by Alessia Brio
Valerie sighed. "I know. I studied music for almost a decade between grade school and getting my bachelor's degree. Thunder storms just make me uneasy. Don't know why, or what to do about it."
"You deal with it, like any other fear or compulsion. Make it have minimal effect on you by interacting with it and getting yourself used to its being around you. What have you got finishing up in the wash?"
"How'd?"
A light laugh escaped from Pat as he stepped back to give Valerie some space again. "You'd mentioned you were doing housework. I haven't ever been in a house with work to be done that didn't include laundry. And, besides, I can hear the washer going through its final spin cycle."
"You have too fine an attention to details." She moved through the dining space to the far side of the kitchen and folded back a pair of doors covering a small washer and dryer room. Just then the washer clicked and thumped and settled down again. Valerie leaned over after opening the top and pulled out a piece of white cloth. "Sheets. Sheets and pillowcases and other assorted bedding," she said.
"Perfect. Throw it all in a basket and put it on the table there."
His instructions were met with a roll of the eyes and another dubious look. "Trust me, 'kay?"
Valerie shrugged and began drawing forth the linens from the washer. They were bright and reflected the light of the kitchen. One by one, she piled them into the waiting laundry basket and then picked the whole thing up and set it on the dinette table. "Alright, what now?" she asked.
"We hang it up to dry, of course. Come on, follow me," he answered as he tossed a bag of clothespins into the basket and gathered the whole thing up and headed for the now open sliding glass door to the backyard. "That means you have to walk, Val."
"You're crazy! It's pouring down rain out there."
"Yep."
"It's thundering and lightning and the wind's blowing and...and..."
Pat walked over and held out the basket to Valerie. She took it automatically. He stepped around behind her and leaned his body closely up to hers...his voice a soft asp upon her shoulder, hissing in her ear. "Move or would you rather I made you?"
She swallowed nervously. Her head shook back and forth a few times and she stammered out that she was moving. Pat watched her step through the exit onto the small patio right outside the door. She paused to regard the water falling in great sheets...dripping steadily at the edge of the ceiling formed from the balcony on the second floor...and met Pat's eyes in his reflection in the glass. He narrowed his gaze. He could feel a devilish smile slowly emerging, but he kept it at bay and just let his eyes bore into Valerie. He watched as she bit her lip. Valerie was unsure of why she was listening to him, but she didn't stop doing so. When she turned her body to squeeze the basket through the backdoor, Pat saw the beginnings of hard nipples pressing through her shirt even before the mist began to dampen the fabric, and let the smile come.
"So, what sort of typing have you been doing?" Pat asked as Valerie stood holding the laundry basket. He motioned for her to set it down to the side of the door, ducked out into the storm and undid a length from the clothesline. Valerie's eyes widened and he laughed when she relaxed and breathed more easily when he strung it up along the small enclosed patio outside the kitchen door. "Well?"
Valerie gave a light shrug. "It's nothing much. I've been hanging out on some forum type places, bouncing messages back and forth and bantering with people. Occasionally, I've slipped away to check out stories and poems posted by people I know. There's some impressive stuff out there."
"I know. I hang out in quite a few of those places myself. Sometimes, the immediacy of a chat room isn't as intimate as leaving a part of you exposed and coming back later to see what people have remarked about it."
Valerie relaxed a little more. Her body had grown a bit stiff and on guard as Pat had rehung the clothesline. "So, you write yourself?" she asked, the curiosity evident in her voice.
"Well, when I manage to kick my butt into gear, yeah. I need to get back in the groove of writing regularly. I managed to get out some new poetry recently, and that's at least a start in that direction." He noticed the slight fidgeting Valerie was doing and smiled. "You write too, don't you?" Pat asked.
Valerie nodded. "I just have such a passion that needs released sometimes. I think my music used to do that, but when the girls came I found other things to put that energy towards. Now, however, that feeling is building again, and writing seems to be calling to it."
"What's Ben think about it?"
A sigh slipped from Valerie and she shrugged. "He was really supportive, until he found out what I was writing about." She stooped to pick up a sheet from the basket and began draping it over the clothesline. "He's fine, long as 'no sexy stuff' is involved."
Pat eased himself over behind Valerie once more.
"And what do you want?"
"I don't know."
Soft laughter sounded in Valerie's ears. "Yes, you do," Pat said, "listen to the wind. Feel the way it blows the mist from the rain over and around that sheet." He reached around her back, taking each of her wrists in hand and drew them back to place her palms against her damp, transparent sleep shirt. "Your nipples are hard."
Valerie shuddered and nodded. She swallowed nervously as she agreed with Pat. "Uh huh," she murmured, "they're wet. And cold."
"That's not why. You're wet, but you're not cold at all. Tell me what you're like."
She bit her lip, her eyes closing for a moment while she thought. They remained shut while she softly answered, "I'm just me. Friends have told me I'm charming, but I don't know exactly what they mean. Ben thinks I've changed from who I was when we got together, but I think I'm still who I've always been. At heart, anyways."
Pat slowly began to rotate his hands. He breathed hotly against Valerie's neck while the motion caused her to rub her palms in small circles against her nipples. "Of course," he said.
"I'm a very sensual and passionate person, and very frisky when given the opportunity," Valerie added, her words coming a bit slowly as she tried to speak without moaning or catching her breath.
Pat dropped his hands from Valerie's wrists to her hips and drew her body up against his own. He nuzzled her neck while caressing her body and the front of her thighs, and whispered in her ear, "Is that knocking I hear?"
Valerie sighed and leaned back against Pat. He could feel that her sleep shirt had rolled up slightly; a quick glance down confirmed that she wasn't wearing panties. There may have been a thong, but Pat wasn't sure...yet. Valerie's voice was feather soft. "Sometimes, I just can't help it. I've always been that way, but he is so, well, NOT, that I've always kept things toned down for his sake. I was his first serious girlfriend, and it freaks him out to see me flirt with people." "So why do you?" Pat asked as he slowly ground himself against Valerie's exposed ass. "He just doesn't respond too well to my advances, especially these days. I thought I could deal with things on my own, but I needed the contact other people gave me. Even anonymous, faceless people online worked. It was a chance for me to let it all out, so to speak." She bit her lip and rotated her ass against Pat, letting air seep into her lungs and back out again.
His fingers crept beneath the sleep shirt, and Pat realized Valerie wasn't wearing even a pair thong panties. "Step forward. I want you to feel something."
Valerie stepped forward. The mist blowing off the edge of the downpour was suddenly eclipsed by actual rain cascading down upon her and Pat. Within moments, they were both soaked. She sighed, arching her back and letting her hands fall away from her chest to spread her arms wide and take in the storm's energy.
"Mmm," she said beneath her breath as she stepped further into the torrents, moving away from Pat to turn and regard him. He smiled and gave her a look that echoed the hunger she hadn't realized she'd had. She rushed to him and threw her arms about him.
Pat caught Valerie's body as she lunged at him. He embraced her in the same wild manner and sought out her mouth. They kissed frant
ically, like neither had kissed anyone for weeks. Lips and tongues and open mouths met without need of introduction, while hands caressed bodies and began undressing them.
They sank into the muddy backyard. Pat eased Valerie onto her back and positioned himself between her spread thighs. His cock nudged her as he leaned in close to move his kisses from her face along her throat and then down to meet the breasts his hands lifted in their palms. He swirled his tongue around an erect nipple and then closed his teeth upon its hard, pink flesh.
Valerie moaned and raised her hips, trying to get more than just the barest part of the tip of Pat's cock inside her. "God, just do it," she said to him in a soft voice that dripped with urgency.
"Do what?" Pat asked; his own words as audible a tease as his rubbing head was a physical one.
"Mmm...fuck me. I...god, just fuck me, damn it! I can't stand it any more!" Valerie screamed up at Pat as her hands hooked themselves in the crook formed by his bent elbows and pulled his body forward and down upon her. They both moaned as the movement sank his cock almost entirely inside Valerie's waiting pussy.
"Yes! Give it to me, Pat!"
Pat tried to respond, but the sudden aggressiveness and passion from meek and mild Valerie had surprised him and left him groping for words. He buried his face in her neck and kissed her skin while his hips rocked the two of them back and forth on the muddy patch of backyard by the clothesline. Pat groaned and sighed as he pumped his cock in and out of his neighbor. Amazed and, perhaps just a bit, fearful of the powerful passion awakened by the mix of wind, rain, and his own nudging, Pat knew there was more going on here besides simply a woman denied...and denying...the release she needed.
"Oh, Val... mmm..." Pat gasped in her ear. "Oh... what was... oh yeah..."
While Pat kissed and bit at her neck and shoulder, Valerie slid her arms around him. Tilting their bodies, she made Pat look at her and kissed him once more. He began to move back and forth between the little niche he'd found and her soft mouth and playful tongue. Whenever they broke from a kiss, Valerie would continue to fill Pat's ear with a heavy string of encouraging smut, while her pussy clutched and gripped him in a similar... although different... sort of encouragement.
And the storm continued to fall upon their bodies. Its steady rain pelted their flesh and drove both of them into a frenzy.
~ ~ ~ ~
Riding the Rain
© Duel Citizen
MICHELLE
'I'd give anything for summer,' I recall muttering under my trembling breath. My nose was practically freezing with every intake of air. My body was stiff, and my cold, white hands were shoved in the pockets of my mid thigh, black leather coat. No gloves, no hat, no scarf, just a fashionable red turtleneck, and jeans. I was in University after all, and had an appearance to keep-up.
I teetered back and forth on my heels, and as I glanced over to the nerd in the lime parka, salivating at the warmth of his (or her) oversized mittens, the wooly pink scarf and faux fur lining, I convinced myself that I was better off, even if I was practically frozen to death.
Finally, the bus pulled up to the outdoor platform. The big metal monstrosity, bearing a red and white logo, and with the local newspaper advertised prominently below the windows, shuddered to a pulling halt, and threw a hot puff of exhaust in my direction. I winced, as the diesel raced into my lungs and I contorted my face in disgust.
I heard a bellow of laughter and turned around, abruptly. I hadn't expected 'him'.
I had noticed him at the clubs. He was the kind of guy I couldn't help but notice even if I were a bit drunk when I did. I had seen him at Gord's on Wednesdays, Midnight Club on Thursday's, Jerry's Alley on Fridays and The Mansion on Saturday's, but we were in different crowds.
Of course, I didn't know which crowd he was in exactly, but he wasn't in 'the art crowd'. He didn't hang in the green room of the theatre department, the cinema of the film department, or the studio in the fine arts wing. In fact, I don't think I had seen him in that wing of the school at all, and yet I had seen him at school. Possibly in the cafeteria, or maybe in one of the larger classes I was taking. Psychology or geology, perhaps.
He smiled at me. He was gorgeous. I could practically feel his eyes burn a permanent place in my heart.
The bus doors swung open.
"Ladies first," his voice was deep and lyrical, and his smile lustrous. I could have warmed myself on his smile alone.
He swept his hand in front of him as if laying out a path, and I said thank you as I climbed the steps and walked to the back of the bus. He followed. I sat in the back corner, and he sat on the opposite side of the bus, on the bench stretching at least six feet lengthwise, facing me.
We sat there. We sat glancing at each other every once in a while, our eyes meeting briefly with a smile. He was cool, with straight sandy hair, all one length, falling across his eyes, his blue eyes, and almost reaching his shoulder. He was wearing a tan suede jacket, with a cameo-colored lining, brown leather gloves, and a pair of jeans. It's funny that I can remember all these details, but I don't remember his shoes. Not that his shoes are important or anything, I'm just surprised I missed that detail.
The ride to the University was fifteen minutes, and we sat there for the duration, which seemed an eternity.
I looked at him occasionally when his head was turned. I looked intently at his slightly bristled face, his strong red lips, and his clear skin. When he first sat down, his cheeks were rosy from the cold, and he sniffled a bit, but the warmth of the bus returned his skin to a natural, warm flesh color. He was tall. I loved that he was tall. I am tall, well, not an Amazon or anything, but 5'11 with my heels, and I always wear heels, so generally most of the guys I date are slightly shorter, or about the same height.
We sat there. We just sat there, and when our eyes met, words almost left my mouth, but instead recoiled into a smile, which he returned.
I am sure he saw me staring, just as I caught him staring at me every once in a while. On the other hand, maybe he wasn't staring... He may have just been looking out the window to the snow blistering against the bus. I wanted to say something, but didn't know what to say to him. I was a bit nervous, really. Well, more than a bit nervous, which was unusual for me.
I had never had trouble speaking to anyone before, and yet, as my heart pumped out of my chest and my pulse practically ran out of my skin, I couldn't think of a thing.
Of course, I remember trying to think of something to say, but everything that I came up with seemed silly. Maybe I was thinking too much about it beforehand. I wanted to know his name, to find out if he was interested, but 'I've seen you at the clubs' seemed a bit slutty, 'What's your major,' a bit on the nerdish side, and 'God, don't you hate winter,' a bit whiney. No, I kept my mouth shut for that whole ride, for each painfully long streetlight to change, for every slow motion corner that the bus turned, I stayed quiet contemplating something to say, anything to say, and yet I couldn't just say 'anything'.
We arrived at school, and cordially smiled as we rose from our seats. Again, he was a gentleman, and let me pass first, and when we exited to the main entrance of the school tower; we both hesitated, and looked at each other. I could feel the tension, the wanting to say something that neither of us seemed to be able to speak.
None of that matters now.
It's April. Final exams are over, and we met through a friend at a party on Saturday night.
He asked me out!
PETER
I still remember, in the same manner you remember all events in your life when you know deep down that you had an opportunity but failed to make the most of the moment, the first time I really 'met' her.
It was outdoors, and it was cold that day. That odd time of the year when you're never sure how cold it will be, but I was still surprised to see her in such a thin, even if stylish, jacket. Most of the girls walking the campus that day were dressed in parkas, which, looking back, made her stand out even more. Still, she looked cold, and I watche
d as she exhaled and her warm breath hung as frozen mist in the air, waiting for the bus to arrive. As it pulled up to our stop, a blast of exhaust kicked out at her, and she turned her head and coughed in response. I couldn't help but chuckle.
She glared at me, and I promptly averted my eyes. I don't know why I did that. I've never been uncomfortable with returning someone's gaze, but for some reason, she made me nervous, jittery, and I didn't want her to think I'd been laughing at her misfortune. Of course, it was painfully obvious that I had been. I looked back at her and smiled. Our eyes locked. She smiled back.
God, she was beautiful.
I didn't know what to say, or do, as the bus doors swung open.
"Ladies first," I said, as I stood aside to let her in. That was lame. She smiled and thanked me as she entered the bus. I decided to follow her in and try to continue the conversation. Now that I had a chance, I didn't want to lose it. Of course, she went and sat way in the back of the bus. I sat across from her, smiled again, and my mind raced trying to think of something interesting to say.
I'd seen her all around campus. We weren't in any classes together, and we didn't run in the same circles, but still I'd glimpse her at different times - in the cafeteria, at several of the clubs I attended (we both seemed to share a penchant for drink specials) - although she was always with friends, as was I, and I never found the opportunity to approach her.
I was staring at her, with her thin, black, leather jacket held tight. Her hands were white with cold - she probably wished she'd worn gloves - and her fingers were long and thin, like those of a pianist or flutist. I found myself wondering if she played, but I thought that might seem a silly question to ask.
'Gee, I couldn't help noticing your long, thin fingers, given that you aren't wearing gloves on this very cold day, and I was wondering if you might play an instrument?'