Hutch harbors a secret fantasy but will it ever come true?
Originally published in the zine Nightlight, edited by April Valentine, in 1986.
In Northern Minnesota, quite near the Canadian border, lies a lake named Itasca. It is winter and there the snow falls. Sifting down, it silently surrounds a small cabin that sits upon the shore; it caresses the roof and kisses the window panes. Inside the cabin, amber light glows. Two men lie side by side in front of a fireplace; they are not clothed. The only witness is the snow.
One man turns to the other and says, “It makes me so happy to be here with you like this, Hutch. I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
“I’ve wanted you for so long. You know that?”
“I’ve wanted you, too.”
“Let me love you just this once. You don’t have to be afraid. Trust me?”
“I do, David, I do. It’s just that…”
“Shh. It’ll be all right. Relax. Just close your eyes and think about the snow.” With this man, David must use control, the spell must not be destroyed by impatience.
Long, slow kisses prepared Hutch, promised him everything. So gently and sensitively did David lead him in the dance of love, Hutch had no choice but to follow. With patient art, he crafted Hutch, taught him to want it, persuaded him to like it, convinced him to yield. David then took possession; the blond was his now.
“David! David! David!” He called out his lover’s name again and again as consuming white and freezing heat met and melted all crystalline resistance. And the snow? Driven. Snow as pure as true love. “Yes! Yes!” Your love. Driven to completion.
* * * * *
A blond man rests upon his bed of brass and weaves a fantasy of keen desire and togetherness; David lies unconscious and alone, hospitalized with massive wounds. Itasca offers cold comfort this afternoon, but no release. A swift and silent death, this climax is both chilling and succinct.
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