Garden of Idin

GARDEN of IDIN: Abduction: Untitled Part 1

Donald Talbot  pushed open the front door of the two-story cabin deep in the snow-covered hills known as Caribou—twenty miles west of Seward, Alaska.

The area wherein the cabin squatted could only be reached by snow-machines in the wintertime—or snowmobiles as they were more commonly referred to by those living in the Lower-48, and by all-terrain-vehicles in the summertime. the veracity of erudition was 

And where was everyone else?

Probably about three miles down the path that would eventually lead them up to the cabin.

Donald almost thirty years of age and, albeit dotingly, he wondered if he would ever grow up.

Showing-off From time to time wasn't beneath him, and when he saw the opportunity to raise some snow in an open meadow, pointing out the fact that his Artic Tigre' was in fact 100 CCs more powerful than the rest of the guys in the group, he punched the accelerator near 90 mph; leaving the group far behind in a flurry of cold white powder.

He could almost hear the approving squeals of excitement from the delightful young ladies that were to be the models on this little weekend expedition, and his mind wandered the path of fantasy.

Now inside, with the shadows dancing before him, the illumination from the lantern revealed the placement of four double beds—the larger beds were upstairs. Donald searched for the kindling box, so that he might have a fire going when the others arrived. He knew that this act of kindness and consideration would not be lost on the girls, and it might even make them take more notice of him.

Donald knew that selfless acts of kindness always made women take notice, or even... swoon.

(Is that so?) A small, still voice, chided inside Donald's head. (Then how come in almost thirty years you've only been laid twice?)

"Shut up," Donald said aloud. "I'm very particular with who I sleep with."

(You mean dream about fucking...what? Is it the cup-size that's been the problem? Not every woman can have a rack that you can see coming around the corner. Pussy is pussy!)

Silence for a moment, and then, (So what do you think?)

"What?"

(I said what do you think?)

"About what?"

(Not about "what", about "who".)

"Alright, "who" then?"

(Dude, you are thick. No wonder you don't get laid. What the fuck do you think about Melissa?)

"What?"

(What do you think her cup-size is? 38 double-d?)

"Will you just shut up."

(Prude. Hey, you're not gonna' blow your wad before you get her to moan, are you? Not like you did with that last smokin' fox? Babes sorta' tend to frown on that kinda' thing.)

"Could I help it? I was pent for fuck's sake! Damn, I wish you would shut up."

(Maybe if you whacked it a little more often than you do, you wouldn't be so pent.)

"What are you going on about? I whack it."

(Once a month maybe. Prudeboy)

"Drop dead."

(After you...)

The sound of thunder shook the two-story cabin and Donald surmised that the rest of the band had arrived. The fire was going nicely in the hearth, crackling and giving off warmth, Donald tossed two logs into the flames before he got up and headed for the door. He expected to hear the voices of young men and women outside, speaking excitedly, the girls remarking on how pretty the cabin looked under the light of the moon. He anticipated someone-probably Bobby, stepping heavily onto the porch and pushing open the door before Donald could even reach it.