Coming Together: Special Hurricane Relief Edition (9 page)

I
lie upon the mesh and open my arms to Liz.

"Come
home, my love."

And
she does.

~
~ ~ ~

it's
raining

©
Jamison Landry

I
imagine you and I

in
the pouring rain

lip
locked

tongues
collide

Against
this kiss

your
name's

whispered
into mine

I
breathe you

to
release me

I've
been waiting

all
my life

~
and finally

it's
raining

Encore
: Passadumkeag Waltz

©
Dave Edgar

A
sharp rattle overhead woke her. It felt airy, and it was utterly
dark. Karen oriented herself; she was in a tent, camping on the
Passadumkeag. She'd left Eric in town to go on a canoe trip with
close friends: Gene and Justine Dill and the newlyweds, Justin and
Sarah. "It must be the middle of the night," she thought
groggily.

The
rattle repeated itself and settled to a steady roll of rain on the
nylon tent fly. Rain! But she had the tent to herself, this trip; all
her gear was in the tent with her; it would stay dry. Except for one
thing.

"Oh,
no, the laundry!" The party had washed their things in the
bottom of Gene's canoe, and rinsed in the stream. It had gotten
almost dry on the line. Karen got her gumption up and shed her
sleeping bag.

"Flashlight!"
Naked but for her panties, she felt around for it.

It
was suddenly cool in the tent. The rain brought a downrush of cold
air with it, which felt delicious. "Two a.m.," she mumbled.
The flashlight showed her the pile of slick yellow. "I'll just
throw on the poncho and my sandals, it's starting to get serious,"
she said to herself.

She
heard Gene's tent zipper go just as she was reaching for hers. She
doused the light and came through the opening carefully.

"Karen?"
Gene's soft inquiry was followed by a beam from his light, but she
felt sure she was covered all right.

"Hi,"
she whispered.

"I'm
just getting the laundry," he told her.

"Me,
too." The two of them moved along the ropes unpinning and
gathering clothes and towels, meeting in the middle. "I'll take
these in with me," Karen proposed. "There's lots of room
still."

"Oh,
good. Take mine, too?"

She
agreed and he loaded her with all of it. "Thanks."

His
helpful beam of light guided her to her tent, but the poncho was
caught in the armload of towels and clothes. Gene watched her trim
hips appreciatively as she worked everything through the zippered
tent doorway and crawled through. The little white panties hardly
concealed a thing. The image of her body stayed in his mind's eye
after he'd shut the beam off.

"Justine's
sleeping," he said to himself.

Now,
just what did that have to do with anything? Was he considering
joining Karen in that tent? Another zipper noise came to his ears.

It
was Justin, his wife's twin, poking his head and shoulders out of the
blue nylon shell. "The laundry?" he inquired.

"We
got it; Karen has all of it in her tent." Gene accepted Justin's
thanks and circled the campsite to make sure everything was
sheltered. Justin settled in again. He could hear the two newlyweds
turn over and speak for a little while, then silence. Karen was still
arranging things, he heard the rustling. It recalled the vision of
her panties and sturdy legs. She would have taken the poncho off,
now, he imagined. The rain drummed on his slicker's hood; his head
was in a noisy, isolated space and he debated with himself under his
breath as he walked.

Karen
was a hot number. He'd dated her for a few months at Bowdoin before
she'd transferred; they'd hit it off very nicely indeed. Gene had
never met any woman with the sheer enthusiasm for sex that Karen had.
The memories had remained fresh in his mind for all these years; he
fantasized about them still.

"Karen
loved to fuck!" he said to himself. Justine was smart,
organized, and practical; she was also a real beauty, by conventional
standards much more so than Karen. His wife was a good complement to
his improvisational and intuitive nature. But she lacked the verve
and spice; Karen had been an innovative and fervent lover. "She
just doesn't compare," he summed up, again aloud. He walked to
the water's edge.

Clouds,
low and complete, covered the sky. There was just enough light from
that sky to make out the pale splashes of the rain on the dark
stream, flickers of lighter gray all over the surface like the
television when the station goes off the air. He stood and watched
their pattern but he was seeing images of Karen from the past—Karen
stroking him with mink gloves, sucking him in the men's room at
Thistles, bent over the hood of the old Volvo to be sodomized.

"God,"
he murmured. Anal sex had always been hot and intense with Karen. He
pulled his hands inside the poncho and rearranged his pajamas a
little to accommodate his expanding organ. The light rain rattled on
the poncho hood and the world was dark.

"Ah,
Karen," he muttered. It was cool and isolated by the streamside.
By midday they had stopped hearing any kind of motor; the trip had
taken them through many miles of beaver flowage, forest, and heath.
The party was cut off from the world at large; the rain and darkness
cut Gene off from the rest of the party. Gently and then more firmly
he stroked himself, calling forth memories of Karen before either of
them had married other people.

"Oh,
fuck! Take it up the ass, baby. Yes." His hands moved with
greater urgency. "Right into that beautiful fuckin' ass."
He reared back and closed his eyes; the rain caught him on the chin;
he recalled vividly her upturned hips and her lascivious smile the
time he'd slid his cock into her in the resource room at the Fogler
Library.

"Who's
getting it up the ass, Gene?" The whisper was startlingly close
by his ear. He leapt like a stag seeing the wolf.

"Karen!"
he hissed, for it was she, not an arm's length away, just behind his
shoulder.

"Me?"
Karen was quite amused. Men were such carnal creatures, so simple—and
so easy. There was a reason she'd left her husband behind, the
asshole. She hadn't consciously imagined striking up an affair with
Gene, but he'd been silhouetted against the stream. When she had come
sneaking up, she had heard clearly the rapid rhythmic slipping of his
knuckles on the cloth; unmistakably she knew what he was doing. She
remembered her college days every bit as well as he did.

"What
the hell! You scared the shit out of me!"

"I
thought you said I was taking cock up the butt?" Karen snaked a
hand inside and took a grip on Gene's hard cock. "Wow," she
murmured. It was huge and hard. She'd forgotten how fine a cock Gene
had.

"And
I thought you had gone back in the tent!" he whispered,
accusingly. Her cool hand felt incredibly good. Gene squirmed and
blushed strongly, but no one could see the blush and he didn't turn
enough to make her lose contact.

"I'm
going up by the trench; wanna come?"

"Christ!"
Gene was torn, but he knew the answer was no. It had to be no.

"Please,
Gene. I want it. No strings, no trouble, I promise. It'll help me
sleep. Come on up the hill and just fuck me."

"God,
Karen."

She
squeezed him gently and jacked the skin three strokes, then released
him. "Your call. But I meant it." She turned away and moved
across the silent pine needles. Gene said nothing. The rain's noise
closed in once more around his head, leaving him more alone than
ever.

Karen
slipped through between her tent and Justin's and Sarah's and then
climbed the hillside toward the latrine. She wondered if he'd come,
if he'd follow her. She was beginning, now, to feel guilty about
having made the offer.

"I
never should have grabbed it," she thought. "That was so
unfair." But what if he didn't? She'd be so ashamed to face him
if he didn't. She kicked an inoffensive pine cone off the trail.

"Oh,
fuck! What a slut I am!" she lamented aloud.

"Me,
too."

"Gene!
Thank goodness!" His arms slid in through the sides of the
poncho; his warm hands slid over her belly from behind her. One
cupped a breast, and the other—

"Oh,
Gene!" she breathed. "Now you have to!"

His
fingers pushed in and out of her hot cunt. Her juices flowed, her
nipple rose under his thumb, her head leant back on his collarbone.
As she held his invading hand hard against her mound their wedding
rings clacked together. Delicious sensations spread along the line
from the breast to her hardening clit.

"I
want to eat it," he said.

"Yes!"
She lifted up the slick yellow front by lifting her arms. Under he
went, avid to taste her. "Oh, yes." There was a metallic
click. He had shifted his hand to grab the panties, and then another
pull could be felt. "What...?"

"Hold
right still!" Another pull and she was naked.

"My
God! You cut them off!" His mouth was on her now. His tongue had
barely touched her when her come took her breath away.

She
made a noise that he recognized at once. "Gotcha," he said.

Her
hands clutched his head and she moaned, helpless with sudden lust.
His lips drew her into his mouth and his tongue flicked the flesh.
He'd made her come so quickly—her knees were water.

"Oh
God, Gene...!" He could feel her holding onto his head for
support. "You bastard!"

"Lean
on the tree, baby; there you are," he spoke soothingly and went
back to his tongue work once she had braced herself. She could feel
the rough bark against her back through the slicker; her pussy gave
her little sparks and thrills against his hot mouth. The rain pelted
down. It was gorgeous.

Under
the poncho it was not quite dark, but the parts he wanted most to see
were completely blotted out. She tasted fabulous and she was so
ardent he felt flattered. The wet beech leaves soaked through the
knees of the light cotton instantly, and a rivulet was streaming,
tickling madly, from the back of his head down his neck and along his
ribs. Her chest heaved and her nipples were springy-hard—she
would shudder if he brushed them roughly enough along his palm. The
rain made a crisp continuous rattle that echoed and distorted oddly
as the space enclosed changed its shape.

The
rain smell, the wet leaf smell, the sweet-musky woodsy pungence all
mixed with the sharp tang of pussy in the close air. Then a breath of
cool was drawn in, followed by complete openness. She'd thrown the
poncho off entirely. The rain struck in as she shook her head and, he
thought, grinned down at him. He could see the pale masses of her
breasts, but no detail. "Gene!"

"Mmm?"

She
grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled upwards. "Fuck me! Take
that thing off!" Gene arose clumsily, stepping on the poncho,
hastily removing pajama and poncho at once. Her hand scooped down,
she drove her fingers into her hungry cunt, urging him to hurry. She
had already knelt when he emerged, and she turned her ass to him, a
pale mass, unmistakable. The rain felt cold at first, but once he'd
entered her he stopped noticing. Her wet ass flattened against his
hips, she called his name.