Fate's Last Turn

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Chapter 22

By now, I had been in America for just over a month and was enjoying myself immensely, not least my secret assignations with the gorgeous Kathleen. She was quite amazing. Whenever Peter disappeared on an errand of some sort she took full advantage, spending an hour or so with me during which time she held nothing back, all over me with incredible passion and energy. Then, when we heard the sound of the old pick-up truck straining away up the road towards us signalling Peter’s return from wherever he had been, she was able to turn it off like a switch. Completely calm she would greet him cheerfully and go and put the kettle on as if nothing had happened at all. Meanwhile I would be feeling absolutely terrible like the worst sort of traitor, nervously doing my best to look busy and avoiding any sort of contact with Peter completely until I got my act back together. However, as soon as the next opportunity arose I found myself unable to resist it, relishing every forbidden moment before going through the whole sorry spectrum of emotions yet again.

Recreation aside, we’d all worked like navvies to get as much done outside as we could before the weather took a turn for the worse, and then suddenly it did. Typically, the road should have remained open from May until October, unless there was a high risk of an avalanche or there had been a rock fall in which case it could be closed for safety reasons. Despite some light snow, we were expecting a few more weeks before it got really bad. We woke up one morning and nothing seemed much different apart from the complete absence of any traffic passing on the highway outside our place. There were only a couple of cars as the morning passed which had travelled out from Macadam, filled up with gas and then turned back west towards town again. Mid morning I tuned in to listen to the local radio reports. It transpired that over night the road had become blocked about ten miles to the east of us after a heavy dumping of snow in the night.

Inevitably, around midday the heavy snow reached us. Not too dramatic to begin with, but a steady fall of big fat flakes that settled thickly, transforming our outlook from a scene from ‘Hansel and Gretel’ into one resembling a Christmas card. Fortunately we had completed the majority of the essential external repairs to the roofs, so after a quick discussion the decision was made to crack on with the internal refurbishment until the weather improved.

That same day, in the afternoon, anticipating that the conditions might worsen even more over the next few days Peter decided to take a trip into Macadam. We’d designed and ordered some new window shutters to be made at the wood yard. They were to be fitted to the chalet windows externally but we could get them weather proofed indoors before installing them. They were ready to be picked up and would be needed while we were shut down for the winter.

Donning his warmest top coat, Peter climbed into the truck to go and get them.

“Do you want me to come along and give you a hand to load up Peter?” I asked.

“Nein danke. I manage OK.” he replied cheerily.

Fair enough I thought to myself. Peter seemed to like working alone whenever the opportunity arose. It was probably his way of dealing with the three of us living and working in such close proximity in the same way that my early morning jaunts out into the forest was mine. Whatever, there was plenty for me to be getting on with. I had a new pane of glass to fit to one of the workshop windows which had cracked. The guys at the yard would be more than willing to help Peter load up. So, with a wave and an excruciating crunch of gears he was off.

Peter was a pretty good driver and well experienced in handling winter conditions back in Germany. However our old pick-up truck was not really up to the job. The decrepit old engine was in need of a good tune up and required plenty of gas to keep the revs up in order to stop it from cutting out. It made the smooth and gentle style of driving necessary to maintain control in the worsening conditions a bit more difficult to achieve. There was no four wheel drive and the tread on the tyres was worn down almost to the canvas. We didn’t have any suitable tyres in stock to replace them and hadn’t got around to ordering any, seemingly always having more important things to do.

As he carefully made his way down the road, the wheels were slipping and spinning on the fresh snow. There was hardly any grip at all. Just around the first bend, away from the Kirby place in the direction of town there was a steep decline where the old truck picked up a bit of unwanted extra speed. Not wanting to use the brakes too much, Peter selected a low gear and let the old girl proceed at her own natural rate while he concentrated on steering with one hand while constantly having to use the other to wipe condensation from the inside of the windscreen as it misted up. Unfortunately, at the bottom of the slope a substantial puddle of water had accumulated the day before. Overnight when the temperature plummeted it had frozen solid into deadly black ice now covered by a thin layer of snow. The truck hit the ice patch at a steady speed, not very fast but as the next curve approached and Peter, unaware of the treacherous surface beneath his wheels, gently touched the brake pedal to shave off a little speed. It was enough to induce a slide. The truck slewed but turning the wheel had no effect and neither did the tirade of creative language bursting from Peter’s lips. I’d never considered that the Germans possessed a sufficient variety of profanities in their language for such an angry race of people. However Peter had shown me the error of my thinking on more than one occasion.

“Du arschgefickter Hurensohn!” he shouted at the truck as he fought to regain control. “Dumme Schlampe!” he continued but to no avail.

The old heap just carried on snaking randomly and then headed in a straight line to the outside of the curve, refusing to respond to Peter’s efforts and gliding majestically off the road as if in slow motion. The two nearside wheels ended up in a shallow ditch and the truck bottomed out, coming to an abrupt halt. It was stuck fast.

Despite Peter’s best efforts, with one rear wheel spinning uselessly in thin air there wasn’t enough purchase from the other to pull the truck out in reverse. He swore a little more, got out angrily and inspected the damage. There was none to speak of. Rigged with a shackle the winch might have been able to pull the truck out of trouble but looking around Peter could see nothing within reach of the cable to attach it to, so he resigned himself to a cold and wet trek for a mile or so back to the workshop. The truck was going to need all three of us to muscle it back out onto the road.

I stood on our snowy drive and waved Peter off as he tentatively pulled out onto the icy highway. Kathleen came out to join me as the truck slowly rumbled away into the distance and eventually disappeared from view around the first bend. The moment it was out of sight she grabbed me and started mucking about, shrieking like a banshee. I lost my balance on the slippery snow and we both went down in a heap, laughing uncontrollably. I stuffed a handful of snow down her jumper and she shrieked even louder before giving me as good as she’d got. I ended up with an uncomfortable amount rammed down my combat trousers. After a minute or two of rolling around in the slush and ice like a pair of demented teenagers, of course things got more friendly. A lot more friendly. Despite the unbearably freezing cold liquid now sloshing about around my nether regions, I got an uncontrollable rush of lust. Any physical contact with Kathleen always had that effect on me instantly. It didn’t go unnoticed and she worked me up further, her hands all over me with lips glued to mine.

“I’d better get out of these wet things.” said Kathleen, murmuring the words sexily into my ear once she’d allowed me up for air. Her breath was hot and steamy, her voice husky. It had been a couple of days since our last sexual encounter and a couple of days seemed to be about the limit of how long she was prepared to go without.

“Me too,” I replied. “although I’m nearly out of mine already you bloody maniac.”

We helped each other up from the wet snow and, still embroiled in a lusty clinch we made our way into the house and through to the bedroom. It wasn’t long before we were completely engrossed in each other again with wet clothes strewn across the floor. The effect of our freezing cold roll in the snow outside only served to make my skin tingle and burn, enhancing my pleasure. Soon we were both bathed in the sweat of ecstasy. My climax was massive and Kathleen shrieked with excitement as I exploded inside her. So engrossed were we that neither of us heard Peter enter the house until the front door slammed shut and he shouted out.

“Kathleen, wo sind Sie! Will!”

By the time we heard him it was too late to do anything. Peter’s heavy footsteps were thudding down the corridor towards the bedroom. There had been no warning sound of the old truck approaching. I didn’t even have time to disentangle myself from the panic stricken Kathleen before the bedroom door was flung open and there he stood in the doorway. I froze, still inside her, then slowly turned my head towards the door. There was a look of incomprehension on Peter’s face which turned immediately to one of shock as realisation dawned. He paused for about two seconds to take in the bawdy scene, muttered something unintelligible under his breath and then shook his head before slamming the door shut on us.

“Shit!” we both said in unison.

No other words passed between us, none were necessary. I withdrew myself from her. Kathleen rolled over and buried her face into the pillows as I got off the bed and fumbled about, trying to regather my discarded wet clothes. Hopping around comically from one foot to the other I put them back on as quickly as I could. Easier said than done considering the size of my erection which was dissipating so very slowly despite the situation I found myself in. It crossed my mind that this would make a brilliant Brian Rix farce but I didn’t feel much like laughing. Once I had managed to regain some sort of composure I headed for the door to go and face the music.

The instant that I opened the bedroom door Peter hurled a punch, hard and straight towards my face. Despite being caught totally by surprise my reflexes were quick enough for me to turn my head away slightly as the punch connected, deflecting the blow and thus avoiding a broken nose but I received a right wallop on the side of my hooter all the same. Blood gushed from my nostrils in a flood but I fought the inclination to go down and curl into a ball. Instead my fighting instincts kicked in immediately. I ducked into a crouch, elbows tucked in tightly to my ribs and clenched fists raised to protect my head from further punishment. Peter was a big man but no brawler whereas I had endured quite a rough upbringing, seen my fair share of combat in the army and I’d boxed since the age of nine. I weaved from the waist and avoided Peter’s next wild swing which whistled harmlessly over my head and struck the door jamb with a thud. Peter grunted with pain then cursed angrily. I took the opportunity to throw a short, hard right into his midriff with all the power I could muster. I had no wish to seriously hurt Peter or to humiliate him further, none at all but I was acting in pure self defence and he was too big to take any liberties with. The air whistled from his lungs like steam from a pressure cooker and he sagged, bent double and gasped for breath. I grabbed his head with both my hands. The blood from my battered nose splashed onto his face as I pulled him up. If it had been a bar fight with some moron back in Germany, at this point I would probably have head-butted him but instead I just twisted him off balance. In the same movement I crooked my right leg behind his left and then threw him onto his back. He stayed down thankfully with all of the fight knocked out of him, still wheezing. It was all over in a matter of a few seconds. Keeping an eye on him to make sure he was finished I stepped around his crumpled body and made my way to the door, leaving the house quickly.

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