Snow Angels, Part Three

  • Posted on October 23, 2016 at 5:17 pm

By Rebecka

There were no flares left. The last one had gone into the snow fifteen minutes before. Wrapped in the blanket up to our necks, we awaited the inevitable. Both of us knew, though neither would say, that Mr. Sanford wouldn’t be back. At least, not until after the storm. I had my arm around Agnes’s waist, she mine. We were very sad. She laid her head on my shoulder.

“We’ll be okay, right?”

“Of course we will,” I said. We’d only a minute before emerged from our cocoon. As I’d told Agnes earlier, the bus was no colder than the temperature outside — frigid, but bearable under the blankets. We could stay like this all night, if need be. That was fortunate, because it was looking like we would. Other than my worry about Mr. Sanford’s fate, however, I wasn’t particularly bothered. I tightened my grip around Agnes’ waist.

“I’m kinda glad we’re on this bus,” she said. “Except, for, you know…”

“I know.” I turned my head and kissed her hair. Our recent adventure beneath the blankets had left my jaw sore and my tongue aching wonderfully. Agnes had complained about the same thing. As kissing sessions went, it had been a marathon.

Under the blanket our coats were open, and our bras undone; I had unbuttoned Agnes’ shirt. If my right hand weren’t presently keeping the blankets closed, it would be caressing her breasts. I enjoyed what her left hand was doing to mine. It kept me pleasantly distracted.

“Can I ask a question?” she asked.

“Sure,” I said happily.

“Tomorrow, when they come for us…?”

I raised my head from hers. “What?”

“What?” I asked again when she refused to answer. Finally, she spoke.

“Don’t let it go back to the way it was before.”

I craned my head around to look at her face. “What are you talking about?”

“I’ve seen enough movies and TV shows to know that the cool chick always panics the next day. You’ll be embarrassed by me, or terrified people will think you’re a freak, or afraid your friends will dump you.”

“Agnes–” I started to interrupt.

“Hear me out. I’m afraid you’ll fall into a sexual-identity crisis and deny anything ever existed between us. Not just to your friends, but to yourself. And you’re not the only one, El. I’m afraid it’ll happen to me, too. I know everyone thinks I’m a lezzie already — don’t lie, you know it’s true — but I’m really not. I’m just like you. For the most part, I’ve always been attracted to boys, but the instant I met you I lost interest in anyone, male or female. There is no one else but you. And I know, I must be totally freaking you out,” she said, laughing bitterly.

Instead of answering, I wrapped both arms around Agnes and drew her to me as tightly as possible. I knew she was right. I had recently watched a movie where that exact thing had happened. Two young girls, our ages in fact, one popular like me, the other one shy and friendless like Agnes, came together by chance, just like Agnes and I. Though nothing had happened between the two but soul-baring and a bit of innocent necking, the next day my counterpart succumbed to sexual-identity freak-out. I didn’t want that happening to Agnes and I. I wouldn’t let that happen to Agnes and I.

Releasing her, I made a crossing gesture over my chest. “I, Ellen Olson, do solemnly swear that I am now best friends for life with Agnes Ahlerg and that, short of converting to Judaism, I will do nothing to ostracize her from my life, for as long as she wants me, or we can stand being around each other. First one to cheat on the other with a boy, though, and the deal is off,” I prevaricated.

She laughed. She kissed me. “I love you,” she said.

“I love you too,” I reciprocated. The words sounded completely truthful leaving my mouth. I wondered if I meant them. I had no doubt she meant hers.

Our moment of silence was interrupted visually. Outside in the snow, Mr. Sanford’s final beacon of hope sputtered, flared and died into darkness. I winced, feeling Agnes wince beside me. I looked forlornly at the spot as the final entrails of smoke were whipped away by the wind. Without the reflected red glare, the inside of the bus seemed nearly lightless. I wondered if it was enough light to alert anyone to our presence or guide them home. I doubted it seriously. Worse, the sense of doom deepened in the absence of light.

I shivered convulsively. Agnes clutched me tightly.

“I’m glad I have you,” she whispered.

“I’m glad I have you, too. I can’t think of anyone I’d rather be stranded with on a volcanic island.”

“Lost, this isn’t,” she countered.

“It’s not even Lost in Space,” I said, striving for buoyancy. “Where’s a coconut when you need one?”

Agnes giggled and kissed my throat. Shifting, I let her know it was time to re-cocoon ourselves. Lifting the blankets over our heads, we worked, and then reworked the folds until they were acceptably tight, and then settled inward against each other. I let my right hand steal into her open shirt and claim a prize.

“I wish we could lay down,” she said.

“So do I,” I sighed wistfully. “Then I could take off your clothes and make mad, passionate love to you.”

“We can’t do that here?”

“You want a ruptured disk? Or a hernia?” I suddenly became aware that I had to pee. “Dammit,” I murmured.

“What?”

“I have to go pee.”

“So do I. I’ve had to for hours.”

I blinked at her in the darkness. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“I didn’t want to bother you. Besides, I really don’t want to think about baring my backside and chancing peeing myself. Can you imagine?”

I had peed myself before — more rightly, the back of my jeans and my panties — and had no desire whatsoever to repeat the disaster, not in freezing cold weather. It wasn’t like I had clean ones to put on.

“I guess we could do it off the stoop into the snow. I could hold you steady, and you me. That might work.”

“Or maybe the back of the bus?” I suggested.

“That’s an idea,” she replied, her tone sounding hopeful. “At least we wouldn’t have to worry about falling into the snow. That would be horrible.” I could mentally see her face pinching; a backward drop, not only into freezing cold snow, but also into our own pee. Wonderful. I liked the back of the bus idea even better.

“Let’s go,” I said, throwing back the blankets. “You have any tissue in your backpack?” I looked for mine, remembered that it was halfway down the bus.

Unscissoring my legs, I got up stiffly and stumbled my way down the isle where I grabbed my bag from beneath the seat. I really had to pee. My bladder was bursting. Rooting around the inside, I came up with a crumpled McDonald’s napkin. Continuing the search, I came up with another stray, and then a third. I held up my treasure, grinning.

Walking down the isle with her backpack in one hand, a plastic package of tissues in the other, Agnes grinned back.

“A regular Girl Scout,” I observed. “Always prepared.”

Joining me, she dropped her backpack on the seat alongside mine, and we continued down the isle toward the back, both undoing our belts and jeans as we went. I didn’t like the idea of peeing on the carpeting, but there was nothing we could do about it, and besides, it would keep pee from rolling up the isle as it might do otherwise, were the flooring rubber. The truth was, I didn’t give a shit if someone complained — they weren’t stuck on the bus in the middle of a snowstorm. Let them suspend me.

I wiggled my jeans and panties down to mid-thigh, watched as Agnes uncomfortably did the same, not bothering to hide my curiosity about her womanhood. To my intense surprise, I saw that she was completely clean-shaven, not a suggestion of black visible. That I hadn’t expected.

“You shave?” I blurted out. “In the wintertime?” The last time my own pubes had been touched by a razor was Labor Day. I was suddenly self-conscious about the sparse, yet noticeable blond hair between my legs. I crouched and pinched my legs together, hiding myself. To my chagrin, it was suddenly difficult to pee. Evidently, Agnes experienced the same difficulty, because it was suddenly very silent on that bus. I prayed I wouldn’t pass gas and embarrass myself further.

A deep redness rose up Agnes’s throat and commandeered her face. She grinned helplessly, adding to her embarrassment. “What?” she objected, trying to deflect my perceived teasing.

“Nothing,” I said, shoving away the image of me spreading Agnes’ legs, kissing her wetness, licking her. My heartbeat surged and suddenly, I found it very difficult to breathe. It was the first time I had actually envisioned ourselves having sex. Though disturbing, I realized I wanted it very much. I wondered if she wanted me.

“I can’t pee.” Her voice was exasperated.

“Me neither.”

“I’ve peed before. I never had any problem any other time. Well, not like this, anyway,” she amended. “I was embarrassed, but that was because I thought guys might see me.”

I smiled inwardly. “No reason to be embarrassed. I’m not embarrassed. Are you?”

Looking out the corner of my eye, I saw her grinning. A moment later, a scatter of urine peppered the carpet between her legs, quickly strengthening into a torrent, like she hadn’t gone in a week. My own bladder let loose then and pee gushed out of me like out of a fire hose. Fragrant steam rose from between our legs. We both started giggling, both nearly losing our balance because we shook so hard. I had to put a hand down behind me to catch myself; Agnes rocked forward protectively and put down both of hers. We couldn’t stop laughing.

“Stop!” I wailed.

You stop!”

Wiping myself and dropping the tissues on the floor, I struggled erect and worked my clothes back over my hips. I straightened my panties, still laughing uproariously, zipped my jeans and attempted to up do my belt. We staggered forward up the isle, bumping and poking each other until we reached the seat behind the driver’s seat and sat down. Pretzeling our legs beneath us, we helped each other re-envelop ourselves in the shroud. We were still laughing uproariously.

“I love you,” she told me again.

“I love you, too.”

With no resistance, I slid Agnes’ shirt back over her shoulders, pulled it down her arms and dropped it in her lap. She shrugged and removed her bra herself, holding it her hands. I knew without sight that her nipples were achingly hard and begging to be touched. I let her know that I wanted out of my sweater and between the two of us, got it over my head. To save room, I pushed it out beneath my leg and let it drop to the floor, something I would regret later when I had to put it on again. Who says wool doesn’t get cold?

Agnes pushed the straps of my bra back over my shoulders, slid them down my arms and handed it to me. “God,” she whispered. “Please don’t let anyone find this bus… not just yet, anyhow.” I wondered if there was a way to turn off the emergency lights, felt guilty for even thinking something so selfish. “I really meant what I said earlier. About us laying down?”

I heard her sigh. She moaned a moment later when I placed my hands over her breasts. She took mine, fondled them lovingly. We played with each other’s nipples as we kissed.

As it turned out, we were able to lie down… after a fashion. Two blankets below us to insulate from the coldness of the vinyl seats, two above, though it took constant vigilance to make sure they covered us completely. Most of the time our feet stuck out in the isle, unprotected, and there was no ignoring the air turning our calves, feet and toes into flesh popsicles. At some point Agnes made the suggestion that we shed our shoes and warm our feet against each other before they fell off from frostbite. This was not as easily accomplished as you might imagine; not with jeans down around our ankles.

“I’m not getting completely naked,” I objected, even as I struggled to lever the heel of my shoe off my right foot.

Grunting, Agnes tried to unlace her boots. The idea of being completely naked with her between the blankets had me extraordinarily horny. I felt like a balloon; blown up to the bursting point, ready to explode at the least increase of pressure, no matter from inside or out. My heart thudded and blood pounded in my ears. I was breathless from so much kissing. My tongue and jaw muscles ached terribly. Incredibly, I knew what Agnes felt like inside. I shivered, just thinking about it. With her help, I had located and played with her clitoris, and she with mine. It was our first time ever. I had tasted her. She had haltingly tasted me. We had tasted ourselves, together. I liked her flavor better than mine. I wanted to taste her from the source, but so far, that hadn’t been possible.

“Wait!” I said, huffing.

“What’s wrong?”

“I got a cramp. I think I got a cramp.” I waited a long second, hoping the muscle spasm would go away, but it didn’t. “Shit,” I said when it only grew worse. Flexing my foot only made the damned thing worse still, just as it always did when I got a cramp. I never imagined being naked with someone could be so much trouble.

“Wait,” Agnes said. “Fold your legs up between us.”

Doing as she suggested, I turned completely on my side with my back against the seat back, drew my knees up to my chest and let Agnes attack my calf with her fingertips.

“The other one, Agnes!”

Grunting impatiently, she switched calves and attacked the bunched up muscles with painful intensity. I grit my teeth and sucked in air. “Don’t stop!” I cried. “That’s helping!” Little by little, her strong fingers kneaded the pain and tightness out of muscles until finally, with a grumbling acceptance, the cramp let go. I breathed out in grateful relief — and then gasped.

“Agnes!”

She had just run her fingertips down my butt crack and located my clenched asshole. “What are you doing?” Every muscle in my body tensioned.

She began to rhythmically circle her fingertip on my small button. “I do this to myself,” she whispered. “I’ve always liked it.”

I liked it too, though I was too embarrassed to tell her that. “You are such a naughty girl,” I said.

“Do you like it?”

“Would you like me to do it to you?”

“I’d like that very much,” she said throatily.

I was discovering a whole new Agnes here, wasn’t I? I wondered what else I’d find out about her. I gasped again, as the tip of her middle finger slipped in my hole up to the first knuckle.

“Do you like it?”

“It’s…very different,” I admitted. I knew guys liked to mess around with a girl’s asshole, loved to plug it up with their cocks if given the opportunity, but Agnes was the first girl I’d known to admit an interest in having it done to her. Usually, at least among my friends, anal — or the thought of it — was endured, not than enjoyed. Her finger entered me up to the second knuckle, and I shuddered.

“Unless you tell me to stop,” she said. “I’m gonna keep going.” Even as she threatened this her finger slid in another half-knuckle. She was not merely invading me, but intent on exploring my insides. I felt the finger pressing against the wall of my rectum, forcing my vagina against my bladder and compressing it. It made me want to pee.

“I amend what I said before: You are really naughty.” I bent forward and kissed her on the lips. Her finger continued its inward journey until stopped by the palm of her hand. She continued to lever it forward into my privates. I think she had my uterus this time. At least the pressure was gone from my bladder. I felt the blush deepen in my face. What an experience.

“I can stop, if you don’t like this,” she whispered.

“Please don’t.”

I imagined her doing this to herself, realizing after a moment that the only way possible to finger yourself so thoroughly was on your hands and knees, in a doggie position. The thought of her doing that, with the middle finger of her free hand up her vagina was too much for me. I audibly moaned. Of course, the finger inside me redoubled its efforts to map my insides. I moaned again, bent forward and put my forehead against her shoulder. I marveled at the energy level between my legs. I began to moan continuously, little jolts of electricity clenching my muscles, making me jerk, making me mumble pleading little noises.

Without me really knowing it, Agnes removed my shoes and socks with her free hand, worked me out of my jeans and panties and then removed her own. She clutched me to her, still doubled up, and used the fingers of her left hand to totally destroy me with her attack on my panic button. I was conscious of making a horrible noise in my chest and begging to have this torture stop. I fought, oh God did I fight against the orgasm she relentlessly was pushing me toward, my first at the hands of another person. Finally I couldn’t hold it any longer.

“AhhhhhhhhgodddddddddddAgnesssssssss!”

Wave after wave piled up and crashed over me. I wound my arms around my knees and clamped them to my chest. I tried to gasp, but air refused to enter my lungs. The fingers between my legs stopped momentarily, and then the one on my clitoris went crazy while the one up my behind remained absolutely still. Impossibly, Agnes made my orgasm even more intense.

“Noooooooooooooo!” I moaned. “Stoppppppppp!”

But there was no stopping Agnes. She had her finger finely attuned to my horrible convulsions — and every time I thought I’d died, and crossed over the threshold to Heaven, she would ruthlessly yank me back to the world of the living again. I had my mouth open and hitched in miniscule breaths, choking to get them out again. My eyes were riveted shut, my every muscle spasming. She absolutely refused to let me stop coming.

“Please! Please! Please!” I begged. “Agnes…Please!”

I began to caterwaul uncontrollably and suddenly her finger was away from my clit, she ripped the finger of her other hand out of my rectum, wrapped her arms around my back and clung to me fiercely. She laughed evilly as the convulsions slowly but inexorably drained out of my body.

Five minutes later, shaking like a jellyfish, I wrenched my head off her shoulder and looked at her cross-eyed. “You are such a bitch!”

Exhausted, I collapsed against her and let her cuddle me like a baby while she laughed both herself, and me to sleep.

And this was how they found us, five hours later.

*****

The whole school knew, of course. But our ordeal, plus the death of Mr. Sanford, somehow moderated the mess. We took a lot of looks in the next week, and whispering behind cupped hands, but surprisingly, the student body seemed almost understanding about it. No one acted surprised at all that Agnes became my new best friend, nor did any of my girlfriends object to her presence at our lunch table, and later, within the group itself. Like Dana Hillborne, she was transformed by their attention. Agnes flowered into a very beautiful, if somewhat domineering young lady.

This was five years ago. Though everyone knew, we chose not to come out to our parents until the first year of college. We attend Minnesota State University at Mankato. Rather than chance being separated into different dorm rooms, with the help of our parents we took a two-bedroom apartment in one of the off-campus student housing centers. (Two bedrooms, to keep up appearances.) We are two months into our first semester of higher learning.

“Oh, you’ve made surprising headway,” Agnes says. Her hair, worn short for the last three years, is nearly back to the length it was our first night together. I so much like it better long. Mine is the same as it ever was. Looking up and over my shoulder, I let her kiss me. I let her run a hand down the front of my shirt and fondle my breast. I moan with pleasure into her mouth.

“Did you miss me?” she asks.

“I always miss you,” I say, returning to the computer screen. It’s a Macbook, just like hers. We both have Apples.

“Wow, thirty-three pages. You are being long-winded, aren’t you, sweetie.”

“A lot happened that night,” I remind her. I watch in the reflection of the glossy screen as she strips out of her top and reaches up behind her back. I grin as the bra falls away from her tiny breasts. My nipples harden automatically.

“A lot of private stuff, yeah. How much are you putting in?”

“All of it. Everything that I can remember, anyway.”

“And some you made up?”

“I can’t think of anything I made up,” I counter. “There wasn’t a lot to make up about that night. We did just about everything.”

“We did, didn’t we?” she says, smiling in reflection.

I love it when she smiles. She has the prettiest smile. It’s one of the things I love about her most. And no, I haven’t agreed to convert to Judaism. Not yet, anyway. Although I’m thinking about it. I’m wondering how my mom would react to me becoming Mrs. Agnes Ahlberg.

THE END

3 Comments on Snow Angels, Part Three

  1. Sam says:

    Thanks for this. that was so hot and believable, more description of the sex would have been good

  2. Debbie says:

    I absolutely loved this story Rebecka. Thank you xoxo

  3. sue says:

    yes I agree, really loved this story also, for all the same reasons as the others.

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