A Stormy Affair

My fear of thunderstorms goes far back, to my childhood.

We were on a family picnic at a local state park, with a pond for swimming and fishing, a hiking trail, and pavilions with grills for cookouts and safety from the rain.

On this particular day, we'd had so much fun splashing in the pond, playing with my older brother and sister and various cousins, that I didn't want to leave when thick, dark and angry storm clouds suddenly rolled in. But Dad wanted to beat the rain, so we packed up in a hurry.

As I ran to the car, not ten feet away from me, a lightning bolt hit the ground, accompanied by terrifying loud thunder. The force of the bolt knocked me down, and the static electricity in the air made my hair stand up, or try to. I lay on the ground in a fetal position, screaming and crying, when Dad came and scoped me up. We spent the rest of the day in the emergency room. The doctors said I was shaken up, but otherwise uninjured.

Shaken up? They had no idea. I haven't been able to handle a thunderstorm since. Even the slightest rumble of thunder takes me immediately back to that day, and I am often paralyzed with fear. I'll start shaking and crying even now, in my forties. I just can't help it.

A thunderstorm last summer changed my life, and Derek's, forever.

Derek was 22 years old that summer night, as handsome and athletic a young man as any mother could desire. He's a swimmer, and he tones his muscles by lifting weights. I have to admit, when he started developing into the hunk he is today, I sometimes had shameful thoughts about him. I have since learned I am hardly the only woman who has ever felt this way.

Derek has since admitted to me that I was one of his go-to dream girls when he masturbated. He says he loves my thick auburn hair, my breasts (about as large and round as cantaloupes, according to him), and my dancer's legs, which he described as tapered. Re-enacting some of his fantasies has provided us with enormous amounts of fun.

I never intended to act on those thoughts, but while we were visiting my parents at their farm in Iowa one summer, it all changed. This happened in August, when the summer storm season is at its peak. The thunderstorms are at their most intense, and I usually tried to avoid Iowa in the summer.

But my parents were coming up on their 50th anniversary, and I couldn't miss that. I was still married at the time, but my husband couldn't go due to an overseas business obligation, so Derek took his place.

This time, the thunderstorm came in at a little before 10 p.m. I had just gone to bed, clad only in a flimsy light blue nightie due to the humidity. A strong, cool wind began to pick up speed, and I could see lightning in the distance, along with distant kettle drums of thunder.

The closer the storm came, the more I felt the fear. I started to tremble and tears rolled freely down my cheeks as I tried to wrap myself in a blanket to muffle the sounds of wind howling outside, the thunder coming closer and louder.

When a bolt of lightning struck the lightning rod on the barn's roof, I panicked. Powerful, angry thunder cracked outside the house, and penetrated my skulI. I raced from my room to Derek's, right next door. I whipped the door open and flung myself into my son's bed, not knowing he was naked at the time.

"I can't take it!" I cried. "I'm having a breakdown. Hold me!"

"It'll be all right, Mom," he whispered, his voice soft and soothing. His arms enfolded me, and I cried against his chest like the little girl I had once again become. When I trembled, he caressed my hair and cooed softly in my ear. I clung to him for dear life.

I didn't even notice his erection, but as the storm began to wane, I became less tense and stretched out a little. Without thinking, I shifted a little, and I found my son, my handsome, caring, loving boy, lying underneath me. I felt the hottest flesh I had ever encountered pulsating relentlessly against my inner thigh.

"Ohhhh, Mom ..."

Then he slid inside me. We began to make love slowly, tenderly, our bodies moving together as one, taking our time, exploring our bodies in ways we never expected to, my hands dancing across his hard, masculine chest, his gentle fingers under my nightie, cupping my breasts, kneading them, pinching my nipples into a passionate frenzy.

I pulled my nightie over my head and tossed it to the floor, and there we were, naked together, his rock solid prick as deep inside me as it was possible to go. I had never felt so wet as in that moment, and I leaned forward to let him thrust into me.

What happened next surprised us both.

I rose above him again, and at that exact moment, a loud crack! right outside the window, lighting the room only for a second, but long enough for me to see the passion, the love, on Derek's face. When the thunder cracked and boomed, I suddenly and involuntarily tightened my pussy muscles around Derek's prick, trapping it inside and squeezing it fiercely.

We both moaned and thrashed as we climaxed together, Derek pumping what felt like a quart of sperm into me as I writhed like a belly dancer atop his strong, handsome body.

I rolled us onto our sides, when the storms inside and outside finally receded, and we ended our bout of passion with a long, languorous, loving kiss that I will relive to my dying day. We fell into a deep, deep sleep that lasted until dawn, when the refreshing morning sun filled the room with soft, golden light, and we made love again. And again.

My husband left us once he found us together in Derek's bed, but it didn't hurt as much as I thought it would. It freed Derek and I to be together. We moved quietly to New England, bought wedding rings, and we've been living as man and wife ever since. We are deeply in love, finding a happiness and peace I never suspected was possible.

And now, sometimes, we even look forward to thunderstorms.