Best Hotwife Erotica Volume 4: Games of Chance by Boswell Ben & Wright Kenny & Butler Arnica & Sebastian Max & McCurran Kirsten

Author:Boswell, Ben & Wright, Kenny & Butler, Arnica & Sebastian, Max & McCurran, Kirsten
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-01-29T00:00:00+00:00

High Stakes

By Max Sebastian

You could totally blame it on climate change. Unless you’re one of those out-and-out whack jobs that denies what every scientist not on an oil company’s payroll says about climate change.

"You’re kidding me."

"Is closed."

Here we were, the four of us, stuck in the middle of the Slovakian Alps in clunky boots not made for walking, all clutching ski poles and skis optimistically as the rain kept on falling.

"But it’s going to open later, right? I mean, when the rain clears up."

"No. Is closed. No snow."

"But up there, at the top, there’s got to be some, right?"

"No. No snow. Is closed."

Jake was leading the negotiations with the one guy we’d found in the whole place who seemed to speak a word of English. And he really didn’t speak much more than a word. Jake was kind of our host, but also the one guy who had more than just elementary high school Spanish. However, here, Spanish was as alien to them as iced hazelnut macchiato or broadband Internet — and German was downright frowned upon.

All he could do was speak slowly and loudly in English, "You think it might open tomorrow? Thursday? The weekend?"

And the old man with the even older cigarette hanging off his lip merely shrugged and repeated his entire English vocabulary back at us:

"No. Is closed. No snow."

That was the extent of our interaction with the locals our whole week. Afterward, we trudged back to the chalet, past bars and restaurants and even grocery stores that were all closed like the ski lift, past houses and chalets that were equally lifeless, windows darkened or even boarded up.

"When you booked this, you did look to see if they ever have snow in these mountains?" Hanna said to Jake, and it wasn’t the first time the question had been put to him since we had dismounted the decrepit weekly airport shuttle bus the day before to discover green grass and mud all around us instead of dreamy white snow.

But we couldn’t spend the whole time blaming Jake. We’d all done our little bit of Internet research on the beautiful Slovakian Alps before agreeing to Jake’s suggestion of a low-low-low-price ski vacation to Europe. The year before, they’d had plenty of snow here.

There was one grocery store in the whole town we’d discovered open, though the three aisles of mostly canned goods hardly offered us the most diverse menu to cook up once we got back to the chalet that was to be our prison cell for the whole week. There were pistachio nuts and some kind of licorice-like substance to snack on. At least we wouldn’t starve.

The first couple of days, it proved something of an activity for us to try and come up with some kind of recipes with which to keep ourselves fed all week without getting sick.

There were precious few other activities available to help us pass the time until that goddamn airport shuttle bus returned. Conversation only went so far. Television was all

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