by: Frederick Foote
An offering of fiction that probes the burning energy that surges amongst lovers…
The green-gray ocean under wind-driven herds of steel gray clouds draws me to the window, eager for the coming storm.
She angles into view on the sidewalk, outside my window, narrow face, large eyes behind round glasses, high-yellow, with bountiful breast and a proud ass on a thin frame. The surf grows and growls and lashes at the beach with a seething, growing anger.
In mid-stride she turns, looks into my eyes. Instantly recognition, annoyance, hatred and a lightning bolt of wrath shocks me, bolting me to the floor.
The wind agitates, provokes, and powers her, and powers the surrounding air, the sea, the flowers and trees.
I’m out my door, dashing in her direction, into the coming hurricane, fighting the wind and following her tight, jean clad ass.
I catch her at the corner.
“Who are you? Why are you so angry at me? Do I know you?”
Raindrops splatter on her glasses, the wind blowing her hair and the water plastering her top to her boastful bosoms.
She parts her full lips, bares bone white teeth, raises a finger to rebuke and steps too close, touching my chest with her breasts.
The wind driven rain slaps us with stinging pelts, the sky darkens. There is thunder in the distance and lightning on the horizon.
The wind dies. A lull, not even a breeze. The stillness and the sudden respite steals her voice. I hold her arm still connected at the chest.
I can feel the tempest in my flesh, in her, in the air. I grab her hand, rush back toward my place. Now, the wind’s at our backs bringing the rain, a cloudburst, drenching us, propelling us down the block. We escape into my room with a view of the maelstrom. Soaked to the skin, still holding hands we turn and watch the gale force winds, torrential rains and raging lightning.
The thunder rattles my cottage to its foundation. We move closer to each other. I lean down toward her; she looks up and our lips meet. I pull her into me, feeding off the wild energy between us. We undress each other by the lightning’s flash. I kiss her throat, lick the damp mounds of her breast, and feed on their hard nipples. I explore the gentle curve of her stomach, harvest the honey in her hairy nest, feed her greedy mouth and her long throat my full penis and every ounce of myself.
We fuck with the thunder, cum with the lightning.
Nature’s tirade passes. She dresses. Leaves. Looks back at me through the window, a quick glance between strangers.