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This story came from laying in my bed at night listening to Sugarland songs and watching the Ohio sky light up with lightening as rain pounded on my rooftop.




Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.


It only happens when it rains. One second I'm alone and the next I'm not. The rain beating on the old roof of this house and the crack of lightening never fail to bring him into my bed. Before my mind truly processes he's there, his hands are on me. The urgency there comes from the fact that we never know when the rain will stop. Once it does the illusion is over and the loneness returns. The fear of not having had enough drives my thoughts and actions. I yank off whatever I've worn to bed that night and toss it aside. He does the same and once the barriers are gone we curl around each other seeking a  physical connection to complete the mental one.

 

I should remember the mating. That should be the most insistent memory the next morning. But it's always the first kiss. From the second our lips meet every hole, every gap, every missing piece fills immediately. I no longer worry about what I do or don't look like, whatever I say right or how I act. The play of his mouth on mine tells me I'm perfect and the belief doesn't even wait a nanosecond to wash over me. The cleanest I have ever felt has been in the arms of this stranger who I know better than anyone in existence.

 

Before this started I had so little color to me. Too afraid I would clash with others or be too bright or not bright enough. After I realized how I was beginning to change. Sudden bursts of passion that became less surprising and more characteristic of who I was becoming. When I realized, I began to pray for rain, desperately needing it.

As much as I've grown, I'm never so foolish to think all my inhibitions have fallen away. That only happens with him here. The strength to be myself in everyway appears like a mirage in the desert heat and disappears just as quickly. Where I used to question why and how I only allow myself to think of the various ways I can show my gratitude for this gift that he brings. The things I do don't seem enough no matter how many times or ways I give my body but there is not other way. There are no words between us, no explanations. If not for the sounds lovers make we probably would think one another mute.

 

As wet branches throw themselves in time against the window, I allow him to establish a rhythm for us. Even with my eyes closed I know the face above me. By our third time together my memory burned with the cut of his dark hair, his tanned skin, and those odd eyes. One gray, one blue, both would darken just before he'd hit that final deep stroke. His dark long eyelashes would sweep down as he closed his eyes and the end of another visit.

 

Does he leave as the rain ends or does the rain stop as he ends? I honestly can't say which happens first. It's the only question I allow myself to have as I curl myself up to my pillow. As I fall back to sleep, I pray for rain the next night and every night to come.










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