Kristen free porn video

Chapter One

It was a typical December afternoon in Minnesota. The sky was overcast and the gloomy clouds threatened to add to the foot of snow already on the ground. A chill wind whistled through the birch and fir trees outside my window. I looked out from my study onto the frozen surface of Loon Lake. I'd bought the house a dozen years ago with the proceeds from my first novel, and I owned all of the property around the rest of the tiny lake as well. It was a good location, far enough off the beaten path for solitude but not so far out that I missed out on the amenities to be found in Minneapolis.

A flash of color out on the lake caught my eye: A young woman was skating on the ice, moving gracefully back and forth across my field of view. She had long blonde hair and was wearing a black sweater and blue jeans. I didn't have a problem with the local kids coming to the lake and skating on the ice. This girl had probably been skating here since she was old enough to lace on a pair of skates. From a distance, she had the look of one of the descendents of the Norwegians and Swedes who had settled the state in the mid-nineteenth century. My only concern was about the thickness of the ice. I hadn't heard that the Town Council had declared the ice safe to skate on yet.

I continued to watch her skate as I pondered some plot concepts for a new novel. She spun and pirouetted with the natural grace of a ballet dancer. Her breath steamed in the frosty air, trailing behind her like a diaphanous scarf made of fog. She continued practicing her figures, arms and legs moving rhythmically. Then she seemed to hesitate for a moment, as if her skate had caught on something. I saw her stumble and fall to the ice, then disappear from my view. I watched for a moment but she did not reappear.

"Oh, shit!" I exclaimed, "She's fallen through the ice!"

I was already running as I said it. I grabbed my parka on the way out the front door and pulled it on as I ran. No time for the rubber boots. I fumbled with the zipper of the parka, then pulled on my gloves. I took a quick look around, saw a large branch that had broken off a tree during an ice storm a couple of weeks before. I ran to the branch and picked it up, then continued running down to the icy lake.

I could see the hole in the ice about fifty feet out onto the lake. The water was about nine feet deep there. I saw the girl struggling to keep her head above the dark water. I slid out onto the ice, using the branch to keep my balance as best I could. I saw her gloved hands scrambling on the edge of the broken ice, trying to get a handhold.

"Hold on! I'm coming!" I yelled as I ran towards her.

"Help me! I fell in!" she screamed, splashing in the water as she tried to pull herself out.

"Hang on! Don't panic! I'm almost there," I yelled again, sliding across the ice as fast as I dared. In a few seconds, I was almost to the hole in the ice. I pushed the end of the branch toward her and yelled, "Grab the branch and I'll pull you out!"

She tried to catch the end of the branch but it slipped away from her. Then she tried again, caught it and held on for dear life. "I've got it!" she cried. "Pull me out!"

I set my feet as best I could on the slippery surface and pulled back on the branch. Slowly, her upper torso slid across the broken edge of the ice, then her hips and legs followed.

"Don't try to get up until I pull you back to more solid ice," I told her, pulling her backwards away from the hole in the ice. After a few more feet, however, her hands relaxed their grip on the branch. I could see that she was shivering and her teeth were chattering uncontrollably. Her face was a pale white and her lips were turning blue. I ran to her and scooped her up in my arms and carried her back to the house, running as fast as I could.

I laid her down on the the couch and ran to the telephone.

"911. What is your emergency?" the female voice on the line asked.

"My name is Dan Sutherland. I'm at 100 Loon Lake Road. A woman was skating on the lake and fell through the ice. I managed to pull her out. I think you need to send an ambulance."

"Okay, Mr. Sutherland. I am dispatching an ambulance to your location. What is her condition? How long was she in the water?" the dispatcher asked.

"She was only in the water a few minutes," I replied. "She's unconscious, shivering and her teeth are chattering. Her skin is pale and her lips are kind of bluish. She seems to be breathing okay."

"You'll need to get her out of her wet clothes and get her warmed up, Mr. Sutherland. It will take our ambulance about twenty minutes to get there. Take her wet clothes off and wrap her up in as many blankets as you can find."

"But I don't even know this woman!" I objected.

"If she stays in her cold, wet clothes, she runs the risk of pneumonia," the dispatcher said bluntly.

"Okay," I answered. "Anything else?"

"Yes," the dispatcher replied. "Check her hands and feet for frostbite. If you see whitish patches on them, don't rub them. Otherwise, you need to rub her feet and hands to get the blood circulation flowing."

"Got it," I told her. "I'll be waiting for the ambulance."

I hung up the phone and went to the closet for a towel and then grabbed the extra blankets and spread them out on my bed, one on top of the other. Then I went back to the shivering blonde-haired woman on the couch. She was still unconscious, but she was breathing fine. She was pretty in a bland, clean-cut sort of way, the type of girl you see by the hundreds at the Mall of America, although her water-smeared mascara ruined the effect. Her eyebrows and eyelashes were blonde, so her hair color was apparently natural. She looked to be in her late teens. I unlaced her skates and pulled them off, and then pulled off her gray wool socks and her black leather gloves. I quickly inspected her hands and feet and was relieved to see no signs of frostbite. Then I picked her up and carried her to the edge of the bed. I felt awkward about undressing this perfect stranger, but the dispatcher had made it clear that the wet clothes had to come off.

I reached underneath her and grabbed the bottom of the black sweater and pulled it up over her head and arms. Underneath, she wore a gray sweatshirt. I pulled it off, revealing a white sport bra. Next, I unzipped her skin-tight jeans and tugged them off. Underneath, she wore white bikini panties. This girl was a hardbody, perfect in the way that only a young woman who has never borne children can be. Both her bra and panties were soaked from her time in the water. They would have to come off. I rolled her over onto her stomach and unfastened her bra. Then I rolled her back onto her back and pulled the bra off. Her breasts were a pale, milky white and her nipples were red and hard from being in the icy water. Finally, I pulled her panties off, revealing a neatly trimmed blonde triangle. I quickly dried her off as best I could with the towel. Then I picked her up again and placed her on the edge of the blankets, reached under her and rolled her up in them like a burrito.

I started to work massaging her feet. They felt like blocks of ice. I rubbed them for a couple of minutes until they started to warm up and more color came back into them. I tucked her feet inside the blankets and moved my attention to her hands. She had long, slender fingers, and I rubbed first one hand, then the other. I noticed that she wasn't wearing any jewelry. Soon her hands were warmed up as well. I put them back inside the blankets, then went to the bathroom and brought back a towel to dry her hair. I sat her up and toweled her hair off.

Who was this young woman? I looked through her pockets but found no identification. Then I had an idea. I grabbed my parka and went back outside and looked along the edge of the lake to where it met the road. Sure enough, there was a bright red canvas bag by the edge of the road. I trotted over to it, my breath steaming, and picked it up along with the white boots and pink quilted Gore-Tex jacket next to it, then ran back to the house.

Inside the bag was a sweat suit and another pair of wool socks, and a wallet. I opened the wallet and found her Minnesota driver's license.

"Kristen Lund," I read aloud. "Born 5/12/82." That would make her eighteen. I noted the address, then went to the phone directory and looked through the Lunds for one that matched the address on the driver's license. Ah, there it was: Erik and Julia Lund. I jotted the number down, then called it but only got an answering machine.

"It's three-fifteen. My name is Dan Sutherland," I told the machine. "Kristen fell through the ice at Loon Lake but I managed to pull her out; I think she will be okay. I called 911 and they are sending an ambulance. I will call you again once I find out to which hospital they are taking her. My number is 555-9012, if you get this message before I call you back."

I had just finished the message when I heard the sirens of the ambulance approaching. I checked on Kristen, who was still out of it. I went to the front door and greeted the EMTs as they entered.

"Her name is Kristen Lund," I told them. "Here's her address and phone number. To which hospital will you be taking her?" I asked.

"Hennepin County Medical Center," one of the EMTs replied. They unwrapped Kristen and gave her a quick examination, then, satisfied that her condition was stable, they rolled her back up in the blankets and placed her on a gurney, then took her out to the ambulance.

"I'd like to come see her at the hospital and bring her things to her," I told the EMT as they were preparing to leave.

"That will be fine," the EMT replied.

"Okay, then I'll be down there in about an hour or so," I said.

I watched the ambulance crunch its way along the snowy road, then went back inside to call the Lund's number again. I left another message, telling them that their daughter had been taken to Hennepin County Medical Center at about 3:20 p.m. Then I picked up Kristen's wet clothes, along with the bedspread, and tossed them in the clothes dryer. I looked at her skates, which were in pretty bad shape. The white leather wasn't really designed to be soaked in water for several minutes. I blotted them dry with a towel, then put them in the bag. When the clothes were dry, I folded them up and put them in the bag as well.

The drive into Minneapolis took forty-five minutes, not bad considering that I was having to battle rush hour traffic. My Ford Explorer handled the slippery roads like a champ, though. Four-wheel drive and snow chains will do that for you. I pulled into the hospital's parking lot and lucked into a spot in the front row of parking spaces. I scooped up Kristen's things and went in.

The receptionist was a stern-looking matronly woman with gray hair and deep frown lines around her mouth.

"Excuse me, can you tell me where I can find Miss Kristen Lund?" I asked. "The ambulance brought her in about an hour ago."

"Are you a family member?" the receptionist asked suspiciously.

"No, ma'am," I told her, "But I did pull her out of the lake when she fell through the ice. I brought her things in for her."

"Oh! That's who you are!" she said, an obviously unaccustomed smile threatening to crack her face. "Her parents are up in her room, number 224 on the second floor. They said that they wanted to talk to you when you came in. Go down that hall and take the elevator up to the second floor, then take the hall to your right."

Her directions were good enough that I didn't get lost. I walked down the hall to the elevator, then went down the hall to the right when the doors opened on the second floor. I could see a man and a woman standing in the hall outside of one of the doors. They turned toward me, smiling. The woman was a pretty blonde in her forties who bore a strong resemblance to Kristen. The man was graying, bearded, tall and heavy-set.

"Mr. Sutherland?" the man asked.

"Dan," I replied. "Mr. and Mrs. Lund, I presume?"

"Yes," he replied. "I'm Erik and this is my wife, Julia."

"How is Kristen? I brought her things in for her," I said, handing the bag to Julia.

"The doctors say that she'll be alright," Erik answered. "We just want to thank you for what you did for her. Nothing we can say or do is adequate to tell you how grateful we are to you for saving her life."

"She's a very lucky girl," I told them. "I just happened to be looking out of my window onto the lake when she fell through the ice. If I hadn't seen her, things could have turned out very differently."

"Well, Dan, I'm just glad you were there to be her guardian angel," Julia said, then she reached out and hugged me.

"I just did what anyone would do," I told her. "Is she awake?" I asked as Julia let me go.

"No, the doctors wanted her to sleep, so they have her under sedation," Erik answered.

"Well, when she wakes up, let her know that all of her things are there," I told him.

"Thank you again, Dan," Erik said, giving me a firm handshake. "We won't forget this."

"Oh, and tell Kristen that swimming season on Loon Lake doesn't usually start until late May. No more swimming in December!"

We all laughed.

"I'm going to head home," I told them. "I'm just glad that your daughter is going to be okay."

"Thank you again, Dan," Julia told me. She hugged me again, and then Erik surprised me with a bear-hug that I thought might break my ribs.

"Yes, thank you, Dan," he said, his voice choked with emotion.

"You're very welcome," I told them. I made my way back to the elevator, basking in the warmth of their gratitude. It's not every day that a guy gets the chance to be a hero.

Chapter Two

Late the next morning, I lingered over a cup of coffee as I sat in front of the computer, trying to piece together my next novel. I was still in the process of roughing in the characters and the plot. I'm a professional; don't try this at home, boys and girls. As I continued to work on the protagonist's motivations, my concentration was broken by a knock on the front door.

Curious as to who it might be, I went to the front door and looked out the window. I was surprised to see that it was Kristen, wearing blue jeans and her pink quilted Gore-Tex jacket, with a white scarf around her neck and a white knit cap and knee-high white snowboots to complete the ensemble. I had thought she'd still be in the hospital. The rosy glow of her cheeks from the frosty air seemed to say that she was healthy. I opened the door and said, "Good morning, Kristen."

"Good morning, Mr. Sutherland," she said, smiling a bit shyly. Her voice was a rich, warm contralto. I realized that the only time I had heard her voice before was when she was screaming for help.

"You can call me Dan," I told her.

"Okay, Dan," she replied. "May I come in?" She gazed at me seriously, her eyes a deep blue, the color of the summer sky.

"Of course," I told her. She kicked the snow off her boots and came inside. "Would you like a cup of coffee?" I asked, closing the door behind her.

"I don't want to put you out," she said with a slight frown.

"Oh, it's no problem," I told her. "I just brewed a fresh pot half an hour ago. Cream and sugar?"

"A little of each please," she replied. I motioned her toward a chair in the living room, then went to the kitchen to get her coffee. I returned to find her looking around the living room.

"Here's your coffee," I told her, handing her the mug.

"Thank you," she said. Then she pointed at a fading picture on the wall and asked, "Your wife?"

"No," I answered in a level tone. "She might have been, but things didn't work out. Her name's Ann. She's an archaeologist. Last I heard, she was somewhere in Asia Minor doing an excavation. We're still friends, but we haven't been involved with each other for... Years."

"Ah," she said. She paused, then continued, "So, do you live all alone here?"

"Yes," I replied. To change the subject, I said, "You know, I was kind of surprised to see you this morning. I figured you'd still be at the hospital."

"They kept me overnight for observation," she told me. "They really didn't want to let me go this morning, either, but I felt fine and I insisted. And after I went home and cleaned up, I wanted to come over here and thank you personally for what you did for me yesterday."

"You're very welcome, Kristen," I said.

"I haven't thanked you yet," she said. She stood up and unzipped her jacket and tossed in on the chair. She wore a red-and-black plaid flannel shirt over her jeans. She walked over to me, looked me in the eyes and said, "This is my 'thank you'," and then she put her arms around me and kissed me passionately on the lips.

Needless to say, I was totally in shock. Her lips were warm and hungry, and the kiss seemed to promise a lot more. For a moment, I reacted, kissing her back. Then I realized what I was doing and pulled away from her lips, feeling like a heel.

"Stop, Kristen!" I said. "This is wrong. You don't even know me!"

A flurry of emotions raced across her face: Surprise, hurt, disappointment. Then she composed herself, her face carefully neutral.

"You don't want me?" she asked in a small voice.

"Kristen..." I said, trailing off, trying to think of what to say to her. "It's not that. You're very desirable. You are every man's dream. But you don't know me, and I don't know you. Besides, you had a very traumatic experience yesterday. It's natural for you to have a... fixation on me, after what happened. But it would be wrong for me to take advantage of your upset emotional state. And besides that, I'm twice your age."

"So?" she said. "What does age have to do with anything? I'm an adult and I can make my own decisions. And you wouldn't be taking advantage of me. I wanted to do this -- want to do it. You are a good-looking man and you saved my life! All I'm offering you is a proper hero's reward."

"Couldn't you just give me a thank-you card?" I asked.

Kristen chuckled. "I can't believe you're turning me down," she said incredulously. A sudden look of suspicion on her face, followed by, "You're not gay, are you?"

"Not hardly," I replied. "That kiss was not the kind you'd get back from a gay man!"

"True," she admitted. "I almost had you for a minute." She smiled and the temperature in the room went up five degrees.

"What makes you think that sex is a hero's reward?" I asked her.

"Oh, come on!" she said. "Why do you think the birth rate skyrocketed at the end of World War II? All those heroic soldiers and sailors coming home, all those breathless wives and sweethearts just aching to reward those heroes properly. It's always been that way. And it always will be. We women love heroes, and we love to love them. And you're MY hero, but you won't let me do this little thing to reward you..."

"Kristen, it may be a little thing to you, but it's a big thing to me. Besides, what makes you think I don't have a girlfriend?" I asked her.

"Dan, this place is totally 'Guyville'," she told me. "There's no woman's touch to the place at all."

I looked around and realized that she was right. My cabin was functional in a spartan sort of way, but Martha Stewart didn't have to worry about any competition from me.

"Okay," I said. "That's true. But surely a girl as pretty as you already has a boyfriend."

"I'm between boyfriends right now," she replied, batting her eyelashes outrageously at me. "But I might have a new candidate."

"I thought this was just supposed to be a tumble," I said.

"It was," she admitted. "It was. I was going to give you a day to remember..."

"And it has been," I told her.

"You ain't seen nothin' yet, mister," she replied.

"You still don't know me," I told her. "I could be a real creep for all you know."

"No," she replied. "You couldn't. You saved my life. And now you're refusing to do something that you think might be wrong, even though I wouldn't mind if you did it. And I know you must be tempted. So I know a lot about you, Dan. And the more I find out, the more I like you." She smiled again, dazzling me like brilliant sunlight on snow.

"You realize that I would have tried to save anyone who fell through that ice?" I asked her. "Whether you had been a child or a man or whatever. And I'm sure any decent person would have done the same thing. So it really had nothing to do with you personally. But I am very glad that I was looking out my window when you fell through the ice, and very, very glad that I was able to help you."

"So what were you doing yesterday that made me so lucky?" she asked.

"Writing," I told her. "Or trying to write. I'm starting work on a new novel and was roughing in the characters and the plot. My study looks out over the lake. I find the view very soothing. I happened to look out and saw you skating. You're very graceful."

"Thank you!" she said, pleased at the compliment.

"You're welcome," I replied. "Anyway, I was watching you skate and then I saw you stumble and disappear, and I knew immediately what had happened."

"You were very brave," she told me seriously. "You could have fallen through the ice trying to rescue me."

"I knew that," I said, " but I couldn't just let you drown, could I?"

"No," she said, "You couldn't." She smiled again and my resolve was starting to waver.

She sipped her coffee, then asked, "What sort of novels do you write? Might I have read any of them?"

"It depends on whether you like romance novels," I replied. She nodded, so I continued, "Have you read anything by Terry Clarke?"

"Of course! I love her stories... Wait a minute! You're telling me that YOU'RE..." she trailed off, shocked.

"Nom de plume," I told her, looking at her with a grin. "A deliberately androgynous one. When I first started writing, my publisher loved the stories but didn't think that women would buy romance novels written by a man. So she suggested a feminine nom de plume. I went as far as androgynous. I drew the line at 'Penelope'."

"You're not kidding, are you?" Kristen asked.

"Nope," I said. "Come on, I'll show you some of my work." I led her back to my study and showed her the shelf lined with my first edition hardbacks. "Notice that there is no photograph in any of the books. The readers just assume that the author is a woman. And of course, I don't do book-signing tours, which is just as well. I'm comfortable here in the woods doing my writing. If I have to go farther than Minneapolis to get something, I don't really need it."

"This is just too much!" she said, leafing through one book after another.

"What about you, Kristen? What do you do?" I asked her.

"I'm studying at the University of Minnesota. This is my freshman year and I'm mainly getting the required courses out of the way. I'm planning on majoring in psychology, although that could change," she told me.

"I went to U of M a long, long time ago. That's where Ann and I met. She was mainly interested in history, anthropology, that sort of thing. For me, it was literature, creative writing, English composition." I paused, lost in memories. The silence stretched uncomfortably.

"So is that when she broke your heart?" Kristen asked.

"Actually, it was a little while after that, but that's the general time period," I told her. "When you're young, you think that everything will turn out fine and that love will last forever..."

"Gee, Gramps, thanks for the sage advice!" Kristen chirped impudently, then giggled.

"You young whippersnapper, I ought to turn you over my knee!" I cackled in my best imitation of a geezer.

"Oooo, Dan, I might even let you!" she cooed. She stopped laughing and looked deep into my eyes.

"Where is this leading?" I wanted to know.

"Well, I'm hoping it's going to lead to a first date," she said.

"What would your parents think about you going out with a man twice your age?" I asked.

"Dan, you saved my life. You are GOLD to them right now. They've never made an issue of any of the other guys I chose to date, no matter how much they didn't care for them... And there were a few that they didn't care for. But they knew that I was going to do what I was going to do. And they knew enough psychology to not say anything. Eventually, I figure out my mistakes. If you're a mistake, they'll let me make it, and they'll be there for me afterwards. But I don't think you are a mistake." She paused for a second, then folder her arms across her chest and said, "Well?"

"Miss Lund," I said in a formal voice, "Would you like to go out with me tonight?"

"I'd be delighted, Mister Sutherland," she replied, eyes shining.

"What would you like to do?" I asked.

"I'm easy," she said. "Well, not EASY, but not hard to please, either. Dinner and dancing might be fun."

"Hmmm, what about Mezzaluna? Have you ever been there?" I asked.

"No, but I've heard the food is really good there. Pick me up around seven?" she asked.

"Seven o'clock it is. I'll call for reservations," I told her.

"Great!" she said. "Tonight, you're mine."

"Maybe if you play your cards right," I answered.

She grinned, then said, "I usually get what I want in the end. You can fight it all you want and it won't make any difference in the end."

"We'll see," I told her. She finished her coffee, got to her feet and put her jacket back on. Then she gave me a big hug and a kiss on the cheek.

" I have to go now, but don't think that you're getting rid of me. I'll see you tonight, Dan. Do you know where my parents' house is?" she asked.

"No," I said.

"Down the road, right on Minnetonka Avenue, left on Larkspur to 2115," she said. "It's not far at all. It's the white house with green shutters on the left side. I'll see you tonight." She kissed me again, brushing her lips across mine, then smiled and walked out the door.

Chapter Three

I called Mezzaluna and made reservations for 7:45. I spent the rest of the afternoon in front of the computer, lost in a haze. My brain was fogged by images of the beautiful young woman who had just left. I couldn't get her out of my mind. All I could see was her face, her eyes, her smile. I knew that it wasn't right. She was so much younger than me, and yet, I couldn't help but want her. If I could have designed the perfect woman for me, she would have looked just like Kristen. I didn't have a prayer of writing anything, of course. The screensaver came on the computer, lights and sounds played as my thoughts focused only on the evening to come.

I started getting ready around 6:30. I'm normally a jeans-and-flannel-shirt kind of guy. I'm into comfort. But the Mezzaluna is a ritzy place and certain standards of decorum are expected. I showered and shaved, making sure that my face was baby-smooth. I put on my navy pinstriped suit and a red paisley tie, then my khaki overcoat, and headed out the door. I arrived at the Lunds' house at exactly 7:00 p.m. I rang the bell and Mrs. Lund answered.

"Good evening, Julia," I said.

"Good evening, Dan," she replied with a smile. "Here to pick up Kristen?"

"Yes," I replied. I wanted to blurt out that it was all Kristen's idea, that I wasn't some sort of monster who would take advantage of a young woman's jangled emotions, but I couldn't. I wanted to go out with Kristen. I wanted to spend time with her. I wanted to hear her voice. I wanted to run my fingers through her long, blonde hair, to caress her face, to kiss her...

"Ah, there you are!" I heard Kristen say as she swept down the stairs, a vision of loveliness in a short black dress that showed off her legs to great effect. She turned the full force of her smile on me and I felt myself melting like a snowman in July. I smiled back at her, and I could feel the brains draining right out of my head. I felt like a fool, and yet if I could be her fool, that would be fine with me. She reached the foot of the stairs, took my hand in hers and looked deep into my eyes, her smile widening. She had me and she knew it. She took her coat from a hook by the door and put it on, ready to brave the chill of the outdoors.

We said our good-nights to her parents and then we walked out to my Explorer, hand in hand. I opened the passenger side door for her, then walked around to the driver's side and got in. Sensible girl, Kristen had already buckled up by the time I sat down in the driver's seat. I buckled my seat belt, fired up the SUV and we were off. The roads were in pretty good shape, so we made it to Mezzaluna with time to spare.

I walked around to the passenger side of the Explorer and opened the door for her. She smiled at me and took my hand. I helped her out of the SUV and we walked into the restaurant arm in arm. I knew Steven, the maitre 'd, and he showed us to a nice table by the window. Kristen sat down and I followed. She eyed the menu a little apprehensively.

"Feel free to order anything you like, Kristen," I told her. "I want you to enjoy yourself."

"Okay, Dan," she told me. "I want steak, to keep my strength up... And I want YOU to have some oysters."