As the first raindrops began to fall while they were on their hike, she admonished him. “I told you it looked like rain, how far are we from the camp?” “I dunno,” he replied, “Maybe a mile? But I am just guessing”. Then her badgering started, “The sky is so dark — I told you not to leave camp…. do you know how to get back or are we lost too?” She nagged on and on, as the rain started to fall harder. He was stonily silent, would she just give it a rest?
He could feel a rage building inside him; she was not helping matters any. Then she slipped on the muddy trail and grabbed his arm. As he caught her and looked at her clinging wet clothes, in spite of himself, he found himself becoming aroused. Then his eyes traveling up to meet hers, he was shocked to see not anger in her dark eyes, but fear. She was scared, not mad. The storm scared her. Her silly bravado was not about anger at him, but an attempt to hide her fear. He felt her trembling arm against his and instantly his own anger subsided. Filled with tenderness, he stopped and wrapped his arms around her and said, “Are you okay?”
Like a floodgate opening, she started to cry. Storms positively unnerved her. The time a tornado hit her childhood home, the time she got blown in the air while carrying an umbrella when a sudden storm kicked up, the time lightening struck the tree that held the old tire swing as she watched from her porch. Nothing but frightened little girl memories came spilling out as she went on. He didn’t say much, but wrapped his strong arms around her and whispered, “It’s okay, honey… I am with you… you are safe. ” The rain was pouring harder and he sat down. They already were drenched. He held her face in his hands and kissed away her tears. His hands began to caress her taut body. She straddled him and began to kiss him back with increasing fervor. The mix of fear, anger and arousal was about to explode into unbridled passion.
Tugging at her wet clothes, suddenly she stood before him stark naked. He smiled at her and began to quickly remove his clothes as well. The rain was coming down in buckets now, and the ground was already soggy. He lay back on the muddy grass. She straddled him and lowered herself unto him with a desperate urgency.
He grabbed her breasts with his hands, leaving muddy prints on them, his mark. As he filled her with his strong driving manhood, she gasped with pleasure. For a moment, she simply sat there, relishing the feel of his hardness pressing against her softness. Then she clenched herself around him and began to ride him. Her hips moving up and down, each stroke making her moan with pleasure. Each time her body crashed down onto his, a little more of her fears subsided. She rode him harder and harder as the rain continued to pour onto their bodies, washing away all the impurities.
As they placed their bodies at the baptismal font of the other, each movement eradicated all the fear and anger. The only thing left was the raw physical passion that they shared as they made love in the torrential rain. They found a deep understanding of each other emotionally and physically, coupled with the ability to cleanse their hearts and souls through intimately knowing the other.
As the storm subsided, a gentle breeze blew across the valley of their souls. They slowly dressed as the yellow rays of sun peeked through the parting clouds. Muddy and wet on the outside, but satiated and cleansed on the inside, hand in hand they found their way back. Right before they got back to the camp, she leaned over and whispered, “You know what?” Smiling at her, he said, “What?” She said, “I’m not afraid of storms anymore.”
