Out of her ski attire, Frankie’s body was even more impressive. The clinging black T-shirt with a plunging neckline revealed an impressive cleavage, and Ann could appreciate how her close-fitting black pants displayed the taut, firm muscles. Her hair was surprisingly long. Worn loose, it gave her a casual, yet sensual air. Frankie, she saw, had one arm wrapped around the pretty, young blonde she was talking to, while her other hand was furtively moving beneath the skirt of an older woman who sat at the bar. Ann very nearly laughed out loud. Did the woman have no shame? Frankie continued to talk animatedly to the girl encircled in her arm, giving no indication that her real focus lay elsewhere. Clearly the woman at the bar was enjoying every moment of Frankie’s ministrations as her eyes grew increasingly wider and her drink sat forgotten.
Ann glanced quickly round the room, certain that she was not the only one aware of what was happening, but everyone else seemed oblivious. She watched mesmerized as the woman struggled to contain her emotions; that she was close to orgasm was blindingly obvious. Bizarrely, Ann felt her own breathing change and a steady pulsating pull between her legs; her nipples scraped against the silk of her blouse. When finally the woman gripped her glass, Ann let out a controlled sigh. She averted her eyes only to find Frankie staring intently at her.
Ann filled the following morning by taking a scenic walk around the village. Since Frankie had classes in the morning, her lessons were booked for each afternoon. Better for après ski socializing Ann had initially thought, until Frankie had turned her offer down flat. Last night it had been evident that Frankie was in no way short of company, and Ann was far less certain that she could entice Frankie into bed with her.
She made her way to the small gondola and waited in line. Frankie had arranged to meet her after lunch in one of the mountain restaurants around which she was assured the slopes were gentle and undulating.
The scenery was breathtaking. Ann gazed through the windows at the snow-laden trees and sparkling, soft carpet of white beneath. The anticipated thrill of skiing on such pure snow briefly entered her mind only to be superseded by far less virginal thoughts. The adrenaline rush she desired could not be achieved on two planks of wood.
The restaurant was busy and warm. Discarded outer clothing lay draped over chair backs. Noise of conversation, cutlery and the clumping of heavy boots filled the air. Ann surveyed the tables hoping to catch sight of Frankie. A group of ski instructors sat chatting at one of the bench tables.
“Excuse me, have you seen Frankie?” she asked.
One of the men pointed to Frankie’s blue beanie hat, jacket and gloves. “She’ll be back in a minute. She’s just waxing her skis.” He snickered. “You can never have too much wax.”
The rest of the table nodded enthusiastically leaving Ann feeling a little bemused and thinking Europeans sure had an odd sense of humor. She wandered away from them, found a free chair and studied her piste map. It wouldn’t hurt to have some idea of the direction in which they’d be skiing.
Five minutes later Ann glanced at her watch. Frankie was late; her lesson should already have begun. Not wishing to disturb Frankie’s colleagues for a second time she wandered over to one of the waiters.
“Hi, can you tell me where the nearest ski workshop is, please?”
With his hands full the waiter nodded toward a door just before the exit. “Downstairs,” he said.
“Thanks.”
The cloying smell of heated wax and the sound of loud music playing were the first things Ann noticed as she descended the stairs. A typical ski workshop, she surmised as she rounded the door, where anyone could call in and get their equipment fixed while they waited. About to call out, she saw Frankie reaching over the counter with some kind of tool in her hand. Perhaps she could help. She stifled a gasp and stopped midstride, for sprawled beneath Frankie lay the blonde from last night. Ann moved swiftly into the shadows. To return to the stairs would risk revealing her presence; she’d have to wait.
Frankie looked wild. Her hair, once tied back, had started to tumble loose. Her top had come adrift from her trousers exposing a white slash of skin. Ann could see little of the scene except Frankie thrusting back and forth. But she knew exactly what was happening and how it was making her own body feeclass="underline" the familiar throb spreading between her legs, accompanied by inevitable warm, wet stickiness; the hand she had to press against herself. The very hand she had become so sick of using.
The blonde was panting, encouraging Frankie, “Harder! Faster!” but Ann was almost unaware of her commands for in her imagination it was she who was lying beneath Frankie; she who was receiving the hard shaft of whatever Frankie was using. Closing her eyes she pictured Frankie’s intense stare as she increased the pace of her strokes. Nearly there, if you could just…
Ann quietly slumped down, spent. At the sound of the blonde reaching her climax Frankie seemed impatient. “Shush, Leisl, they’ll hear you upstairs.”
Leisl became silent.
Ann waited as they speedily rearranged their clothes and headed back upstairs, following behind only when she was certain they had gone.
“Oh, there you are.” Ann hurried over to Frankie as she emerged from the restaurant. “Sorry I’m late,” she apologized. “I couldn’t find one of my gloves.”
“That’s okay,” Frankie replied. “As it happened I was a little tied up myself.”
Unable to help herself Ann chuckled.
“What?”
“Can we start?”
Frankie nodded and pushed her skis along with her poles. “This way.”
Once again the afternoon flew by, and Ann was disappointed she had to say good-bye to Frankie until the following day.
“Unless I see you performing in the hotel bar tonight, of course,” she remarked.
Frankie grinned. “Look, I don’t know what you thought you saw…”
Ann shook her head in disbelief. “Caught red-handed, so to speak, and she still won’t admit it.” The urge to tease Frankie was strong.
Frankie blushed. “I’ll admit nothing.”
“Let me buy you a drink,” Ann said suddenly, forgetting she’d promised herself she wouldn’t ask.
“I can’t.” Frankie said somewhat reluctantly.
“Just a quick one,” she suggested. “Please.”
“It’ll have to be,” Frankie replied. “I said I’d help the patrol tonight.”
“Oh,” Ann countered. “Sounds like fun.”
Two beers later, Ann had learned that Frankie was short for Francesca and she was half Italian. She had been skiing since infancy, and she became particularly coy when asked about Tess.
“Come with me.” Frankie stood up and pulled on her jacket.
“I can’t ski like you, or have you forgotten our lessons already?” Ann replied.
“You have state-of-the-art skis and you fall in a perfectly studied fashion. You’re no more a beginner than I am,” Frankie announced. “Now do you want to have that fun or don’t you?”
Ann whipped her jacket off the back of her chair. “What do you think?”
They stopped at base station headquarters for Frankie to pick up her equipment then headed for the gondola. Having ferried the last of the skiers up the mountain for the day, the cars were empty. Ann loaded her skis then climbed in beside Frankie.
The light was beginning to fade, and Ann thought how pretty the gondolas looked, like a string of fairy lights reaching across the night sky. The car rocked periodically as the cable carried it over the supporting towers. Frankie took off her rucksack and put it on the seat. Ann watched as she checked its first aid contents and removed something.
“How often do you do this?” she asked suddenly feeling a little awkward in the silence.