Unlocking Her Chastity (Polar Bear, Alaska)

1

JACOB

I hate going into town, but sometimes you've just got to grin and bear it. Today is one of those times.

I'm out of coffee, and that's one of the few things I can't live without. I know, I'm supposed to be some burly-ass man living up here in Alaska. And sure, I've got a beard, the flannel shirt, and the axe to prove it, but there's a few things I just can't live without. Coffee is one of them.

I get most of my shit delivered to my P.O. box in town. I drive there as infrequently as possible to pick up whatever's left in my cubby. But there are some things – like coffee and cream – that I have to pick up at the grocery store. So today, I get in my giant-ass truck and leave my cabin.

I head down the mountain, Christmas music on – because I’m no Grinch – thinking it’s probably a good idea to see another human every so often. It's been a while since I've been in civilization. And considering it's a few weeks till Christmas, I could probably do with a bit of holiday cheer. Polar Bear, Alaska, may be the middle of bum fuck nowhere, but they do a few things right this time of year. There are trees decorated with ornaments, garlands strung across Main Street, and as I roll into town, I can’t help but smile. Memories, painful as they are, return to me, reminding me of happier times.

I’m Jacob Whitaker, a widower, and once a father, always a father. And now, seeing a kid go down a hill in a sled, a giant smile on their face, brings a smile to mine too.

Life's been hard. Hell, we can all relate to that, but I haven't let it define me. Most folks would think that, considering I live all by myself, I’m some bitter man in the woods. They probably think I'll be wrestling my demons till the day I die. But that's not the truth.

I simply moved up to Alaska after I lost my family – I didn’t have anything left for me in Oregon, and my little boy, Spencer, he loved polar bears. I figured I might feel him up here somehow, some way. And sometimes I do. I made the right call moving here, even if at times, it’s lonely.

I’m not trying to be some recluse. Life has just turned out that way. Now, if there was a woman to give me a second chance at happiness? I sure as hell would act on it.

I turn into the parking lot at the grocery store, get out of my red truck, and then grab a shopping cart. As I make my way down the aisles, I realize I’m hungry … and everything looks good.

How long has it been since I’ve been in town? A month? More?

I have an appetite, that’s for damn sure, and I begin filling my cart with eggs, butter, milk, cheese. All the dairy I can cram into that metal basket.