“Hello.” I strode over and greeted her. “May I join you?”
“Please do.” The secretary smiled at me. Her hair was fluffed out, and she wasn’t wearing her glasses. She looked relaxed, not as prim and businesslike as she’d seemed the evening before.
I ordered coffee and a brioche. “Going skiing?” I asked Maria when it came.
“No. Mountain climbing. It’s my day off."
“I never would have guessed you were the athletic type,” I told her.
“Appearances are sometimes deceiving, Mr. Victor. I actually have many interests-—and pleasures -- aside from my work.”
“Sorry. I didn't mean to pigeonhole you.” I munched on the brioche. “So you’re a mountain climber, eh?”
“Only an amateur. But I do enjoy it. Have you ever gone mountain climbing, Mr. Victor?”
“I'm afraid not.”
“But you should. It is one of the great joys of the Alps. Why don't you join me today?”
“I don't want to intrude—”
“You won’t be. I was going alone, anyway. I’d appreciate the company.”
“Won’t I slow you down?”
“That doesn’t matter. It will be fun to show you the ropes."
An hour or so later I was appreciating the fact that her choice of words wasn’t merely slang. By then we were about a hundred feet up a slope that would have given any mountain goat second thoughts. Maria Trendasia was ahead of me and above, happily whacking spikes—which she called “pitons"-—into the ice wall. She used these for hand or foot holds and I used the ropes attached to them to pull myself up alongside her.
Now, as I cautiously climbed toward her, I had a sudden inspiration. I was clumsy enough in actuality so that any mistakes I made would easily pass for more of the same. I saw my chance to look for the crescent-shaped scar which would identify Gina Moretti and I took it. I grabbed hold of Maria’s ski-pants by the seat and tugged suddenly and quickly downward.
“Mr. Victor!" she protested.
“Sorry.” The movement had caused some loose snow to tumble into my eyes, and by the time I brushed it out she’d pulled the pants back up. “It was an accident,” I told her as she took my hand and pulled me up alongside her with a grip which was stronger than I‘d expected of her.
“Was it really?” Her look said that she suspected I‘d been after something else. It also said that she might not mind.
I took the chance that I'd read her right. On the very next lap of our ascent I repeated the tactic. But this time she foiled my attempt to get a look at her rear by turning around so that her back was to the mountain. She balanced easily on the pitons and made no attempt to pull the pants back up. And she wasn’t wearing anything under them.
“You are very impetuous,” she told me as I climbed- up beside her.
It was obvious that she expected me to kiss her, and I did. What happened then nearly gave me an Alpine heart attack right on the spot. She wrapped her arms around me and shoved against the side of the mountain. The two of us went sailing off into space!
The ropes brought us up short. My head was spinning, but I had no time to think. Maria was really a thrill-crazy chick, and now she set about proving it. As we dangled there in mid-air, her ankles braced wide apart so she wouldn’t lose the ski-pants pushed down around them, her hands reached inside my trousers and caressed me in a way which left no doubt as to what she had in mind.
“We’ll fall!” I objected. I was sure that my face must be turning green with fear. I was equally sure that the fear would prevent me from performing as she wished.
“The ropes will hold us,” she assured me. And she set about proving how wrong I was on the second count.
I knew it was crazy. Maybe my very fear contributed to my arousal. Or maybe it was just that Maria’s kooky passion was contagious. In any case, it was only a few moments before we were locked together, her knees gripping my hips, my hands clutching the burning plumpness of her derriere, the two of us moving as violently as if there were a mattress under us, rather than nothing but thin air.
“YO-DAH-LAY-HEE-HO!” The scream which accompanied Maria’s exploding ecstasy echoed from Alpine mountain to Alpine dale.
Excelsior! I thought. And then I thought nothing as my lust caught up with hers and my body sent hers whirling through the air in a spasm of release.
The climax was damn near fatal. From above us there came a sudden sound of crumbling ice and snow. Our love-making had upset the delicate balance of this glacial mountain. High over our heads an avalanche was starting to gain momentum.
I was all set to cash in on my life insurance, but Maria knew her mountains. Expertly, she manipulated the ropes so that we swung over to a ledge parallel to where we’d been dangling. Pulling up her pants—once again she managed it before I’d had a look at her bottom—she clambered over the ledge and pulled me after her. She found a niche with some iced-over rock making an awning above it. and the two of us wedged ourselves into it. From here we watched as rocks and ice-balls sailed down the mountainside, just missing us.
It went on for about ten minutes and then it was over. Our pitons were gone, and so were our ropes. The avalanche was over, but the continuing drift of rubble from above us was a low, rumbling warning against trying to climb any higher. And below us, the way we’d come, the side of the mountain looked smooth as glass.
“What are we supposed to do now?” I asked Maria.
“Just stay put,” she replied calmly. “The guides know we’re up here. They’ll send a party up after us as quickly as they can.”
“Let’s just hope they do it before we freeze to death.”
“Oh, I'm sure we’ll manage to keep warm. And I don’t think we’ll be bored, either.”
Maria was right. Despite the fact that we had to move very cautiously on the precarious ledge-perch, we did manage to pick up where we’d left off in mid-air. Worried as I was about starting another avalanche, I nevertheless allowed her to persuade me that this was the best of all possible ways of combating the cold. Sex aside, that really was in Maria‘s mind too, for throughout our lovemaking she managed to keep her ski-pants too high up in back for me to get a look at her derriere. What could I do? When she said she didn’t want to take a chance on freezing off that particular choice portion of her anatomy, I could hardly argue, could I?
Our passion soon put it out of my mind, anyway. If an avalanche traps you on a mountain with a beautiful nymphomaniac, you might as well snuggle up and enjoy it, so that’s exactly what I did. An hour or so later I was enjoying it for the second—or, counting our rope-swinging adventure, the third—time when I happened to catch sight of the doggy voyeur out of the corner of my eye.
It was a St. Bernard, and he must have managed to navigate the narrow trail running around the mountain from the ledge. Maria and I had decided against trying it because it looked so risky. But that hadn‘t stopped this noble beast, and now here he was, keg of brandy around his neck and all.
He was staring impolitely. His furry face seemed to say that this was one hell of a scene to greet an intrepid rescuer. He decidedly conveyed the feeling of being torn between performing his function, which was to offer us the brandy, and reluctance to interrupt our intimacy.
Finally he decided. He shook his head slowly, sadly, shrugged his shoulders, turned around and trudged wearily back the way he had come. His whole attitude seemed a recrimination, as if to say that this younger generation of avalanche victims was far too fast and wild for him, as if to sigh for the good old days when Alpine rescue was unbesmirched by such sexual promiscuity.
“Hey!” I exclaimed. It had just belatedly occurred to me that if we were stuck here much longer we might regret passing up that brandy.