Rhapsody in the Rain

She rolled her eyes. "More than that, I'm unfulfilled. On several levels, not just sexually. The first year we lived together was okay. Not great but okay. I've spent the last year, especially these last few months, thinking of ways to break our engagement and leave him." Probing for the finer details got him nowhere. "Look, right now all I want is for you to hold and kiss me and make love to me. Think you can do that?"

He drove to the far side of the lot, pushed the passenger seat all the way back and dropped the windows. The heat had returned and the humidity, which never left, kept them damp and sweaty.

"I love the smell of your leather seats," she said, straddled on his lap. After dropping her cell into the car's console, she snapped open her sports bra and lifted her jersey. Like the boobs of many female athletes, they were on the smallish side; no more than a B-cup, but very firm and tanned from nude sunbathing. He sucked on them awhile before she sank to her knees, pulled down his shorts and did with her mouth what her hands had tried to do on the porch. She had full lips, perfect for this kind of thing if one knew what they were doing, and she did. Unlike some women, she knew to keep her teeth at bay.

Pouting, she said, "I'd love to have you in me. But I'm not on the pill and I'd guess you're fresh out of condoms."

"Not quite," he said. Leaning forward, he popped open the glove compartment and pulled out a pack of Trojan lamb skins. "A doctor should always be prepared." Her face lit up in surprised glee. "But first, let me return the favor. I've got the fastest tongue in the west, you know."

"Is that right?" she asked, her tone tinged with faux sarcasm. "Okay, prove it."

They changed positions, putting him on the floor with his face up against her crotch, her legs draped over his broad shoulders. Then he went to work, stabbing his tongue in and out of her wet hot pussy and around her clit. "You ain't kidding, doctor," she moaned. "I'd say you've got the fastest tongue in the east as well. Oh my God, I'm either going to explode or faint. You, you better fuck me already while you have the chance."

They changed positions once again. She eased onto his rock-hard cock, then began pile-driving his epididymal hypertension into oblivion. With his hands clasped around her oblique muscles, he lifted her up and down, adding momentum to her own piston-like vertical thrust. She rubbed her boobs with one hand while she grasped the top of the seat with the other. "You've, you've got quite a top tube there!" she nearly screamed, her breathing heavy. "Give it to me! Yes, like that!"

"Thanks," he said, chuckling at the symbolism. "Glad I could put you back in the saddle."

It was tough changing positions squeezed between the door and console. But they managed, allowing him to take topside, his favorite position to crescendo. Minutes later, his hot cum shot into the Trojan like water from a high pressure hose. Somehow he willed himself to stay in a few seconds longer for her to climax. Then they climbed in back, fell into each other's arms and kissed like two love struck teens.

For a little while, she was able to lose herself in his soft kisses and sweet talk, losing track of time, almost forgetting she even knew a guy named Stanley. It reminded her a little of her high school days, weekends spent with this cute guy she had met at a Bruce Springsteen concert, romping in the back seat of his dad's Lincoln. Memories of that fun, relatively innocent time, coupled with this special time with Michael, warmed her to the bone. She was on cloud nine, as the cliché went, and the cloud had taken her to a very special place.

Then reality intruded. Her cell went off.

"Damn it!" Melissa shrieked. "I bet I know who that is." She grabbed her cell from the console, then glanced at her watch. "Holy crap! Where did the time go?!"

They both rushed to dress while she spoke into the cell, trying her best to remain calm. "I'm sorry, Stanley, I had a bit of car trouble. My radiator overheated. But it's okay now. I should be home in a jiffy."

Michael followed Melissa out of the Audi, then wrapped his arms around her for a goodbye kiss. Just then, he saw a white SUV speeding across the lot, heading right toward them. "Don't look now," he warned, "but I think you'll need to come up with a better excuse than an overheated radiator."

"Huh?" She spun around. "Oh. My. Gawd. He must have been across the lot the whole time."

Stanley made an abrupt stop in front of her silver BMW and jumped out. Sans the green rain jacket, he was dressed in the same casual outfit. "Well, doctor, I didn't know you were also an auto mechanic. Fixed Melissa's radiator, did you?" He brushed back his hair, then threw his hands on his hips. "I'm sure that's not all you fixed." Stanley had size on him, about two inches and at least thirty pounds. But, because he was so out of shape, Michael felt confident he could handle himself if things got ugly. He wanted to take off but felt obligated to protect Melissa if need be. He went into high alert mode, prepared to get physical if Stanley decided to bridge the three-yard chasm between them and pounce.

"Calm down, guy, we can explain," he said. He lied, knew damn well there was no way he could explain his way out of this without looking ridiculous.

Stanley backhanded the air between them. "You really don't need to. I get it. It's obvious. Now, I think it best you leave, let me settle with Melissa alone. At home."

Michael turned toward Melissa. "Are you okay with that?"

She met Stanley's hard stare with one of her own. "No, I'm not okay with that," she said, keeping her dark brown eyes on him, arms crossed against her chest. Then she paused, took a deep breath and dropped her arms to her sides. "Look, I'm not going home with you tonight except to pack some clothes. I need time to think, to sort things out."

Stanley looked away, shaking his head. "I can't f-ing believe this. And just where do you plan on staying?" Melissa turned to Michael with pleading eyes, didn't say a word. "You're shacking up with him, the good doctor here?!"

Caught off guard, Michael spread his arms, shook his head. He lived in a three-story townhouse in a gentrified downtown neighborhood. The house was equipped with a roof deck overlooking the city's beautiful harbor. Melissa and Stanley knew it well, for Michael had hosted a number of parties there for the cycling group.

"Don't look so innocent, Michael. I bet this has been in the works for quite some time."

Melissa stepped a couple feet closer to him. "That is so not true, Stanley. The only thing that's been in the works for quite some time is the dissolution of our relationship. It's a sham and you know it."

"That's because—"

"Let me finish." Grudgingly, he nodded and she continued. "We haven't had sex for over a year because, well, frankly, because you turn me off—and not just because of the way you keep yourself, although I can't deny that your fat, flabby self is a big part of that. We don't have much to say to each other anymore because of your pitiful lack of interests outside your work. When's the last time you read a book, any book? I find it quite ironic that you, a bright guy, math whiz, high IQ and all that, never reads, save for accounting journals and the newspaper once in a while. Sure, professionally you've done quite well for yourself, big bucks and all that come with it. I mean, we both know my piddly government job alone would barely pay the utilities of that fancy house in the burbs—your house, really, the one I moved into after you put that rock on my finger. But you've always been stingy when it comes to lending me emotional support for things that I take an interest in, that mean a lot to me. In fact, in the last few months, you've been tossing out snide remarks every time I leave the house for a bike ride. Well, I'm damn sick of it. And let's not forget the time you slapped me across the face in a fit of jealousy. So no, Michael didn't have squat to do with my decision to leave. What he did do was give me a glimpse of what it means to once again be happy."

Seeing her tear up, Michael stepped forward and threw an arm around her. This wasn't easy for him either, watching a bitter, angry woman lambaste her cuckold fiancé. He kind of felt sorry for him; that is, until he got nasty and said: "A glimpse of what it means to once again have a guy's cock in your mouth is what you mean, don't you? Now get your ass in that Beemer that my hard earned doe is paying for and follow me home. And I mean to stay, not to collect your clothes to live with this idiot doctor."

Michael had never in his life been caught in a love triangle, and didn't wish to start now. On the other hand, if something happened to Melissa he'd carry the guilt forever. He felt obligated, made privy to business that shouldn't have been his business but for present circumstances. Stepping toward Stanley, he said, "Be reasonable, let her have her space."

Stanley smirked. "Space with you, you mean. Uh-uh. Not happening." He leaped forward, reached behind Michael's back and grabbed Melissa's hand. "Get the hell away from her!" he snapped. Then he swung at Michael, an awkward left hook that missed but found its way to Melissa's chin. She collapsed in Michael's arms, out cold.

"Way to go, big guy," Michael said after lowering her to the ground. "You just racked yourself up a domestic assault charge."

Michael stooped down to attend to Melissa while Stanley stood frozen in place, his eyes locked on to his unconscious fiancé, as if amazed by his own handiwork. Then he got agitated. "You, you made me do it," he accused, his voice shaking. "If you had left when I told you to, this wouldn't have happened."Grimacing, his fists clenched, he moved toward Michael in menacing fashion.

Michael sprang up to confront his adversary. "Don't get stupid. You're in no shape to tangle with anybody, much less an endurance athlete who practices martial arts as well as routinely rides a bike sixty miles at a clip." Michael laughed inside knowing that he exaggerated the martial arts part. But it worked. Stanley backed off, though he again blamed Michael for not leaving.

"If I had done that you'd have beat the crap out of her," he retorted. "Now I think it best that YOU leave."

Melissa was beginning to stir. Michael cradled her head in his lap, resisting the urge to kiss her, knowing full well that pulling a Prince Charming move like that would really set Stanley off. Soon she came to, sat up, shook her head, moved her jaw from side to side. Nothing appeared broken. Still, Michael was concerned she might have a concussion.

Hours later, after a trip to the ER (other than a slight headache, she was fine), Melissa was back in Stanley's house, throwing her clothes into two large suitcases, collecting some odds and ends and discarding something—her engagement ring. She agreed not to press charges if Stanley let her leave while Michael stood by. All this time, he hadn't actually consented to her staying with him. He just let it happen, figuring she wouldn't stay long, perhaps a week or so before she'd either get back with Stanley or get her own place. A week turned into two weeks, then four, then eight, then...

A year after that fateful, rainy day, they were still together. Not married, not even engaged. Neither of them was in a hurry to go that route. And they still cycled together. One of their recent rides took them past that old farmhouse. Coincidentally it started to storm just as it did a year ago: lightening, thunder, the whole bit. This time Melissa toughed it out to the parking lot. Just as last time, upon their return, the rain had let up. Before heading home, they stood there for a few minutes, soaking wet, holding hands, gazing at the dark clouds swirling eastward and the rainbow arched across the western sky.