Arms of a Man

It was so comforting to be held in the arms of a strong man; like eating chicken noodle soup during a rain storm while wearing squishy-soft slippers. There's nothing better than the knowledge of strength enveloping, protecting and comforting. Unfortunately, Clair didn't have a pair of strong arms right now; only her own. It was depressing and lonely, and she hated feeling this way.

She looked outside and saw how the rain poured from the sky in torrents. She slipped on her favorite pair of worn out flip flops and slid on a jacket, before escaping from the suffocating constraints of her home into the clean freedom of a fierce, winter rain storm. It was glorious in its violence; beautiful and angry all at once. It was every emotion Clair wished she could express, and it was screaming it loudly to the world without care or worry.

And what did Clair want to scream about? Hell, there were so many things... but mostly it was about Dermot. When he left, it just about killed her. Every time the phone rang, she jumped to answer it, expecting to hear his voice. His pillow still held the indentation of his head, and her coat closet still held the smell of new leather from his favorite jacket. Clair loved him so much, yet all she had now of her great love were bittersweet memories.

All those nights they spent together, entwined and conjoined until two were one. As they made love, they were like the storm she now strolled through. Their emotions were a wild tempest, and they reveled in it. No more than a single, knowing glance, and Clair's heartbeat would pulsate at double time. One kiss and her mind would be lost to the swirling sensations building within her until she was wet and ready for Dermot's throbbing desire.

Some nights, he would tie her to the bed with silken scarves tinted blood red. He would lap at her until she was screaming; tickle her with the tip of his tongue as he thrust two fingers in and out of her. Dermot especially enjoyed her breasts – two curved globes tipped in pink – and he spent many hours toying with the hardened nipples and running his hands over the soft skin.

Other nights were hers with which to torture Dermot, and she would do so with meticulous attention. He would just lie back on the bed, propped up by fat pillows, and enjoy the scintillating sensations she could create with her mouth and hands. Up and down, Clair would lick along the thick vein that spanned the length of his cock. Her mouth would gorge on the rounded head, pulling on it with a pressure that had her lover moaning and thrashing about. As Clair's hands cupped him, her mouth would magically create the illusion of her hot, wet body.

And when they finally came together, his thickness sliding ever so slowly into her, it was like a rainbow exploding into a shower of colors. Clair's body would welcome him into her heat, and he would fill every inch she offered. Their movements were perfectly synchronized; either a tender love that spanned hours upon hours, or a fast coupling, wicked and lascivious. Together they would reach the pinnacle, and their cries of cresting pleasure would echo throughout the house.

He would hold her close afterwards – kiss her tenderly – as their bodies recovered from the searing heat of orgasmic bliss. Sometimes they would talk about nothing in particular, and Clair would enjoy listening to the deep tenor of his voice. Sometimes they would just fall asleep as the exertion of their play pulled them into the healing peace of a long night's slumber.

Those nights were long since departed from Clair's life. Dermot had merely packed his bags one morning just after she had left for work, and left without a word of explanation. That had probably been the hardest thing for her to accept; the silent unknown that answered her thousand questions of why.

So, Clair walked. The pounding rain soaked through her clothes, but she did not notice. She could drown for all she cared in the cascading waterfall from the heavens, but it was more likely that she would continue to drown in her memories; unending torment without the hope of death's merciful reprieve.