Coming Together: Special Hurricane Relief Edition (15 page)

* * * *

After a
leisurely breakfast on Wednesday morning, Stormy's group departed La
Fortuna for
Monteverde
. Typically a five
hour trip in a 4x4, their guides warned them that
delays were
likely
due to the especially heavy rain of the previous night.

They enjoyed
the breathtaking views around
Lago Arenal
and, as they'd made no fixed plans for the day, stopped frequently to
sight-see, take photographs, or simply stretch their legs. Rob and
Max relaxed considerably amongst their group, and Stormy discovered
that they had a plethora of humorous tales to tell. They'd been
touring Central America for most of the summer, doing an independent
study project on eco-tourism. The rainy season brought their latent
feelings for one another to the fore, and they still struggled to
come to terms with what was shaping up to be a long-term
relationship.

After they
lunched near
Tilarán
, the van
continued onto the bumpiest roads any of them had ever experienced.
They could do naught but laugh as they jostled and jiggled about.
Since Mia remained in
La Fortuna
, Stormy
now had the entire middle bench to herself, but napping was
completely out of the question. She found it truly amazing that the
van did not come apart at the seams.

They arrived
at
Monteverde
in the late afternoon and
immediately sought a restaurant for drinks and dinner. The rain had
not yet made an appearance, and all wanted to have an early dinner
before it did—perhaps to ensure they each had enough energy for
the inevitable escapades.

Stormy
doubted she could handle another encounter as intense as the one just
shared with Mia. Thoughts of it swirled through her mind almost
constantly: an instant replay of exquisite memories that would
undoubtedly have a lasting impact on her life. While welcoming the
shift in her paradigms, she still felt the pangs of uncertainty that
typically accompanied such a profound change. She felt the need to
talk to Mia—at length—but the language barrier presented
a challenge to the expression of such complex emotions. Plus, Mia
didn't seem like much of a talker. She spoke through action and was,
in her own way, a very effective communicator.

Their driver
recommended a new place called Moon Shiva, which proved to be rustic,
cozy, and comfortable. Each enjoyed the eclectic décor and the
unusual fare, tasting one another's varied selections. They were
examining the dessert menu when the rain began. As one, the five of
them shouted, "Check,
por favor
!"
and then burst into laughter.

This drew
the attention of a man seated alone at the bar. He studied the group
and then summoned the waitress—who gave him a puzzled look and
then disappeared to fill his unusual order.

As the group
divvied up the tab, the waitress delivered a drink. Stormy started to
protest, "I didn't order..." when the waitress tipped her
head toward the bar. There, looking rather pleased with himself, was
Starbucks Charlie! He had shed the suit in favor of more casual
attire: worn jeans and a t-shirt.

Charlie
raised his drink in a toast, prompting Stormy to return the gesture.
She cautiously sipped, not knowing what to expect of the clear
liquid. Vodka? Gin? Neither. It was just water! Intrigued, she made
her way over to the bar.

"How
nice to see you again! Thanks for the rather—well—'surprising'
drink," Stormy said. "Your ass looks great in those jeans."

It took a
few seconds for Stormy to realize that the she'd actually spoken that
last sentence. She opened her mouth to apologize and added, "Would
you like to go somewhere and fuck?"

Stormy's
eyes grew wide and her hand flew to her mouth. Charlie, however, did
not seem the least bit surprised by her unbridled candor.

"So
naughty!" he teased, as he planted a light kiss on her blushing
cheek.

"What's
in this drink?" Stormy demanded, bouncing in rapid succession
between anger and embarrassment and desire and incredulity.

"Just
water," Charlie responded with a grin. "Rain water."

The
ramifications of drinking the Costa Rican rain were not lost on
Stormy.

"And
what, precisely, were you hoping to accomplish by giving me this?"
Stormy asked indignantly. "You had to know by now that the rain
itself would have me more than willing to fuck you without any extra
inducements."

"True.
I want more from you than
that
—although
that
will, I'm certain, be absolutely delightful. But first," Charlie
explained, "I want to talk."

Stormy
laughed, "Talk!
Talk
? You've gotta be kidding! When it
rains here, talking is the
last
thing on anyone's mind."

"I told
you I was here on business...and I am. But when I experienced the
effects of the rain, I realized that I had an opportunity to fulfill
a long-standing fantasy.

"You
see," Charlie continued, "I've always wanted to know what
women are really thinking about sex—before, during, and after.
Would you..."

Stormy
interrupted, "So, if I cooperate—if I tell you—will
you fuck me? Or, am I leaving right now to find a less demanding
partner?"

"Are
you saying everything that pops into your head?"

"If it
has to do with sex, yes. I can't keep from blurting it out."

"Do you
mind if I record our conversation?" Charlie asked.

"Not
into romance, are you? Um, okay. You've got five minutes—and
then, if your hands aren't on my skin, I'm gone."

"Deal.
Thanks," Charlie said. "I know it's hard. For me, too."

"Nowhere
near as
hard
as it's gonna be," Stormy assured him,
arching a brow.

With that,
they left the restaurant and hurried to Charlie's rented Jeep, parked
at far edge of the gravel lot. The rest of Stormy's group had
apparently already split, for the van was gone. She couldn't fault
them for bolting, under the circumstances. She'd have to catch up to
them later. Charlie quickly unlocked the SUV and they climbed into
the back seat.

Stormy
realized that she still held the rain water cocktail, and after
taking another drink, she placed the tall glass in one of the cup
holders on the console between the front bucket seats. Charlie dug
out his digital recorder and turned it on, holding it somewhat like a
microphone as he opened his mouth to ask an interviewer's question.

"Oh,
put that damned thing down," Stormy insisted, taking it from his
hand and hanging it by its strap from the little garment hook over
the window. "Those little doo-dads can pick up voices from
across rooms. I want your hands free."

She smiled
at the expression on Charlie's face as he realized he was not, and
probably never had been, in total control of the situation. The only
way he could get what he wanted—Stormy's uncensored
thoughts—was to do exactly what she wanted.

"Now,
sit here—in the middle," she instructed, scooting out of
the way. As soon as Charlie complied, Stormy straddled him.

"First
question?" she inquired, ever so seductively, as she removed her
shirt.

Charlie, a
bit distracted by the sumptuous lace-contained flesh that now hovered
mere inches from his face, stammered a bit before responding. "What
is your favorite position for sex?"

"We're
in it," replied Stormy without hesitation. "Next?"

"Do you
like giving..." Charlie paused appreciatively as Stormy removed
her bra, "...head?"

"Absolutely."

Tearing his
gaze from her chest, he continued, "Do you swallow?"

"Usually,"
Stormy replied as she guided Charlie's hands to her breasts. "Do
you like my breasts?"

"I'm
asking the questions here," Charlie protested, rather weakly.
"Do you like it? Swallowing?"

"It's
not my favorite part. I could certainly live without it, but it's not
repulsive, either. By far, the best part about doing it is how much
the guy enjoys it. Squeeze."

Squeezing as
ordered, Charlie switched gears, "Have you ever had sex with a
woman?"

"Oh,
yeah," Stormy purred, although Charlie couldn't tell if her tone
was due to his squeezing or her recollections or, perhaps, a
combination of the two.

"I mean
before coming to Costa Rica," Charlie elaborated.

"Not
one-on-one, no."

"In a
group, then?"

"A
threesome," Stormy clarified. "Lick. Right here. Yeah, just
like that."

Charlie
paused to ask, "How was it?"

"Mmm.
It was hot. I'd do it again in a heartbeat. In fact," Stormy
giggled, "I just did—yesterday morning. Don't stop."

"What
gets you off the fastest?" Charlie fired.

"A
vibrator," Stormy shot back. "Oh, you mean with a partner?
Well, a vibrator then, too."

"Smart
ass," Charlie grinned. "So you masturbate?"

"Of
course. Don't you?"

"Do you
let your partner watch?" he asked, plaintively.

"Oh,
that'd get you off—wouldn't it?" Stormy slipped off his
lap just long enough to remove her shorts. "You wanna watch?
How's this?"

Charlie
groaned and struggled to maintain some semblance of concentration as
both of Stormy's hands traveled down her body. "Tell me what
you're thinking right now," he said in a hoarse whisper.

"I'm
thinking that you're just about dying to get out of those jeans
because they're getting mighty constricting. Hold my ass."

"True,"
Charlie had to admit, as he again complied with her directive. The
visual evidence would have clearly countered any attempt to deny it.

"I'm
also thinking that when I do this," Stormy said as she dipped
her index finger between her folds and applied her personal lip gloss
to Charlie's lips, "that you're gonna make a really
interesting—"

"Uhhhhhhhhmmmmmmm."

"—sound.
And I was right."

Charlie
struggled to regain his composure and asked, "Do you like anal?"

"Nope.
Not the least bit interested in the penetration part. Just doesn't
appeal to me. I even tried it alone with a vibe, just to make sure I
wasn't missing out on something spectacular. Rimming can be
enjoyable, though. Another taste?"

"Uh
huh," Charlie responded as Stormy took her fingers from their
depths and popped them into his mouth. She followed them with a kiss,
tasting herself on his mouth, his tongue.

"I know
what you're going to ask, and yes—I love how I taste."

"So do
I," Charlie admitted.

"How
you taste? Or how I taste? Have you tasted yourself?"

Charlie
clarified, "How
you
taste. And I'm asking the questions,
remember?"

"You're
being evasive—but I'll let it slide if you—oh, uh
huh—keep doing
that
!" Stormy moaned as Charlie bit
one nipple and then the other.

Conversation
stopped for a few minutes while Charlie lost himself between Stormy's
ample breasts. Their words were replaced with guttural noises and the
slippery sounds of Stormy's hands moving between her legs with
increasing speed.

Charlie
wrenched himself away and rasped, "What do you think about while
masturbating?"

"Depends."

"On?"

As she
tugged at the waistband of his pants, she explained, "Whether
I'm alone or with someone. If I'm with someone, I'm thinking about
how what I'm doing is getting them off. Like now. You are
so
on the edge."

"True,
and so are you," Charlie observed, taking her hands and drying
her fingers on his t-shirt so that she could get a better grip on his
zipper. "And alone? A celebrity, perhaps?"

"Oh,
fuck! Nice cock!" Stormy exclaimed as Charlie raised his hips to
allow her to slide his jeans and boxers over his ass and down to his
ankles. "No, celebrities are too...too
distant
. Alone, I
usually think about someone I know—personally—getting off
on my tongue."

"Interesting,"
Charlie said with a gasp as she toyed with his balls. "This
person—male or female?"

"Depends."

"On?"
Charlie again asked, seating Stormy back on his lap so that her pussy
rested against his cock.

"On my
mood. On the connection. Damn, that feels nice. What about you?"

"You
don't think about being on the receiving end of such attention?"

"Of
course I do, and you're evading me again!" Stormy teased. "But
most of my fantasies deal with giving pleasure, or at least they
start out that way. Just the thought of someone fantasizing about me
will get my motor running—if it's someone I find desirable,
that is."

"Well,
I've been fantasizing about you since meeting you on the plane,"
Charlie confessed, returning his attention to her breasts.