Always the Rain

by Joan H

She is standing on bare hardwood in the middle of the “great room” of a

summer cottage. Her cottage, overlooking the salt marsh and the river.

She shivers, though it is the middle of summer. She feels hot and

clammy, her bare feet sticking to the polished wood. And something is

wrong. She senses the wrongness, she is almost conscious of it.

In front of her stands a stranger, yet he is not wrong. He seems

familiar, as if she should know his name but can’t quite get it out of

her mouth.

It’s the silence. The silence is wrong.

He stands before her, his hair dripping rainwater. The rainwater runs

in little rivulets down his cheeks - a drop hangs in mute suspension

from the tip of his nose. Outside the summer storm rages in full fury.

She can see the flashes of lightening, yet inside all is still and oddly

quiet. It’s the silence that’s so wrong. Why?

When he speaks, another shiver runs the length of her spine leaving her

extremities tingling. With fear? With excitement? She can’t be sure

which.

“Did I frighten you?” He asks. “I’m so sorry if I did.”

“No ... no, I ... I’m alright.” She stammers. “I’m just a little foggy

... that’s all.”

His voice has shattered the stillness and inside she is reeling. The

room seems unsteady, his voice threatening her sanity. But he spoke in

such a gentle way, almost soothingly. She sees concern in his eyes.

There is no reason for fear, after all … doesn’t she know him? He is so

very familiar.

“You’re all wet ...” , she starts to say.

“Its OK.” He says quickly. “It's you I’m worried for.” And he steps

toward her, holding out his arms.

She reaches for his shoulders. Just to steady herself because she knows

if she does not, the room, that had begun to sway and was now begining

to spin, would soon knock her off her feet. Her hand feels the warmth

of his body. She feels the wetness of the rain beaded on his muscular

shoulders.

His hands wrap around her waist. They hold her firmly. They steady

her, anchor her in place. They make her safe.

“I am here for you.” He whispers. “Always for you.”

“But where did you ...” When she tries to speak this time, he leans

over and gently kisses her eye lids and her words vanish in the eerie

silence of the room. The room is trapped by the violence of the storm,

a storm that has been raging so very long inside her.

Without thinking, she realizes she is eagerly embracing him and her face

is buried in the safety of his neck. Her arms are wrapped tightly

around his hard muscular back. She clings to him. She holds on for

dear life. And her tears mingle with the rain on his bare chest.

Oh God, she thinks - how marvelous, how warm, how utterly comfortable he

feels. His strong arms are now tight around her slim waist, bringing

her body to him - enveloping her very being in a safe refuge.

“I am for you ... always for you.” He whispers again into her ear as he

softly kisses her ear lobe. His warm lips run down her neck and his hot

breath sends more violent tremors through her entire body. She knows at

that moment what she has been waiting for - been wanting for. Her hands

slide down his wet back and she feels the wet fabric of the old cut off

blue jeans, which is all he wears. Mindlessly she begins to tear at the

cloth with her fingers.

She pushes away from his embrace and kneels before him. Her fingers at

once unbuttoning the top button of his cut-off jeans - looking for the

zipper only to find more buttons to challenge her trembling fingers.

“Let me help.” He says, and he deftly unbuttons the remaining metal

buttons of his fly. And before he can even finish the last button she

pulls his wet jeans down to the floor.

He wares nothing underneath. He is semi-hard.

Leaning forward she encircles the base of his shaft with one hand. The

other hand cups his warm balls as her mouth slides wet over the head of

his semi-erect cock. She tastes him. She tastes the slight saltiness

of his hot flesh as she takes him deep in her mouth. She hears his moan

of pleasure as the singular sound in her otherwise oddly quiet world.

Her eyes look up the contour of his hard belly as she sucks hungrily on

him. She sees his head thrown back and she too moans as her head begins

to move rapidly up and down his now rock hard shaft. It makes her feel

so good to hear him, to feel his pulsing cock inside her mouth, to run

her tongue around in circles over the head of his cock and hear him

groan louder and louder. Her hands move behind him and they clutch the

soft flesh of his ass cheeks. One finger finds its way to the tight

puckered rosebud there and penetrates him while her head and mouth

intensify their efforts. Suddenly she hears the breath being forced

from his lungs, she feels his ass muscles tighten and spasm as he cries

out … “Oh God!” Warm juice invades her mouth, it comes in waves - his

cum fills her mouth with that distinctly salty olive like taste that she

has never before experienced. She swallows. She wants more! She

sucks his cock ravenousnessly and he stays hard inside her greedy mouth.

She feels her own body responding. There is a hot burning of desire in

her own belly and she feels the wet slipperiness between her thighs.

She is ready for him. He is ready for her.

Hands on the sides of her face gently pull her upward. She stands

before him and his fingers slide the thin straps of her dress over her

shoulders and the delicate chemise falls, flutters really, to the floor.

She too is naked beneath the thin garment.

He lifts her in his arms. She puts her arms around his neck, while he

carries her to her bedroom. He gently sets her upon the bed. The

covers are already pulled back as if she’d been sleeping and had gotten

up. She lies there and pulls him closer as he bends over her. Their

arms entwine, their legs wrap around each other and they flow one across

the other in a fluid embrace - they merge as rain water joins with the

sea. They become one. And she realizes, as though she’s always known

it, that she is the desert - and he is the rain. As he enters her, as

she feels him penetrate her being, feels him fill her with his still

swollen member, she knows at last the drought is over. She feels the

flood ecstasy building and building inside her.

The crash of thunder is so sudden, and so loud - obviously close as no

time lapses between the flash of light and the jarring crash that shakes

the entire room - that she sits bolt upright and instantly feels her

heart racing. Her ears are ringing and once again she is lost.

Disoriented. Where is she? Where is he? Suddenly remembering, she

looks frantically around the room and sees nothing. He is not there.

She looks out the bedroom doorway and down the hall to where her thin

nightie lies in a heap on the bare wooden floor of the great room. Next

to it are little puddles of water that she can not see from such a

distance.

She is drenched in sweat, yet chills rack her body and she begins to

shiver. She shivers so much her teeth begin to chatter and she wraps

her bare arms around herself and holds tight - not so much for warmth

but in desperation. She looks again at the empty space beside her and

reaches over and feels the sheets and the pillow next to hers. They are

warm - and damp. She closes her eyes and lays her head on the pillow.

She smells a faint musty odor on the empty pillow next to her - or is it

merely that she wants to believe she does. And she realizes once again,

she is the desert - waiting for the rain. A tear runs down her check

and falls to the pillow mixing with the remnant of moisture strangely

already there - a drop of rain falling from the desert.

Always the rain.