Mountain Man

Mistress got us 2nd row seats in the bar at the Ski Area on Tuesday once the lifts shut down. She was there to see, listen to and (if possible) flirt with her hero, the guy we will call the Mountain Man. He's a part time ski patroller on our Mountain, but his real gig is "Super Hero", guiding groups willing to pay $38,000 or more a pop to climb mountains in Antarctica, the Himilayas, and Alaska.

As it turned out MM was funny, charming, and entertaining, showing off his slideshow of recent ventures to Everest, Denali and Kilimanjaro. Though Mistress was a little concerned when he kept mentioning some other woman, a doctor, who accompanied him to Africa this winter and was shown popping back a dislocated shoulder of some Tanzanian "bearer" along a rocky trail.

When the presentation ended, MM was surrounded with followers, and our "spring-breaker" who had been bored for most of the show, was demanding to be fed. So Mistress was unable to linger for a little face time.

But all was not lost: yesterday, after Mistress posted something on her facebook page speculating about whether some chip on her Arctyrx jacket would save her in the event of an avalanche, MM appeared out of cyberspace and commented back! He said the local Ski Patrol would be happy to save her, after all the T-shirts she had bought at the Ski Patrol shack over the years.

s you might expect, Mistress was on slow simmer for the rest of the day after that.  And she almost needed rescuing after she and our surly boarder girl decided to make the 1/5 hour trek to the "Peak" for the views and the long challenging ski down. (The pictures shows what that trek looks like... Slave's done it before and well... let's just say I'm not crazy).

Naturally, the boarder left her mother in the dust on the way up. But Slave waited dutifully for Mistress at the bottom of the run as she made the long ski down in deep, barely tracked snow. (yes, folks, that picture at the top shows the run they came down, from the very top).

At home, Mistress showed me her FB messages with MM.

"DO you think he's flirting with me, Slave?"

"I don't know what else to call it, Mistress".

Sadly, it may be a while before we find out. MM is heading to Nepal for the Everest climbing season on Friday! And the surly boarder is here until Sunday.

Bummer for Mistress. I'll just have to hep her forget him.

A Chilly St. Patrick's Day

In these parts that old saying about March as both lamb and lion can play out in a single day, as we learned here yesterday.

The day started with Slave eating his breakfast out on the patio in bright sunshine, after some lovely St. Patrick's Day wake-up sex.

But by the time we got up to the ski mountain, dark clouds had gathered and the wind was whipping something fierce. There was even some fresh snow to ski on.  Sadly, we had underdressed for the occasion, and were pretty danged cold.  Mistress and Slave, if they had their druthers, would have beat a hasty retreat down the mountain for some "indoor fun". But our daughter whined that she only had a week to ski and therefore she was not going to be cowed by some hurricane strength winds and a white out.

Fortunately, even she had more of this bone chilling weather  than she could handle by around 2 pm, allowing us to throw in our frozen neckgaters and call it a day.

Back at the cabin, Mistress and Slave had a good excuse to brew some tea and retreat to our bed for some "shared bodily warmth".  We came up for air around 7 pm, and headed to a local bar to celebrate our Irish heritage.

Fortunately, the venue was lively, with good music and dancing. It was so much better than the stuffy affair I typically attend on St. Patrick's Day back in River City, a room full of "Friendly Sons", all in tuxedos, trying to impress one another with how important they are.  This was just pure fun and frolic, in the shadow of our beautiful snow dusted mountains.

Our not yet 20 "spring breaker" was happy that she was not carded, and that her Dad could order some alcoholic beverages for her. She even got asked to dance by some local who looked twice her age.

She bashfully demurred.

Fortunately, the sun is out again this AM, and should be out for a good chunk of the week.

On today's agenda is an apres ski slideshow by the Ski Patrol member that Mistress has been lusting for these last few years.  He's the guy who "summers" on Mt. Everest, and spend some of this winter climbing and treking in Antarctica. Mistress has been stalking him on facebook.

Last night, a mutual admirer of this mountain man mentioned to both of us that she would be at tonight's presentation of his latest adventures, drooling from the front row if possible.

"You don't need to me there, Mick. I think Molly and I can handle it."

"Don't worry",  I said, "I'm just happy to watch....."

I wasn't sure if in her St. Patrick's Day buzz, she got my meaning.

No Tell Motel

Mistress and Slave called an "audible" late yesterday afternoon.

We had arrived in ABQ shortly after noon, planning a day of local site-seeing before picking up our "spring breaker" after 11 pm then making the drive up to our mountain hideaway.

We walked around the scenic "Old Town", saw a "flash mob" of Indian dancers, and had a late and filling New Mexican lunch at an old hacienda, built in 1706, that has been a restaurant now for generations.

Then we took a hike through an old Canyon littered with native American petroglyphs. The sun was out, the setting was arid, and by the end of the two mile loop, both of us were parched and a little tired.

It had already been a long day.

And without any sex.

Huh?

That's when Slave introduced some improvisation.

What if we skip a fancy dinner and just check into a sleazy motel, Mistress..... a 5 hour stay that will give us a chance to 'unwind' before that long drive north."

It did not take Mistress long to see the genius of my new plan.

"That's the best idea you've had in a long time, Slave."

Glad to know I am still hitting on all cylinders every now and then for an old guy.

We found a properly sleazy setting, checked in with little baggage, just like in our old "on the side" days, and soon stripped away our dusty jeans and shirts.

Mistress's folds had that well exercised taste that Slave particularly appreciates. And after I had pleased her with my lips and tongue, she ended that long, nightmarish 36 hours of abstinence for her Slave.

We napped a bit, and I made sure to pleasure Mistress one more time before we skulked out of the hotel at around 11 pm to collect our daughter.

The desk clerk saw us sliding out.

"Leaving so soon?"

We made some seemingly lame excuse about picking up our daughter at the airport, But I suspect he quickly filed us under "sleazy affair, both going home to their spouses after a Friday night fling."

"I don't think he bought it Slave".

"I can live with that, Mistress."

Missed Opportunity

Mistress and Slave are jetting west as I type this, exploiting the overpriced and underspeedy in flight wifi to reach out to our dozens of regular followers.

We were up so early that we had to forego our regular wake-up sex, which means your editor has  actually gone 24 hours without an orgasm to speak of (though Mistress did get some worship through the aperture of her peek-a-boo tights last night when we got home a little later than normal from a social / political event.

After We packed up I switched on the opening minutes of the dreaded confrontation on the hard court between my own alma mater and Suzanne's own Alma mater. It made me realize that I had forgotten to communicate the terms of a potential UCTMW v. All Mine wager on the outcome of the game.

I figured my team, ranked 24 deserved some points against her team, ranked 12. They had split home and home games in the regular season. I would have asked for a 10 pt. spread, but would have been prepared to settle at 5. Heck if browbeaten by Suzanne, I might have taken a straight up bet, with no points for the obvious underdogs.

But what about the stakes?

I know Suzanne would have wanted to propose something involving me in a cock cage for several days. But that would have unfairly denied Mistress the pleasures of her work-a-day cock. So unfair!

But what about spanks: 10 for me with the crop if my my team lost, with the sentence executed by Mistress Molly.

And if Suzanne's team lost? 10 for her via wooden spoon, imposed by Jay.

I doubt he would mind playing his role, since he had no dog in this particular hunt.

I suppose I could have emailed Suzanne once I realized the game was starting. But then I saw those puke green uniforms and watched as my lads fell behind by double digits within minutes.

Sending up rocks at the basket!

I turned off the TV in disgust, glad that I had not been suckered into that wager after all.

But when I awoke this am, before jumping into the shower with Mistress I checked the score:  my team had rallied and won going away.

Suzanne, you would have taken that bet, right? 

Admit it.

And if so, well Jay.... go for it.