Rain in a Drought

At 5:30, I am awakened by a long, slow, rolling thunder. I hear it raining outside; not sprinkling, not light, but not the pouring gushing rain we hope for, either. A constant, heavy pattering that will be good for the colorful flowers trying to grow outside our window. Even so, it reminds me of the bone rattling thunder, huge flashes of lightning that filled the sky, and the solid, slapping feel of big rain drops exploding on our naked flesh the night the super cell provided the backdrop for our passion.

As I lay in bed naked, thinking about that night and listening to the long awaited shower outside, I begin to grow hard. I'm disappointed. You're out of town visiting relatives, but my body responds to the memory of that night of intimacy with a longing to relive the sensations and passions with the one who made the experience so memorable, so electrifying.

The sight of the flickering blue light and the low rumble shaking the windows stokes the flesh memories I have of that night. I feel the skin stretching over my expanding penis. I feel the rush of physical desire and the yearning hunger to fulfill it. I lay on my back, stuffing my hands under my head. The temptation to follow the leanings and lusts of my flesh are powerful and I must restrain myself.

The gesture not only proves to be inadequate, but the hint of restraint somehow seems to feed the swelling of my flesh. I am breathless. My heart pounds heavily with the thunder, adrenalin surges like a burning fire through my veins. My blood boils with the drive to fill you with my seed. I grow stiffer and feel as if I will burst if I am not satisfied. But I can't. You are not here. I mustn't.

I desperately wish I could have been bound at the wrists and my arms tied securely over my head, away from the screaming compulsion to touch my own body, to stroke my hot hard-on, to relieve the tortuous fire within my flesh. Then despite the relentless and merciless teasing of your memory, I would be forced to wait until you are with me; when you pierce yourself with my hot rigid member, and you fuse your body to mine; when I can see the desire in your eyes, feel your arousal engulfing my pulsing erection, slowly thrusting me, coaxing my semen out of me; when you are ready to receive my pent-up, frustrated turmoil of flesh and emotion into your own soft, warm, wet cavern, screaming with the eruption of our shared orgasms.

With my arms held down under my head, I writhe, my whole body franticly squirming on top of the covers, my stiffness bouncing and wobbling unheeded in the air. I feel the strain of the aching famine, the parched thirst aggravated by the drought of your absence. Nothing but the hope of your return gives me the willpower to prevent the self-induced explosion of my passion.

Despite my sexual distress, despite the compelling distraction of my vision of your naked, thrashing, body bouncing unrestrained on my hardness, your hair thrashing wildly about your flushed face, screaming in orgasmic ecstasy, hope eventually lulls me back to sleep.

In the morning, I awake with the mild irritation of dried pre-cum on my thighs the only evidence of the early morning's struggle. It is still sprinkling and I hear the gentle dripping of the runoff from the roof and droplets falling from the leafy heights of the chinaberry outside our window. Though naked, I am no longer hard. I linger in bed, recalling the dream-like memory of your visitation in the storm.

I feel the deep stirrings within my groin awakening again and my penis begins to strain and swell. I get out of bed and occupy myself with preparing my morning coffee. I listen to the tapping drops outside and my senses begin to awaken, too. When the coffee is ready, I pour a cup; sweeten it, pandering to my desire to pleasure my taste buds. I squelch the thought of tasting your warm sweet juices before I can falter on the brink of temptation again.

But I am compelled to remember the thunderstorm long ago. I step out onto the patio with my coffee. There is a cool gentle breeze. I allow it to caress my nude flesh and squirm in its delight. With a deep breath, I fill my lungs with the unique scent that follows a cloudburst. I step in a cool puddle that blew through the screen in last night's storm. My body is enlivened to each sensation as I watch the darkness dissipate with the rising of the sun behind the cloak of rainclouds. I think of your return. Can I wait until tomorrow?

A smile wells up across my face. Of course I can.

I step through the screen door into our backyard. Maybe I am compelled unconsciously by some deep instinctive craving planted in the depths of my flesh to relive our exception experience in the tempest. But I must seize the opportunity indulge the desire of my flesh this morning. I step into the middle of the yard and feel the cold soft raindrops spatter against my naked flesh. The breeze caresses me between my legs, caressing my buttocks, tickling my testicles, licking my penis. I moan softly.

Then a soft gust of wind shakes the upper branches of a nearby tree. I am pelted with large heavy frigid drops of water. I gasp as they burst all over my bare flesh. The sight of you laying on the rickety picnic table out in the open, naked, writhing under my weight with your legs opened wide for me as I pound you in a thunderstorm flashes like a bolt of lightning through my mind. My penis twitches. I stroke my body down my side, across my abdomen and over my penis. I tighten my hips, thrusting slowly, longingly.

Hurry back.