Hot Minnesota Sex Death

By M. R. Nesheim

Nede, a sexually reserved utopia, is shaken to its core by the loss of its moral and spiritual leaders, creating doubt and panic in its citizens. The fate of the town falls into the hands of two brothers, Oddmund a reclusive shut-in and the town's golden boy Inger who lacks both confidence and ambition. A mischievous presence returns as the town spirals into confusion and sexual chaos.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Mar 1, 2012
• ISBN: 9781620952511

Book preview

9781620952511

CHAPTER 1

F-dik E-dicked no. 1:  Under no circumstances are you to disturb the layer of ice that covers Lake Nede.

Flesh pressed against flesh woven together into a tapestry of limbs and curves that cast dancing shadows in the muted amber light of a tiny icehouse.  The naked bodies of man and woman glistened in the low light, creating long erotic lines flowing down and enhancing skin into a rich, warm tone.  Their curves grew, engaged in the rhythms and measured meter of the physical act of love, hoping to achieve a shared purity.  A small radio pumped ribald music rising and falling through tiny, powerful speakers invading the ears of the sweat-streaked combatants who harmonized with the music reverberating off the thin walls supported by loving gusts of wind, climbing along with the rhythm as nature's voyeuristic passions delighted in isolation. 

Breath escaped mouths symbiotically mingling with particles in the air that caught the sensual energy and reached out to other particles, stroking their minute features and swaying passionately in front of large, moist lips.  Fingertips cut through the swirling pools of microcosmic intimacy, reaching out for warmth and grasping smooth, silken curves.  The volume of love emanated from vocal chords and encompassed everything from the molecules in the air down to the unfrozen water deep beneath layers of ice, passing slowly against the bottom, gently heaving the mass of ice, allowing the elements a moment to entertain their passions and share in the warmth.  Wind passed through the branches of evergreen trees and rubbed against bark, stimulating more branches to reach out in the warm pulse of intimacy, beauty rolled across an icy canvas warming the soul as it passed around, over, beneath and through, speeding heartbeats and dilating minds.  A dark but familiar shadow passed deep down under the ice through the frigid water.

The icehouse sat on Lake Nede, frozen to unseen depths and bathed in the darkest part of a black night.  Amber light from a small lamp stretched out from a thin, rectangular window and over the barren, snow-covered ice as a slow, intermittent stream of snowflakes flitted through the narrow beams of light, which mingled with the amber light from another icehouse, sitting only a dozen feet away, but the darkness stretched the separation to eons.  A frigid wind caressed the sides of the icehouse as the music and rhythms from inside bounced the walls to life and gyrated against the air and snowflakes.  The warming vibrations that came from the depths of the walls curled the knots in the wood and peeled its paint.  The walls started to sink, as the warmth reverberating from the inside began to melt the top layer of ice.

Moving as one organism the man and the woman, known as Ole and Lena Ingersson, provided the epicenter of heat and energy.  The radio blared movements, tempo changes and solos building in ferocity while losing beauty.  The elements tried to warn them, to tell them of the dangers they rushed toward, but Ole and Lena could not hear them and would not have stopped if the warning had reached their ears.

The strong, feminine voice of the Old Man faded in over the music, barely audible.

A winter storm advisory has been issued for Lake Nede.  Straight-line winds, heavy snow and subzero temperatures will accompany the storm.  Anyone in the path of this storm is strongly advised to seek shelter until the storm has passed.

The voice faded back into the music, but Ole and Lena took no notice.  The rhythm of their combined shadow fell back and forth over the radio, spurring on the music's progress and energy.  Natural sound lost power to the music.  The growing intensity of breath that escaped from Ole and Lena became thunderous echoes inside the house and traveled to the extremities of the lake, muting everything in their path.  All natural pleasure dropped away as the vision of their beauty quickly faded before the eyes of the elements.

The voice faded over the music on the radio, both calming and stern, but again hardly audible.

The winter storm advisory remains in effect for Lake Nede.  Anyone in the path of the storm is advised to take shelter and stay indoors.  Get to a strong, well-built structure and stay away from windows as wind speeds can reach up to ninety miles an hour.  Again, get to shelter and stay...

But the growing thunder of the sexual concert overwhelmed the voice to a momentary whisper before snuffing it out entirely.

The warmth from the icehouse and the heat-generating man and woman inside melted more of the surface as the icehouse continued to sink into the ice and slush composing the top layer of the lake.

The landscape wanted to scream, but was unable to find a voice.

Listen!  You fools listen!

It cried silently under its icy sheath, then shrank back...falling as far from the imitations of love as possible.

Shadows cast by Ole and Lena split apart engaging themselves as much as each other.  The moans and groans grew more independent, losing their rhythmic devotion and gaining the separation of voice.  Their bodies, now slick with sweat, bucked at one another, losing their luster and companionship.  Intimacy deflated in the increasing chorus of growls and moans as the music continued to build toward crescendo.  The bodies of Ole and Lena punched and bumped against each other, violently turning on the other for their own chance at ecstasy and release, the air particles inside the icehouse released each other and tried to move away from the couple.  The ice beneath them melted away into slush.  Deeper layers of ice fled from underneath their feet.  But Ole and Lena paid no attention to the weakening and crackling ice, they plunged farther into their selves.

The dark shadow swam up toward the ice, creating desire and revulsion through the water's current.

Outside, the wind stopped its caress of the house and slowed its progress through the trees, the waves stopped lapping against the bottom of the ice, which drew away from under the icehouse leaving the lake naturally silent, overcome by the ranting libidos.

The voice cracked over the radio, heard only as a blip of static against the torrent of sound inside of the icehouse.

Get to a solid structure...take shelter...this is not a test...take shelter immediately...this is not a...

The word was not heard, not heeded.  The intensity of Ole against Lena and Lena against Ole built as they fumbled and clawed at the other's body, abrupt motions of hips ground into flesh as lips gave way to teeth, snarling and fuming at the other, manic for climax.  Their ugliness almost complete, waves of sadness and nausea coursed, nature retched, seeing the sorrow and confusion on its compiled faces as numbness grew, outstretched. 

Silence cast down on the exterior of the lake, nothing moved in the trees as the wind died down, everything stood still, except for the Nedians inside of the icehouses.  The ice thinned and cracked beneath them as the pool of slush expanded under their feet.

The dark shadow reached the bottom of the icepack and searched for a seam or crack in the ice.  It placed its hands on the bottom layer of ice, and it began to give way.

A new wind leveled down from the clouds and headed straight for the lake.  It lacked the gentleness of the previous wind, cackling a deep, morbid laugh.  It whipped across the arctic landscape leaving a trail of barren, icy white in its wake, twisting and swirling among the evergreens, laminating them with an oppressive icy skin, trampling down to the resort sitting on the shore of the lake and consuming everything in its path as though failure in its task would mean extinction.  The large, solid oak structure of the lodge, beautifully lit in a variety of ambers and oranges, tried to hold its ground against the onslaught of wind and snow.  But from the peaks of its roof down to the intricate, hand-carved double door at its entrance were soon covered with the mass of howling ice, extinguishing all light and life around the lodge.  The wind cackled and howled its way from the lodge and rolled down to the shore of the lake.  It bounced off of the shore and flew over the lake with no resistance, making its way straight for the icehouses in an avalanche of power and frozen steam.

Inside the icehouse Ole and Lena struggled for enough friction to achieve climax in a jumble of limbs and appendages, hammering their bodies against the exhausted pale ugliness of their partner's flesh, the supple, voluptuousness of their mutual attraction deflated, bound now to escape from each other through pleasure.  The ice melted into a growing pool of water mixed with slush beneath them.  The remaining ice weakened and crackled below the heavy limbs and sagging flesh.

The dark figure saw a crack reaching down from the surface.  It strained its muscles as it pushed against the bottom of the ice.

Ole and Lena reached out, thrusting and clawing at the pleasure just beyond them, they opened themselves to its coming.  The thinning ice cracked below their feet, sinking down into the water and slush.  As the warm light was upon them, the dark cold encompassed them, cackling as it blew over.  The ice let out a final crack before giving way.  All light and movement at Lake Nede stopped, as though the place ceased to exist and everything that used to be was perfectly preserved under a display case of ice.

The crack extended down to the bottom layer and split the ice in two, the dark figure pushed and pulled at the bottom layer of ice and soon created a gap large enough to squeeze through.  The dark figure clawed at the ice, climbing up while squeezing through the frozen depths.  Its long, powerful fingers caressed the sides of the ice as it went...melting, giving way.  The dark figure clawed its way upward, quickly and skillfully.  It reached up, finding the surface of the lake's icepack and pulled itself up.  The figure rose to its full height and looked around at the dark, icy tundra.  It smiled.  Mucus Adonis, the beautiful bastard, had returned.

CHAPTER 2

F-dik E-dicked no. 2:  You will follow the numbers on the Social Marquee and they will tell you your chance to achieve harmonium.  The higher the number the better chance for harmonium, numbers can be accumulated although numbers will lose their potency over time.  Numbers can also be traded, but risk lies inherent in traded numbers, as you will never know their quality until you act on them.  Under no circumstances are you to act on low numbers.  They will lead to frustration and an unquenchable fire.

Rays of sunlight crested over the twin hills of Nede as the sun rose from its nightly hibernation, casting warm, yellow fingers on the sparse, eastern hill.  A large, wooden chapel sat on an elevated pad of grass at the hill's center.  The grass ring, running in a two-foot swath around the chapel, like a moat, grew a brilliant, wild green, untouched by the layers of snow that covered the rest of the hill and the rest of Nede.  The stark, white chapel was the lone building on the barren hill.  Its steeple rose to the highest point in Nede and offered a rotating, cross-shaped shadow depending on the location of the sun in the sky.  The large, white, double doors at the front of the building opened out to a brown, pebbled path which turned to white once it passed the two-foot perimeter.  The path ran into a wide road, covered by a shell of snow and ice, free from the defilement of footprints.  The road followed the slope of the hill to the south then grooved into a long, serpentine curve that gradually ran into a roundabout and connected to another road branching to the south, which lead to the resort lodge of Lake Nede. 

Lake Nede rested below the eastern hill to the southwest.  The sun hit the long, frozen oval of the lake and patches of evergreens surrounding it.  The evergreen forest, starting between the roundabout and stretching to the north of the lake then extending down and surrounding the shores of its frigid waters, was full of tall, sturdy trees encased in rich, green pine needles and heavy coatings of ice and snow.  A section of trees had been cleared out at the northern tip of the icy oval and the resort, an oaken lodge made of sturdy timbers, sat tucked against the shore of the lake.  The warmth from the sun could not dent the solid mass of ice that extinguished the amber and orange lights illuminating the exterior of the lodge.  The sun glittered off of everything, making the resort bright, brilliant and crystallized but also lifeless.

The sunrise followed the road back north and turned west at the roundabout, bathing the slow serpentine curve all the way to the base of Nede's western hill with warmth.  The sun climbed the hill along the road and washed over the densely populated hill, rising over the residential district that stretched from the base of the hill nearly to its summit, but a slim ring of businesses sat between the residential district and the top of the hill.  The business ring abutted a ring of frozen road, encircling the town square at the top of the hill.  The square sat on a slightly elevated, flat protuberance, above the icy road and the sloping town.  A thick, white shell of snow covered everything on the western hill, giving way to only a select number of windows and the prominent oak doors on Nede's buildings. 

The citizens of Nede groggily mingled in front of a large white platform in the center of the town square.  Their heads bobbed and dove as they nodded their monotonous greetings to the backs of heads and fronts of faces.  The Nedians' voices offered a variety of pitches, timbres and tones, but they mirrored each other in the languid movements of early morning.  Snow crunched underfoot as Nedians wandered in and filled the open area in front of the platform, spreading energy from neighbor to neighbor and spurring the remnants of sleep into an enthusiasm for a shared atmosphere.

They gathered cheerfully in front of the platform, an outdoor stage that hovered just above the shoulders of the tallest Nedian, stopping in random patterns, as their mindless actions merged with a comfort only known by familiarity.  Stragglers ambled into position as the platform waited patiently with a large, white curtain, set as a backdrop to the stage and the podium sitting front and center, looking down on the heads of the Nedians.  It held the attention of the crowd as anticipation stirred in the eyes of the Nedians, knowing that futures and fortunes lingered behind the curtain, waiting for its daily unveiling.  Nature's beauty (warm amber sunlight bouncing off snowcaps and long, creeping icicles casting dazzling reflective spectrums into the air) averted not a single eye from the man-made constructs.  The last Nedian stopped moving and formed the collective mass of a congregation, all eyes trained on the platform and the podium on top of it.  The delicious, unknown fruits of imagination and expectation created an imaginary hum in the ears of the Nedians.

Copulation of Nede: 365

A pair of Nedians, clad in bright yellow parkas, climbed the steps on the side of the platform and strode to the podium, presenting themselves with an air of importance.  The idled, muffled voices hushed into an eager silence.  The parkas in the crowd matched the bright yellow of the two standing in front of them with nothing to distinguish one parka from the next in the swishing sea of yellow nylon.  Every Nedian wore a bulky parka that allowed for no individual shape; each was puffy and round, hiding the body features of the Nedians from the neck down to the lower thigh.  The parkas reacted to its owner's mood, changing colors to reflect a change in the owner's emotion.  Yellow was the color for happiness and contentment, red for anger, blue for sadness and apprehension, green for envy, purple for confusion, white for fear, black for wrath and orange for lust.  As long as anyone could remember, no parka had ever been any color but yellow.  Unconscious fidgeting accompanied nervous energy and vocalized the swishing tides forming a gentle backing chorus for the morning gathering.  The town of Nede, alive beneath its shell of ice, hummed along to the chorus. 

Sten E. Carlson, the town sheriff, stepped forward, rigid and starched.  The long, angular features of his face commanded attention and an equal amount of fear from the silent swaying mass.  His narrow, humorless eyes searched the crowd, looking for anyone out of step.  A slight breeze blew but Sten's short, cropped, gray hair obeyed only his will and stood up to the wind, which possessed a subtle voice that registered only on unconscious levels for the Nedians.  Sten brought a tight fist up to his mouth, covering it as he cleared his throat, causing the Nedians to jump and give him their undivided attention.

If you don't know, Ole and Lena are gone. said Sten.  The strength in his voice carried over the crowd with little need to use the full power of his lungs and vocal chords. 

On a little vacation, no doubt... added Conn Grarssmen, who stepped forward to join Sten at the podium.  Conn, a bulbous man whose body visibly giggled beneath the girth of his parka.  He bore fully fattened, rosy cheeks along with an infectious smile that stretched across the width of his face.  His eyes fluttered sleepily, half closed but fully alert and dancing with life in the crisp morning light.  His black hair, plastered against his skull, was motionless in the breeze.  He sidled up to Sten and looked out over the crowd.

Yes, they know that Conn.  I just told them.

A bit rushed, no doubt, no need to bark at them sheriff.

Anyway, what Mr. Mayor here is trying to say is that we will be taking over for Ole and Lena... said Sten as he threw a thumb in Conn's direction.

Just for today, no doubt.

Can I finish?

Oh...yes sheriff, by all means, carry on.

Ok, well that was it.  Conn will be taking you through the rest.

Mayor.

What?

The Mayor will be taking you through the rest, said Conn.

Isn't that what I said?

No sir, you said Conn.

What's the difference?

Nedians passed glances between each other...rolled eyes met awkward smiles as the tension between Conn and Sten filtered through the crowd.

Never mind, no doubt...anyway...yes.  I will be leading you through the devotional...

Keep your nose clean and remember what we are celebrating.  The Federation of Dedicated Integral Kinesis, that we all refer to as F-dik, is the reason this town has two hundred years to celebrate.  Ole and Lena, with the help of the Old Man, created F-dik shortly after they settled here.  That is our bedrock.  That keeps us grounded.  It is easy to take such things for granted, but we must not forget.  We celebrate this town, we celebrate Ole and Lena and we do so by acting in a manner fitting with our numbers and our E-dickeds.  I am sure you will live up to your name as Nedians.  I have faith in you just like Ole and Lena, the Old Man and even Conn, said Sten as he slapped Conn sharply on the back before moving back toward the white curtain at the back of the stage.

And I thought I was the one giving the devotional, no doubt, said Conn to a smattering of laughter from the Nedians.  Thank you, sheriff, for that pep talk, no doubt, and that history lesson, now if you will all follow along.

Conn felt his shoulder for damage as he centered his immense frame in front of the podium.  All eyes focused on Conn thankful the exchange between mayor and sheriff was over.

We gather this morning to give thanks to the Old Man for continued guidance and our opportunities for harmonium.  We know the Old Man will grant us high numbers when we are at our peak and ready for harmonium.  We must remain true and vigilant, no doubt, to F-dik.  We must know patience and our efforts will be rewarded ten-fold.  It is our public duty to remain faithful and keep our neighbors honest, no doubt.  If we don't, our good sheriff will have an awful lot to do.

Scattered laughter greeted the joke as many glanced back to Sten who did not find any humor and eyes diverted quickly back to Conn.

Now let us join together.

The Nedians bowed their heads in unison. 

F-dik is good, F-dik is sound, F-dik is strong, F-dik is hard, F-dik is wise, F-dik will lead us to happiness, we respect F-dik, chanted the crowd of Nedians as if they held one, thunderous voice.

The chanting eased through the layers of ice and down to the deep, brown cobblestone street of Nede.  The collective monotone of the voices lulled the cobblestones into a long, sleepy trance and elicited a low hum, a timbre that did not register with the Nedians. 

F-dik is good, F-dik is sound, F-dik is strong, F-dik is hard, F-dik is wise, F-dik will lead us to happiness, we respect F-dik.

Nede's cobblestones bucked gently against its ice shell, moving it slightly but too subtle for the Nedians to detect.  They found a rhythm as they swayed back and forth to the sound of their own voices.

F-dik is good, F-dik is sound, F-dik is strong, F-dik is hard, F-dik is wise, F-dik will lead us to happiness, we respect F-dik.

Conn raised his head before the others and soaked in the power that came with the welcomed submission of the Nedians, registering deeply with Conn, tickling his hunger for power and causing a ruddy smile to grow longer and longer across his face, while raising his chubby cheeks.  Sten snuck a glance and watched Conn drink in the silent submission of bowed heads and the long breath that followed the simultaneous, uniform chanting.  Conn looked back over his shoulder, but Sten had lowered his head, allowing Conn to bask in his inherited glory for another moment.

Heads began to rise and meet Conn's gaze.

I think we are ready, no doubt, to look to the Social Marquee and unveil today's numbers, said Conn.

Heads snapped up to the platform and the curtain behind Conn, who turned and nodded to Sten.  Sten grabbed a rope connected to the curtain.  He tugged on the rope as the mass of eyes tried to stare through the fabric, eager eyes, hungry and wanting.  The curtain fell revealing a large board.  The board listed the names of every citizen of Nede and awarded each name a number, which told each Nedian their chance of achieving harmonium.  Harmonium was the result of the physical act of love on a level that an orgasm could not reach.  When properly achieved the environment surrounding the participants would engage and become participants as well; mattresses buckled and bounced along with the Nedian's rhythms, the ground swayed and rocked below, the air caressed their flesh, movement carried sensual rhythms and melodies, enhancing the intensity of the Nedian's actions, climaxing to a release that was indescribable to the Nedian tongue.

Many eager eyes fell to the surface of the ice below their feet, dejected and disappointed.

The numbers are low.

The numbers are always low.  What did you expect?

There is always hope.

Just five?

Have faith the Old Man will give us big numbers when the time is right.

I suppose, I just wanted big numbers today...it's been a long time.

You'll get your numbers.

One couple, Fookahh and Fookoo Wahhmoo, saw their numbers, let out an excited yelp then ran out of the square, hand in hand.  The cobblestones followed the couple as far as they could travel underneath the icepack until they reached their limit then transferred their energies to the sidewalk, which followed the Wahhmoos out of the town square.  As the couple left the square, their parkas flashed bright orange.  They were off, over the hill and into a sensual sunrise.

They did.

Who?

The Wahhmoos.

The Wahhmoos?  Again?

Good for them.

Lucky lucks.

Their numbers are always big.

Devotion pays off.

How are they more devoted?

Chill out, your numbers will come.

Coming from someone whose numbers hit more often than anyone else.

You'll appreciate it more.

I better.

You will.

I'll trade you my five for your numbers tomorrow.

Throw in your numbers tomorrow and I'll think about it.

That's kinda steep.

Not if your numbers stay low.

You can always keep your numbers and maybe you'll get there.

You drive a hard bargain.

I have to watch out for my own.

Who doesn't?

I suppose we do.

No faith?

I have faith.  I like to augment it.

Spoken like a true believer.

We have our numbers, plenty of time for speculation, no doubt, we have our numbers and know what we have to do, or not do, no sir, just remember that traded numbers bring added risk with them.  You may think you have enough to reach harmonium, no doubt, but you never know the quality of traded numbers, no sir, just a friendly reminder, no doubt, I'm required to say so.  So let's get to it, remember F-dik and the Old Man, no doubt, now let's go out and have some fun.  The bicentennial is almost upon us.  We have a lot to do.  As usual all help will be greatly appreciated, no doubt, two hundred years is nothing to laugh at, no sir.  So let's show this town what we think of her.

Applause leapt up from the crowd and disappointment washed from their faces as they remembered the upcoming celebration.  Only the town, in its icy cocoon, bristled at Conn's words.  Unable to display its true beauty the town fell back from the ice and pouted, a celebration was not a celebration if thick sheets of ice and snow weighed down its best features; the luscious green grass, the beautiful red and brown cobblestone streets, the colorful array of flowers, splendid, unknown spectrums waiting to dazzle and tantalize the unexpected, even the deep browns and fertile blacks of Nede's soil was preserved perfectly under the thick icepack and away from the Nedians.  Plus Conn had no idea if the town had a gender at all let alone be able to identify it as either male or female.

The crowd dispersed, taking in a few fleeting glances at the Social Marquee and the new numbers before leaving.  Sten stood at the base of the Marquee, which hung prominently from a brick wall that connected two buildings and hid the only road running north from the twin hills.  The walled off street was caked with so much snow and ice, that even if the Nedians could see beyond the wall they would have trouble recognizing the road.  Sten studied the numbers.  He was the only one in town that took an active interest in other people's numbers.  He scanned the list of names and their corresponding numbers.  Sten stared long at the Marquee then pulled out a small, blue notebook and furiously wrote down the information.  His hand moved rapidly without taking his eyes off the Social Marquee. 

Message from the Vulgarities:

Boredom...terrible, terrible...boredom.  Nothing ever happens, the sun shines, the fleshpots behave (according to their numbers...always their damned numbers), our minds sit at the edge of oblivion, and they still do nothing to entertain us.  How can beings with free will and the ability to think for themselves do so little?  Practice the art of nothing over and over.  We get it.  You are chaste, little fleshpots.  You are clean and pure and will always be--it is clear.  Just do one thing, we ask one thing, a moment of pleasure that doesn't emanate from your stinking, flabby F-dik...anything but pleasure from a member that spews out nothing but banality.  Give us something we can sink our teeth into.  Please anything before we shrivel up and die out.

The town square bustled with activity as Nedians scurried over the icepack making preparations for the celebration.  They hung ornaments (many cylindrical protuberances aimed at the sky),