Findingmyvoice edited this story.
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Darkness rolled across the sky way off to the south, striking a sharp contrast to the vivid streaks of pink and orange that highlighted the desert sunset. Sunsets in Arizona were always nice, but the sunrises always reminded me just how beautiful life can be. They were my signal to live my life to the fullest every day.
A storm was brewing, I just didn't realize how bad it was going to be. The cloud of dust could be seen as far as the eye could see. This storm became what they called, "The Great Haboob." Anyone caught driving would lose visibility and likely crash if they didn't pull over and stop.
The storm was later reported to be ten-thousand feet high at one point, and fifty miles wide. It literally covered the entire city and flights had to be halted at Phoenix Sky Harbor International Airport.
Dust was only part of the problem. The severe thunderstorm that accompanied the dust packed a serious punch. Micro-bursts hit like mini tornadoes and the horizontal rains brought on flash flooding.
I actually watched my tonneau cover rip away from my truck bed and cartwheel down the street into the back of a Honda. The windows of my house trembled as the wind howled all around. A tree in my neighbor's yard, directly behind me, split and dropped a third of its forty foot size directly into my backyard.
When the bulk of the storm had passed, the entire neighborhood came out to witness the carnage. The sheer destruction was incredible. Brick walls were blown down, Spanish tile roofs were shredded, and I saw a car crushed beneath a downed tree one street south of me.
For many people, here in the desert, the monsoon season is welcomed. It provides a form of entertainment, except when it's your stuff flying away or getting pummeled. The lightning shows are fun to watch, but you know when they hit too close. The hairs stand up all over your body, the smell of ozone floods your nose, and the crackling thunder makes you jump out of your skin.
I am one of those who welcomes the monsoon. As a freelance photographer, I love to catch the crazy images monsoon season produces. Selling the pictures I take is a bonus. It lets me know people honestly enjoy the scenes I capture.
I have done calendars for the past nine years. I started off with the brilliant sunrises we have here in the Valley of the Sun and then included the wild lightning storms. Capturing thunderstorms is the highlight of my summers. Let's face it, the heat makes everyone want to be anywhere but here in the summer.
I now sell ten different calendars with different themes and make a respectable income.
It was during "The Great Haboob" that my life changed and led me on to a different path. I'm Sam Mills, bachelor extraordinaire, as of today. Some would say I am in damn good shape, others would say I have life on a string, most would say I have the biggest heart.
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I'm doing very well for myself at thirty-one years old. I had a great job, and a hobby that made money. I used the money I made from my first two years selling calendars as my initial investment in a bank owned property. As business soared, I quit my day job.
I would keep an eye on the bank owned properties and take a tour of them when I was ready to make a purchase.
My last purchase was for twenty homes, four years ago. The banks were giving deep discounts to investors who would purchase an entire lot that the bank packaged together. It cost me sixteen cents per dollar at their current appraisals. I figured that was good considering how bad the market had taken a beating.
I was not expecting to start making money off these homes. Most of the homes needed very little work in order to rent them out. Quite a few of them were in incredible condition, with premium floors, granite countertops, and top of the line appliances.
The master bath in the house I would live in was truly a work of art. It had a walk in shower, big enough to fit four people comfortably, and enough shower heads built into the walls to accommodate everyone. I love that shower!
However, three of the homes the bank put in the package needed serious work. I would need to put up another chunk of cash to make them livable.
That wasn't going to be a problem with the amount of equity I had in the properties. I hired Jim, a handyman, to deal with the smaller issues. He had hit hard times when he took his retirement at twenty years. The economy was in the toilet and he was on the verge of being homeless.
Jim was in his late thirties and knew his way around fixing almost anything. He would become my property manager and good friend. Jim was a veteran who enlisted at eighteen. He had divorced his cheating wife. She picked him up from the airport after being deployed fifteen months in Afghanistan. She was eight months pregnant. I'm not sure how she figured Jim would believe it was his, or if that was her way of telling him she had moved on.
The divorce wiped out his savings as the courts split their assets. Decent jobs were scarce and Jim was having a hard time getting on his feet. Part of his compensation would be a home he could live in rent free.
Anyway, one of those homes had to be gutted. The stench of animal urine and mold, along with the damage to the walls, would be costly and time-consuming. It looked as though the people who had owned the house had lived like pigs and then destroyed everything they could before they left.
The orange home improvement store loves my business and has even volunteered to help fix up a couple of homes being utilized for my program. They have done everything from landscaping and painting, to installing blinds and flooring.
Ten of my houses are now used to help people. Sometimes one family will stay in a house up to a year or more, as long as the adults in the house are going to school and work at least part time.
Other times, individuals will share a house with others, trying to get back on their feet. I try to match up personalities and people with similar life experiences to help the continuity of the house.
There is no drinking or smoking allowed while they stay. They are not permitted to throw any parties, but guests are encouraged as long as it helps their situations.
We help them with government assistance, educational and vocational programs, job searches, résumé writing, mock interviews, and financial counseling. I'm not going to say we can help everyone who comes to us, but our success is evident by the amount of donations we get back from people we have been able to help. Grants have also given us another source of revenue.
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For the long haul these properties were my nest egg, or sell in case of emergency fund. I felt that at my age, I could help others, given my financial luck.
I started a non-profit organization to help people get on their feet, in particular, for veterans, but I look at each situation independently. My father was an enlisted Marine who died while serving when I was just seven years old.
My mom had no family to turn to and was devastated when he passed away. He wasn't killed in combat or anything dramatic like that. He had developed pneumonia and died three days later. That's what the uniformed man said when he came to the door while I clung to my mom's side.
My mom didn't cope well and ended up leaving me with my uncle Don. Why she never came back was a mystery to me. He was a Marine as well. He was much older than my dad and had that can do attitude. He instilled in me the drive that I carry with me today.
My uncle never sugar coated anything, except when it came to my mom. He was tactful when I asked about her, and I asked about her a lot during the first year. He expressed his thoughts about my mom and never said a bad thing about her.
As the years rolled by, I won't say that it got easier, but I didn't think about my mom nearly as much by the time I became a teenager. Around the holidays I still felt a deep sense of loss, and I always made something for her in February, when her birthday came around. My uncle kept all the presents I made, just in case she returned.
I loved my mom even though I felt abandoned at times. I became a young man, mentored by my uncle. Work was built into my character and independence, in my nature. I never became rebellious and I did well in school.
The small group of friends I had all moved on to college after graduation. We took a couple of trips to celebrate our freedom. The first trip we took, I lost my virginity with a girl I didn't know.
We had gone camping at Lopez Lake, just east of Pismo beach. We had a great time hiking and swimming. We even rented some quads and rode the dunes. That was how I met Dee. To this day I'm not sure if that was short for Diane or Dee Ann, or if that was even her name at all.
Dee was a good looking, enthusiastic, young lady, a couple of years older than my eighteen. Our group had spent most of the day with her friends riding the dunes, we had a blast. Her long, sandy blonde hair was hanging below her helmet, whipping in the wind as we rode.
As night fell that night, I would come to learn about the female anatomy and how we fit together. A first class blow job was performed like a porn star. She swallowed my cum like a fish in water and wanted more. Dee kept me hard after my first orgasm with a woman.
When we had talked earlier, our groups were discussing sex. Several of us still claimed our virginity proudly. Dee took notice and wasted no time staking her claim on me.
I was more than happy with the oral sex. As she continued to fellate my member, she kept whispering how much she wanted my cock in her. Once she was satisfied that my erection wasn't going anywhere, she mounted me.
I won't lie, her body was average, but then again so was mine at the time. Neither of us was out of shape, just not as defined as we could have been.
At seven and a half inches, I knew I was on the larger side of the spectrum. Dee tossed the condom off to the side instead of putting it on me. Obviously, she wasn't worried about getting pregnant or diseases.
She rode my cock to the base and ground her clit against my pelvis. Once she started to orgasm, it was like a roller coaster. Every minute or two Dee would climax and come down.
As I was getting closer, I asked her about changing positions. We settled on missionary where I felt more in control. I sucked on her B cups and noticed she liked to play with her clit while we fucked.
I asked to change again. I gripped her hips and slammed my meat into her, doggy style. Her face was down and her ass was up, just like the song said.
Dee was very vocal in that position. I'm not sure why, but in this position I knew I was diving deeper into her. My orgasm began to build and build, and when I exploded it felt as if a powerful wave crashed over me and flooded my senses.
I was extremely satisfied. I was able to hold out for a good twenty minutes, thanks to her oral expertise prior to actually fucking her.
Dee and I did it four more times over the next couple of days, and even did anal once, before we said our goodbye.
