Henry and I typically take a trip to the mountains near the very end of winter. He skis; I watch. We hike some of the close trails. We hang out by the fire and drink spiked cider and hot chocolate one last time before spring arrives.
When we got to our usual vacation place, a hotel employee informed us the area was likely to have a late season blizzard after a front took an unexpected turn.
“You might get a few extra nights. Maybe even on the house,” the clerk said with a wink. “If it hits, you probably won’t get much skiing time.”
Henry put his arm around me and said, “We’ll find something to do.”
I was sure that was true. Our trips also usually involved a lot of fucking, and that’s exactly what happened when we got to our room. The long drive... Read more...