RAIN WHORE
by
Alisha Steele
SMASHWORDS EDITION
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PUBLISHED BY:
Alisha Steele on Smashwords
Rain Whore
Copyright © 2009 Alisha Steele
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RAIN WHORE
There was a song that came out a few years back…some angst driven thing. It began with the line, “I’m only happy when it rains.” I heard it and had one of those epiphanies people always blather on about. A real Aha! moment. ‘Cause that’s me, you see. Shelley Utlic…rain whore.
I’m not sure when it happened.
No. That’s not true. I know exactly when it happened. I just don’t know what happened, if you get my meaning.
When I was sixteen, during a real pisser of a June thunderstorm, I lost my virginity on the football field of my middleclass high school. I know. Big deal you say. You’re right. If every girl who lost her virginity in the rain became a rain whore…well, tourism during the rainy seasons would certainly be higher, wouldn’t it?
But there was something. Something almost sacred in the splat of lightning and the boom of thunder and the “ugh, ugh, ugh” of what’s-his-face grunting in my ear. God! I came and came and came as blue sizzled across the sky and the world became a fishbowl all around.
Later, I learned that my first time was highly unusual.
It wasn’t until I tried to duplicate the experience in a bed that I realized just how unusual it really was. Turns out if I’m not wet – I mean all over, full-body drenched – I can’t come.
I’ve spent the last ten years making sure I’m wet as often as possible.
My first solo vacation, when I turned twenty-one, was to Vancouver. It was late November. Fucking during an ice rain is transcendental. The rainforest was a thousand different shades of green. Droplets of water hung suspended from bough and nipple, undecided whether to stay liquid and grant a cold caress, or whether to harden into translucent beauty. The mist was so dense that the hiker didn’t see me until he was just a few feet away. I was a naked ice nymph, frozen in the throes of masturbatory ecstasy. A wet, wanton, wonder laid at his feet.
I remember his name. It was Nick. When we were through, Nick laughed and suggested our next time be in his warm apartment. I said I’d meet him there.
I wonder if he was angry when I didn’t show.
Three years ago I was sent to Colombia to secure the beans for a new coffee house’s Signature Roast line. They sent me in May. “Sorry, Shelley. It’s rainy season, but we really need you to go.” I had a chuckle about that, I’ll admit.
The rain in the coffee fields was so warm it felt like blood. Torrents of blood. I opened my mouth to it, saturated in pleasure as I rode Mandinga’s thick, ebony cock. It rained every day I was there. Mandinga had a tear in his eye when I boarded the plane for home. He was a sweet fellow.
Last year I got engaged. We planned a Mexican vacation for our honeymoon. I’ve always had a big yen to see Mexico. Yep, two weeks in paradise, alternating our time between ruins and beaches…and fucking, of course. When I booked during the off season – the wet season – citing money as a motivator – my fiancée just smirked. “Whatever you say, darlin’.”
Ron was okay with my ‘weirdness’. He even redid my bathroom for me, installing a double Jacuzzi tub and a pie-plate sized waterfall shower head. We had some good times in there, though nothing can compare to fucking outside in the rain. Ron was willing to do that, as well.
He was perfect.
His secretary certainly thought so. Poor Ron. Seems he just couldn’t say no to a naked woman draped across his desk. When I found them together I didn’t have that problem. “Oh, no,” I said. “No fucking way!”
But since the vacation was already booked…here I am. Alone on Mount Tlaloc.
The 360` view assures me that a hapless hiker isn’t just around the corner this time. It wouldn’t matter. I want Ron. The old Ron. The perfect, pre-secretary fucking, Ron. As of this very moment we would have been married for two days, three hours, and…
Screw it. Never mind.
God, I’m pathetic, lying here on this disintegrating temple altar, staring up at the shifting thunderclouds. I just can’t find the motivation to get up right now. Tears seep down my cheeks. It’s said the god of this place is a rain god and that he needs tears to manifest. Well, here ya go, babe. Enjoy.
The first raindrop hits me hard in the eye. I flinch and twist my head, scraping my ear against a sharp stone edge.
Blood mingles with saltwater.
A streak of lightning turns the world molten. Ozone scents the whipping wind.
“Chalchiuhtlicue,” I hear someone say. The words are like a roll of thunder, deep and ominous.
“Who--” When I try to rise I find myself held down. The clouds let loose their full, watery load. I can’t see. Can’t breathe.
My clothes are torn away. Nylon and canvas shredded as if they were tissue.
The pinprick attention of a million hot raindrops scours my skin. My legs are wrenched apart. Lightning sizzles, so close the current arcs over my body.
“Who--”
A blanket of water crushes me back against the stone. Streams of liquid caress my neck and breasts, stomach and thighs. It feels like a fire-hose has been turned on my clit. My pussy clenches, striving to capture the flow.
Water invades my mouth – a life-stealing kiss. It shivers over my tongue and down my throat. The hose moves lower, gushing into my womb. I want to scream but I’m too busy drowning. Too busy coming.
“Who--” I try to say one final time. I don’t have the air. Everything is black. My pussy spasms in frenzied bliss. Who are you? I cry in my mind.
“I am Tlaloc – your husband. It’s time to come home now, Chalchi. You’ve wandered as a mortal long enough.”
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