Rain

Rain

The rain is very steady and has been falling for hours now. It is a cool, grey, late-fall day -- the temperature and storm combining to dissuade any notion of outdoor activities. We've worked separately on our tasks through the evening -- me attending to some deferred IT chores surrounding your electronics and you reviewing manuscripts at your kitchen counter, nicely illuminated now beneath new track lighting. There is a warmth suffusing most of your home, and I've chosen to do some of my work downstairs -- just for the chance to listen to the wood crackling in the stove.

The storm suddenly intensifies, and we each separately reach the decision to move next to the large deck windows upstairs. We stand there quietly, just absorbing the power of the rain -- heavy drops bouncing off the wooden deck surface. The wind has picked up. In the final diminishing light of the day, it is visible in the sway of the trees and audible even over the loud sound of the intense rain. Despite the warmth of the house, the very chill of the scene touches each of us, and we instinctively move together -- partly for warmth, partly for coziness -- partly out of that instinct that inclines a woman to seek comfort from her mate and her man to respond to that seeking -- even while taking comfort in turn.

I stand behind you -- pressed up closely and wrap my arms around you to offer that extra morsel of warmth. You lean back against me and rest your cheek beside my own, allowing both of us unimpeded views through the glass. Not a word has been spoken since we joined one another in this spot, nor does either of us wish to break the spell. It is simply there -- this deep sense of being in the right place at the right time with the right person.

The music, which has been playing through the house, advances to a new track, and it is a soft and sensual instrumental -- with slow and stirring rhythms. I enjoy it - letting it enter my head and stir my emotions. The music possesses you as well -- but in a physical way, and you begin swaying slightly from one foot to another in time to the steadily unfolding musical measures -- your body responding to the beat. Movement of feet becomes movement of leg, and your body takes on a slight back and forth in addition to left and right. I too now feel music in a physical way -- but it is the siren song of your moving body -- the circling of your hips and the press of your buttocks against me.

Soon it becomes impossible to eliminate my awareness of the thin material of your yoga pants, or the earlier recollection of the insubstantial red garment worn beneath. And soon it becomes impossible for you to eliminate awareness of my awareness. But there is no surprise in the loving way my body responds to the temptations of your exquisite flesh, and surely you knew this when your dance began. My body responds in its familiar manner, and I too begin moving -- sometimes deliciously with you and sometimes tantalizingly against you. Point and counterpoint.

Still no words are spoken. Still, we gaze upon the weather. Still, we luxuriate in the contentment of warmth and the delights of one another.

Two can tease -- can they not? And just as you press back against me -- so too might my hands wander across the front of your body. They can traverse up your torso -- above the thin material of your blouse. These hands can lightly grasp the firm flesh of your breasts -- the palms can drag across nipples -- each now aware of their own response. And hands can slide down and back up again, can they not? This time beneath the material. My hands are slightly cool against your warmer skin, and this intensifies their oh-so-evident presence. Again, hands stray up and across breasts now -- bare to the touch -- the contact is now skin upon skin. And then hands trail down and find their way inside the yoga pants -- lightly stopping at the lower portion of your taught tummy before teasingly tracing the elastic line of your undergarment. You ask yourself -- Rachel, will he reach inside, or might he caress me on top of the material? Is it not delicious to anticipate the caress and not know precisely where delivered? -- how softly? -- where hands might venture and where fingers might linger? -- how you might be teased before I find that place most needful of contact?

And as the music plays -- this dance continues. And no words are spoken. And yet communication takes place, and understandings form, and you turn to face me for a kiss precisely at that point where I could tolerate not a moment longer the need to bring my lips against yours.

But the dance is young, and the kisses are sweet here at the beginning -- brief -- tender -- but inescapably offering promises of more.

The music fades and the sway of your body slows, and each of us concludes that we have stood before the storm long enough. It is you, Rachel -- that takes my hand -- and wordlessly still -- leads me downstairs -- across the room and into the bedroom both of us have been thinking about through the day.

The fire's warmth does not fully reach here, and the storm is more present yet as raindrops ricochet off the nearby windowpane. This chill and stirring passions bring us together again as we stretch out on the bed and pull a comforter up and across our bodies, which press against the full length of one another. Your body is hidden from me now in redundant ways, and I cannot cope with bedding and clothing both. My hands grasp the elastic material of your yoga pants and pull them down past your hips and slide them off the long legs. Likewise, the thin white T-shirt is pulled up your body, across your head, and over your stretched arms. I am intensely aware of this posture of outstretched arms and the lift this offers to your amazing breasts. Your body is there now for exploration -- covered only by the briefest of thongs.

I touch not any of my own clothing but rely on your own need to attend to them. I feel your fingers reach for the end of my belt and unhook it through the buckle and pull the remainder through all the loops. I feel your fingers unlatch the top of my pants and then feel the zipper slowly descend with the pull of your fingers - those fingers provide an electrifying hint of sensations to come -- for each of us as they graze across the cotton of my underwear and brush against the already full, straining hardness beneath. You pull my pants down and, in passing, remove each sock. I bend up at the waist as you quickly pull my shirt over my head, and we lie back -- once again pulling the comforter up and across our bodies to conceal.

But concealment from sight leads to other discoveries. I lie face up, and you lie on top of me -- pressing our warm bodies together in defiance from the storm. You kiss me. I am receiving each kiss your mouth offers -- as brief as you wish or as long as you need. We know each other well now -- your lips and your tongue dictate my responses -- and you are leading this portion of our dance.

Where do you feel my body, Rachel? Is your focus now on warm and wet tongues -- or is it the full length of joined bodies you are most keenly aware of? Might it be the sensation of your breasts pressing against my hard chest, or might you more feel the drag of nipples across the coarse hair there? Are my hands most present for you -- sliding down the length of your back, or firmly pressing your barely covered bottom hard against me? Perhaps it is that very phrase "hard against" where your thoughts run as your body rocks gently against mine. Is there a particular focal point of our commingling -- are we not each too, too aware of the heat, want, need, and desire of a particular junction point between us? Are you not pressing an area of damp, hot, urgent need against precisely that big, hard presence that provides that perfect means for fulfillment?

And might it be further possible, love, that the verbal, loving, emotional teasing and physical play that led towards this stormy evening have put your need more on edge than you can recall? That your wants and mine have reached such a fever pitch, you're seriously debating whether there's any need to disturb your present gentle rocking in any way. But this decision is taken from you as I reach down between us and separate the opening of my underwear -- liberating my organ for both of us to indulge. You lift slightly -- pull the thin line of your panties to one side and ease back against the tip of my penis. And as you slowly descend against me -- you feel hard heat. And I feel wet slickness. And you feel increasing fullness. And I feel a rich and descending envelopment. And as you slowly bear down -- as you wallow in the sensations of a widening separation and deeper penetration, and as you near the most complete and possible physical manifestation of our love -- a long, sustained gust of wind builds and accelerates, and the lights of your home are extinguished just as the wind reaches a fury that sends you crashing against a climax that can no longer be contained.

I grasp you yet more firmly against me as you ride the wave -- and finally, words are managed -- a barely audible but very sustained "Ohhh, Ryan". And you smile at me -- and I smile at you -- and our smiles tell us -- this is just beginning...