Sex Prose

She woke as though she never slept. Throughout the night, her mind continued, urging for the man she wished would fill the empty side of her bed. In a crowd of thousands, it could only be him.
Him, the one who brightened an inner light she had not seen glow for way too long. She woke as though her mind, at last, had come to this conclusion—it could only be him. There could be no one else.
Him, the one she dreamt of.
The man who for so long had been faceless was at last reveled and personified. It was him. He would be the one she allowed herself to dare with and love.

She wiped away the excess of confusion and settled down to imagine what would come next. There was no more in-between for her. At last, she was ready to be taken. She was ready to be given as well as receive all that he would offer. There were no more concerns. Finally, she was willing. She was ready to commit and to surrender. But more, she was ready to find herself embraced in his arms.

She thought of him and only one word came to mind . . .
Yes to the idea of her resting beside him. Yes to the idea of one night in his arms, which would only lead to a life ever after. She was no longer confused or hesitant. She was determined and the only word in her mind was this, “Yes.”

Outside, the nighttime sky was hours from sunrise. A rainstorm covered the town with its raindrops teaming down and chattering against the ground. She stepped from her bedroom and stood at the sliding glass door, which led to a large wooden terrace that overlooked the bay. Somewhere in the distance, maybe miles away, flashes of lightening streaked behind the storm clouds that hovered above the ocean. There was a wind moving in from the south—it was cool and clear break from the earlier humidity.

She stood with her sliding door open to feel the wind blow in from across the water. The rain fell heavy as the thunder rumbled.
There must have been something in the air; there was something calling her. Perhaps it was him. Perhaps it was the idea of being taken in the wild summer rain.

The wind picked up and blew her hair back, revealing her shoulders, that glistened from the raindrops. She stepped outward, allowing the rain to soak her long, white, nightshirt. She was barefoot. Her white shirt clung to her curves and highlighted her almost naked body.

“It’s him” she thought.
As the heavens poured down. She grabbed herself, gripping at her chest with one hand and diving between her legs with the other. All she thought about was the touch of his hands. She thought about the feel of his body between her legs. She envisioned him holding her in the pouring rain, touching herself, while imagining the one man who could satisfy her in every way possible. Him
Her body began to pulsate. There could never be anyone else. No one—only him. He would be the only way to her dreams of erotic salvation.

Gripping herself, her body fell to what could only be described a system-wide tremor; an eruption, an orgasm beyond any other. She moaned into the breath of the summer storm, soaked in the pleasure of the rain and her heart’s content for the only man who could make her feel beautiful . . .



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