Coming Together: Special Hurricane Relief Edition (12 page)

Exhausted,
we lay against each other until the rain stopped. Our bodies were
slick with sweat and rain and we hugged each other tightly. He
lightly stroked my hair and kissed my face until our breathing came
back to normal. When I felt the warmth of the sun on my skin, I
opened my eyes and told him that we'd better get dressed before we
got arrested!

"You're
right, wouldn't want to scare anybody!" Mike said, playfully
smacking my butt.

After
getting dressed and gathering the very wet remains of our picnic, we
made our way to the hotel. I groaned as we passed my car, looking at
Mike and pouting.

"It's
alright," he said, hugging me tightly.

"I
guess we'll get it sodomized?" I asked. I pressed my nose up
against the driver's side window, whimpering.

"What?!
No!" He laughed. "It's called simonized—and no,
that's polishing and waxing. Sodomy is... well, actually, I'll show
you what it is..." He lunged at me. I screamed and ran towards
our room. I laughed as he captured me, pinning me against the door.
While he kissed me, he fumbled with the key and then pushed me
through. Almost falling on the floor when the door opened, I turned
around and stopped dead in my tracks. There was a sign over the bed
that read: "Will you marry me?"

I
couldn't breathe. I was in absolute shock and turned around to see
him on his knees holding the most perfect diamond ring.

"Yes,"
I whispered, my hand against my lips. "Yes!"

*
* * *

Rubbing
my back, I smile as I feel the diamond skim my skin. Bringing my hand
around I stare at it again, touching it just as I have for the past
day and a half.

I
hear the shower start and breathe in deeply. "It's Monday,"
I think to myself. "What a wonderful way to start the week and
the rest of my life."

Tiptoeing
to the bathroom, I undress quietly and enter the shower, to be
greeted by my fiancé and a huge smile...oh, not to mention a
huge hard on as well!

~
~ ~ ~

Wetter
Has Never Been Better

©
Alessia Brio

The shrill
alarm jarred Stormy into consciousness. Her bare arm darted from
beneath the sheets and swatted the snooze button, knocking the clock
onto the floor. Dazed, she freed herself from the tangled bedclothes
and struggled to her feet. She didn't feel as if she'd slept at all,
in spite of turning in early.
Restless
didn't even begin to
describe her night. "Damned deadlines!" she muttered to
herself.

This
particular deadline, more so than any other in her brief career,
weighed very heavily on Stormy's mind. She desperately wanted to nail
a major account, and this was her big chance: her chance to make a
name for herself. A successful ad campaign would certainly open
doors, and it would prove that she'd made the right decision in
turning hobby into vocation.

Just over a
year ago, Stormy burst onto the advertising scene. New in town and
with no real experience or training in the field, she surprised the
industry insiders with her gutsy ideas. Her freelance work caught the
eye of a seasoned agency exec and, with a mixture of relief and
regret, she accepted his job offer. Although she ultimately wanted to
start her own company, the lure of a steady income was just too
seductive. Since then, she'd been routinely cranking out quality work
that, for some inexplicable reason, just wasn't producing the
expected sales.

Stormy
poured all her energies into her work, leaving precious little time
for a social—much less a sex—life. She was good at it,
and she knew it, which only heightened the frustration when her
material was not as well received as she'd anticipated. She felt she
really needed to pull off a major coup: an elusive campaign that
succeeded beyond anyone's wildest expectations. It would give her the
name recognition needed in order to successfully launch her own
business.

Her company
announced the
challenge
on Friday afternoon, three days ago.
Not a
competition
. Oh, no! That word was too laden with—well,
competitiveness. Advertising executives, ever attuned to nuance,
instead
challenged
the staff to produce, by one week from
Monday, the outline of a multimedia ad campaign for a big new client.
As incentive, the employee best rising to the challenge secured the
position of lead project manager for that campaign with the freedom
to handpick the project team.

As she drew
her bath, Stormy recalled the rampant speculation preceding the
announcement. Who was the client? What were they selling? Why an
agency-wide challenge instead of just a regular assignment?
Management assured them that the details would be revealed at
four-thirty, on the dot. It was so typical of an ad agency to make a
big announcement that there would soon be a bigger announcement.
First rule of advertising: hype the hype!

At precisely
half past four, the P.A. system crackled to life.

"Ladies
and gentlemen, we have been blessed with an unprecedented
opportunity," the voice of the CEO boomed. "We have been
given the chance to succeed where several of our major competitors
have failed. If—no, WHEN—we succeed, we will have landed
the largest account in the history of this firm. I know you will each
give this challenge your best effort.

"The
client is the government of Costa Rica. Tourism is a major source of
income for this country. However, that income fluctuates
significantly throughout the year due to the vagaries of the weather.
The challenge, therefore, is to produce a multi-media ad campaign
intended to increase tourism by at least fifty percent during the
country's rainy season.

"The
deadline is nine o'clock sharp Monday morning, ten days hence. Get
busy."

For the last
few minutes of the workweek, an eerie silence encompassed the office.
Staff spent what typically would have been a time of jovial chitchat
about weekend plans deep in thought. Everyone retreated to their
cubicles and put on their proverbial thinking caps. Challenge indeed!
What could be more of a challenge than making a vacation destination
appealing in bad weather?

Over the
weekend, Stormy immersed herself in the project. The Internet
produced a trove of information about Costa Rica. All very
interesting, but the ideas—brilliant or otherwise—continued
to elude her. She flipped on the television and plopped onto the sofa
with her coffee, mulling over what she'd learned. The Central
American rainy season lasted from May through November, with the
Pacific slope getting the most rain in September and October. She
also learned that the Pacific slope featured the country's most
popular tourist attractions: the active
Arenal
volcano with its hot springs and the
Monteverde
cloud forest.

Why
,
she pondered,
would anyone want to go there this time of year?
Was
there a particular demographic group that could be targeted? The
answers completely escaped her. Perhaps, Stormy told herself, she
should just go there and find out for herself.

Impulsively,
back on the Internet, she had no trouble finding a last minute spot
on an abbreviated five-day/four-night Costa Rican tour. The charter
flight departed Pittsburgh in less than four hours. Her passport was
still valid. She had—just barely—enough cash. With
surprisingly little internal debate, Stormy convinced herself to go
for it. She dialed her supervisor's line and got through to the
receptionist.

"Della,
it's Stormy. I won't be in today. In fact, I won't be in all week.
I'm going to take my vacation now, if that's okay with
What's-his-face
."

Della
giggled.
What's-his-face
, their supervisor, was notorious for
his inability to remember anyone's name. The staff returned the
courtesy by bestowing the nickname. "I'm sure it will be, but
what about—you know—
the challenge
? I figured you'd
be all over it by now."

"I am,
sugar. I am." Stormy explained, "I'm going to Costa Rica."

"Oh!"
Della exclaimed, and after a pause to digest the significance of that
revelation added, "You go, girl!"

"Do me
a favor, will you? Please don't tell anyone where I'm going."

Della's
pledge of secrecy obtained, Stormy realized that she had very little
time to prepare. She rushed about, putting a hold on her mail, taking
her cat to the neighbor's, making a few phone calls, and packing a
small, waterproof bag with just very basic clothes and toiletries. By
the time she'd finished, it was time to head for the airport.

Stormy
enjoyed an uneventful flight from Pittsburgh to Charlotte, even
managing, uncharacteristically, to nap from take-off to landing.
During the brief layover, she grabbed a bite to eat and examined the
challenge
anew.

It was in
Starbucks that she first noticed him: tall with curly salt-n-pepper
hair; clean shaven; business suit with cowboy boots. He had an air
about him. Supremely self-confident, but not arrogant.

Choosing an
adjacent table, if those Frisbee-sized things could accurately be
called tables, Stormy caught a whiff of his cologne.
Mmm!
One
of her favorite scents. He pecked away at a fancy-looking laptop,
thoroughly absorbed in the activity.

Stormy
studied him obliquely. The suit looked expensive. The boots were
polished. Square jaw. Amazing hands. Long fingers, rugged but not
calloused. No wedding ring. Impeccably groomed. Broad shoulders with
not a trace of pudge around the waistline. Seriously fuckable, was
Stormy's final assessment as she tossed her empty cup in the can and
strolled to her boarding gate.

Looking
forward to a full three hours' rest during the non-stop service from
Charlotte to San Jose, the capitol of Costa Rica, Stormy found her
seat and grabbed three tiny airline pillows. The flight was far from
full, and with any luck, she'd have a whole row of seats to herself.
Next year at this time, she vowed to herself, this same flight would
be booked to capacity thanks to her winning campaign.

She buckled
up to avoid being pestered to do so at take-off, rested her head
against the window, and closed her eyes—putting on her best "Do
Not Disturb" persona in the hopes that the adjacent seats would
remain vacant so she could stretch out later.

Waking with
a start, Stormy realized that the plane was in the air and that she
did indeed have the row to herself. She turned sideways to put up her
legs and noticed HIM—the Starbucks guy—across the aisle.
He looked at her intently, with a rather cryptic expression on his
face, and his gaze was unnerving. Stormy felt her body respond.

"Business
or pleasure?" he suddenly asked.

"What?
Oh, um—business, actually. Maybe some pleasure. You?"

"Same,"
he said, extending his hand across the aisle. "I'm Charlie."

Unbuckling,
Stormy scooted over to the aisle seat, "Stormy. Nice to meet
you."

She would
have gladly continued the conversation, but Charlie turned back to
his newspaper. So, Stormy put up her feet and tried again to sleep.
Images of this enigmatic man danced through her mind, making her
fidget a bit. She realized that perhaps she should have packed her
vibrator. After all, the last thing she needed was the distraction of
perpetual horniness. On such a short trip with such an important
objective, she simply did not have time for such diversions.

The next
thing she knew, Charlie's hands gripped her ass. His lips met hers in
an exquisitely languorous kiss—their bodies one, sweat
shimmering on skin. Intense. Grinding.

Stormy's own
groan woke her. Disoriented, she looked about, with realization
slowly dawning. A dream. Just a dream. But, wow, what a dream! Maybe,
she thought, if she could get right back to sleep, it'd pick up where
it left off.

As she
shifted to a more comfortable position, she noticed Charlie studying
her, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Blushing, Stormy
again closed her eyes. Hours later, she was awakened by the flight
attendant instructing her to buckle up. Alas the dream had not
returned, but perhaps that was for the best, she mused. Stormy
stretched and retrieved her carry-on, fully rested and ready to
experience whatever Costa Rica had to offer.

* * * *

Juan
Santamaría
International Airport buzzed with activity,
but it couldn't be considered crowded by any stretch of the
imagination. She breezed right through Customs in no time flat, even
with only two of the four booths opened. Next year, she vowed, there
would be the expected delays due to the influx of rainy season
tourists. Stormy took a table at the outdoor café near the
terminal's exit and watched for the tour van, which was scheduled to
depart
San José
for
La
Fortuna
at seven p.m. local time.

Although the
sun still shone when she arrived, the day's inevitable rain would
soon come. The clouds approached from the western horizon. Rainy
season didn't mean rain all day, every day, Stormy had learned during
her research. Often, the days started clear and sunny with rain
beginning in the late afternoon and ending sometime during the night.