Always the Rain

She is standing on the bare hardwood floor in the middle of the great room of the cottage; her cottage. It overlooks the salt marsh and the river beyond. She shivers, though it is the middle of summer. She feels hot and clammy; her bare feet stick to the polished wood.

And something is wrong. She senses the wrongness; it lies somewhere just beneath the realm of her consciousness.

In front of her stands a stranger, yet he is not what feels wrong. He seems familiar, as though she should know his name, but it does not come to her. It's the silence. The silence is wrong.

He stands before her; his hair dripping rain. The rainwater runs in little rivulets down his cheeks - a drop hangs in mute suspension from the tip of his nose. Outside her cottage, the summer storm rages in full fury. She can see flashes of lightening, yet, inside all is still and oddly silent.

It's the silence that is so wrong. Why? She wonders.

When he speaks, another shiver runs the length of her spine leaving her extremities tingling. With fear? With excitement? She can't be sure.

"Did I frighten you?" He asks softly. "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 shatters the stillness and inside she is reeling. The room seems unsteady; the sound of his speaking seems to threaten her sanity. She thinks; but he spoke in such a gentle way, soothing actually. 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.

"It's OK." He says quickly. "It's you I'm worried for." 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, which moments ago had begun to sway, is beginning to spin and it will soon knock her off her feet. Her hands feel the warmth of his naked flesh. She feels the wetness of the rain beaded on his muscular shoulders.

His strong hands grasp 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 ..." As she tries to speak he leans over and gently kisses her eyelids 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 for so very long.

Without intending to, 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 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 tight around her slim waist, bringing her body to his - enveloping her very being in his safe refuge.

"I am for you ... always for you." He whispers into her ear as he softly kisses her ear lobe. His warm lips run down her neck and his moist breath sends sensuous tremors through her entire body. She knows at that moment what it is that she has been waiting for - been wanting for. Her hands slide down his wet back and she feels the damp fabric of his 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 mindlessly unbutton the top button of his cut-off jeans - feeling for the zipper, she discovers only more buttons to challenge her trembling hands.

"Let me help." He says, and he deftly unbuttons the remaining metal buttons of his fly. Even before he can finish the last button, she pulls his wet jeans down to the floor.

He wares nothing underneath. He is semi-erect.

Leaning forward she encircles the base of his shaft with one hand; the other hand cups his warm sack as her mouth slides wet over the head of his semi-erect member. She tastes him. She tastes the slight saltiness of his 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 stiff member. It makes her feel so good to hear him, to feel him inside her mouth, to run her tongue around in little circles over the tip of his shaft and hear him groan louder and louder. Her hands move behind him and they clutch the soft flesh of his bottom. 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 -- he fills her mouth with a distinctive salty taste that she has never before experienced. She swallows. She wants more! She sucks him greedily and he stays hard inside her ravenous mouth.

Her own body responds and there is a hot burning of desire in her belly. There is 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. The delicate chemise falls away, flutters really, to the floor. She too is naked beneath the thin garment.

She puts her arms around his neck as he lifts her in his arms and carries her easily down the short hallway to her bedroom. He carefully lowers her to the bed. The covers are already pulled back as if she'd been sleeping and had gotten up. She lies there and pulls him on top of her 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 knows, 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 of 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 through the bedroom doorway and down the hall to where her thin negligée lies in a heap on the bare wooden floor of the great room. Next to the chemise, strangely, are little puddles of water that she cannot see from such a distance.

She is drenched with 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. Reaching over, she 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 - or is it merely that she wants to believe she does. 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 oddly already there - a drop of rain falling from the desert.

Always the rain.