Hot and Dry

Hot and dry, that described me. Of course, that described just about everything else around here that summer. Hot and dry and, if you want to add the other descriptor heard around town: miserable. We'd had dry spells before- who hasn't- but none like this. None so bad that everyone walked around like they were about to break, like their skin was made of old paper, like every breath took every bit of effort one could muster. Hot and dry, in and out.

I'm glad I was single that summer. At the time, I wasn't. Being single was just one more thing to add to the list of complaints. Hot and dry and single. Or, more specifically, hot and dry and lonely. But, if I was honest, being single was better than being dried up with another person. Too many couples broke up that summer, too tired from the heat to keep fighting, too tired from the heat to even care about staying together. And forget about sex. Even being inside in the air conditioning, if one was fortunate enough to have some semblance of it, didn't help enough to spark anyone's libido after the first few weeks of the drought.

I went on a few dates that summer, of course. I was by no means the most attractive girl in town, but I was pretty and curvy with a sharp sense of humor. But those dates never went anywhere. By the end of the evening when we tried to kiss good night, it would be obvious to both of us that we had nothing much to offer, so we'd part ways with a smile and a thank you. No hard feelings for each other, both of us knowing that in better circumstances we might have hit it off.

By August, when we'd had no rain for three months and temperatures too high to mention, I was dreaming of water. In June, when the hot spell had seemed temporary we'd all gone out in our sprinklers to mist off. We'd watered our yards and flowers; we'd watched kids play in the neighborhood wading pools; we'd taken long cool showers to start and end our days. But by August, the city had declared a water shortage. No more sprinklers, no more pools, no more long showers. Use water for necessity only, and use as little as possible: they repeated this mantra day in and day out, everywhere you went.

So it was no surprise that I was dreaming of water. Of lakes, of rivers, of oceans. Of waterfalls and hot springs and puddles made by rain. Maybe we all were, it's hard to say. I stopped imagining true love and great sex and instead focused all my fantasies on what it would feel like to be completely surrounded by cool water. To be drenched, satisfied, sated.

And then sometime mid-month, the weathermen started talking about rain. They'd given it up back in July when too many people complained of false hope. They no longer mentioned small chances of showers or the rain in neighboring counties. So, it was a surprise to all of us when we heard the ten day forecast and, there at the end, a mention of rain. We all talked about it everywhere we went. But we were afraid to hope, I think. We were so hot and dry, inside and out, that we didn't have much hope of anything anymore. We were brittle, fragile, too close to the shattering point to actually believe it would rain, so the talk around town was much like the talk of aliens or elvis sightings. It was a curiosity, nothing more.

Five days into the forecast, the percentages were higher, the rain spanning days instead of hours. We were all glued to our televisions like a war had been declared, only this time it seemed like peace to us. Each day the forecast got more hopeful: a long, drenching rain, they said. Thunderstorms. Chances of hail. We'd take the risk of damage, we said, as long as we got rain. And, a double blessing: on the other side of the storm, they predicted cooler temperatures. An end to the hot and dry.

***

On the day the rain started, I went to work dressed in a loose skirt and a thin white top. We all had taken to wearing as little as possible, and less than that touching our skin. I spent my day answering questions, finding books, doing as much as possible to keep busy. By three, the clouds had come in, and the sky was dark. Lightning flashed in the distance and each strike felt like an electric charge through the air, through our bodies and into stomachs. And then, as I was leaving for home, the first drops fell. Tentative drops, a random trickle that made our hearts sink- was this all, we asked each other. But walking home, I held my hand out to the sky to catch what I could, to feel that splatter of water that had I had always taken for granted. I held my hand out like I was making an offering. And maybe I was.

Halfway home, the drops fell harder, an almost insistent drip drop, enough that my hair clung to my neck, enough that my shirt showed skin through the thin material. Enough that I spent the rest of my walk looking up at the sky and laughing, catching drops on my tongue, on my eyelashes; water began to streak down my face and my body, and still I continued my walk, not seeking shelter or hurrying my pace. This was what I'd wanted, and I was grateful even as lightning flashed through the sky and the thunder rumbled close to home. The trees were alive with wind and rain, and as I walked I saw my neighbors outside, cupping their hands to drink what they could, looking up like me, in admiration.

By the time I saw my house, I was soaked. Not a stitch on my body was dry, and I laughed at that. I was soaked through, and I'd never felt better. My clothes clung to my body, making it hard to walk, but I didn't care. I carried my shoes in my hand and finished my walk barefoot, carefully stepping in as many puddles as I could find. The surprise of the cold water on my feet sent tingles up my body. I saw my neighbor on his porch; he was new to town, and we'd only really ever waved in greeting. I knew he was single and attractive, but beyond that I'd never paid attention. That day I smiled at him and called out, "Great day, isn't it?"

He laughed at me, low and deep. I'm sure I made an interesting picture. Barefoot and bedraggled, laughing in the rain. "It is. Enjoy your walk?"

"Can't you tell?" I asked, smiling again. I stood in front of his house, my eyes caught on him, waiting for one of us to have more to say. In the silence, we stared at each other, until I looked away. "Guess it's time to get these clothes off," I said. I turned away even as I saw his eyes spark, the electricity humming between us like lightning.

When I got home, I went to the back door, where there was some semblance of privacy. I had trees on all sides of my yard, and with the trees and rain, the yard was more or less concealed from my neighbors. I considered going inside to change, but instead I decided to do what I really wanted, to listen to the voice inside my head that had so long been wanting water, been dreaming of the touch and taste and feel of water. I unbuttoned my blouse and it fell on the wood planks of my deck; I shimmied out of the skirt, pulling it away from my skin with both hands. I stood, almost shivering, in my panties and bra, water rolling down my arms and legs and torso.

The sound of wood cracking made me turn, and I saw my neighbor walking through his yard, his eyes on me. He was dressed in jeans and a long sleeved shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and all I could think was how wet denim clings to the skin, how hard it would be later for him to tug those jeans down. His expression was determined, but then he smiled, and I realized that I was almost nude, that my bra and panties were wet and hardly covered me at all. Without time to cover myself or turn away, I simply said, "Hello again."

He smiled wider, an almost wicked grin really. "Hello," he said. He continued walking toward me, moving from his yard into mine. And then, looking at me again, "You're beautiful."

"It's the rain," I said. "It's making everything beautiful again." It was true. Already the flowers that had long since given up seemed to be trying for a second life. The trees looked stronger, healthier. The thunder and lightning held no hint of threat, but instead seemed like beacons of hope, of desire.

"It becomes you." He nodded at my skin, flushed from both embarrassment and arousal. The drops of rain on my bare skin felt like a lover's touch, and his arrival did nothing to diminish that feeling. The opposite, in fact.

Looking at him, I realized how long it had been since I had wanted a man, how long it had been since I'd touched a man and been touched in turn. I realized that I was no longer hot and dry, inside and out. It was time to change that sexual dry spell, I thought, now that the air no longer suffocated and stifled every feeling but discomfort and misery. I smiled again, seeing in him what I'm sure he saw in me: hunger. "You should really try it." And, eyes locked on his, I reached behind my back to unfasten my bra. I flung it off, and it landed on the deck with a splat as my breasts seemed to reach out for the rain. My nipples seemed to grow harder, the tips begging for each little droplet of pressure, of pleasure. I saw his eyes widen, saw his muscles tighten in his jaw as he watched the way the rain seemed to stroke my skin.

He stepped onto my deck, stopping a few feet away from me, his gaze still focused on my breasts, round and firm. I felt my nipples tighten, harden even more, in response to his stare. It had been a long time since I'd had a man look at me that way, like a feast. He pulled his shirt off, and as I watched, he began to wrestle with his jeans. We still hadn't touched, but the heat between us was almost tangible. He wasn't wearing underwear, and as the jeans slowly peeled away, I saw his cock slowly exposed. He was long and thick and, almost without knowing it, I reached out to touch the tip. I rubbed a bead of rain into the taut skin, and he exhaled sharply.

I heard thunder in the distance, the sound of wind in the trees, the continued spatter of rain on the leaves. His skin was darker than mine, with a smattering of freckles on his shoulders and chest. But it was cock that I was drawn to. I wanted it, craved it the way I'd craved the rain. I stepped toward him, closing the gap between us, until I stood close enough so that our skin seemed to hum with need. Almost touching, but not enough, not nearly enough. I considered kissing him, but I was in no mood for courtship, for the tangle of foreplay. Instead, I wrapped my hand around his cock, tight as a fist, and slid along the length of him. The rain made him slippery; without letting go, I dropped to my knees in front of him. I leaned back to look at him, as if to ask silent permission, and saw his face tight with need. He watched me intently as I focused my attention on his cock which twitched in front of me. Opening my mouth to him, I licked the tip, but it wasn't enough, but that little taste wasn't nearly enough. Slowly I slid my mouth down his length, swallowing inch after inch. He felt heavy in my mouth, and beneath my hand I could feel his balls, tight and full. I teased him at first. A slow slide, licking the underside of his cock, my hand helping me to work up and down his length. Soon he had his hands tangled in my hair, holding my head so that he could thrust in and out of my mouth. He moaned then, with his cock almost fully in mouth, swallowed down, but I wasn't ready to be done. I wanted more, so I pulled away, leaving his cock jutting in between us.

I stood up and grabbed the cushions from a deck chair; throwing them on the deck, I gestured for him to lay down. He grabbed his jeans and pulled out a condom. At my questioning look, he shrugged and answered, "When I saw you in the rain, I couldn't think of anything but burying myself inside you. I figured I should be prepared, in case I got that lucky." He quickly slid the condom over his length and laid down on the cushions. Still standing, I pulled my panties off, kicking them aside with one foot. He watched as I exposed myself to him. Bolder now than I would normally be with a first time lover, I asked, "Like what you see?"

He nodded and reached toward me, trying to pull me down. I kneeled beside him, rain soaking my skin, sliding down between my legs and soaking even my trimmed pubic hair. I watched him as he watched me, as he stared at my body the way I had at his. He reached out again, this time to run a finger along the side of my breast, along the curve, until he reached my nipple. He pinched it lightly, and then harder, rolling it between his fingers as I moaned and leaned toward him, my breasts dangling over his face. Taking the hint, he lifted his head to suckle me, to pull as much of my nipple into his mouth as he could. He pulled back a little and then molded my breasts together with his hands so that he could almost draw both nipples into his mouth at the same time. I gasped as a ripple of need coursed through my body. Sitting back, I kneeled beside him again. He stared at me intently, watching as my hand trailed down my stomach and settled between my legs. I slid one finger into my pussy, wet with arousal and rain, and pulled it out. Smiling, I traced the same finger along his lips and then slid it into his mouth. He sucked my finger hard, and my need for more intensified. I wanted to tease him, to touch myself while he watched, but I didn't have the patience for it. As another round of thunder rolled in the background, I shifted so that I could straddle him.

I leaned forward and kissed him, finally, tentative at first, and then more fully, our tongues tangling together. I held my pussy over the tip of his shift, rubbing him slightly, as we kissed. His body was tight as he fought for the ability to surrender to my control. I nibbled his bottom lip and slid down the full length of him until he was settled completely inside me. We began to rock back and forth, up and down, our mouths locked together. His hands held tight to my hips as I rode him, but still, it wasn't enough.

I sat up, his cock still deep inside me. He ran his hands from my hips to my breasts, teasing my nipples as I stroked him up and down with my pussy. I reached down between us and found the nub of my clitoris, swollen and needy; holding him tight inside me, I touched myself, rubbing fast against the throb of my clit. Watching me, he groaned and began to thrust up into me, his hips lifting off the cushions. Our rhythm was frantic, each of us searching for release. The rain falling down on us acted as a curtain between us and the rest of the world. Nothing seemed to matter but this moment, this combination of rain and sex. I rode him even as I started to quiver in the beginnings of an orgasm; we pushed into each other, every thrust bringing us closer to the end, closer to the beginning, closer to some unnameable thing. It felt like more than an orgasm, more than the ecstasy of sex, as we rode out the waves of pleasure. Our words were broken, our cries guttural, nonsensical, as we pushed each other into the final throes of climax. With my pussy clenched around him, he thrust up into me one last time, his cock pulsing inside me, before he came with a shout.

We lay together, our limbs tangled together, half on and half off the cushions, breathing deeply. Breathing in the air around us that was charged with electricity and sex. The rain slowed to a drizzle, but the clouds overhead promised more to come. I laid my head across his chest, my hand idly stroking his skin, and thought how glad I was to not be hot and dry, inside and out, how glad I was to know that, finally, the rain had come.