survival was in my hands.  Was modesty more important than life?

 

Slowly I crossed and poured some of the now steaming water into a basin, then taking a cloth I knelt beside the bed and began to release the few buttons that remained on his ragged shirt.

 

It was as though the thing had become a part of him, so crustily it clung, but finally I was able to pry it from his body and lay him once more on the surface of the bed.

 

Again I paused.  The legs of his pants were soaked with sea water.  They too would have to be removed.  Oh how I wished my mother was present!  She would know what to do!  But no, I was alone in this, and I was responsible.

 

Trembling, I tugged at the worn leather of his belt until it gave way and allowed me to continue.   His zipper, already broken at the top, gaped mockingly as I stared open-mouthed at the naked flesh below.  He wore no undergarments, that man, and below his navel curled what I assumed was the onset of pubic hair.

 

I bit my lip.  Surely I could be objective as I completed my task!  Nurses did this all of the time, didn’t they? 

 

I gave a sigh, then began to peel the denim over his hips and down to his thighs, carefully averting my eyes from that which lay in between.  My heart pounded in my breast and my breathing became labored.  Could I…could I?

 

Slowly I raised my gaze until it fell upon the thin, flaccid length of his penis.

 

OH!  Even in this state it was far larger than the tiny organs of the children I’d diapered!  This was a man, full grown, and the hallmark of his sex was more than I had ever anticipated!

 

Quickly I tugged the last of his clothing from his body, then began at the top to wash away the grime of countless days from his still form.  It was not long, however, before I once more faced the problem of how to care for his private region.

 

That he needed it went without question.  That I was the only person available to render such a service was likewise obvious, and so with shaking fingers I lifted his organ into my palm and began to stroke the warm water along its length.

 

It moved!

 

I stopped.  Was my charge waking?  But no, he appeared to be devoid of consciousness, save for the movement of his penis against my fingers.

 

Once more I laved the warm, wet cloth along his flesh, and once more it quivered in my hand.  Were all men this sensitive, I wondered?  Did they all bear such a responsive appendage?

 

Bolder now, I began to dip the cloth into the crevasses of his flesh, watching with curiosity as his penis began to stiffen and grow with each pass of my hand.  How far could this go, I wondered, how long…

 

And then it happened.  Without warning I felt a final twitch and a flow of creamy, viscous liquid poured into my hand!   More amazed than shocked, I stared as it spread between my fingers, so warm and slippery, and dripped onto his naked thighs.  It was sperm, it had to be!  I had touched his naked body, and he had delivered his essence into my palm!  Was intercourse so easy then?

 

It was at that point my patient began to stir, and I hastily covered him with the thick quilt that only an hour before had been in my mother’s linen closet.  My cheeks reddened, a modest reaction that should have come about long ago.  Did he know what had just occurred?  Was he aware that I had stolen his seed?

 

Timorously I backed away, then returning to the stove, I dropped local herbs into the steaming tea kettle, and turned to taste the salty broth that was forming in the soup pot.  It wouldn’t be long now, I thought.  The tea would soothe his body in the meantime, and the thin soup would nourish him without causing his stomach to reject that which had been so long denied.

 

Once more he stirred.

 

“W…wat..er,” he groaned, almost incoherently.

 

Quickly I poured some of the warm herbal concoction into the tin cup and carried it to his bedside.  “Here,” I murmured softly.  It’s tea, with herbs in it.  Sip it.  You’ll feel better.”

 

Eagerly he closed his hands around mine, guiding the precious liquid to his lips.  He seemed at first to be oblivious to his surroundings, but as the last dregs of tea left the cup, his eyes began to assess the cluttered room about him.

 

If he could have registered surprise in his beleaguered condition, I’m sure he would have.  But as it was, the expression on his face spoke more of confusion, disorientation, as though the gods of the sea had delivered him to a region far beyond his understanding.

 

Slowly his eyes traced the pink, insulation-lined curve of the ceiling, the crude iron stove, the bare gas piping which ran down the far wall of the room and the cluttered mass of disorganization that had been hastily prepared for us.  His lips parted, a question forming, then once more he slipped into unconsciousness.

 

Long hours he lay like that, retching once as his stomach adjusted to his deliverance, but, I felt, growing stronger with the passing of time.  Finally, as the sun once more circled to the south, he began to open his eyes again and scan his surroundings.

 

He was more alert by then, it seemed, and the intelligence in his gaze was more pronounced, more disquieting.  Slowly his hand moved beneath the blanket, assessing his condition and  wondering, perhaps, at the absence of clothing on his body.

 

I blushed!  What must he think of me?

 

Again his eyes circled the room, this time as though cataloguing the scene before him, processing its usefulness…and mine.

 

If the touch of his penis in my hand had elicited a curious reaction in my belly, it was nothing compared to the twisted convolutions that squirmed uncomfortably within me as his gazed fixed on me then.  It was as though my youthfully bursting body had been offered up on a platter, stuffed and glazed for his use and delight.

 

Then the light in his eyes dimmed, and I imagined that he had been forced to remember his circumstances…and his manners.  I was someone he needed, someone he was perhaps indebted to, and someone who held the answers he so desperately sought.

 

“W-water?” he croaked.  “I need…”

 

“Yes”, I whispered.  “Right away.  And, I have some broth to help you regain your strength.”

 

A thin smile curled the corner of his parched and weathered lips, and he nodded his gratitude silently into the room.

 

As he had before, once again his hands captured mine, pressing the cup to his lips and sipping eagerly of its contents.  He seemed stronger by then, I noticed, more in command as he molded my movements to his own.

 

He would be a strong man, I concluded.  Strong, but gentle, if the velvet force with which he held my hand was any indication.  What would it be like if…

 

I shivered!  What was I thinking?  This was no game, a stolen kiss behind the frost heaves.  The body that lay before me was a man, fully grown, and if his reaction to my touch was any indication, fully capable of things far beyond my experience.

 

Quickly I jerked my hands to my sides, drawing away from his startled posture and retreating toward the stove.  I don’t know what I expected then, what I hoped for, what I feared would happen.  But what occurred next left me with more questions than ever.

 

Absolutely nothing!

 

This strange being from a place I’d never seen stayed absolutely still, his expression one of understanding and compassion.  How did he know how vulnerable and confused I was?  How could he know that the war which waged inside of me at the very nearness of him could only be won by me alone?  But, somehow, I sensed that he did.  Somehow, in this alien form, I sensed a kindred soul that would do me no harm…and I smiled.

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Chapter 3

 

His name was Aiden.

 

As the hours slipped into days, and then stretched into a week, Aiden grew stronger.  His emaciated form was filling out, growing into what I was sure had been its natural condition.

 

During our stay at the Sugar Shack, the villagers had kept their distance.  Of necessity, even my parents had remained far from contact on their daily supply run, stopping more than 50 yards from where I waited patiently for news from beyond our confinement.

 

That The Kiss was widely know to have an incredibly short incubation period, and in spite of the fact that neither Aiden nor I showed any symptoms, seemed to make no difference at all.  People were afraid…no terrified.  For all they knew, the world beyond the Brooks Range no longer existed, a victim to something they scarcely understood.  They were taking no chances.

 

As for Aiden, he was recovering admirably from his long tenure at sea.  His color was ripe with health, and he had graduated from thin fish gruel to massive caribou steaks.  It was from him that I gained my information of the world beyond and its fate.

 

Aiden had been a teacher in Seattle, with a modest home in the suburbs.  He’d had a good life there, one filled with a loving wife and three beloved children.  He’d thought it would last forever,

 

When The Kiss had first struck the east coast, it had been the prayer of westerners that it would go no further, but the days passed quickly and with tragic results.  Within a week thousands had fallen victim to the new plague, then millions until there was no place to run, no place to hide.

 

Aiden’s youngest daughter had been the first.  She had returned home from nursery school with a rash, something that was widely recognized as a harbinger of The Kiss. 

 

His wife, Karen, had immediately isolated her from the other children, caring for her in the attic, where outside contact was non-existent.  They had called the family doctor, but he too was fearful of contamination and refused to help.  Instead a worker from Disease Control arrived, marking a livid red slash across the door, underlining the cruel and hopeless word, “Quarantined”.

 

Aiden had cared for the two remaining children downstairs while his wife struggled to nurse their failing child, but it was to no avail.  Within a day his wife had curled her lastborn into the crib she had used until so very recently, tucked her favorite stuffed bear beneath the tiny blanket with her, tearfully wishing a fond farewell until they would hold each other again in a place where pestilence could no longer reach them.

 

Two days later they were together once more.

 

Aiden agonized as his remaining family began to show symptoms of the disease as well, praying that he could place himself between them and the Kiss of Death, making bargains with God and the devil alike to spare those who meant more to him than his own life…but it was hopeless. 

 

By the end of the first week he was alone.  In less time than it had taken to teach them how to walk, their footsteps had been stilled forever, and his life no longer held any meaning for him.

 

Long days he sat there, waiting to join those he loved, cursing fate and the world about him for leaving him behind when his life no longer mattered. 

 

He grew thin, gray, and finally delirious with the pain of his loss.  His days were spent in solitary insanity behind the red condemnation that cloistered him behind its brand. 

 

“Quarentined”.

 

No one came.  No one neared his house.  The television and radio were silent, untouched by his hand, and finally even flipping on the light switch at night was more than his heart could bear.

 

Ultimately, it had come to him that if God was not willing to release him from his pain, then there were others that would.  If he left his house, his prison, surely some panicky denizen of the outside world, fearful of contamination, would put an end to his torment.

 

And so, opening the door one final time, he made his way out into the glaring sunlight to meet his fate, crying out to the world about that he was the voice of doom, and that he was coming for them.

 

But no one heard.

 

The highway was empty.  The din of the nearby city, the ever- present “white noise” that had become so familiar, was silent for the first time in his life.  He was alone.

 

He walked that first day, long miles passing beneath his feet as he ignored the many cars that sat idle and empty along the shoulders of once bustling roadways.  He walked, aimlessly ranting, screaming for someone to take pity and bring about his demise, but no one did.

 

The few people he saw were in dire straits as well, shrinking from each other and hiding from contact lest they be the next victims of the doomsday curse.  Bodies littered the streets, people who had no one to see them off on their final journey, people who had been doubly cursed to fall in a time when no one was left to care.

 

Finally he had found himself at Fisherman’s Wharf, a place where he and thousands of other happy throngs had wiled away delightful hours among the stalls and restaurants, watching the “catch of the day” offloaded into icy containers for their trip to market.

 

Today it was empty, and the seagulls feasted noisily upon the fishy carnage that remained untended along the quay.  Restaurants lay open as though awaiting a dinner crowd that would never arrive, and a mixed hodgepodge of vessels sat impatiently along the dock, eager for the touch of a human hand.

 

And then he saw it…”Karen’s Love”.

 

It was as though his beloved wife had reached out to him from beyond the grave, holding him in the palm of her hands and willing him to live for both of them.  She had wanted life, for her and for all of them, and she wouldn’t allow him to throw it away.

 

He remembered little of the days that followed, or the next few weeks for that matter, but he and the tiny sloop, “Karen’s Love” had left Seattle in search of something else that day.  Perhaps he was searching for his lost life, perhaps just for others like himself who had lost everything and had no where else to go…but on he sailed.

 

Days drifted into months, and ultimately years as he and Karen probed the Pacific coast, venturing inland when promising signs appeared, then moving on in dismay as the futility of his search became apparent.  Oregon, California, Mexico and South America became familiar sights, lonely testaments to the fate that had befallen the world.

 

Finally, long years after he had ceased to record the passing of time, he decided to make his way toward Alaska, to see how the frozen north had fared.

 

It had been a long and arduous journey, exploring first the myriad islands and fjords that curled without end along the misty, mountainous coastline of the “Marine Highway” in southeast Alaska.

 

He had found small, isolated communities there, few and far between, but without exception their fear forced him to abort any landing upon their shores.  They had walled themselves apart from the outside world, and they had survived.  They were taking no chances.

 

Finally, he had decided to try the extreme north, the Arctic coast, to see what was left of the chilled inhabitants of that far off place. 

 

It was then that the sea had brought him to me.

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Chapter 4

 

There are people who resisted contagion, I understand.  People who had somehow built up an immunity, in some inscrutable way, to the pitfalls of the modern world.  That Aiden was one of them went beyond question.

 

Once he had regained his strength, there was no holding him back.  Each day brought new explorations, new activities, until it had become our custom to walk the many miles of beach along the Shooting Station together, gathering gull eggs and hunting seasonal waterfowl for our evening meal.  Berries abounded along this stretch, unharvested by the locals who now gave us and this place a wide berth.  We were alone, and as time went on we became curiously unconcerned with the absence of others and began to concentrate on each other.

 

It began with stolen glances, fleeting glimpses and unguarded moments that left us both red-faced and awkward, me in my innocence, and Aiden for the long-suppressed urges that he felt compelled to keep in check.

 

Finally, one day after the sun had begun to set once more to the north, we lay upon the sand watching as the first, pale northern lights curled their way through the heavens…and he kissed me.

 

At first I jumped!  Had he been reading my mind?  Had he realized the naive longing I had been too innocent to disguise?

 

Speechlessly I watched, startled and unsure of my feelings or of how to proceed with a man such as this.  But, Aiden just smiled, and curling his finger beneath my chin he gently lifted my troubled gaze to his.

 

“Don’t be frightened,” he whispered.  “I won’t hurt you.  You’re all I have…you’re everything.”  And in that instant I knew it was true.  We had become “one” in every way but the last and final bond.  It was time.

 

And so we rose, and as the delicately colored lights swirled above, we made our way, hand in hand, back to the Sugar Shack.

 

Aiden paused as we neared the doorway, and scooping me into his arms, he carried me across the threshold into our makeshift home.  Once inside, he lay me gently upon his bed, then stepped away to take inventory of my resolve.

 

If I had harbored reservations before, I had none then.  It was only my cloistered inexperience that gave me pause… but nature seemed to be tutoring from afar.  Already I felt a curious dewiness begin to form between my thighs, something that had been happening more and more often as my time with Aiden had grown.

 

Aiden gazed longingly, tenderly at my still form, pressing his lips to mine, his tongue stroking my own until I longed for an even more intimate touch.  Finally, he slid his hand beneath my atiki and began to explore the shivering flesh beneath.

 

I gasped!  No one had ever touched me in that way…not a boy, and certainly not a man!  My virgin breast surged into his palm, back arched and nipples hardened as I welcomed this newly discovered intimacy.  He was amazing!  He knew what I wanted even before I did, before I could, and every place he caressed kindled a new longing and deeper need within me.

 

Finally, I rose from the mattress and lifted my atiki over my head, baring my breasts to his heated inspection, cupping them behind my hands as though to disguise my shamelessness.

 

Aiden waited until he saw in my eyes that I needed help to proceed, then gently prying my hands from my chest he lowered them to my sides and drew me closer, pressing his moist lips around my left nipple and suckling until I felt I would explode with uncontained urgency.

 

He laughed at my desperation, a low chuckle.  “You’re eager!” he smiled.  “Much too fast for me!  I like it slow, very slow.  You’ll just have to contain yourself!”

 

Desperately I reached out to him in an effort to hurry his mood, but he would have none of it.  Instead, he captured my hands behind my back with one of his own and slowly began to taste the buffet I had laid before him.  Left and then right, sucking one nipple and then the other between his lips, flicking his tongue along their rigid contours until I whimpered for him to continue on.

 

Finally, after driving me to the brink, he released my wrists and unhooked the catch of my waistband, releasing a flood between my thighs unlike anything I had ever known.  With agonizing slowness, he hooked his thumbs beneath the fabric and slid the last of my clothing over my hips until my downy nest glistened before him, drenched with the evidence of my ardor.

 

I blushed.  What must he think of me?  Surely he must think me a harlot, or worse!

 

Once more he drew me to him, this time allowing my fingers to rake impatiently through his hair.  And then he did the most curious thing!  Looking deeply into my feverish eyes, he began to probe the moistened slit before him until his finger was coated with my wetness and glinted in the dim lamplight.  Then, pressing it to my lips, he said, “Taste”.

 

Taste?  Why?…I wanted to ask, but something told me I would find out soon enough.  This was not what I’d expected, not what I’d prepared myself for, but opening my lips I allowed him access until his slippery digit lay on my tongue and the flavor of sex filled my mouth.

 

“Do you like it?” he asked, waiting for my reply.  I began to shake my head, then stopped.  I HAD enjoyed it!  It had a wild flavor, uniquely mine, but coming from some place within me that had never been touched before.

 

Aiden smiled.  “Good!” he whispered, “So do I…”

 

With that he laid me back on the edge of the bed, discarding my pants and spreading my thighs before him.  Then, shedding his shirt, be brought the lamp closer and positioned himself on the floor between my knees.

 

I squirmed in embarrassment, but he held me fast.  “Be patient, Sweet.  Be patient…”  Then, taking the fingers of his left hand, he parted my dripping labia and inspected the moist, pink interiors of my sex.

 

Tenderly he tested the barrier I had kept intact for all of my days, pressing until I gushed once more and felt my viscous flow drizzle between the crack of my buttocks.

 

“Stop!” I begged, driven beyond reason.  “Please…No…don’t stop!”

 

He grinned his controlled smile once more, then lowered his head to the opening he had exposed and began to lave it with his tongue.

 

I was in agony!  Where was the turgid member I had taken into my palm on our first day?  Why was he…

 

And then he stroked his finger over a spot so sensitive, so receptive that I screamed out, flowing in torrents into his mouth as my body bucked to free itself from his grasp.

 

Shaking, I wrapped my thighs around his neck, trying to draw him inside, part and parcel, to satisfy the pounding need that coursed through my body.

 

He stood then, his pants ballooning before him, and removed the last of his clothing.

 

Shocked, I froze in my gyrations!  I had never seen anything like it!  The member I had remembered was smaller, so much smaller, and not nearly as rigid as what now stood saluting proudly before him.  Instinctively, I began to close my thighs to ward off his invasion, but his hands began to work their magic once again.  Then, pressing his massive red knob against my unbroken portal, he began to stroke his fingers over the site of my former demise once more, but with much more persistent determination.

 

It took only seconds, if that long, before I was again quaking before him, begging for the act that would part me from my childhood.

 

It was at that point he lunged, forcing his massive tool deep inside of my trembling body, rending my delicate tissues with the power of his thrust until I cried out in pain and lust.

 

He paused then, allowing me to accommodate his tremendous organ, although now the cost of his restraint was evident upon his face.

 

Impaled, I panted before him, both eager and fearful of that which would follow.  But, sensing my readiness he pressed forward once more, this time with less force, slower and deeper as I began to move beneath him.

 

In and out he moved, picking up tempo now, my eyes glazed and fixated upon the appearance and disappearance of his swollen penis as it vanished inside of my body.  Then, fingering within my slit once more, he sent me into uncontrolled spasms, my body shaking and bucking as he began to batter himself within me.

 

Gibberish spilled from my lips, the volume rising with each thrust of his hips.  The room filled with the sounds of our mating and the smell of wet, heated sex.  What he was doing, what I was feeling, eclipsed all else and I dug my nails into the bedding as control left me for good.

 

Then, with one hard, furious lunge, I felt him shoot his seed deep inside of my body, filling me with the hot, primal juice that had created humanity and had brought us to this point.  I whimpered, I begged, then again felt myself joining loudly in the frantic coupling of our bodies.

 

Aiden stayed inside of me as he lay his body alongside mine, turning me so that out bodies touched full length, kissing without the use of lips, caressing without the use hands.  Finally he rolled onto his back and drew me atop his sweaty form, parting my thighs, straddling his hips as he allowed his member to restore itself within me.

 

Gently he stroked my body, rolling my nipples between thumb and forefinger, exploring my willing flesh until my pink-tinged wetness seeped heavily against his furry thatch and I felt him stiffen once more in my belly.

 

“Stay there,” he murmured thickly.  “I want to watch you.”

 

And so he did.  Deeply he thrust, his sex plowing new ground in this altered position.  At first his hands explored the soft curves of my body as I moved fluidly against him, cupping my buttocks and insinuating his fingers between my moist petals until the straining muscles of my sex closed upon him, milking his organ like a million tiny fingers.

 

He groaned, audibly signaling an end to his pacifism.  Then, grasping my hips he arched his back and drove his massive member hard into my epicenter.

 

Impaled to the hilt I cried out, my hands bracing against his chest as he tensed for yet another mighty thrust.  Again, and yet again he pummeled my tender core until I felt surely he would split me in half.  Then, plunging his hand between us, he touched that amazing spot once more, and I was lost.

 

Screaming, I rode him as one would a mighty stallion, rutting mindlessly as I consumed all that he had to offer and begging for more.  Finally, as wave after wave of body-rending spasms coursed through my being, he filled me once again.

 

Like a fountain of molten lava he came, spewing his life-giving  seed into me in hot fits and spurts until we both lay exhausted and too drained to move.  It was then he drew me close, the pounding of his heart a solid rhythm in his crest, his breathless gasps mimicking my own.

 

As he closed his arms about me, brushing his lips against my sweaty brow, he whispered “You’re mine now, Abigail.  All mine.”  And then he closed his eyes and fell into a deep and peaceful sleep.

 

As for me, I lay in his arms for many minutes, watching him as he drifted away, marveling at the bond that had formed between us and listening to the sounds of the life that was now so much a part of my own.

 

“You’re mine.” He’d said, claiming all that I was, all that I would ever be.  But he was mine as well.

 

Did he know it?

______________________________________________________

Chapter 5

 

Already it was morning, for at this time of year night was but a fleeting occurrence.  I should have taken myself off to begin preparing for the day to come, to set our breakfast on the stove to cook, but I couldn’t.  I could not bring myself to part from the warmth of Aiden’s embrace, from the heady scent of his maleness.  We would have to live on love, I smiled, for this morning nothing else interested me.

 

How much of our lovemaking had been real, I wondered, and how much had been the fulfillment of fantasy?  Had my perception been heightened by the moment, or had I been accurate in my remembrance of the evening past?

 

Once more I thought of the hardened outline of his penis, of the massive proportions that had driven me to heaven and back.  Surely my mind had been playing tricks on me, for our coupling could not have taken place if my memory of his stature were accurate!

 

Curiosity battered at my senses, demanding an answer until cautiously I moved my hand over his still, sleeping form and found the object in question.

 

Oh!  Could it be even larger this morning?  Could it?  Guiltily I searched Aiden’s calm repose.  What if I woke him?  Would he be angry at my trespass if he caught me?  I knew I shouldn’t, I knew, and yet I found it impossible to stop.

 

Slowly, gently I tried to circle the girth of his sex with my

thumb and forefinger, but it could not be done.  Then, employing the whole of my hand I repeated the measure, and still my fingers failed to meet.  I must see this impressive probe, I thought.  Here, in the morning light, I must see the object that had taken my virginity.  I must!

 

I noticed then that the covers lay askew across his left leg, baring his flesh to mid-thigh, beckoning me to encroach upon his person.  I was lost!  If I had harbored any reserve over what I was about to do, it vanished instantly.

 

Heart pounding, I lowered myself on the mattress, carefully focusing my eyes on the darkly tented opening between his legs.  Could I see within?  Could…he stirred and instantly I backed away, red-faced, toward the foot of the bed.

 

But no, he still slept, and in a few moments I grew bold enough for another attempt.  This time the covers had slipped even higher, exposing now the sight of two furry orbs which lay heavily atop the mattress.  I hadn’t noticed those last night, so concentrated was my attention on their jutting partner.

 

Once more I peered into the darkness between his thighs, searching the cavern for that which I so longed to behold once more…but it was too dark.  Perhaps his member lay upward across his belly, I thought, resting from its toil of the previous night.

 

I should have given up, should have respected Aiden’s privacy, but I couldn’t stop…not then.  Cautiously I moved my face closer, closer, my finger inching the covers upward with each heartbeat until finally I spied my prize.

 

It was beautiful!  In the low light of the room it seemed exactly as I had remembered, long and thick, rigid and eager with a massive, mushroom-like head that defied description!  I had to see more.  I had to move closer yet!

 

And so, closing the gap once more, I tossed caution aside until I could smell the maleness of it, investigate the tiny smile that crowned the angry red mushroom it bore as its masthead.

 

“Taste...” he said softly.

 

I jumped!

 

How long had Aiden been awake?  How much of my indiscretion had he observed?  I was so foolish!  Immediately I began to pull away, to recover at least some modicum of dignity…but at once I felt his hand on the back of my head, holding me fast.

 

“Taste.” he repeated, pressing insistently on my disheveled hair. “You wanted this…don’t stop now.”

 

Eyes widening, I realized what he wanted me to do…what I wanted to do.  How many times in the night had I wondered what HE would taste like, what his sex would feel like on my tongue?  He had enjoyed tasting me, he’d said so!  Surely I would be missing something if I backed away!

 

His hand now stroked the back of my neck, encouraging me, propelling me to take his waiting organ into my mouth…to “taste”.  My eyes filled with uncertainty, and I looked to Aiden for guidance.

 

“Is this something you want?” I whispered, almost to myself.  “Would it please you?”

 

He smiled at that, amazed once again at my naiveté.  “Yes,” he replied.  “Do it…for me.  Take it in your mouth…”

 

With that he began to slide his knob over my lower lip, smoothing the path with the slippery droplets that already made their way from the head of his penis.  He smiled again, and closed his eyes momentarily to isolate the sensation.  A low moan escaped from his lips, and his hand tightened in my hair.

 

Pressing me downward, he arched his hips, probing deeper into my mouth, past my uncertainty and into the moist dark cavern that waited beyond.

 

He tasted earthy, like something wild and untamed, but with a hint of the herb tea he enjoyed so much.  Something from my genetic memory must have clicked into place at that moment, for the instant I felt him nudge the back of my throat, I began to suck.

 

He groaned audibly then, the fingers of both hands tightening in my hair, urging me on.  His hips began to gyrate beneath me, forcing his penis in and out at an ever-quickening rate until tiny spurts of semen began to flood my tongue.

 

By then he was writhing mindlessly, hips thrusting, his penis lunging into my captive orifice more quickly than I could manage.  I began to pull back, but he tensed and shouted “No!”, and then, seconds later a strangled “Yesssssss”.

 

Suddenly my mouth was flooded with his sperm, its musky taste sending my senses into overdrive.  In no time it had begun to seep between my teeth, and I instinctively began to swallow, to stop its escape in the only way available to me.

 

“Oh, god…” he groaned.  “Oh god…”

 

Finally, with one last thrust his sex lay limp and twitching on my tongue and his hands began to stroke the hair they had captured so insistently.

 

“Oh Abby,” he whispered breathlessly.  “How did you know what to…  How did you know?  You…amazing!  And, did you …enjoy…it too?”

 

What should I say?  I couldn’t even imagine my mother doing something like that with my father!  I was shameless.  How could I admit that the act of which I had been a part had aroused me, had forced me to flow in torrents down my inner thighs until I was in a sorry state indeed!  I couldn’t…I couldn’t!

 

But, neither could I lie to Aiden either.  “Yes,” I said in tones almost too faint to hear.  “I’m sorry…”

 

“Sorry!” he almost shouted.  “Why in the world would you be sorry?  Can’t you see how much you pleased me?  How much you made me happy?  Oh Abigail…how can you be sorry, unless you really didn’t enjoy it…”

 

And with that he drew me upward and thrust his hand between my legs, forcing his fingers deep into my vagina.  At the feel of my drenched condition he softened and breathed a sigh of relief.  “You really did enjoy it, didn’t you!” he grinned, more a statement than a question.

 

I squirmed, a deep red flush rising from my neck to fill my cheeks with color.

 

“Come here,” he ordered.  “Way up here.  Straddle my face, Abby.  We can’t let you go unsatisfied, not in your condition.  Let me take care of you.”

 

Straddle his face?  The very thought sent my pulse racing.  And once I was there, would he “satisfy” me as well?  The very thought made my nipples harden and goose flesh form in a tight, pink halo.

 

“Do it,” he moaned softly, his fingers again probing my slippery slit.  “Come here, and do it.”

 

His voice was soft now, tender, and his fingers played a sensuous game within me that I could no longer resist.  And so I complied, and in seconds I felt the heat from his face on my inner thighs, his breath warm on my trembling flesh.

 

Slowly he pried my nether lips apart, exposing the oozing center of my being to his inspection.  Maddeningly, he paused, as though to gauge the changes he had wrought the night before…and then I felt it.  His tongue was amazing, so clever was my lover.  First he licked the wet, sticky juice from my inner lips, then began to slowly swirl his tongue over the sensitive nub he’d awakened only hours ago.

 

Immediately I cried out, my balance faltering until I was forced to brace myself on the wall behind.  Was he smiling?  I couldn’t tell, but one thing I did know was that he knew what he was doing!

 

Wider he spread my lips, until I felt his tongue probe the raw fissure he had so recently torn with his sex.  And then, in it went, twisting and probing like a creature determined to devour me from the inside out!

 

I shivered, and my body lost contact for a second, but immediately his hands went about my hips guiding me back above his hungering mouth, holding me in place as he clamped his lips once more upon the jagged portal of my vagina.

 

I shook violently!  It was too much, too much, and then he took it one more step.  His left hand circled between my legs, wetting his fingers until they must have been dripping with my juices, and then he began to probe the valley between my buttocks.

 

My eyes fairly popped!  Surely he had no intention of…

 

But he did, and as I writhed above his lips, his mouth drawing me beyond my meager limitations, I felt a single finger penetrate my anus!

 

My hips gave a jerk, and immediately his other hand rose to hold me in place.

 

“Relax, Abby.  Relax.  Let it happen, Sweet.  Just enjoy the feel of it…”

 

Deeper he probed, until I could feel the rough flesh around his first knuckle pass the tight ring of muscle that guarded my nether place.  I surged forward against his mouth, a freshet of my womanly moisture gushing into his mouth.

 

He slurped noisily, and pressed his finger deeper, murmuring into my quivering vagina “That’s it, Abby.  Let it come…let it come…”

 

I could barely hear him, but let it come I did.  Shaking from head to foot I cried his name, begging him to stop, and to continue…ashamed of my wanton response but overjoyed at the feelings he had elicited within me.  My belly tightened, curling into a tight ball until…

 

With a strangled cry I delivered myself into his questing mouth, his lips drawing me out, sucking the very life from my body as I desperately braced myself against the wall.

 

His finger was fully engaged by then, pumping in hard thrusts between my cheeks and deep into my body.  I was ecstatic!  How could something that felt that good ever be considered bad?

 

Finally he lay me beside of him, pulse racing as I caught my breath.  I was glowing, both inside and out.  How had I lived 18 years without this man, without the touch of his hand on my body?  It took the end of the world to bring him to me.

 

But, it was worth it.

_____________________________________________________

 

Chapter 6

 

It seemed as though our isolation would go on forever.  With each passing day the night gained a stronger foothold, and yet the village still feared our presence.  By now my parents had supplied us with all that they had to offer, and I had come to think of the Sugar Shack as my home away from home.

 

Our days had begun to settled into predictable rituals, from the first intimate moments of dawn, through the necessities of our daily lives, and deep into the sensuous repasts of the aurora-filled nights.

 

In all, Aiden had been my teacher, and I had been his.  He now knew which berries were safe, and which were not, how to snare waterfowl and discover the hidden alcoves of herbs that provided so much to our savory brews.  I had taught him the signs of both storm and fair weather, and shared with him the ancient tales of the Inuit.

 

Aiden, in turn, had taught me the joys of intimacy, gently introducing me to my own sensuality, to the immortal bonds of man and woman.  Long hours we lay upon the sand between thick layers of “tutu” fur, exploring each other’s bodies beneath the swirling northern lights until we both yearned for completion.

 

The villagers had begun to show a curiosity by then, and the ever dwindling distance from which they observed us had become abbreviated until I felt it would not be long before we were allowed to join their number.  In itself, this was a cause for rejoicing, had not a second issue risen its timorous head.

 

It had been over a month since my monthly menses had made an appearance.  Though my mother had carefully packed the cloths with which I met my monthly needs, they had gone unused since my arrival in this place.  I had grown certain with the passing of weeks, that a new life had taken root, and now flourished within my womb.  What would my father say?  Would he disown me…brand me a sinner and reject me as his daughter once Aiden and I rejoined the community?

 

The thought gnawed incessantly within me, taking from me the restful sleep I had come to know in Aiden’s embrace.  If my lover wondered at the change, he failed to address it, preferring to allow me to bide my time until I felt comfortable to share my revelations with him.  Finally, on one dark morning with the snow swirling in frozen eddies about our mukluks, I turned to him and spoke the words he had waited for so patiently.

 

“Aiden, I have something you need to know.” I began, my heart thumping loudly in my ears.  “I think…I mean, I’m fairly sure that…”

 

He smiled then, a tender expression that spoke the world, and drew me into his arms.  “You’re pregnant,” he told me with assurance.  “We’re going to have a baby.”

 

Startled, I looked on in amazement.  How had he known?  And then it came to me.  Of course!  This would not be Aiden’s first child, nor the second.  He had been through this parenting ritual three times before, and knew the signs, perhaps better than I did myself.

 

Gently, he slipped his hand beneath my atiki and insinuated his fingers down the front of my snow pants until they rested intimately over my still-flat belly.  “Our child,” he murmured into my hair, his voice burdened by echoes of those he had loved and lost.  “And civilization finds a new beginning.  They say that a baby is God’s promise that the world will go on, you know.  I agree…”

 

A chill breeze trickled through the opening around his wrist, and I shivered, or was it the thought of the days to come that brought me up short?  Telling Aiden had been easy, but what of my parents, what of the villagers who had grown wearily accustomed to the lecturing of my father concerning their unsanctioned couplings and unbaptised offspring?  This child would be a bastard, the product of libidinous pursuits outside of the bonds of matrimony.  My father’s shame would be complete, and his condemnation severe.  I had much to ponder.

 

A furrow formed upon Aiden’s brow, as though my thoughts were clearly readable in my gaze.  “I love you, you know that, and we’ll face any difficulties that come of this together.  You’re not alone, Abigail, you never will be.  In every way that counts we belong to one another, and that’s how it’s going to stay.”

 

Tears began to fill my eyes, and I allowed Aiden to lead me once more into the dim seclusion of our erstwhile home.  It was as though we had once more slipped back to the beginning, to that first day on the beach, but this time Aiden had come to my rescue instead.

 

Gently, he relieved me of my atiki, his hands exploring the contours of my back as he held me close.  My nipples, so sensitive now, ached as he touched them, hardening in great relief as he caressed them with his fingertips.  Oh! How I longed to feel him inside of me once more, to know that what we shared was more than a fleeting passage of time until we could once more join the ranks of humanity.  But, as Aiden had once said, he was a patient man, and he was in command.

 

Finally, his hands slid from my full and tender breasts and began to stroke my back once more until they encountered the waistband of my snow pants.  Then, slipping his fingers beneath, he knelt before me and drew them downward until they pooled about my ankles.

 

Heatedly, I braced myself against him and opened my thighs, eager for what I knew he wanted…but not this time.  Instead, he nestled his face against my belly, showering my abdomen with feathery kisses as though to greet the budding life within.

 

“This is my child, and you’re my wife,” he murmured.  “As sure as there’s a God in heaven, we’re joined in His eyes, and this baby is a reflection of our love.  Nothing so pure and beautiful could possibly be wrong.”

 

Then, scooping me up in his arms he lay me upon his bed, and stood back to admire his bride.  As I watched, my body receptive and yearning, he slowly removed his clothing, one by one, until only that which he had worn at the moment of birth appeared before me.  Longer he paused, until I bid him to come nearer so that I might stroke his vibrant flesh with my fingertips, memorizing each hill and valley as the need grew between us for more.

 

Slowly I caressed him, my flesh upon his, my pulse quickening with each new encounter.  His nipples, normally so flat and male, now puckered in anticipation as I pinched them briskly between thumb and forefinger, the muscles of his belly rippling as my warm breath wafted over them.

 

Then, as Aiden had done, I began to place a sprinkling of light, tentative kisses over his abdomen, trailing my tongue downward over the hard contours of his belly until the warmth of my breath curled insidiously around his hard and jutting member.

 

I found then that Aiden’s patience had it’s limits, for as my fingers slipped between his thighs to cup the fullness of his sex he gasped, and with an urgency that could not be denied he pressed me back upon the quilt and entered me, quickly and without hesitation.  So quickly did he bury himself in my moist and trembling flesh that I cried out in surprise, squirming to accommodate his massive joining.

 

His eyes had now lost the gentleness with which he had begun our encounter.  Instead I saw the glazed and determined gaze of a mated ancient, one whose ownership could not be denied.  I was his.  I belonged to him, and his claim was irrevocable.

 

Once more he thrust, burrowing deeply into my body as I rose to meet him, our bodies slapping together in dull staccato.  I began to run my fingers over his firm buttocks, but he would not relinquish even that modicum of dominance and captured my wrists in his hand, pinioning them to the mattress above my head.  Instead, I brought up my knees in an effort to wrap my legs around his waist, but the look in his eyes told me that he wanted the freedom to move, to plunge himself mightily between my thighs without hindrance.

 

And so I brought my heels beneath me, close to the curve of my buttocks and opened myself fully for his pleasure.  He groaned beneath his breath and deepened his measure, stroking quickly and with primal need.  My breasts heaved beneath the onslaught, and my wet and eager reception flowed between us until I screamed out and clawed at his hand, my climax ringing in the stillness and filling the air with the scent of completion.

 

It was only then that he released me, for now his focus had honed in on one thing alone.  Suddenly, with a quick, hard thrust, he impaled me upon his thrusting flesh and I felt his seed gush into my body in hot torrents, filling me and carrying me once again over the brink.  His mouth covered mine, as though to inhale my cries, to devour even that final measure of carnal pleasure as he took his bride and made her his own.

 

Then slumping to one side he held me close, his softening member finding still a home in my moist, warm depths.  How long we lay there, joined and throbbing I’ll never know, for time had lost all meaning.  Instead there lay eternity before us, and timelessness behind.  We were alone in the universe, and of the world about us nothing mattered.  We were one…we were one.

______________________________________________________

 

Chapter 7

 

It was morning when we first heard the tiny tapping at our door.  So long had it been that at first I thought a doomed lemming had broken his winter routine and sought to join us.  But no, this tapping had a human source, and it quickly became more persistent in its demands.

 

Finally, in apprehension we parted and Aiden gathered his trousers from the floor and crossed the floor to meet with whoever stood beyond the wooden barrier.  I cringed, sliding deep beneath the rumpled covers as though to shield myself from what I feared would come to pass, but Aiden hesitated not a second.  Instead, he flung wide the door, letting in the brisk arctic breeze and stood staring…at my father.

 

My heart stood still, as frozen in my chest as the look of betrayal that consumed my father’s face.  His eyes, dark with dismay, scanned the confines of the room, a space that had given me so much pleasure only moments before.  Then, lips tightening, he turned and strode wordlessly back to his snow machine and was gone.

 

“Your father?” questioned Aiden.  “From the look on your face, it must have been him.”

 

Then, seeing the torment in my eyes he crossed to hold me in his arms.  “He’ll come around, Abby.  He loves you.  When he knows about the baby…”

 

“No!” I fairly shouted, startling my lover from his tender mood.  “He can’t know, and neither can anyone else!  It would destroy him to think I’d conceived a child out of wedlock, and the villagers would hold it up to him for the rest of his life.  I-I can’t do that, Aiden, I can’t.”

 

My lover looked on as though I’d lost my senses.  “Abby, how exactly do you plan to avoid it?  We’ll have him perform a ceremony as soon as we can arrange it.  It’s going to be ok!  I told you that you’re not alone, and I meant it.  Don’t worry.  I’ll take care of everything.”

 

Aiden stroked my hair, as though everything were now made right, but he had no way to know the truth.  Things were different here.  This was not a place of easy forgiveness, not a place where change was easily accepted.  Old grudges and slights lay buried for generations in this place, hiding their heads for the sake of necessity until a sudden affront brought them once more to the fore.  The bastard grandchild of a hellfire missionary would have no chance at the Top of the World…and he would have no grandfather.

 

Slowly I rose from the bed where Aiden and I had lain and given each other so much pleasure, the place where I had become a woman, and began to gather my things.

 

“What are you doing, Abby?  You’re leaving?”

 

I smiled, a smile that should have been brighter and more sincere, and nodded my head.  “It must be time for us to become a part of the village now.” I whispered in conflicted tones.  “My father would not have been here otherwise.  It’s time I went home and faced what awaits me.”

 

Aiden sat down heavily.  “Just like that?  And what about me?  Was all this just a convenience until you could go home?  You mean so much to me Abby.  I thought I meant something to you too.”

 

A tear trickled over my cheek.  My heart was breaking.  I had to try and smooth things over with the good reverend, and I had to do it alone.  To bring Aiden home, or stay here with him would have sealed the fate of the child that grew within me.  Though the chance to heal this wound was slim at best, I had to try.

 

“You know better than that!” I snapped, trying to bridge the flow of tears.  “But if you care about me…this baby we’ve created…you’ll try to understand why I have to do this.  Barrow is small, more a family unit than a village, and our child would be a pariah without my father’s acceptance.  I have to try and win him over.  I have to go home.  And, you have to stay here.”

 

There, it was said!  I could not fight both Aiden and my father.  One must give way, and for my baby’s sake it had to be Aiden.

 

Quickly I gathered my things as Aiden sat sullenly glaring at my scurrying figure.  In minutes I had my pack readied and stood before him, a deserter in his time of need.

 

“Would you kiss me good-bye then?” I pleaded in desperate tones.  “I know I can’t make you understand, but I hope that you can someday forgive me.”

 

Still he sat, immobile, until finally I turned and left our nest to once more re-enter the world I had known all of my life.  Suddenly all about me seemed cold and empty.  This place in the frozen north that had always seemed so warm and inviting was no more.  Without Aiden it was a frigid wasteland.  Within me lay the seed of our love, growing minutely day by day, forever bound to this place on the shores of the Arctic.  He would have a life here, he would, even if mine were no longer worth anything.

 

And so I left the ATV for Aiden’s use and trudged the long miles home, carrying my pack on my back as the chill winds whipped about me, freezing the tears to my cheeks.  Finally, my journey at an end, I found myself at the door to the mission, frightened of that which was to follow.

 

Hesitantly, I lifted my hand to knock, not knowing if I could still call this place home.  But no sooner had my hand fallen upon the wood than my mother came hurrying out, arms scrambling for purchase, and embraced me full-heartedly.

 

“You’re home!” she sobbed, as though I were Lazarus risen from the dead.  “You’re home!  Oh Abby, you’re home!!” she repeated endlessly, as though to convince herself of the truth in it.  Then, gathering me closely she hurried me into the warmth beyond and took the burden from my shoulders.

 

Then, settling me before the stove to warm my bones she began to heat some caribou broth to take away the chill.  Nervously I glanced about the room for my father, but found him absent.

 

“He’s not here,” my mother supplied.  “He’s taken to his knees in the chapel.  He-he told me what happened…”

 

“And you still want me here, Mother?  Am I not an affront to your eyes as well?  How can you still love me so much after what I’ve done”?

 

My mother looked on in astonishment, as though I’d lost my mind.  “Love…how could I stop loving you!  How could you think such a thing?  You’re my child…you’re my child.  You have my heart, Abby.  Nothing can change that.  One day when you hold your own in your arms you’ll understand…”  Then, with a peculiar glance she repeated herself.  “Yes.  You’ll understand.”

 

An unspoken confirmation passed between us then.  She knew.  Somehow in the eternal communion of woman to woman, she knew.  My child had no father, no grandfather, but his grandmother would welcome him with open arms.

 

The next month passed slowly, my father keeping to himself, never speaking a word, and my mother attempting tiny breaches in the wall he’d placed between us.  Of Aiden there was nothing, save the unplanned glance as he found his way among the villagers, the hurried retreat when we encountered each other by accident on the street.  Finally, one evening we found ourselves alone in the dead of the arctic night, admiring the aurora as it whispered far above our desolate shore.

 

“Have you told them yet?” he demanded without preamble, as though our conversation of so long ago had never ceased.  “Have you told them that you’re carrying my baby, and that you’ve abandoned its father?”

 

I choked at the bitterness in his voice.  The passage of time had not softened his mood.  In fact, if anything it had curdled him into someone unknown to me.

 

“No,” I replied softly.  “My mother sews tiny garments of rabbit fur and hides them in her sewing basket, but my father has no words to share with me.  No, I haven’t told them.”

 

A frown worried his brow, deepening the lines that life had so cruelly placed there.  He hesitated, unsure of what to say next, until finally the dam burst and the words came flowing into the night.

 

“Abby, you can’t believe that he won’t know soon, that he won’t see eventually.  What then?  In a few more months even a blind man would be able to tell!  You have to let me be there for you…for us.  Abby, I’m going crazy over this!  I lost one family already.  I won’t lose another!  If you don’t tell him, I will!”

 

I cried out as though he had struck me, and throwing my arms about him I pressed my face close to his and pleaded.  “Aiden, no!  You don’t understand.  If you want this child we’ve made to have any life at all, then you have to trust me.  We’ll have our child, we’ll be a family, just not yet.  Please Aiden, promise me…promise me…”

 

Grimly he nodded his head.  “For now,” he replied.  “But if your father doesn’t bent soon…”

 

I brushed my lips against his to stifle the words that he tried to place between us, and at once he was silent.  His warm breath circled the silver fox of my hood and seeped warmly into my ears.  Then, breathing heavily he whispered “Oh Abby.  I’ve missed you so.  I need…”

 

“I know, Aiden…I know.”  And I did, for the time we’d been apart, the long, lonely arctic nights had been torture without my mate, my lover.  The thought brought a flush to my cheeks, and a sparkle to my eyes.  Then, as though reading my thoughts, I felt his hand insinuating itself beneath my atiki, cupping my breast with urgent determination.

 

I gasped, the warmth of my breath mingling with his, and immediately I felt the first stirrings of need flow between my thighs.

 

Had Aiden needed confirmation of my desire, he could have found none better, for as he pressed me back into the shadows of the Cliffside I felt his hand slip downward, across my rounded abdomen to explore the willing flesh that belonged to him alone.  My knees shook at his touch, threatening to fail me, but Aiden’s body kept me righted until it was his pleasure to do otherwise.

 

Then, sheltered from the wind, he lay me on the frozen sand and began to stroke deep inside with his fingers, drawing out my sighs with his intimate touch, probing my flesh with  persistency until I whimpered my need into the night and flowed into his hand.

 

He lay against me then, his breath coming in heavy sighs, and cursed lightly.  “Damn there clothes,” he murmured.  “I want to…”

 

But I pressed my lips to his before he could finish.  There were ways, I knew.  There were ways.  And so I gently lay him beside me, prone in the shelter of the cliff and knelt between his legs.  Then, opening his pants I lowered my face between his trembling thighs, covering his exposed flesh with the fur of my hood, and took his swollen member between my lips.

 

He groaned.  Loudly.  And at once I tasted the first tiny droplets of his seed upon my tongue.  Upward he thrust, driving his manhood into my waiting lips, deep into the warm cavern of my mouth until I felt the need to retreat or suffocate. 

 

But, his need was greater, and as I began to draw away he reached beneath my hood and curled his fingers into my hair, holding me fast as he deepened his overture.

 

Harder he drove, and deeper yet until there was no place to go, no where to probe that had not been filled.  It was then, as though by instinct, that my throat opened and he became fully impaled within me.  He growled, as though humanity had been stripped from us, and took what had been offered without hesitation. 

 

Madly he plunged, until I too felt the knot tighten within my belly.  Desperately, I stroked between my own thighs, rutting against my fingers much as my lover labored above, until finally with a heroic lunge he filled me, gushing his warm offering into my mouth and beyond.  Then, replacing my hand with his own, he quickly delivered me as well.

 

Trembling, we lay in the darkness, knowing that to be apart was torture beyond belief.  There had to be a way for us to be together.  There had to be!

 

“Aiden, what’s it like ‘outside’”?  Are there places where people could…find a life?  Or has The Kiss erased all of humanity?

 

At first he was silent, his mind whirling in conflicted eddies until finally he spoke his thoughts.  “I-I don’t know,” he replied hesitantly.  “At first it was terrible, as though nothing could possibly survive.  Whole cities decimated, but after a few years, tiny gatherings began to form.  People like me, I guess, people The Kiss hadn’t touched.  Or maybe it just did its damage and evolved into something less lethal, leaving those of us who survived to pick up the pieces.  I don’t know, Abby…I don’t know.”

 

“But there’s a chance?” I questioned eagerly.  “Do you think there could be a chance that we could…”

 

“…find a way to live outside?” he finished.  “Abby, I can’t take that risk!  I buried my whole family, and saw millions of others who hadn’t had the luxury of burial.  I can’t lose you, Abby.  You’re asking too much!  Forget it!”

 

“But you’re here, Aiden, and you’re alive.  There IS a chance!  As soon as the spring leads open in the icepack we could take your boat and…”

 

“Abby!  You don’t know what you’re asking!  You…”

 

Once more I silenced him with a kiss.  “Yes…I know Aiden.  I’m asking a lot.  I’m asking the world, but it’s the only way.  My father will never accept our child, he can’t.  He’s preached against those who bypassed the bonds of matrimony for over 20 years.  Even marrying now would no good.  Everyone would know when our child was born early and ridicule his hypocrisy.  He can’t accept me, ever, and I can’t destroy what he’s worked for all of his life.  To leave would be an answer, Aiden, a solution.”

 

Once more Aiden was silent, the words drifting like icebergs between us.  Visions of all that he had seen, all that he had lost scurried behind his furrowed brow.

 

“But could we do it?” he questioned finally.  “I almost died getting this far, how would we make it?”

 

“You weren’t raised here,” I smiled.  “You didn’t know the land or how to survive on it.  I do.  We can do this, Aiden…we can.”

 

Resigned, but still uneasy, Aiden looked thoughtfully onward, out to the frozen sea.  “When would we do this?” he asked.  It doesn’t look possible any time before you start to show in ways that even your atiki can’t cover.”

 

Once more I smiled.  I was in my element.  “In a month or so,” I replied.  Already the whaling captains are setting up camps along the thinning leads, waiting for the bowheads to travel northward for the summer.  Soon rivers of open water will open far out along the icecap…and by the time the first whales arrive we’ll be gone.

 

Aiden’s eyes grew stern then.  “I want to be with you until we go!” he asserted.  “I can’t take another month like this!  You have to come back.  You have to be with me in the Sugarshack.”

 

Again my father’s shame, his ruin crept into my mind.  “i-I can’t, Aiden.  My father…”

 

“…your father is a pompous ass, Abby.  If he had any idea what it really means to love someone, he’d find a way for us to stay here!  If I’m to go along with this plan of yours, then I need you beside me!”

 

I swallowed hard, trying to find a compromise, then finally nodded my head.  “Yes…I will, Aiden.  But it must be in secret.  No one can know.  I’ll come to you when I can, Aiden.  I promise.”

 

At first my lover seemed to reject the alternative, but then he clasped me to his breast once more and acquiesced.  “Alright, Abby.  If it’s the only way, then that’s how it’ll have to be.”

 

Once more his fingers found my molten core, as if by claiming me once again he would seal our bargain.  And when I again yielded breathlessly to his ministrations he whispered huskily “Say it again. Abby.  Now, without anything between us.  Promise me!”

 

“I-I’ll come to you, Aiden!  I swear it!  I swear it!  I’ll come to you.”

 

And I did.

____________________________________________________

 

Chapter 8

 

The next month passed slowly.  Each day brought new fears that my swelling girth would be found out, and each night I found my way through the silent night to my lover’s side.  It seemed that as the child within me grew, so grew my desperation to join with Aiden.  No sooner had I eagerly entered the warmth of the Sugarshack each night before I could feel my belly tensing for the release I craved at his hand.  Finally I found myself a wanton, thinking of nothing else, wanting nothing but his flesh in mine.

 

Aiden seemed to understand, and eagerly fed my hunger with his nightly services.  The more aggressive I became, however, the more gently he responded, perhaps out of deference for the life that pressed between us.  Finally, one night I could stand it no longer.

 

As I entered the dimly lit surroundings of the shack, I could see my lover waiting beneath the fur coverlet for my arrival.  He was naked, as was his way, and I knew the first stirrings of his manhood had already begun.

 

I would tantalize him, I thought.  I would use the wiles he himself had taught me to drive him to forget what he considered my “delicate condition” and join us mightily as two beasts in heat.  I would have my way this night…

 

And so, as he reached for me this time I backed away, coyly denying him the easy conquest to which he had become accustomed.  Instead, I stood before him in the flickering firelight and began to remove my clothing, piece by piece, dropping it on the floor at my feet.

 

First, I slowly lifted my atiki over my head, baring my full breasts and turgid nipples, swollen enormously now with the prospect of motherhood.  Then, cupping them with my hands, I offered them to my lover, raising them until his eyes gleamed in the firelight.  But, as he reached for his prize, I once more backed away, and lifting a nipple to my mouth I licked it with my own tongue, leaving it glistening before him.

 

His mouth hung slack at the sight, and he attempted to rise. 

 

“No,” I commanded.  “Not yet.  I’m not ready!”

 

And so once more he reclined on the mattress, a tiny ‘tent’ forming beneath the covers.  Then, I untied the string of my pants and allowed them to pool about my ankles.  He smiled appreciatively, noting the wetness of my panties, and opened the blankets for my arrival.  But once more I spurned his advances, sliding my undergarment southward and stroking my rounded body with my hands, slipping my fingers between my thighs in a parody of that which he so desired.  He moaned.

 

“Not yet, Aiden.  Not until I say so.”

 

And so I continued, my fingers parting the petals of my sex until his eyes grew smoky at the sight of the slippery, pink wetness that lay just beyond his reach.  Then, taking a bit of carved driftwood, smooth and rigid, I placed one foot on the edge of the bed and slipped it deep inside.

 

He gasped, the tiny tent now rising to alarming proportions!  In and out I plunged my wooden companion until my juices coated it and my thighs were slick with the excess.

 

Aiden captured my wrist now, with determination, and attempted to draw me to him, but once more I denied him access.

 

“NO!” I reiterated.  “You have to wait!”

 

With a huge sigh, Aiden fell back beneath the covers, his right hand exploring his need beneath the thick furs of his bed.  It was then I turned my back to him, and bending low over the chair I spread wide my thighs until the puckered, pink bud of my nether portal  glistened in the flickering light.

 

Aiden wet his lower lip, his tongue slowly peeking out between his quivering lips.  Then, as he watched, I took my rigid, wooden tool and placed the rounded tip at the very portal he had once used so long ago.  A little pressure…a little more and I felt myself begin to stretch to accommodate its girth.

 

Aiden was not to be denied by now, and rising from his bed he flung the wooden carving across the room, replacing it with his own bursting staff.  Deeply he drove, long and hard, until his rounded orbs smacked against my slit in frantic staccato.  Over and over again he penetrated me, making massive thrusts that caused me to cry out in sensuous abandon.  One hand then captured my hair, holding me firm, as the other circled my swollen belly and fondled the erect nub between my thighs.

 

I screamed!  Had it not been for the aid of the chair, I would have fallen upon the floor.  Over and over they came, waves of ecstasy that shook me to the very core, blind, animal appeasement that I had craved for so long.  To Aiden I was no longer his timid mate, but the source of all being, the epicenter of all that he was as a man. 

 

And so he took me.  In the dim insanity of lust he took me, filling me over and over until we were both weak and lost within each other, our fluids running thickly between us, filling the room with the smell of sex.

 

Finally, he laid me atop the coverlet, and wrapped me in his arms.  In his eyes I could see the satisfaction that I myself felt in every fiber of my being.  Then, when he could once more find his voice he turned to me.

 

“Why, Abby?  I’ve been trying to hold back, to be so careful, gentle…”

 

“That’s why.” I replied.  “I want more, and so do you.”  I blushed at my confession.  “Aiden, I’m pregnant, not made of glass.  Maybe later on we’ll have to find new…methods, but not now.  Now, I want you, need you in every way possible.  I want to feel you inside of me, to taste you, to know that you’re strong for me.  Don’t hold back, my Love.  Please.  Don’t hold back.”

 

And so we spent the night in intimate congress until we were finally awakened, sated, by the boom of the ice cracking far out to sea, and the sound of snow machines racing to explore the leads that were sure to have opened.  Swallowing hard I turned to my lover.

 

“It’s time to pack.” I sighed.  Today we pack, and tomorrow we leave.”

__________________________________________________

 

Long years have passed since that fateful morning when we towed Aiden’s tiny craft out to the slim river which had formed in the frozen wasteland of the polar icecap.  The way south was hard and demanding, but together we were invincible.  Finally, as the days lengthened into their eternal, circling vigilance, we made camp along a narrow inlet far to the south, among the barrier islands of the southeast, and our son was born.

 

Wet and slippery he greeted his new life with lusty abandon, a true father’s son, and after a brief respite we decided to make a home in that place, a land neither of his memory, nor or mine…but of ours.  A new beginning.

 

Times have changed since then.  People are now coming out of seclusion, forming villages and towns once more.  The Kiss, while not forgotten, has never returned, and those of us who are left will make this world anew.

 

Aiden and our seven sons are contented, filling each day with the pure joy of being alive, and with the challenges of guiding a toddling community to become a place not plagued by the ills of the past.  We are one with the land, and one with each other.  In the ashes of tragedy, we have been given a second chance to make this world a better place.

 

And, as I sit holding my Love in the soft evening hours,  this time I know we’ll succeed.