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This is the third chapter in an on-going story about two individuals who are hunkering down before Hurricane Frances – an actual storm – passes over central Florida. Although not absolutely necessary, I recommend reading the first two chapters and then come back to this installment. The storm and its effect were real. As a Floridian, I lived through it. I have taken certain literary license in the story, however. This is only my third submission anywhere; I hope you are enjoying it. The story will outlast the storm. And then, perhaps, Hurricane Ivan will contribute.

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I was having the most wonderful dream. So wonderful. So wet. So wild. So wantonly imaginative and exciting. So real! In my dream, I could feel a wet, wriggling warmth enveloping my cock. I lay in that half-awake/half-asleep state enjoying my dream, promising myself that this would be one dream I would remember when I actually awakened.

I eventually realized that it was a mouth working on me in my dream. A warm, wet, wondrous mouth with a wiggling, writhing tongue. I could feel my morning wood being drawn deep into that dream mouth. I could feel the tongue of my dream partner sliding along the bottom side of my erection, licking, warmly rubbing it. I felt my organ slide out of that mouth and the tongue wrap around my seven-and-a-half-inch length, then tickle directly under the mushroom head of my rock-hard member. A feminine hand was gently pumping the base of my shaft as the mouth once again enveloped my hard-on. I felt a moan escape my throat as I enjoyed my dream lover.

“Are you waking up, Steve?”

I opened my eyes and looked down toward the foot of my bed. My dream lover was actually a dream come true. I saw Laura, a young woman I had literally bumped into (was it just yesterday?) who was now sharing my bed. And my manhood. Her mouth was sucking me into the top of her throat and I could feel her tongue writhing about my hardness.

“I’m awake,” I answered, “although I could feign sleep almost forever if it would keep this going. God, that feels good.”

“Then I’ll keep doing it.” Laura closed her mouth tightly around my dick. Her head bobbed up and down on me as her hand kept rhythm with her oral movements.

“Damn, this is the best wake up call I’ve ever had,” I stated.

Laura took me out of her mouth and smiled up at me. “He was already awake when I started this.” She sucked me back in with a loud noise and resumed her oral magic. I could feel that again-familiar tingling behind my balls.

“If you keep that up, you’re going to get a mouthful.”

“I’ve already got a mouthful,” she retorted before again resuming one of the best blowjobs I could ever envision. The tingling behind my gonads grew stronger. I reached down and caressed her short brown hair as she bobbed up and down on my love muscle.

“Laura, if you keep this up, I’m going to come.”

Laura continued bobbing up and down on my cock, her tongue a liquid fire upon my manhood. I could feel myself getting closer and closer to orgasm. She took me deep into her mouth (part of me, I swear) down her throat and held me there for several very long seconds before lifting her mouth from me and scootching up the bed until her face was even with mine. Laura kissed me deeply. I could taste myself on her tongue.

“Good morning,” she said. “Did I wake you up?”

“You sure did. All of me.”

“I like how you taste. I like how you feel in my mouth.”

“And I like how I felt in your mouth.” Our tongues dueled. She was surprisingly fresh despite the fact that we had both just awakened after a full night of sleep. “Am I really hard again? Is this just a dream?”

“It’s not a dream,” she answered. “Maybe a dream come true, but not a dream. You feel too real to me to be a dream.”

We continued to kiss. I reached down and took her breast in my hand, gently squeezing it. She reached down and grasped my erection and slowly stroked it. I moved my hand from her bosom down to her muff and fingered her slit. It was sopping wet. My finger slid into her entrance. Our tongues dueled.

Laura rolled her leg over my torso and shifted her position to get atop me. As she rolled on top of me she moved my lance to meet her sopping wet sex sheath, putting my organ at her opening. Once she was on top she started to slowly insert my manhood into her waiting womanhood. I easily slid into her well-lubricated hole. Before I knew it, I was solidly implanted into her warm vagina.

Laura began to slowly roll her hips as she straddled my hips. I could feel my shaft slowly slide in and out of her orifice. Except for thrusting my hips forward and upward to facilitate her ability to stroke my cock with her cunt, I lay still, letting her control the situation. The wet friction was fantastic.

I took her breasts in my hands, gently squeezing those lovely orbs. I was rewarded with both a smile from Laura and a squeeze of her vaginal sheath. “I love how you can squeeze me like that,” I stated.

She flexed those muscles around my length again. “And I love having you in me to be able to squeeze you.” Laura’s eyes squeezed shut as she again squeezed me with her love tunnel. The exquisite pleasure caused me to close my eyes.

I lifted my face and found a nipple with my tongue. I drew it gently into my mouth and sucked on it, rubbing the tip with the end of my tongue. I felt another squeeze on my pole. “I love the feel of your mouth on me,” she said. “Your mouth is like magic. It sends me to wonderful places.” I continued to tongue her peak as she continued to slowly pump up and down on my pole.

I switched to her other breast and lavished her other brown nub with my mouth. “Ah, yes,” she moaned. “Ah, that feels so good.” My hands gently massaged those wonderful mounds as I switched back and forth between the two nipples. “Ahhh, yes,” she muttered.

Like the transmission of a fine sports car, Laura’s pelvis seemed to change into a higher gear. Her strokes became just a bit faster and just a bit longer in length. I was concerned that she might stroke me right out of her, but soon realized she was factoring in the length of my manhood to the length of her stroke. It remained a long stroke. Several times I felt the head of my cock almost slip out. When that happened, Laura would deliberately slip back down the length of my shaft and press her pelvis against mine and rotate, rubbing our pubic hairs together.

I continued to remain rock still on the bed, my efforts to facilitate the situation being just the steady up thrusting of my pelvis and my hard lance. It appeared to be sufficient.

She shifted into an even higher gear. Her slick sheath rotated down and then again up on me. Her clitoris rubbed against my pubic hair every time she bottomed out and rubbed our crotches together. Her breathing grew faster and harder. Her movements grew faster and harder. I felt harder than I could recall ever being, loving the loving that was being lavished upon me. My breathing also grew faster.

Laura slammed down hard, impaling herself to the full extent of my erection and held her carpeted mound against me. I felt her body slightly jerk. “Oh, yes,” she moaned. She began to again piston up and down my length. Her hazel eyes were closed. I could hear her hold her breath and then raggedly release it before catching another breath.

Laura lowered herself to press her torso against mine. I shifted my hands to her back and down to her butt, gently holding that fine behind while she continued to plunge and rotate on my hardness.

Laura’s mouth sought out mine. Her tongue dove between my lips as her pelvis changed gears one final time. I could feel her racing to her finish. I sensed my own engine beginning to race and chased after her. We hit the checkered flag simultaneously. Her body tensed again as I erupted deep within her.

She lay on top of me, her weight a comfortable reminder of the pleasure we had just shared. After her respiration evened she kissed me fleetingly, and then hopped out of bed. “I’m hungry,” she said. “Are you up to some breakfast?”

“I don’t normally eat much,” I replied, “but please feel free to fix whatever you want.”

“Why don’t you brush your teeth and do whatever you normally do in the morning. When you’re done, meet me in the kitchen. I’ll perhaps have a surprise ready for you, by then.”

I smiled as I recalled the sexual session in my kitchen the previous afternoon. “I remember – you’re talented in the kitchen. Give me a few minutes and I’ll meet you in there.”

Laura gave me a warm kiss and pressed her torso against mine as I arose. “Steve, I don’t know how to tell you how much this means to me. Thank you.”

“Thank you,” I responded, “for letting me get to know you and the ways you are letting me get to know you. Whatever else happens, this will be the best hurricane I’ve ever experienced.”

“Me too.” She hugged me extra tenderly and departed for the other side of the house. I watched her butt cheeks sashay back and forth as she departed. I smiled.

After brushing my teeth, shaving, and taking a quick shower (I would never again see my shower in the same light that I had even twenty-four hours earlier) I slipped on a pair of shorts and shirt (I knew she demanded, if nothing else, a shirt at the table) and padded toward the kitchen.

A tantalizing odor tickled my nostrils as I approached the kitchen. Real food prepared for breakfast. I could smell coffee, but was not sure what else I was experiencing. I rounded the corner and saw two places prepared at the breakfast nook in the kitchen. A steaming mug of coffee and large glass of fresh Florida orange juice were positioned next to each plate. Laura was standing in front of the stove holding a frying pan, rolling its contents around. Thick slabs of French toast were finishing up on a griddle beside her.

What really got my attention, though, was her appearance. She was wearing my apron – it had been made specially for my six-and-a-half foot frame by some friends of mine some time back – as she stood facing the stove. Just that. Just the apron. Her derriere was framed fantastically below the tie straps of the apron and between the two edges. What a beautiful butt.

She sensed my entrance and turned to me with a smile. “You’re just in time. Have a seat. I hope you like French toast. I made it a special way.” Rather than taking a seat, however, I walked over to her and kissed the back of her neck, my arms around her in a loving embrace.

“Stop that!” she said, although I detected a smile in her voice. “The food’s just about ready and if you get me started, you won’t have it for breakfast.” She turned and gave me a quick kiss. “Now, sit down.”

I sat at my customary chair and picked up my coffee. I looked around for my cream and sugar, but could not see it on the table. I arose and got it. I prepared my coffee and took my first wake-up sip. She had brewed it perfectly.

Laura placed thick slabs of hot French toast on both our plates. She began spooning onto the toast the concoction she had been cooking when I walked in. “Wow,” I said, “I don’t think I’ve ever had this before. Looks good. It darn sure smells good. What is it?”

“Sliced bananas, obviously,” she answered, “and pecan pieces cooked in a mixture of butter and syrup. The trick to this, the chefs taught me, is to get the butter/syrup mixture hot enough, without burning, so that when the bananas are added, they crisp up on the outside without turning into mush on the inside. Eat up. Enjoy.”

I did precisely that, eating and enjoying a most wonderful breakfast. Laura and I split the third thick slice of French toast and finished our orange juice. I sat back, smiling, looking at her as I drank my coffee.

“I’m sorry I didn’t have the cream and sugar out for you,” she told me. “I had pictured you as a black coffee man.”

“I like my coffee like I like my women: hot, sweet, and tan.” Laura graciously smiled at my inadequate attempt at humor.

“Let’s drink our coffee on the lanai,” I suggested. We refilled our mugs and walked to the back of the house. I opened the slider and we stepped out. Closing the door behind us, I took her hand and led her to the far edge. Although my lanai had been damaged by Hurricane Charley and not yet fixed, one could still use it, although the ambiance was diminished. We sat down on chairs facing toward the rear of my property, overlooking a not-distant pond.

Two large turtles were sunning themselves on the far bank of the pond. An egret was standing in the shallows, statue-like, looking for his breakfast. An anhinga swam by, its head and neck out of the water looking snakelike. Which was what Laura thought it was until I identified the bird to this northern transplant. “Sometimes Al will visit and sun on the banks,” I told her.

“Al?”

“Al. As in, perhaps, Albert. Or Alice. I’m not sure of the gender, but for sure Al as in alligator. He or she is a relatively small one – about six, seven foot.”

A concerned look passed over her face. “My god, that’s bigger than me. Bigger than you, maybe. Aren’t you scared? Isn’t that dangerous?” I assured her it was not dangerous because I gave the gator no reason to grow accustomed to, and not scared of, humans.

“So,” I asked her as I took the last sips from my mug, “what do you want to do today?”

“What’s the latest on the hurricane?”

“It’s still headed for the east coast and projected to come over the top of us. We’ll see winds picking up soon and by tonight things could be rocking. It’s a major hurricane. We can stay out here for a while, but later today we’ll want to stay inside and hunker down. Do you have any preferences?”

“Getting to know you even better is high on my list,” she answered. “Do you have any good videos to watch?”

“I have some. Not sure if you’ve seen most of them. I have some old classics. Some comedies – I love comedies – “

“Me too!” she interjected.

“I really don’t think we’re going to find any video stores open nearby. As you noticed, I live a bit off the beaten path.”

“I noticed. I like this place, though. So quiet. So peaceful. At least right now. So isolated. Do you have any neighbors close by?”

“I don’t. I have just over two hundred acres. If you go about half a mile straight back, you’ll find a river that is the boundary to my property. The other side of the river is a wildlife preserve. On either side, at least for now, are properties similar to mine – people that desire and respect privacy. A man who hardly ever visits it owns one of those. A young couple – both surgeons – owns the other. We occasionally see each other, but, for the most part, once I come down the road I don’t see anybody until I hit the road again.”

“I like it. I like your place.”

I stood, took her empty mug and walked into the house to refill both mugs. She did not appear to have moved at all when I returned – she was looking out at the pond watching the world come alive around us.

“What a strange looking bird,” she stated, pointing to the anhinga that was now standing on the bank, wings spread. “I wasn’t sure whether or not to believe you that I was seeing a bird and not a snake, but now I see it out of the water. Why are its wings spread like that? Is that some kind of mating posture?”

I explained to her how an anhinga had no oil glands for waterproofing its feathers like other water birds and needed to spread its wings to dry its feathers. I talked also about the sand hill cranes that visited, their life-long mating habits, and even talked about the eagle nest near the river. Laura sat quietly, watching me intently as I rambled on about my land and the wildlife present.

“You really like this place, don’t you?”

“I love it.”

Laura hesitated before speaking again. “Steve, I want to ask a rather personal question. You don’t have to answer it, of course. I’m just a bit curious – maybe even puzzled – about something. Again, it’s your business and you don’t have to answer.”

I looked at her and could see only curiosity in her eyes. “Go ahead. Ask. Depending on the question, of course, I may or may not answer.”

“Here’s what I’ve been wondering. I know you’re one of the big guys at work, one of the top members of the administration. At least that’s what some of the people I work with had told me. Which means you probably get a decent salary. And, you told me about having made good investments some time back. But somehow, between the job and your life here, there seems to be a disconnect.

“I figure,” she continued, “that there’s no way that your job could pay enough for you to have a place like this. It’s not like you’re the CEO or anything like that. I mean, you’re a department head, but judging by what I’m paid, there’s no way a department head could afford this kind of place. So, that tells me that you are rich on your own right – that you don’t need to work. So, why do you? Am I off track? Did I make any sense? Are you mad at me for asking?”

I grinned at her over my mug. “You’re pretty perceptive. Pretty and perceptive.”

“And?”

I sipped my coffee. “You’re right. I really don’t need to work. At least not for the money. In some ways, I would like nothing better than to stay here on my little estate and enjoy what nature provides. I could afford it, but I enjoy and need the interaction that I have with people because of my job. Work to me is a very social thing. I like it. Plus, I like the challenges that work provides. I’m the kind of guy who is good at both concrete and abstract concepts. As a result, I’m able to do things with computers that others can’t. And I get respect for that. It makes me feel good.” I sipped more coffee. “Does that answer your question?”

“Pretty much. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Laura finished her coffee. “I want to take a shower. Do you mind if I leave you alone for a bit?”

“Go right ahead. Make yourself at home. You know where the towels are.”

Her sweet butt waggled its goodbyes to me through the open back of the apron as she went back in the house. I sat watching my pond, reflecting on the relationship that was developing between Laura and me. It had been less that twenty-four hours ago that I had literally bumped into her and then brought her home. I had not really known her well prior to that encounter, yet since roughly noon yesterday we had made love four times. Great love. Great sex. My balls started tingling again as I remember how she took me in her mouth in the kitchen yesterday afternoon. How we had made love in my bathroom twice last night – once on the sink and again in the shower. And how her magic mouth had awakened me this morning. Four times in less than a day. Not bad for a man my age.

Age. What a difference in our ages. And yet, at least right now, how unimportant that was. She had made sense yesterday evening when she told me that we were not responsible for when we were born – just responsible for what we had allowed our years to make of us. She had made a lot of herself in her two decades. Her young years felt compatible with my five-and-a-half decades.

I drank the last of my coffee and wandered inside. I rinsed my mug and put it into the dishwasher. I could hear water humming through the pipes, indicating the shower was running. I smiled, remembering that wonderful vision I experienced there last night. My balls started to tingle and I considered joining her and scrubbing her back.

I instead cleaned up the breakfast dishes, putting everything in the dishwasher. There was a little of the banana, nut, and syrup concoction left in the pan. I stuck my finger in the now-cool topping and scooped it out. It tasted great even cold. I realized I was with a very special person. A great cook. An interesting conversationalist. An intelligent woman, able to construct from seemingly disparate abstractions. And a minx in bed. My balls tingled once more at the thought of her.