When It Rains at Midnight

The scent of jasmine mingled with the lavender that grew along the garden path and blended with the fading scent of the last of the roses to bloom that year, their shape barely discernable in the weak moon light that struggled through the clouds. Thunder rumbled in the distance as she took a seat on the stone bench and shifted to watch for the next blaze of lightening. A breeze had come up swirling the scents of the garden path into a heady potion that filled her imagination with visions of naked lover's passioned embraces and sweet kisses. A longing settled around her heart and she waited knowing he would come as the cool dampness of the mists that gathered along the ground would change to the softest of rain.

The minutes passed and the clouds thickened pulling the shadows closer around her, cloaking the night in darkness, closing out the rest of existence, weaving a cocoon of time around her. This mists played along the walkway, curling between the roses, twining up the vines of jasmine, reaching tendrils toward her. Lightening split the sky again, the flash illuminating the beginnings of a shape, a figure, on the far side of the circle that was at the center of the garden.

The circle was of paving stones worn and ancient, their pattern forming a symbol who's meaning was long forgotten. At the center of the circle stood a chiseled stone torch some 8 feet in height. Writing in the same style as the one that formed the pattern in the stepping stones were carved around the base and again around the bowl that held a flame. The flame flickered and whipped in the breeze as if to dance in delight at the prospect of his arrival. The shadows scattered by the flame capered joyously around the edge of the circle among the trees.

Thunder, close now, drummed his arrival. The mist swirled around her legs caressing her as softly as a lover, she shivered at its coolness. Her skirts fluttered against her thighs and she relaxed against the carved back of the bench. She watch the figure form, his height grew out of the mists, his cloak shaped from the shadows. He extended his arms and flexed his fingers. Slowly he raised his head. A smile spread across his face when he saw her waiting on the bench, the lacy white of her dress playing gently against her body in the warm breeze.

As the moments neared midnight the blinding flash of lightening revealed his face to her. A face she knew well, one she saw in her dreams, a face she awoke wishing she would find on the pillow next to her and knowing that would never be in this life. She stood and stepped closer to the figure. The crack of thunder seemed to start his heart, to grant him leave to live for these next few hours. He stepped toward her and as his time crossed to hers at midnight he folded her into his arms as the first drops of rain began to fall.

Droplets of rain sparkled in her hair like diamonds. They clung to her eyelashes reflecting the flame of the torch giving vision to the fires of passion that were ignited as his arms circled her and drew her into the warmth of his embrace. She looked up at him and said "I've missed you these long months."

Sliding his hand up her back he cradled her head in his hand, the silken feel of her hair as it slipped through his fingers settled the reality of her in his soul. In his time she was a dream, a ghost that came to the garden on the darkest of nights here in the golden light of the flame within the circle of the stones. Only stepping from the shadows when the rain washed the barrier of time from between them. When the rain stopped she would dissolve into mist and slip from him leaving only her essence in his heart.

Rain drops glistened on her lips and he bent his head to kiss her, the rain sweet on his tongue as he tasted her mouth. He felt her sigh against his lips and drew her breath into his lungs. The scent of her filled him with desire, a need to join with her, to combine their existences for the few short moments when time ceased and eternity held its breath. She stroked a hand up his chest marveling at the feel of the cloth, the warmth of his skin beneath it, the movement of muscle, the solid feel of him against the palm of her hand, across his shoulder and up his neck to bury her fingers in the dampening softness of his hair. Pressing into his kiss, pulling him tighter against her she savored the taste of his tongue, the texture of his lips, the smell of the rain as it blended with his own. She memorized the textures as they pressed against her; the velvet of his cloak, the stubble on his cheek, the welcoming softness of his lips, the strength of his arms that held her tight against the heat of his body.

The rain began to soak through their clothes, but they had learned through the years that they couldn't hide from it and so had grown to revel in its feel, the cold of the winter to the warmth of the summer rains, the wet ceased to matter, it was part of their time together. He took his cloak off spreading it on the paving stones and she sat on the edge of it and waited as he unlaced his shirt and pulled it off over his head. He toed off his boots and set them by the discarded shirt.

Once several years ago he had tossed his shirt onto the bench and it had slipped from the edge and vanished into the darkness on the other side. He had never recovered the garment and didn't know that she had found it that next morning. It was frayed and yellowed, the lace at the cuffs rotten with age. She had taken it into the house and sealed it in a plastic bag keeping it in the back of one of her drawers under her silk slips.

He knelt in front of her and brushing a wet strand of hair from her neck he kissed her there, trailing his tongue along the side, feeling the quickening of her pulse, listening to the deepening of her breathing. His fingers worked at the buttons on the front of her blouse. He pulled it from her shoulders licking the rain from her skin as he did, savoring the taste of her, the velvet feel of her flesh against his tongue. He watched as her eyes darkened with desire. He traced the delicate bone from her shoulder to the base of her throat, and rubbed the pad of his thumb against the hard pulse that beat in its little hollow. Rain that had puddled there trickled down her chest between her breasts and his fingers followed it.

She sat still, absorbed in the feel of his hands on her, the heat of his tongue on her shoulder, the gentle stroke of his fingers at her neck. She felt the heat of her need for him burst into flame as he stroked a rivulet of rain down her chest as one would strike a match to ignite it. She leaned against his side and licked rain from his neck and shoulder. The taste of salt from his skin sent tingles of pleasure down her spine. The wetness of the strings at the front of his breeches made them difficult to untie and he brushed her hands away and undid the stubborn laces himself. She sat and watched as his pushed the breeches down his legs, her mouth watered at the site of his stiff manhood as he pulled the pants off and cast them in the direction of his shirt and boots.

He reached for her to draw her under him, but she stood and slowly, teasingly, slipped her skirt down over her stomach and stepped out of it leaving the filmy lace panties in place. He liked those, he liked to toy with her through them, run his fingers long the edges of the lace just brushing the opening to her sex, teasing her to full arousal, savoring the wetness of her. He pulled her under him, against the heat of his body, partly sheltering her from the rain. Her arms circled him and pulled him tighter against her, the feel of his chest against her breast was heaven, she could feel the beat of his heart against her own, feel the increase in his breathing, and looking up she saw the flush of desire on his face. A droplet of rain dripped from the end of his nose onto her eyelid and she laughed.

"Sorry," he said smiling down at her, "how uncouth of me to drip on you." And he leaned forward and licked it off her cheek. Then licked the rain from her lips and when she parted them he kissed her deep and hard, pouring all the pent up passion of the previous months into it, submerging himself in the taste of her, in the feel of her, pushing aside the knowledge that this exquisite wonder he held in his arms would only be his for a few short moments and then she would vanish like a wisp of a cloud on a hot day when the rain ceased.

She felt the cool wetness of his back as it moved under her hands. She played them down to the curve of his butt, the firmness of his thighs pressed tight to hers, the hardness of his excitement trapped between them rubbing against the mound of her womanhood. He rolled onto his side pulling her with him. Stroking his hand down the slender curve of her back he slid his hand under the delicate lace of her panties and pushed them down. She raised one leg stroking it along his thigh savoring the tickling of the rain soaked hair that covered his legs. He tugged the panty off over her toes and traced the bottom of her foot with his fingers.

She jerked her foot aside and giggled, then hooked her toe in the panties and pulled them the rest of the way down and off. Her legs free the restraint she wrapped one leg around his waist and pulled him hard against her, rubbing herself against his cock. The hard length of him sliding between her legs pressing at the opening to her body stoked the burning embers to flame. He pushed her shoulder to the ground and claimed a nipple sucking it hard into his mouth. Playing the tip with his tongue, she moaned her pleasure against his ear.

It was a sound he craved, the memories of it would awaken him in the night and he would feel her absence like a sharp knife stabbed between his ribs. He would relive their last encounter in his mind replaying the sounds of her rapid breathing, the quiet moans of her pleasure that grew in strength as she neared her climax while he pleasured himself imposing the sounds of her over his own soft moans, replacing the rhythmic strokes of his own hand with the delicate touch of hers, with the feel of her body as he slid into the warm depth of her until he reached his own fulfillment and could sleep. Some nights it didn't ease the emptiness and he would walk in the garden drawing in the scents of the flowers and pulling the memories around him like a cloak, a shield against the loneliness until the next time it would rain.

She buried her fingers in the damp curls at the nape of his neck arching against his mouth feeling her nipple harden at the contact of his warm tongue and the contrast of the cool skin from his breath on her dampened flesh. The hunger for her growing to a fever pitch he rolled over her slipping his hands under her shoulders and cradling her head in his hands. Taking most his weight on his arms he moved above her, pressing the length of his body to hers, memorizing the feel of her smallness under him, as it fit against him, filling the hollows of his own form with the soft roundness of hers.

He shifted his arm fully under her shoulder and tightened his grip, stroking his free hand down her side marveling that the curve of her butt filled his hand perfectly, he pulled her leg up and over his waist. Reaching around her leg he positioned his cock at the welcoming opening to her body, the slick wetness inviting him to complete their union.

The feel of his hand sliding down her back and over her butt hypnotized her, suspended her, she could hear the hard beat of her own heart inside her ears. She was captive against his chest, secure and protected, the heat of his need warming her against the coolness of the rain. He kissed her, his tongue stroking hers, his breath quick and hot on her cheek. She could do little but cling to him, wait for him to enter her, to become part of her, to complete her. His hand caressing her thigh and tugging her leg up and over his waist thrilled her and raised the urgency of her want for him. She felt him position his cock at her opening and shifted her hips to widen the entry for him.

Raising his head he studied her face, the flush of color on her cheeks, the bright glisten of desire in her heavy lidded eyes, her lips parted, reddened and moist from their kisses, the rapid beat her heart in the hollow of her throat. He felt her breasts quiver against his chest in hurried pants of her breath. With slow deliberateness he joined her to him watching her face as he pressed forward, her eyes darkened and the lids slowly closed as he fully imbedded himself.

Studying his face poised above her feeling his cock poised at her wet opening stirred the emotions to boiling, pushed the craving for completion to its peak. She tightened her leg around his waist and pulled him closer. She felt him tense, the muscles under her hands stiffen and quiver. The world disappeared and time ceased to exist as he entered her, the slow deliberate joining drove all else from her but him, he filled her body, he filled her mind, he filled her soul. She ended and her ending became a new being, became them. Blissful rapture flooded through her at their completion, their union, their oneness. He was woven into her, a perfect blending and when he left her he would leave empty spaces that only he could fill, hollows that would ache for his return. Hollows the sound of thunder would fill with echoes of desire, that lightening would expose with blinding flashes, empty corridors that would flood with want when the rains came in daylight and she would pray for the storms to continue into the night.

She moved under him, pushing up against him, arching her back, exposing the sensual curve of her neck, tempting his mouth to taste the sweetness of her flesh, stroking him a little in and out. His hand grabbed her butt and held her still, held her hard against him, he wanted to savor the warmth of her as she surrounded him, feel the pulse of her in the tiny contractions of muscle that held him sheathed within her. The power of their joining always filled him with overwhelming joy. He had to let it settle, reign in the drive to thrust into her until he reached climax. He didn't want it to be over to soon, he wanted it to last, he wanted time to discover all the sensations, to learn them, to memorize them, to savor them, to hold them close for all the barren time in between.

When at last he was able to move she had relaxed against him. He lowered his head and breathed in her scent, it renewed his desire and he thrust into her, slowly increasing the intensity, the speed, feeling the muscles inside her respond to him, grasp him, stroke him. He felt the hot fluid of her excitement coat him, warm him. Her moans spurred him to deepen his thrusts, and he gathered her closer whispering her name over and over.

The friction of his thrusts inside her pushed her closer to the edge, her name whispered in her ear sent thrills racing from her heart to her center. She felt the contraction of the muscles in her stomach begin, her heart pounded in rhythm to his strokes, she met each thrust with her own, encouraging the speed, racing toward the crest of their passion. She reached the summit and cried out his name as she plunged headlong into the chasm, the force of the fall took her breath away. He felt the spasms of her climax and relaxed his tight control on his own, the tightening in his groin built and the release of it sent tingling ripples through his core, each quiver of her orgasm sparked a response in him, heightening his sensations, echoing them back to her. Until the ripples of ecstasy thinned and faded, slowed and shuddered to an end leaving them both spent. Their breathing slowed and the throbbing need of desire sated.

Thunder rumbled in the distance. He felt the first tremble of her weeping, and tightened his arms around her. "I won't let you go this time." He murmured.

She buried her head against his neck and inhaled the scent of him, his scent mingled with the rain and the flowers and damp earth. The rain began to lighten, the droplets smaller and less frequent. Arms wrapped tightly around his neck she prayed for a solution, for a miracle, for a bridge through time, for an understanding of how this could be, for strength to go on until next they could be together. He held her and felt her hot tears trickle down the side of his neck and vowed to find a way. He cursed heaven and hell, he swore to any deity that might listen to overthrow eternity if they took her again. As the rain lessened and thunder sounded farther in the distance he felt her fade, felt her grow thin and she tightened her grip on his back, he felt her nails scratch the flesh. He clutched her against his chest. Tangling his fingers in her hair he tilted her head back and kissed her as she grew fainter and vanished into mist.

He sat back on his knees raised his fists to heaven and screamed "NO" into the vastness of eternity. Staggering to his feet he clutched the base of the torch and howled her name to the flame. He walked to edge of the flickering light and stepped into the darkness. Frigid cold slammed into him and sucked his breath away. There was darkness and absolute silence, his screams blotted out by the void the instant he gave voice to them. He felt the flesh wither on his bones, felt it dry and crumble and blow away as dust in a wind. Felt himself scatter through infinity and fall into time.

Suddenly it was light, it was day and the garden was around him, he was kneeling by a rose bush, shiny metal shears in his hand. The smells of the garden path familiar and comforting filled his nose, a butterfly floated and settled on a rose by his hand. It sat and flexed its wings. It drifted away when he reached to touch it.

He filled his hand with earth and let it sift through his fingers. It was real, it felt real, but the stones he knelt on were old, and worn. The stone bench was broken on one corner and the scroll work on the back was chipped and faded. He wore a course blue fabric on his legs and a soft white short sleeved laceless shirt.

Sometimes she would take the shirt of his she had found long ago into the garden and wonder if it would be possible to give it back, and would it return to its near new condition or would it just vanish with the mists. But if she returned it she would have nothing, nothing to hold, to reassure herself that it was real, that he was real, that she wasn't crazy. The age of the garment left her to believe he would be unable to cross the barrier and live, and chances were she would be unable to as well. And so she had accepted their time as it came and harbored it in her heart as she did the aged shirt in her bureau.

They had been together last night in the storm and this morning had found her despondent and longing for him. She had taken the shirt with her to the garden to sit on the bench and remember him. She didn't see the kneeling man as she approached the circle, he was behind the torch.

He heard her footsteps and turned to see who was coming. The sight of her transfixed him, he was afraid to move, afraid she would turn to vapor and disappear once again. She walked to the stone bench and sat quietly on its edge. Unzipping the plastic pouch she pulled an edge of the shirt from it and ran her fingers lightly along the lace at the cuff. He recognized the lace, it had been made by his mother and stitched to the shirt he had lost to the darkness in the garden on one of their times together.

Watching her brush away a tear he stepped closer to her, uncertain if this were a dream, a vision that would disappear if he awoke. She sniffed and whispered his name, tilted her head back, closed her eyes and surrounded herself with the memories of the night before. He moved to stand in front of her, drinking in her appearance. She was even lovelier in daylight, the vivid auburn of her hair seemed to glisten with sparks of fire in the sunlight, her skin had a glow of health and tiny freckles dotted across her nose. Her lips were rosy and full and he was suddenly over come with the need to kiss her again. He wanted to touch her, to hold her, to make sure this was real, this was now. But he didn't want to startle her, so softly as a rustle of the leaves in a light summer breeze he whispered "I'm here. Open your eyes."