The Abominable Snow Woman

Since time immemorial, my kind have roamed the Himalayas, and much of the lands of Eurasia, as well as the forests and jungles of the Asian continent. Bigfoot, the Yeti, the Abominable Snowman, the humans have so many names for us. Some of those names are downright funny, others infuriate the hell out of me. Since we can't exactly go on CNN to correct those misconceptions, we have to grin and bear them. For the record, we call ourselves Sadan Töröl, it means Kindred in Mongolian...

Tales of gigantic, human-like creatures walking about in the wilderness abound in many cultures. Fortunately for my inhuman brethren, we've learned to hide in the last place where modern humans with their seemingly unlimited nosiness would think of looking for us. Thousands of us live throughout the vastness of Asia and beyond. In plain sight...

In fact, I've personally guided scores of men and women, from ordinary tourists hailing from the United States of America, Canada, Australia and the United Kingdom to cryptozoology enthusiasts and experts from The Discovery Channel on many a trail, right here in Mongolia, always on a search for mythological creatures. As always, they never find anything. Not even a gigantic footprint or a suspicious fur patch. Too bad for them, I guess.

Where would I be without tourists with deep pockets and ridiculous obsessions? Probably not living comfortably in a nice villa out here in the country. Seriously, I can't help but smile to myself as I take their money and basically lead them nowhere. They all want to see a Yeti, and they pay good money for it. It's the sweetest scam in the world. I'm in charge of finding myself, and I make sure I'm never found. Not bad for a steady job, eh?

The latest of these well-paying but foolish wanderers are a couple of Americans with deep pockets. One is a short, skinny white guy with red hair named Harold Rosenthal, formerly of Johannesburg, South Africa. The other is Omar Kensington, a graduate student from Howard University in Washington D.C. The six-foot-two, well-built and handsome young African-American Muslim scholar came to my village in the Ghorki-Terelj region of Mongolia with a most intriguing proposition, to say the least. Let's just say that he definitely wasn't what I expected...

"Miss Bagabandi, I firmly believe that the creatures that so many think are the stuff of myth exist among us today, what we call Abominable Snowmen are simply another type of humanoid, just like Homo Erectus and others, and if they're smart enough to stay away from modern humans, who can blame them? We are a savage species that kill our own over questions of color, nationality and religion," said the tall, well-dressed black gentleman, with a shake of his head.

"Please call me Mariam," I replied, and Omar Kensington smiled. When he looked at me, I didn't see the almost anthropological curiosity that I usually saw in the eyes of foreigners when they looked at me. It's something I've grown used to, for a variety of reasons. In the nation of Mongolia, most of the tour guides catering to tourists are men, and I am a woman. This definitely surprises many, as I can attest.

Indeed, when the American scholar first laid eyes on me, he bowed respectfully, instead of offering me a handshake, as is customary in western nations. Most people in Mongolia are Muslims, and I have followed the religion since my birth. Islam states that men and women who are unrelated should not touch. Americans and others tend to ignore or completely disregard social norms while in foreign lands, but not Mr. Kensington, something which peeked my interest.

By my own admission, I make for a rather unique woman. I'm six feet seven inches tall, somewhat on the heavyset side due to genetics, though I do lead an active lifestyle. My breasts are large, my hips are wide, my legs are thick, and while so have politely called me bodacious or Amazonian, I am akin to a giantess, and an anomaly in the eyes of most men.

"Mariam, I am a firm believer that nothing created by mother nature simply vanishes, I believe the creatures I mentioned earlier are intelligent, and have hidden themselves from humanity with good reason, I seek proof of their existence," Omar said enthusiastically, and he stroked his goateed chin. What is going on through this human's mind? I wondered.

I judged Omar to be handsome, from what I understood of human standards. Oh, and he also didn't reek of perfume like most human males I encountered these days. The scholar smelled of soap and water, and nothing else. This gladdens my heart. I can't tell you how much I hate perfumes. Seriously, those artificial smells irritate my superhuman senses. I leaned back on my custom-made chair, and thought long and hard before giving the man an answer. Before I could speak, however, Mr. Rosenthal interrupted our talk.

"Personally, if I see a big hairy ape up there, I'm shooting first and asking questions never," Rosenthal said, laughing, and I swear I saw Omar roll his eyes. I looked from one to the other, and noted what an odd pair they made. An African-American scholar with a Barack Obama button on his backpack, and a gun-loving white man from South Africa, traveling together in Mongolia. Strange bedfellows indeed, eh?

"Gentlemen, I do not guide people on hunting parties, only visits to carefully selected sites, if you seek to hunt wild game, perhaps you should contact one of those hunting companies, I'm sure you'll find their agents more suitable to your needs," I replied haughtily as I rose from my chair, glaring down at Rosenthal. The South African flinched and flashed me a fake smile.

"Ma'am, allow me to apologize for my colleague here, we are not hunters, this is a peaceful expedition," Omar said earnestly. I looked into his soulful brown eyes, and decided to take him at his word. Nodding, I sat back down, then laid the ground rules. There was no way I would lead these two anywhere if they didn't understand that on such journeys, the guide's word is quite often the difference between life and death for inexperienced tourists like them.

"Miss Bagabandi, I'm sorry for what I said, you know the lay of the land, this is your show," Rosenthal said through gritted teeth, and I gave him a chilly nod. We agreed to meet the next day to go over everything from supplies to topography, and then I wished them goodnight. This is going to be fun, I thought to myself as I watched the two of them go.

Just as I expected, Omar and Rosenthal were staying at the Gurkha Inn, the only motel in all of Ghorkhi. It's where all the rich, unsuspecting tourists go, and all the pickpockets, prostitutes and hustlers know it. I'd be surprised if Omar and Rosenthal had all their belongings when I met with them tomorrow. Oh, well. They already paid me...

We set out on horseback for the mountain range the following day. Omar and Rosenthal had done their homework, and their camping and climbing supplies were lightweight, but adequate. To my surprise, Omar was quite the horseman, riding his rented steed with a grace that his colleague Rosenthal, the cowboy-hat-wearing goon, definitely couldn't match. When I inquired about Omar's riding skills, he smiled at me.

"I learned to ride during summers at my aunt Cecilia's ranch near Amarillo, Texas," Omar said proudly, and he gently patted his steed, a rather tough yearling, and the horse calmed down. Rosenthal on the other hand was having a devil of a time with his rented mare, and I knew she was driven nuts by his perfume. I smiled to myself. When will those foreigners learn?

"Well, Mr. Omar, you should thank your aunt," I said with a smile, and amazingly, Omar winked at me. I nodded, and resumed focusing on the road. These dirt roads leading up the mountains date from the time of Genghis Khan, and they're not exactly well-maintained. My horse, a decade-old mare whom I affectionately call Shaitan, is tough and experienced. I could close my eyes as I ride her, for she knows this trail by heart...

"These woods are something else, I tell you, I've hunted in Vietnam and even Tibet but their wilderness is nothing like Mongolia's," Rosenthal said, and I rolled my eyes, bristling at the thought of this annoying creep wandering the world to hunt. It's not that I have something against hunting. I've hunted before, both in human form and in my other form, my true form. I don't kill for pleasure. I kill to feed, or to defend myself. That's all.

"Mongolia is unique, and unlike other countries, we don't hand out hunting licences like candy to foreigners," I said, trying to keep the edge out of my voice. I turned to look at Rosenthal, and he looked at me and said nothing. Omar looked from me to Rosenthal, and back at me. The expression on his, ahem, handsome face was unreadable.

Not for the first time I wondered why Omar Kensington was traveling with a fool like Rosenthal. From what I understand of western politics and culture, gun-loving middle-aged white guys aren't usually friends with men of Omar's color. Oh, well, whatever their true reasons for coming to Mongolia, I didn't care. I would take them to the Himalayas and back, and then forget about them. We continued up the road for a few hours, until we reached the woods. Night fell, and we made camp.

"This brings back memories of my Scout days," Omar said as he held his hands close to the fire, and I looked at him. I sat cross-legged, with a wolf's skin coat wrapped around my shoulders. Jeans, a T-shirt and boots plus a hunting knife, that's all I need to travel around these parts, but as a tour guide, I had to look the part. More than one westerner has objected to my having a fur coat. I usually tell them to shut up. Mongolians like myself live in harmony with nature, and don't hunt animals to extinction. Westerners go to Africa and Asia to hunt exotic animals, and lecture the rest of the world about animal rights. Such hypocrisy...

"Do tell," I replied as I added a couple more sticks to the fire, and Omar began telling us about his days with the Boy Scouts of America. While he spoke, Rosenthal cleaned his personal handgun, and toasted marsh mellows on the fire. The South African hadn't said much since we made camp, and this suited me just fine. Once again I wondered about his reasons for accompanying Omar on this trip, but I kept my suspicions to myself...

"One time we went camping in Bretton Woods, deep inside Mount Washington State Park, and I saw a fox caught in an illegal trap," Omar said, and he paused as he took a sip from his flask, and I looked at him expectantly. Rosenthal looked up from endlessly caressing his ( hopefully unloaded ) pistol, and I saw a flicker of interest in his steely blue eyes.

"Did you kill it?" Rosenthal asked, and I bristled at him but said nothing. Omar toasted a marsh mellow and took a bite out of it. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he looked from me to Rosenthal, and shook his head. Rosenthal spat on the ground, a gesture I found completely and utterly disgusting, but once again I maintained silence.

"No, I called our Scout Master, a Haitian dude named Chief Michel, and he set it free after tending to its leg, the old dude used to be a veterinarian back in his country," Omar said with a smile, and relief washed over me in an awesome way while Rosenthal shook his head, apparently disgusted or disappointed by Omar's kind gesture. I looked at Omar with newfound respect. My people have always been a go-between in this realm, existing between man and beast. Nature and its wonders are sacred, under our protection.

"You're a good man Omar," I said, and I gently laid my hand on his arm. Omar looked at me, smiled and nodded. Rosenthal mumbled something that sounded like 'goodnight' and then went into his tent. Omar and I sat near the fire, and I found myself relaxing. All the tension caused by Rosenthal's bothersome presence left me. I felt at ease with this human, for some reason.

"So, Mariam, tell me a little about yourself, if you don't mind," Omar said, a sly smile on his face. I returned his smile, and, for reasons I can't explain, I drew closer to him. Like I said, I felt comfortable around Omar. In all my years, I'd never met a human who respected the animals or loved the woods as much as I did. There was something almost Kindred-like about him, though of course, that was impossible since he's human and I'm not. Weird, eh?

"Well, not much to tell, I was born here in Ghorkhi National Park, and my father Rafiq Bagabandi is a war veteran, so he was kind of strict and traditional in how he raised my siblings and myself," I said, and Omar nodded. To be honest, I surprised myself by opening up to this human. When you are who and what I am, a monster hiding in plain sight among xenophobic humans, you learn that discretion is necessary for survival.

I didn't tell Omar that my father Rafiq fought against the Chinese in 1948 when they invaded the Mongolian People's Republic after a border dispute. My kind possess extreme longevity. These days, my father lives in the City of Erdenet, with my brother Bayar and my sister Bolormaa. They prefer to live in the metropolis, and run a small restaurant together. Me? I'm a wilderness woman through and true. When I'm far from the wild, I miss it. City life isn't for me...

"Well, Mariam, your father Mr. Rafiq raised a strong woman," Omar said, and he took a marsh mellow and offered it to me. I nodded and took it from him, and as I did, Omar's hand brushed against mine. I blinked nervously. Typically, when I touch a human, it causes something akin to revulsion in me. While my kind aren't psychic, we are highly sensitive, and the darkness of others souls is often detectable to us. We avoid touching humans for this and many other reasons...

"Oh I'm sorry," I muttered as I fumbled for words, and Omar looked at me, and there was a spooked softness in his soulful brown eyes. Omar gently touched my hand and nodded, but said nothing. When his skin made contact with mine, the instinctive revulsion I expected from contact with a member of Homo Sapiens didn't come. Instead, I found myself smiling.

"Nothing to be sorry about, Mariam, it's my fault," Omar said as he drew closer. Suddenly his handsome face was inches from mine. For reasons that mystified me at the time, I drew closer to him. Omar looked into my eyes and I looked into his. Without another word, he took my face in his hands, and his eyes bore into mine, as though he could see into my soul. And then he kissed me.

Stunned by Omar's gesture, I nevertheless kissed him back. There was such passion in Omar. Doesn't explain how I found myself embracing him with an urgency that surprised me. We tumbled on the cold grass, rolling around on the freshly fallen snow, and I found myself on top of him, straddling this human male whom I barely knew, and everything in me ached for him...

"You're unlike any man I've ever known," I said to Omar, and he looked at me, a look of pure wonder on his face. As his hands tentatively stroked my face, he smiled and told me how beautiful I was. And just like that, we began making love. The first time in my almost century-old existence that I made love to a human. Something I would have considered unfathomable mere days before...

"You're amazing," Omar whispered, and his hands caressed my breasts, and roamed all over my curvy body. I felt awkward as I eased out of my clothes and he did the same. Heedless of the cold, Omar and I indulged our passion. I looked at him, tall, dark-skinned, masculine and virile, a man from the other side of the world, a foreigner, yet, also a Kindred spirit. Drawing me into his arms, Omar kissed me once more.

"Oh," was all I could say, as I sat astride Omar, and felt his hardness underneath me. Tentatively, I reached for his manhood, which was both long and thick. Gently I stroked Omar's dick, and he sighed happily. I locked eyes with him, and he caressed my breasts, pinching the nipples. I looked at him...hungrily. It had been ages since I'd been made love to, and as a female, I've definitely got my needs. Without a word, I urged Omar to take me...

"Yes," I hissed, as Omar thrust his dick into me, and I rejoiced as he filled my womanhood. His strong hands went to my hips, and I began riding him. I never thought of making love to a human before, since I envisioned human males as wholly inadequate, and lacking in passion. I've certainly heard many human women complain about their mates in my village. Omar definitely disproved those misconceptions, as he bucked his hips, slamming his manhood into me, causing me to cry out in pleasure.

"Stop holding back, Mariam, and just let go," Omar urged me in that deep, sexy voice of his. I rode him hard, my breasts swaying this way and that. In spite of the cold, a fine sheen of sweat covered my forehead. Omar smacked my ample derriere as he fucked me. My vagina gripped his dick tightly, and he gritted his teeth as he took me to the edge of passion. Parts of me that hadn't known a male's touch in ages were proved, pleasured and wonderfully filled. I cried out happily, loving every moment of it...

"Don't stop," I half-pleaded, half-roared at Omar, as I finally let go, and he bucked his hips, slamming his dick even deeper inside of me. I collapsed in his arms, and he held me tight, his lips showering my face with kisses as he continued making love to me. I gave as good as I got, welcoming him inside of me. It's a rare male who can match a Kindred female's passion, that's for damn sure. Afterwards, Omar and I lay side by side in the snow, happy as can be...

"You are a most unique woman," Omar said, and he took my hand and brought it to his lips. I smiled, and then rose, walking about naked and unashamed as I tossed a few sticks on the fire, then looked about for my clothes. I'd discarded them in a haste, as you can imagine. Omar looked at me, and his eyes were filled with wonder. I smiled at him and shrugged.

"Thank you kindly," I replied softly, and Omar smiled and nodded. I'm a tall, heavyset woman, and more, in a world where I'll always be strange and awkward. Yet when I looked in Omar's eyes, what I saw pleased me. For he looked at me as though I were Venus or something. I went to him, and we kissed once more. That night, I slept in Omar's tent. It just seemed like the right thing to do...

When morning came, we resumed our trek. Fortunately, Omar and I woke up before Rosenthal. We acted natural, Omar and I, though if our glances and smiles tipped off Rosenthal about last night's events, the South African certainly didn't let on. As we got deeper and deeper into the woods, away from the known roads, I felt more and more at time. My species first came into being in such a place. The Asian wilderness is our home, we feel it in our bones.

"What's gotten into you, bro?" Rosenthal asked Omar, when we stopped for lunch in a clearing around midday. Omar shrugged and took a sip of his flask, then bit into the beef jerky he'd brought along. I quietly approved of his choice, and Omar smiled at me. I made a few sandwiches the previous day, and they were still good so I ate them. Rosenthal took a swig of whiskey, and I wrinkled my nose at the smell.

"Oh, nothing, just enjoying myself," Omar replied, and I took a piece of beef jerky from him, and he winked at me. Rosenthal looked at the two of us and smiled, and I frowned as I realized he'd pieced it all together. There was something unsettling about the man and although I didn't know what it was, everything in me urged me to be cautious around him.

"Well, Mr. Washington D.C. got himself some Mongolian booty, eh? Tell me, Mariam, is this something you offer to all of your clients?" Rosenthal said nastily, and I flinched, feeling my ire rise even as my heart winced at the insult. Omar rose and, moving much faster than I thought possible for an ordinary mortal, he got in Rosenthal's face.