Commentary
by Guillermo Bosch
bosch@guillermobosch.com
isitors to this site occasionally ask me why I continue to edit Sauce*Box. It doesn't make any money either for me or the contributing writers. And, although we have tens of thousands of guests who visit the site, it has not gained any particular notoriety. But as thousands of e-zines have come and gone, Sauce*Box remains. And I like to believe it continues to be a haven for expression, accessible to most anyone who has the desire to sit down at a computer and express their sexual thoughts and fantasies.

What other e-zine could publish both an experimental piece like "Blessed Communion" alongside a deceptively simple poem like "Honeymoon" and declare that both are, in their own way, erotic? Plus we have more straightforward erotic fare like the delightful "In These Shoes" and "Revenge of the Trio." And an always wonderful group of regulars like Relf, Farragher and Blasko. I can even slip in a sample of my own work from time to time.

So that’s why I continue to edit Sauce*Box. The pleasures of the unexpected, the simple and the complex. A little like sex itself? I like to think so. Enjoy!

---

In These Shoes
by Diane Ravella
diane.ravella@verizon.net
aula, are the shoes in yet?”

I didn’t have to look up to see who was asking me this question. It was Mercedes Phillips. She had been in the store for the past week trying to get a hold of the newest Garibaldi sling backs. They were a fierce pair of black snakeskin shoes. “In these shoes, a girl can be a goddess,” my boss chuckled as he carted them off into the storeroom. Of course, we had gotten them in early. But no one short of myself, two other employees, my boss, and God himself was to know that they were in the store. Anyways, my boss was holding them for the Labor Day sale on Friday. It was his belief that women wouldn’t mind paying full price for them so long as they got half price off on the other shoes in the store.

The tapping of her fingernails on the counter made me put down the store’s latest inventory list.

“Ms. Phillips, I told you yesterday on the phone that they wouldn’t be in until next Friday.”

“And I told you yesterday to call me, Mercedes.” She winked at me as if we were conspirators and best friends.

Her hand rested on top of mine sending a small shiver down my spine. I tried to ignore her little flirtatious gestures all week. But I could feel myself weakening.

After all what did we have in common? I worked in a shoe store. And she could probably own one if she wanted too.

Still, I had a major jones for her. She was perfection. A high maintenance woman with the perfect tan, chestnut highlights, pedicured fingers, and toes one of which sported a platinum diamond toe ring.

It was on Wednesday that I realized I would do just about anything she wanted. That day, I watched her place shoe after shoe into a heap on the floor. Each time, a shoe dropped out of her hand, she slid forward on the bench exposing her upper thighs. Six pairs later, I could see her flimsy panties. I kept hoping her cunt would reveal itself. But I had no such luck. So I had to use my imagination to think about what it looked like? And it would taste like?

“You’re sure they won’t be in before next Friday,” Her voice brought me back from my little reverie. Before I could answer, she moved behind the counter. Until she was close enough to me that I could taste her lipstick.

With the straightest face that I could manage, I replied, “I’m absolutely certain they won’t be here before then. She looked at me trying to see if I would break under her close scrutiny. Once she determined that I wasn’t giving anything up, she moved away from the counter.

“Well I guess I,ll just have to wait till then.”

She smiled at me picking up her purse and headed towards the door.

I breathed a sigh of relief as she pushed her way out of the door. My growling stomach put off any more thoughts of her. Looking at my watch, I noticed that it was 8:30 already. Somehow the day seemed to fly by without me noticing. It looked like it was another night alone with some Chinese take out. Only this time, I would have to eat it at work since my boss was away on vacation. I headed to the storeroom for the menu for Royal Jade; they had the best Fried Wonton and Chicken with Broccoli.

I was about to order when I heard the door chime.

“Shit, I forgot to lock the door!”

I put the menu down and headed for the front. It was Mercedes Phillips again.

“Paula, I’m not the kind of woman who likes being lied to about shoes.”

I noticed that she had locked the door and placed the closed just above the handle.

“I give you a thousand dollars if I can walk out of the store with the shoes.”

Sometimes shoes made some women crazy. There were times when I witnessed women bought shoes two times too big for them just because their size was unavailable. When we ran out of stock fights over display pairs erupted. And on 75% off sales days, women lined around the corners as if they were waiting for the bathroom at a rock concert. Yet, I hadn’t seen anyone this desperate. Maybe she wasn’t really desperate. She could be playing some kind of game. Something like fucking with the shoe clerk who was barely making above minimum wage. Women like her enjoyed jerking lowly salespeople around.

I wanted to tell her where to get off. And yet there was this part of me who wanted to see how far she would go.

“Look, I can’t be bought. Besides that if my boss sees the store closed before 9 p.m., I,ll lose my job.”

I hoped my lie would somehow make her come to her senses.

She stood there looking at me like she didn’t believe me.

“The shoes aren’t here,” I said with perhaps a little bit less conviction than before.

“Are you sure that’s your final answer.” She stood there as if she were a cross between a dominatrix and game show host. ŒI,ll take I need a spanking for $200 dollars,, Alex, I thought to myself. I felt like my head was too light and my breathing was too shallow. Yet somehow I found the ability to answer her question.

“I’m positive.”

“I guess I could make it a little easier for you to tell me the truth.”

I watched as she lifted her skirt revealing her naked pussy. I had never seen such perfectly trimmed pubic hair before and shaped like a butterfly of all things. Her pussy looked like something out of a Playboy modeling shoot. It was dark pink with luscious lips that begged for me to suck on them for hours.

“Paula, I know you want me. You think I couldn’t smell your cunt that first time I tried on shoes.”

She continued, “For the past week only two things have been on my mind&Mac247;buying those shoes and you.”

Knowing that she had my full attention, she slid a finger into her cunt. The smell of her musky scent filled the air. Her finger emerged out of her cunt beckoning me to where she stood. I walked over to her when she shook her head.

“No, my darling Paula, you have to get down on your knees.”

I nodded my head no. Even though she enticed me, I still had my pride.

“Get over here now!”

I obeyed like a motley fool trying to please her queen. I crawled over to her stopping in front of her feet. Her manicured hand patted my curly locks.

“Good girl.”

She moved her hand down the side of my face until it came to rest under my chin. I found myself looking up at her face.

“You have such a beautiful neck. I bet it would look even more beautiful with a collar around it.” Her dark eyes glittered with amusement as she looked at me.

Her hand left the bottom of my chin and traveled down to my skirt. “Will I find a wet cunt if I continue?”

“Yes,” I managed to squeak out. She moved behind me. Both her hands were on my hips.

She yanked down my stockings and underwear until they were to my knees. Her hands began to massage my asscheeks with tiny circles that began on the outer edge of my ass and ended with bigger ones towards the crack of my ass. Bending down towards where her hands were, her breath was just inches away from my asshole.

“Should I tongue your ass?” she breathed into my exposed rosebud.

On a reflex, I moved closer to her warm mouth. She responded to my unexpected move by giving me a hard smack on my ass.

“Do that again and there’s more where that one came from, understand?”

I nodded.

“Good girl.”

To my surprise, she pulled my hips towards her mouth until her tongue came to rest against my asshole. Her nails dug into my cheeks as her tongue thrashed against my anal opening. Inside of my head I screaming and yelling, I begged and pleaded for her to do more. In reality, I remained as still as possible without saying a word. Her tongue moved in circles then it started to play the alphabet game. By the time she made a capital G, a deep groan escaped my mouth. I didn’t know if I could make it to M without giving the carpet a new kind of treatment. Just as she made the letter J, she abruptly stopped her ministrations.

“That’s quite enough pleasure for you right now. I think it’s time that you think about my pleasure.”

My mind reeled. I wanted to taste her pussy ever since I laid eyes on her. For the last week, my dreams were about her legs wrapped around my head or even better her sitting on my face. I often awoke drenched in both my own sweat and come.

I crawled towards her with my mouth closed. Afraid that if I opened it my tongue would hang out of my mouth, heavy from hunger. My head just inches away from her cunt, she said, “I don’t want you to lick it just yet. For now smell it.”

I inhaled the exotic aroma feeling headier than I,d ever felt from any perfume. Her hands reached down pulling my head closer.

“You want a taste don’t you? You want to bury your head there until your tongue falls out.”

I let out a yes that sounded more like a yelp of pain. She released my head pushing me down until I was on my back.

“Open your mouth and stick out your tongue for your big surprise,” she said gleefully. She lowered her cunt onto my tongue causing it brush back and forth against its outer folds. I grabbed her hips pulling her weight down on my chest. My mouth latched onto her clit as if I were a milk-starved baby. I sucked on it with the same vigor that I reserved for sucking on crawfish heads. Her clit was just as meaty and succulent. I looked up at Mercedes through half-slit eyes. Her hair flowed about her shoulders wildly as if she were out for an afternoon ride in a convertible. Her lips parted in the shape of an O making a gentle hissing sound. I was about to curl my tongue and sink it deep into her cunt. When she moved her body off my chest, I cried out in protest.

“Relax, I just want to taste you.” She was between my legs once again only this time my pussy was inches away from her face. I went back to tonguing her cunt. She imitated every move my tongue made. Our moans of pleasure like symphony filled only with flutes and clarinets. Her whimpers were melodic and soft, while a groan erupted out of mouth resembling an E sharp. As my tongue drilled into her, I found myself wishing that I had either a dildo or vibrator when my eyes spied the shoes near us. Reaching over so not to disturb our succinct rhythm, I grabbed a shoe with a chunky heel. It might not look phallic, but it would do. I switched to fucking her with my fingers instead of my tongue so that my mouth could properly lubricate the heel. I wrapped one arm around her leg bracing her for impact.

The heel slid in without any problem. She stopped suddenly raising up slightly.

“What is that?”

“What does it feel like?” I countered

I slowly pushed the heel in and out. Her face lit up making the leap from questioning to knowing.

“You do know how I love my shoes,” she grunted.

I smiled at her pleased that she enjoyed my last minute ingenuity. I continued fucking her with my make shift dildo. I went faster and faster until I was sure she was close to orgasm. Sliding the shoe out of her pussy, I fastened my mouth onto her clit. Mercedes shuddered her climax against my mouth drenching my tongue with her juices. She collapsed on top of me. We stayed like that for a while until she spoke, “Your boss should go out of town more often.”

“Yes, he definitely should. But then again even if he didn’t I’m sure that we would still find a way to act out this fantasy.”

She got up and headed to the bathroom to clean up. So much for lesbian bed death being an issue in our relationship.

Lucky for me, Mercedes was always coming up with rich fantasies that kept our sex life on track. Last month, we played apartment supervisor and tenant.

“Paula, you need to get a move on, if we are going to be at Sarah’s and Bethany’s in time for dinner.”

“I’ve just got to check on something in the storeroom.“

As I pushed through the curtain, I heard her call out to bring back a pair of Garibaldis. I laughed to myself knowing that no fantasy could make Mercedes forget a great pair of shoes.

---

Solitaire
by Ken Blasko
canhebe@mindspring.com

laying
By yourself. With yourself. For yourself.
The deck deals a rare but satisfying win,
helping you to forget, that you're playing
Alone.

---

---

Three Poems
By Sean Farragher
sfarragher@nj.rr.com
http://www.seanfarragher.com

Goodbye to Earth & Man Divine
, Prophecy

Rain sweet on your face I lick
and it runs down my eyes as blind
fever consumed where I was possessed
by you, held in the embrace of what
some call sex but I
discover today as birth.

Our past was fragmentary
as surprise. I do rest entire
in your belly of hands cupping
the streams of stars
with atoms slight
invisible line of blue spectra

You do not know me. I am that
quarter of the universe that
cannot be known as dimension.

I am one coin of matter
this is all we can expect
when we examine last
big bang and its recoil;
dressed angels naked
as men and women gather
trumpets, pretend to make
the cathedral into heaven.

Nothing will be the same today
on the cliff where the earth has died.

Morning has a blue halo as sun
larger than horizon quits. No smoke.

I am here as the guest of her God
what's her name, sweet Joss.

I order my good bye. Meal is served.
Ice cream melts on my chocolate fingers.

I dig into the peach pulp and gather
the lips open for the feast has begun.

She sits, opens her thighs, and begs
birth to be easy, short.
You are my witness, she says.
Why I created you
out of matter of fact without pause:
No one can be a physical moment

No one can live anymore but
thought gathers as a mask
to fake it, to force believe.
we cannot say farewell dear life.

I saw myself home safe with her
death as a memory. She said I
Die so all may live. I will resume
life in three days. You don't
believe me? I am love, she kissed.

You are lying I say,
as one laugh. Can God lie?
Can Joss fabricate galactic summary
of the pulse to ferment new pleasure
out of visions collected in alternate
themes sweet Nova make true
at least for billion years approximate
of course, as time has no penalty,
but the variation of theme.

Say goodbye. The earth is gone.
Sol has no memory left. You're
cinder in galaxy, ghost-gray
speck of ruby in pearl turquoise
and then soft talc made brachiopod
fossil as gray mud dried
silica replaced and
you live on edge of Grand Canyon.

I found my cat there watching the sun.
She was not blind.
I am there darling.

Touch where I was arching
like a game of sex everlasting.

God invented sex like a toy
to be snuggled into bed and
pulled and placed against that
part that needs to be resumed
as blood flows again. All
is of course invisible now;
the memory of goodbye is true.

No one can swear false oath

There are no lies left in sparks
of stars gone dead but never cold
where nothing is nothing is Deed
to land that cannot be grown
from ordinary wish to live forever.


High Drama, last Part

Instant later the implosion left
us in beginning mewling crying --
We shared a body born not as
two lives but one, and this star
had crimson plumes like orchids
born from its sex and breathe
gasp, surrender, love me alone
or within the holy grail where I
was set down to die as stars
and all that we call space is broken
and cannot be fixed as I am
the maker of its own thought
and my destruction burned.

I cannot accept this goodbye.
I love the red tendrils. We hide
in the jungle. It is not Eden

Nothing we can speak about life
has substance for it is new --

With this last word, my last
thought, death comes silent
to stir and then redemption
rides the pathways home

Goodbye.

The cliff has fallen away;
I stand in the air
wait to fall again.


Steam Bath
hristina:

"When my bathtub was full,
fucking wonderful and cunt better
the steam made its own fury"

Christina settled slowly
over the rim of the tub --
lifting one leg over the edge
suffering her patch of silk
to exhale before drowning.


Modern Rivers
his Hudson,
this awful fish;
sleek in its tongue,
tender in its mouth,
wet from dear fingers.

First, Woman:

I began above you
in the passage
of waves upon waves
I hear your eyes turn,
race to the chatter of muscles;

Inside,
my face rests
at the night
of your smile;
your legs quit;
your heat slows,
an hallucination
for the hereafter

I am long past hunger.

In your kiss,
I speak pressed
to the below of your legs,--
your arms a lost space
before separation

I am a forgotten space
before divorce

In the historical self
I am not last there

(or above you)

Here with the before woman
and the afterwards--

I love the odor of loss,
a late walk when the air is plenty,
and the miracle has two faces

I am quiet in my mask--
beauty entangled
in the sin of tenderness

such dishonor
when the water
crowds upon us

passion of change
is forever a blossom
of a woman dressed
in wonderful.


Then Man:

I was truth.
I wanted miracles
all forms of love
and abundance--
rest here,
take home the delight
of husband and father

I am them.

I knew how I loved some
of all faces, longer and smaller
the turn of all voices;
above the journey I am older,
forgotten when angry--
I know she loves me.
It is irreverent to ask
again about patience

Once, she slept in my arms;
We rested through darkness,
beyond windows to enchantment;
no proof for amusement--
only the wait
of great divers
for the crease
in the cliff
to be swallowed

then regression,
a pause before exile.

My dear friends
we are the safety of passion
above all modern rivers

fate is alone when we meet.


Then the River:

In cold Hudson,
no witness
but November.

Above the Mountains
that look like trees

dark appears to itself

all mist lost
the river, gray,
its blood brown--
the waters move
through my hand
where I glide
down clean rocks
below the face
my love gave me

I learn how to fly
this last November

How easy to swim
above the horizon.

The river is awhile
in the trance of morning

The river within
is a slight
reorder of motion

Breached by the flood
a blank age
appears to itself

honor and glory
reserved for our turn
downstream,
where the tide
is chance,
and I am not found--
my body has no witness

fantasy is terror
the rivers never
stop watching

the mountain has feet
and fancy no shudder

I examine the manner
of my listening

The Hudson arranged
in pure spirit

great is the sigh.

---

Honeymoon
By Nojud
dujon2774@hotmail.com
boy and a girl left.
*
A mother worried.
*
A man and a woman returned.
*
A mother smiled.

The Best of Everything was in the Palm of her Hand
by Terrie Leigh Relf
tlrelf@cox.net

ernice sat in her favorite Queen Anne chair, wearing her favorite silk robe, drinking her favorite Merlot.

Sleek black hair, still damp from a long, hot bubble bath, clung to her cheeks. She inhaled deeply. Yes, the scent of Lavender clung just so to her skin.

The surgery hadn’t been all that bad. She’d heard about phantom pains and a few regrets from the post-op support group members, but all-in-all, she had sallied forth.

It was ironic, really, how she now held a rubber simulacrum in her hand.
No matter what the package said, it really didn’t feel the same.

---

In Search of Snow
by Guillermo Bosch
bosch@guillermobosch.com

avid decided not to stay at the beach when the days grew short and the sun sat low in the southern sky. The winds had shifted to the north, but they only brought hot, dusty air from off the desert. There would never be snow.

David dreamed of being in the snow and he dreamed of being in her, but being in her was, of course, impossible. It was his desire for her that destroyed him in the first place; just as his need to forget her first brought him to the sea. But he had not been able to let go, and once the seasons changed, he found himself not only wanting soft, clean wet flakes falling from the sky, mornings so crisp and clear the earth sparkled, naked branches on white birch trees bent low over to the ground and window panes flecked with diamond dust, but also her, there, with him, in the north, again.

Although David could not have her, he could have the snow, so the following morning he bought a ticket for Kitzbühel from an attractive redhead who sat at an antique desk in the window of the travel agency down by the pier. The place smelled of fish. She asked him if he was going skiing. He told her he didn’t ski. She smiled. She was flirting. "Then why Kitzbühel?"

"I need to remember."

The redhead pointed to a poster of a tan, dark-haired mermaid in a pink bathing suit bursting up through the deep blue surf on a tropical beach. The model’s hair was in ringlets, her back arched, her breasts pressed against the fabric of her suit so that her nipples were clearly outlined. "We have a special on Cancun," offered the redhead.

"I want to go to the snow," said David.

"Aspen is nice."

"Kitzbühel."

"Kitzbühel it is then," said the redhead, her interest waning.

The plane to Vienna was uneventful. David slept. The train from Vienna to Innsbruck was better. As they pulled away from the Vienna Hauptbanhof, a young girl, still a teenager, opened the door to David’s compartment. She removed her heavy backpack and stretched to place it on the metal luggage rack behind her seat. As she did so, her jacket and the sweater underneath pulled away from her jeans and David saw the smooth, delicious curve from the top of her hip to the bottom of her ribcage. He inhaled. Deeply. He knew she knew he was watching. She sat down and opened a German-language magazine. She flipped through the pages slowly, not really reading. David pretended to doze. She looked up from time to time to see if he was still watching her. He anticipated her upward glance and averted his eyes. It was an intense game, and they both played it very well, so David was exhausted by the time the train pulled into Innsbruck.

There was no snow in Innsbruck — the Sirocco was blowing over the mountains from the Italian side of the Tyrol. There was rain that afternoon, and then that night a foul mist covered the city and the street lamps were filtered through a thick yellow gauze. David wandered south out of the medieval Old Town along MariaTheresienstraße, near St. Anne’s column—the commerative column topped by a statue of the Virgin Mary. A prostitute approached him, apparently undeterred by the Virgin’s watchful stare. The whore was thin, tired, and she coughed a lot. David gave her a 50 euro note, waved her off and returned to his hotel.

The next day he rented a silver-gray Mercedes and drove to Kitzbühel. There was fresh, new-fallen snow on the mountains. David sat out on his balcony and stared into the dark waters of the Schwartzsee. He pondered the reflections cast by the crystalline Hahnenkamm peaks. Pure contrast. Stone and water. Simple. Neat. He stood and stretched and breathed in the cold, thin air. He left his room and wandered the narrow village streets. When the sun appeared, he stopped for honigschnaps at an outdoor booth set up in the shadows of the church on the main square. The amber liquid seared his throat and lit a small fire in his belly. He had another.

"Grüss Gotte."

David turned around slowly. "I don’t speak German."

"Ah, so, then we shall speak English, yes?"

"I really don’t know why we should speak at all" David growled.

She bit her thick lower lip, pouted, then said, "So, you don’t want to ski on the mountain?"

David brought her into focus. She was tall, taller in fact than David, and she was dressed entirely in black: black apres-ski boots, black ski pants, a black jacket with charcoal piping and a black fur hat. Black sunglasses with dark lenses shaded her eyes. She had shoulder-length, coal black hair.

"I don’t ski," said David.

"Everyone skis in Kitzbühel," she said. "You must try."

"Why must I try something I don’t wish to do?"

"Because you are in Kitzbühel," she had a charming smile, "and it is my job to get you onto the mountain." She took David’s arm in hers, and marched him down the street toward the snow.

Her name was Gabrielle. She said so in the cable car on the way to the top of the mountain. As David stared out of the window, down onto the slopes, the car abruptly stopped. They were suspended above a cotton sea on a thin metal rope. Alpine winds blew them from side to side. A tough young man who had been showing off for his friends crossed himself. A blonde mother picked up her crying child and held the little boy in her arms. Gabrielle removed her dark glasses and looked into David’s eyes. "It is nothing," she said, "It happens from time to time."

Suddenly the car lurched forward, and the momentum threw David against the side of the car. He grabbed for his rented skis and his poles as they clattered onto the rubber floor. Gabrielle laughed at his clumsiness, but she held out an arm to steady him. "You will love it at the top," she said.

David did love it at the top. The soft powder spread forever, in all directions, toward a deep blue horizon. The voices of the other skiers were gobbled up by the empty mountain air. David only heard the crunch of his boots on the snow, Gabrielle’s laughter as she helped him into his bindings, and then her gentle words of encouragement as she slowly, patiently, expertly taught him to snowplow down the beginner’s hill.

He did fall getting onto the chair lift. He fell again getting off of the chair lift. Each time, when Gabrielle helped him stand up and she wrapped her arms around him, he felt the muscles in her arms, he felt her breasts pressed against his back, her soft gloves brushing the ice from his hair. He kissed her. She laughed and kissed him back. He stopped falling down.

They drank gluëwein in a rustic mountain hut, perhaps too much gluëwein. There were antlers on the wall, cowbells hung from the ceiling. An old man with a big nose and a Tyrolean cap with feathers pinned against his loden green hat band played the accordion. They sat in front of a roaring fire. Gabrielle removed her jacket and David saw that her breasts were firm and round beneath her black silk turtleneck sweater.

She knew where he was looking. "Du bewunderst meine brusten?" she teased, but David did not understand. She took his hand and lead him to the door, then outside the hut, behind a large fir tree. She scooped up a handful of snow, raised her turtleneck and rubbed the ice against her left breast until her teat was hard and swollen. "Saugst," she sighed, "saugst, saugst." David could not comprehend the words, but he took her stiff pink nipple between his lips. "Ah, so," she said, "Jaaa…ja, ja." She wrapped her arms around his neck, fell to her knees and pulled him down with her. "Diese ist super," she moaned.

Then David stopped. He lowered her sweater and turned back toward the hut." Wo ist, where are you going?" she asked.

"Nowhere," said David.

"Do you not want me?"

David didn’t answer. He returned to the hut, retrieved his skis and carried them outside. Gabrielle threw a snowball at David. It hit him square in the face, but he ignored her. He slipped his boots into his bindings, pushed with his poles and glided out onto the trail. Another snowball hit him in the back of his head. He didn’t turn around.

The slope was steeper than David imagined. He picked up speed, panicked and fell. He managed to pull himself up and return to his descent. He advanced no more than another hundred yards before he fell again. He was cold, tired. His clothes, not meant for the slopes, were soaked through. He shivered. After a long struggle, he was able to maneuver himself so that he was more or less standing on his skis. For a moment he simply waited there, looking down the mountain, breathing heavily.

As Gabrielle shot past David, she leaned into a turn and sprayed a wave of white powder in his direction. He watched her—her long legs bent at the knees, her balance perfect, her black butt swaying back and forth as she raced faster and faster down the hill, out of sight. He pushed off again, was able to stay up for awhile, then caught an edge and tumbled into the deep snow at the side of the trail. The sun was going down. The slopes were deserted. Everything was soft, and white and beautiful. He did not try to get up. The sun set. He watched the full moon rise. He closed his eyes…

David dreamed of her again as he last saw her before the trial, naked, lying on her stomach, her young body splayed crosswise on the bed while she watched MTV. "I love you," he said.

"Yeah, sure, baby, I love you too," she said. "Would you get me a diet soda from the fridge?"

He went to get her soda. He returned and placed the cold can on her tight, round bottom. "Don’t be a jerk," she said as she grabbed the can and opened it. He kissed the red circle where the can had been. "Please, listen to me," he pleaded.

"Just a minute. Just a minute," she said. She turned up the volume. "This song is like, way cool, honey."

"Yes," he said., "it is, isn’t it?" He sighed and went into the bathroom to take a shower. When he left the shower, he wiped the steam from the mirror and stared at his own tired face. There were dark circles around his eyes, his chin was thick, his hair receding from his forehead. Long white, wiry hairs grew amidst the softer brown ones on his chest. When he returned to the bedroom, she was gone…

David dreamed of her as he last saw her during the trial, on the day he was sentenced—in the soft brown designer suit he had bought her for her twenty-second birthday, no make-up, sensible shoes, a conservative haircut. He loved her anyway, despite what they were going to do to him. The judge liked her too. Everybody liked her. She was a very likable girl when she wanted to be…

David dreamed of her as he saw her when he was in that place—she floated above his cot, taunting him, touching herself, rolling her tongue along her teeth and whispering his name, calling him, calling him away from the electric fences and the walls and the constant, never-ending noise…

"David?"

David opened his eyes. He was in a room where he had never been before, in a king sized, canopied bed, surrounded by translucent black curtains, covered with a black eiderdown comforter. He looked up and saw someone standing behind one of the curtains.

"Guten Morgen, David."

David frowned. He squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them. Gabrielle opened the curtains and sat down on the edge of the bed.

"You are a very silly man," she said.

"What are you doing here?"

"So, well, let’s see. What do you think?" She tilted her head and pursed her lips. "Perhaps I’m your Wächterengel, your guarding angel," she said. She left the bed and walked to the window. She unlatched the heavy wooden shutters which opened onto her balcony. She smiled. "But then, perhaps not."

Gabrielle untied her black satin dressing gown and let it slip to the floor. She stood there naked in the early morning light. Behind her, David saw the white mountains and the rounded dome atop the village church steeple.

He sat up. He was naked under the covers. "I don’t need protecting," he said.

"Everyone needs protection, David, but maybe you are correct, I cannot forceyou to let me protect you. I can only offer you a choice."

"Between?"

"Ah, so, gut, you are still interested in choices." She walked slowly toward him. "Well, let us say, between me and the snow." She again sat down on the bed. She took his hand. "And, if those are to be your choices, was sucht du dir aus, which do you choose?" Without waiting for his answer, Gabrielle placed David’s hand between her thighs. She was warm. She raised the comforter and touched David. He responded to her caress. She layed down next to him and gently brought his lips to hers.

That afternoon, David and Gabrielle were back on the mountain, off-pist. David was following in Gabrielle’s tracks through the green pines and black rocks. The sun was on his back. The sky was a rich royal blue. He had learned parallel turns, he had learned to hold his weight on the inside edge, he had learned to control his balance, to lean with his legs, to hold his shoulders in line. He was not a good skier, but he managed to keep himself from falling once they left the moguls behind.

As David made his way around a large granite outcropping, he came upon an open flat area where the melting snow had turned icy, and the sun’s bright glare blinded him for a moment. He lost sight of Gabrielle, made a slow turn to the right, and regained his sight just in time to realize that he had made the wrong turn and he was heading toward empty sky. Unable to stop quickly enough, he deliberately threw himself sideways. His bindings released, and his body rolled to a stop only inches away from a crevasse so deep he could not see the bottom of it.

He heard Gabrielle’s voice behind him. He turned back and saw her struggling uphill to reach him. He waved to let her know he was all right, but Gabrielle did not slow down. She called out to him, but the snow muffled her words. David again tried to signal that everything was fine. Then he looked to see how close he had come to the crevasse. He peered down its sheer white walls…

He fantasized he saw HER again, below him in the abyss. She beckoned him, "Come to me baby, baby, come on to me now, come, come." He reached out his hand to touch her, to hold her one last time…

Then he remembered Gabrielle’s words:"Vas sucht du dir aus, David? Vas sucht du dir aus?"

David turned back toward Gabrielle as his body teetered on the rim of the crevasse. He knew it would be so easy to fall, to allow himself to be swallowed up by the white light and the wicked grin, but he also knew, in that moment, that he did not want to let go. Knowing that made him smile. Not a big smile. Still, it can be said that he smiled. Then his smile turned to joyous laughter. He reached out to the onrushing Gabrielle. He grabbed her hand and held tightly. "You," he said, "I choose you."

Gabrielle wrapped her arms around David. She licked the sweat from his forehead. She kissed the salty tears on his cheeks. She held him up in the air and turned his face toward the sun. Then she lifted him onto her back and soared down the hill on her raven colord angel wings, down into the Kitzbühel valley away from the mountain, away from the endless snow.

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