She is Fire and Ice

The mid-morning in Kiev was late at night in Vancouver and Nathan slipped from his bed, to dash for the toilet to urgently pee. As he relieved himself, the man recalled the previous twenty-four hours with the fire and ice redhead. It was as a year worth of weather compressed into one day. The summer tornadoes of lovemaking were in contrast to winter blizzards of rough sex. The autumn and spring were freeze-ups and thaws in between—spent in his catering to her whims like fire and ice.

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“Hey my calendar girl.” Nathan crawled under the thin sheet: his body had cooled and he felt her warmth before his skin even touched hers. My fire and ice redhead should love a hot versus cold sensation. He pressed his flesh fully against hers, and Jenny shot like sprung Jill-in-the-box out the far side of the bed: she disappeared into the bathroom.

“I have to go home.” The frosty lawyer stopped the door before it had closed. She blew a warm kiss—that floated amidst a flurry of snowflakes.

Nathan watched the automatic door-closer finish the job and felt a breeze from the air-conditioner on his uncovered thigh. It’s artificially chilled air in a mechanically locked room. Nathan supposed Jenny’s heater was similarly man-made as opposed to being male-inspired. The cherry red electric coils only materialize when the hydro bills are all paid up.  All the more fire and ice!

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