With a long suffering sigh, I pick up the black bag of rubbish at my feet and head for the front door. It’s been one hell of a day, and my mind is filled with all of the things I’ve done and all those things I still have to do. I’m tired and harried, and I can’t wait until my husband gets home from work, just so he can take over the gargantuan task of being in charge.

The wheelie bin clatters closed and I get three steps away before something occurs to me. Silence. Stillness and silence. The weight of heavy air presses against my skin and I stroke my arms. All of the hairs there are starting to itch and rise, just like they do after I take washing from the tumble dryer.

My head stays still, but my eyes slowly shift up, taking in the swathe of sky between the two houses across the road. Grey and black clouds blot out the last of the summery blue, plunging the day into an unnatural darkness. There’s still a strange glow, though, behind those clouds, and at first I find it comforting.

Calmness descends on my little garden. A hush. Disturbed only be a few scattered drops of rain. It steadily gets heavier and I just stand there, watching the path between the flowerbeds that will soon be host to a small stream.

Everything seems less dull for a second, and then I hear it. A soft, far away rumble. But my usual first thought doesn’t come to me this time. I don’t wonder if maybe that sound could have been a wagon passing on the motorway. My body is right here, waiting, but my mind has slipped into a memory.

I remember the first time my husband fucked me in the rain, long before we were married. I remember him coming to me, already soaked, and pulling me outside when I’d laughed at how bedraggled he was. My thoughts linger on the way his calloused fingers scraped my drenched hair away from my face so his lips could find mine, and his gasp when he pulled my top down so his fingers could slip and slide over my nipples.

The rain gets heavier. The next flash is a little brighter, and the rumble a little louder.

I smile, thinking about bricks digging into my thighs, wet skin slapping on wet skin. Strong wind drove the rain sideways, into our mouths as we kissed and fucked. The ground turned to mush beneath his feet and we giggled as he slipped and nearly knocked me off the wall. That day had been almost perfect, but one thing had been missing. The ground shaking rumbles of thunder.

My body stiffens. Not because someone had just hurried past while I’d been standing here in the rain, eyes closed and face tilted toward the heavens. I stiffen because every cell I’m made of has gone from being aggravated to relaxed to totally and utterly loaded with anticipation, all in the space of a few minutes.

I take a deep breath, trying to detect the powerful scent of ozone that makes the back of my neck prickle. Today there will be thunder. I can feel that it’s close now, even though the flashes and booms seem to have stopped. The sky is glowing white, purple and orange behind those black clouds, so I know it’s coming.

Rain sheets down and suddenly it’s day again. Only for a few minutes, though. The lightning flash was so bright it’s left grotesque shapes dancing behind my eyelids. I count to four and then it happens.

Loud, deep crashing above me, windows rattling behind me, muscles tensing in my thighs and stomach. My heart is racing and the junction between my thighs is wetter and warmer than this summer storm.

Someone scurries past in the street with their head buried in their coat. I can’t tell if it’s a man or a woman, and I don’t really care. I take a step forward and then stop myself, watching them cross the road without looking. Laughing, I shake my head as the sky lights up again and a violent boom rattles my bones. I wouldn’t have. Would I?

All I know is, I wanted to. Still want to. Whether it’s my husband, a stranger or even me, I need to be touched. Each time forks of white streak through the sky I have to fight the urge to unbutton my clinging jeans. Each time the thunder roars I have to fight the urge to scream out in frustration. Oh, if only he were here! I’d give anything for him to be here right now, dragging me closer to the hedge so he could bend me over and fuck me until the storm choked out it’s final clap.

But he isn’t here, so I give myself a shake and hurry back inside. The windows are still rattling under the force of the rain. I dry myself off, shuddering each time I stroke the towel over my soaked top. I’m doing it on purpose, because I like it.

Just before I switch on the hall light a bright flash creeps in through the windows in the door. Clawed fingers wrapped around the handle, I turn it slowly. Walking through the muddy garden toward the house is my husband. He takes one look at me and his light grey eyes darken enough to rival the sky behind his head.

“Bed. Now.”

I waste no time, taking the stairs in twos. No, it isn’t the thunderous al fresco fuck I so long for, but we have a family now. We do these things indoors this close to home. But I know by the look in his eyes that I don’t need to be outside for this. I don’t need rain or thunder and lightning to feel his storm, and I know he’ll make sure I don’t miss a second of it.


Wicked Wednesday

Prompt #252 – Recollection

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