2. Auburn Ski Camp: Introductions
I regard Thor incarnate standing before me. So, this is to be my new student? Remarkable!
I am fortunate that my erotic condition seems to be abating, somewhat. The passing embarrassment is eased by Mr. Chesney’s seeming appreciation of my situation. It is of interest that I see that he too has become aroused, possibly, by the sight of my being softly raped by Sebastian/Sabrina moments earlier.
So, I stand and offer my hand. He takes it graciously . . . and firmly. His grip is good! It is the grip of a practised skier for certain. I return in kind, though the teacher in me cannot resist pressing a challenge. I squeeze a little harder than he does assuring him that I am not at all the pretty boy pussy I may appear to be.
Men always underestimate me because of my looks, though my height often surprises them. I am 6’5”. As predicted, after rising to my full height, Mr. Chesney is also similarly surprised. He stands a fair 6’1” so it must be rather unusual for him to have to look up at someone to talk face to face.
“Hyvää päivää, Mr. Chesney. Good Afternoon!” I smile in greeting. It causes Mr. Chesney to blush. Awww!
“My name is Jusse Halla. Yes, I will be your cross-country ski instructor for the length of your stay here.” I make it something of a point here to pronounce my given first name ‘Yoosseyh’ so as to keep it correct, but I do not emphasise it. I do not want to put Mr. Chesney off at this our first meeting.
“Most just call me Snowflake as that is basically what I have been called all my life. Please take your ease, Mr. Chesney!” I chuckle a bit as I gesture to the sofa opposite. This seems to put him in a more settled mood.
” ‘Snowflake’ huh?” He asks with a slightly sarcastic tone. I sense a shift in our social positioning. He is regaining his, somewhat, dominant attitude. The one he must have walked in with. The one that has had little Jimmy mincing about in a daze behind the Concierge Desk ever since Mr. Chesney arrived and talked to him. Silly boy. His eyes have not left Mr. Chesney since that brief encounter. Jimmy is practically drooling!
I have to admit, Mr. Chesney’s machismo has a sexy edge to it that I do not get from a lot of the college boys that I usually have to put up with. His seems genuine. Like he could back up that strut up with some real action, not just talk. Very intriguing.
It is at this point that I notice that Sabrina is taking her leave. She gives me a quick hug and a kiss and nods a terse greeting at Chesney. She turns on her heal and makes a bee line back to the Concierge Desk where she is immediately accosted by Jimmy with a 1001 questions about my new student. Hehehehe!
I turn and see Mr. Chesney still has his eyes fixed on me and totally ignoring the masterpiece that is Sabrina’s ass. He is sitting back either admiring me or sizing me up or both.
I regain my seat. He tracks my every move with that penetrating wolf-like stare. Brian Chesney is indeed a predator. A real Top if ever I met one. I long ago picked him up on my . . . is it called ‘Gaydar’? Strange phrase though very apt.
“Yes. I was nicknamed ‘Lumihiutale’ back home. Most Americans find that impossible to pronounce so it basically translates as Snowflake.” I explain agreeably.
He regards me a second sucking on his teeth. I swear, any minute, he’ll be over and at me with my throat in his wolf-like jaws.
He responds with more tact than I though him capable of: “Seems legit. Seems appropriate for a ski instructor. I’m sure there’s a story behind it.” I am not sure if it is an invitation to reveal more about myself or if it is just him feigning interest out of politeness. In any case, I have a rule: ‘Quid Pro Quo. I tell you and you tell me’. That way we establish balance. As time goes on I learn more about my student so that I can help him or her. They are usually astonished with what I know about them at the end of their training.
That’s the way I like it. So . . .
“Oh, yes. But I should not bore you with it now. Perhaps another time. What about you? I know you are into cross-country and that you would like to learn more of the ‘Skate Style’. Are you interested in competing?”
“Yeah . . . maybe. If I learn good enough to do it. I’m pretty good, but I could be a lot better.” He says. Amazing mix of coyness, confidence, and humility. I think I like this guy though he is awfully cagey. I also sense a barb in there somewhere. Hehehehe!
“That is up to you, Mr. Chesney. If you have the talent and the ability and, most importantly, the drive then I can help you become a champion on the snow.” I say this without the least bit of vainglory. This I can do. I know how to do it. I have shaped champions before. Having been one, I know what it takes. I also know that ‘Yeah . . . maybe’ needs to change to ‘ Yeah . . . I will’.
Chesney looks at me with a mix of admiration and skepticism. I cannot blame him. I am an unknown entity. To him, I must have been a name pulled from a hat. But, I know who it was that set up our little ‘date’. It was, of course, Margery at Ski Vacations A Go-Go in San Francisco. Very cunning, that one. She read Mr. Chesney like an open book. I am not an easy referral. She insisted I meet this one. So, I am doing so now. She was correct. I cannot help but be attracted to this man . . . on many levels.
He is the ultimate American. Put him in chaps and a cowboy hat and he would be a plains hero saving the townsfolk from marauding bandits. Hmmm, chaps and a cowboy hat. Such ideas might make Sabrina jealous. Hehehe!
But more importantly, I see steel in his eyes. I see an echo of an old lineage. Explorers, pioneers, homesteaders, gold rushers, Union or Confederate soldiers, revolutionaries . . . Laplanders. Blonde hair does not lie. Somewhere at sometime, a Norseman gave him those genetics. It could be my job to awaken in Brian Chesney things about himself he never knew existed.
I will make him worthy to ski with me in the white lands of my birth and of his possible ancestry.
Chesney smiles a smile that squeezes my heart. Those bright perfect teeth behind succulent pink lips shine as laugh-lines, well used, crinkle around his cobalt eyes.
And in that uniquely terse American way that speaks volumes, Brian Chesney makes his commitment to me and to what would become his new vocation:
“Deal!” says he.
So, Snowflake, he’s like: “Yes. I was nicknamed ‘Lumihiutale’ back home. Most Americans find that impossible to pronounce so it basically translates as Snowflake.” Ok. I can’t even pronounce his given name right. I’m not even going to try Luma-whattie or whatever!
I get my mental chessboard out. Time to get him to give me an opening into what I’m dealing with here: “Seems legit. Seems appropriate for a ski instructor. I’m sure there’s a story behind it.” I open the door up so he can start to spill. Maybe, I can own him if he talks too much.
But, he turns it back on me: “Oh, yes. But I should not bore you with it now. Perhaps another time. What about you? I know you are into cross-country and that you would like to learn more of the ‘Skate Style’. Are you interested in competing?”
He gets my game and he moves his first pawn in an unexpected way. Usually, a guy can’t help but start blabbing about himself when I give him the open door. But, not this guy. I see by the slightly sly look to his pretty eyes that he realizes we’re in a mental wrestling match. He won’t just flip over on his back and show me his soft underbelly. We need to circle one another for a while.
It just makes me want him more!
Also, that strange accent of his gets to me. I can’t fucking place it. Its similar to a Norwegian guy I used to bang a couple of years ago. But it is more Russian than that. Its frigging hot!
I get out my Knight and put him on a black square:
“Yeah . . . maybe. If I learn good enough to do it. I’m pretty good, but I could be a lot better.”
Its a challenge. Subtle, but there. A lift of the lip to reveal my sharp canines but with a lick to my nose to show I am also friendly and willing to be open with my ‘dancing partner’.
Without a flinch. Without looking away. Without even so much as the tensing of his buttocks to tell me he’s dishing bullshit, Snowflake replies with even, perfect confidence:
“That’s up to you, Mr. Chesney. If you have the talent and the ability, and most importantly, the drive, I can help you become a champion on the snow.”
I am suddenly thrown for a loop!
He seems older than me now. More constant and assured. His confidence is infectious. It empowers me to seek a goal I wasn’t serious about before I walked into this building.
I am given to a deep feeling I had way back when I was a teenager playing real high school football for the first time. I didn’t like it. I did it because my dad wanted it. But, Coach Jansen made me want it and enjoy it, at least for the season he coached me. The other coaches were fucking useless after he left to teach college athletics. I dropped out of football shortly after despite becoming a rising star as a wide receiver.
It helped that Coach Jansen was hot as lava. He’s probably why I’ve had a special thing for big old ‘Swedes’ from the northern states ever since. He . . . was like the father my father could never be. One that could believe in me . . . and wasn’t ashamed.
Snowflake has the same charisma except more so. It’s like he knows exactly what he is going to do and what I am capable of. The only thing that could hold me back is my own desire and willingness to do whatever it takes to become the best there is at cross-country skiing . . .
. . . and it’s that charisma, more than anything else, that starts something in me.
I start to fall for Jusse “Snowflake” Halla right there like I’ve never done before with anyone else. He makes me feel . . . like I could be worth something!
So naturally I say to him:
“Deal,” and I let the corner of my mouth turn up. Actually, I can’t help it. The whole idea of spending as much time with ‘Coach Snowflake’ is suddenly the best thing I can think of. My half-smile serves to help me swallow this lump that has suddenly formed in my throat.
So, that Pawn he moved unexpectedly earlier. You know the one? It opened him up to get out his Queen and that Queen just came out and snatched up my Knight.
The chessboard is set. The game is afoot. Snowflake has control of everything! He is the Master here.
Somehow I’m on my back with my soft white belly exposed.
How did this happen?