Excerpt from "An occurrence at Woody Creek Bridge" from Transit of Venus
© 1993 Mark Seymour

An occurrence at Woody Creek Bridge

With thanks and apologies to Ambrose Bierce and Hunter S. Thompson

It was cold when he got off the plane, but then it had been nearly eighty when he'd left home. Last-minute work on the book had delayed his departure, and she'd decided to fly ahead to get the house open and running. They'd wanted a white Christmas, something you couldn't get in the islands; with the Rockies the obvious choice, here he was, freezing his ass off in tropical clothes, clambering down the stairs of the puddlejumper and running across the ramp to the gate. It'd been a long flight, first Miami and then Denver and then, on ever-smaller airplanes, Grand Junction and finally here, but all worth it once he'd find her waiting for him, that magical smile on her face.

She wasn't smiling, not when he first saw her, because the weather'd been getting worse and the plane was late. But a grin burst across her face as soon as she saw him shamble out of the darkness, the feathery snow a scrim of white on his dark shoulders. The strain of the flight seemed to seep out of his tired body at just the sight of her, her tanned skin set off deliciously by the sheepskin jacket she was wearing, her dark hair a sable hood trailing over her shoulders.

Edging forward between the welcoming families and the bedraggled passengers, she wasn't even within arm's reach when he dropped the big leather satchel and swung his hands out for her. Leaping into his arms, she buried her face in his neck, her legs and arms wrapped around him. He staggered a bit, recentering his weight, then stooped for the satchel before bulling his way through the heaving crowd to the safety of the telephone alcove across the passageway. There he could press her weight against the wall, leaving his hands free to clutch at her thighs, warm inside flannel-lined jeans, and her hair, wild with winter static and the wind, and her sweet face, glowing with the warmth of his kisses. She could only get out a word or two between their mouths' meeting, but it was enough. "I'm so..." Their lips slid wetly. "...happy you're..." Her tongue darted down his throat. "...here." His teeth bit her lip. "I missed..." Noses pressed flat, they each ground their mouths against the other. "...you so."

Pulling back to catch his breath, he gazed into her eyes, black and lustrous as the string of Malacca Straits pearls riding deep in his jacket pocket. They were to be the first Christmas present for her this year, and he could hardly keep himself from pulling them out right then and there. He'd wanted to see them fastened around her neck, with her sleek naked body illuminated by just the rosy light of the fireplace in the cabin, ever since he'd picked them up from the counter of the duty free store on his last trip. Trapping that secret behind a broad smile, he leaned forward and kissed her gently on the nose. "And I missed you." He chuckled, leaning in hard with his body. "I've had a hard-on since Denver."

"You nasty man!" She pushed him, her hands sliding on the melted snow staining his shirt, but her grin was back, teeth bright against her flushed skin. "Whatever am I going to do with you?"

"I certainly hope that you're going to take me up the hill, pour a decent whiskey into me, and then fuck my cold, tired brains out." His fingers tightened on her shoulders, her waist, the backs of her thighs, pressing home his point.

With a pointed finger in his chest, she eased him away from her and slid down off the stainless steel of the telephone cabinet. "Well, I did pick up some good stuff to drink in the village." The top of her head only came up to his eyes, so she had to look up to see his reaction when, after glancing around to make sure no one else was looking, she pulled open the throat of her jacket. "But what do you think this might mean, then?"

He looked down into the shadowed space between her hands, her slim fingertips tight in the woolly collar. There, sheltered by the curly white sheepskin, lay her breasts, held up as if for inspection by his favorite bra, its copper-colored silk clasping tits pink and warm and sweet as roasted apples. His mouth watered at the sight. "It means..." Looking back up into her anthracite eyes, he grinned, happy as any kid who finds his fondest wish under the tree on Christmas morning. "It means Santa obviously thinks I've been a good boy this year."

She chuckled, low and deep in her throat. "You've been a very good boy." Her wink came fast and sudden. "But I'm hoping you'll remember how to be a very bad boy later."

He had both of them and his gear in the car in minutes.