| Author's Note: This is a work of erotic fiction. If you're not of
legal age to be reading it, then please don't. The is
copyright by me, Souvie, so please no reposting or archiving of
it unless you've gotten permission from me first. In the spirit
of the Blow Job Principle, I welcome any and all comments. Email
me at firstname.lastname@example.org
Special thanks go to Dr. Spin for helping me smooth over the
rough spots, and to Hecate and John R. for keeping me laughing so
(A Rainy Day Love Story)
I sat in the window seat watching the rain as it lashed against
the pane. The glass felt cool against my forehead. Cool and
numb, just like the rest of me.
"Damn! You're good."
I raised my head and turned to look at Shane. He had the last of
his stuff shoved in his gym bag. I had no idea what he was
talking about. "What?"
"You. Miss Bitch. You've got that down to an art." I could
hear the anger in his voice now. "You're sitting there as if you
haven't got a care in the world. I wish I could be as
emotionless as you."
"Just leave, Shane. Just . . . leave."
As the door slammed behind him, I leaned my head back against the
window. The rain was coming down harder now and I could make out
the shape of the elm out front, its boughs bending under the
Try as I might, I couldn't get Shane's words out of my head.
"Damn, you're good!" It had been almost a year since anyone had
said that to me. God! Had it really been that long? Sometimes
it seemed like it had been a lifetime ago, yet the memory was as
clear as if it'd just been yesterday.
"Damn, you're good!"
The voice, coming from directly behind me, startled me and I let
out a small scream. I almost fell off the ladder I'd been
standing on. Strong hands gripped me around the waist and
steadied me. I looked cautiously over my shoulder.
"Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."
The voice held a hint of a southern drawl, and was attached to a
man who looked vaguely familiar. "It's okay," I replied, still
trying to figure out where I knew him from. I hated it when I
He moved back, and I climbed down the ladder until I was back on
terra firma. I realized then how tall he was. I shaded my eyes
from the late afternoon sun as I looked up into a pair of light
blue eyes. They were guarded and somewhat cautious, as if he
might take flight at any moment. The dark hair, rumpled by
the autumn breeze, begged for my fingers to run through it.
I shook myself. Where in the hell had that thought come from?
"I'm Charlene. But my friends call me Charly."
"I know." He must have noticed my puzzled look because he
continued, "We met at Francis' party last month. I'm Jack." He
stuck his hand out and I took it.
His hands were slightly callused. Working man's hands. "I
remember now," I replied. "I'm sorry. I'm just bad with names
"It's okay." He just stood there, looking lost and a little out
"Um, may I ask why you said I was good?"
"Oh. That." He gestured to the small sign I'd been hanging above
the shop door. "Charlene Delaney: Freelance Writer" it said. "I
read your article in the Tribune last Sunday. Very articulate
and informative. You're obviously good at what you do."
"Thank you." I felt my face turning red. Compliments tended to
"Well, I have to be going now." He stuck out his hand and I shook
it again. "I'll be seeing you around I hope."
"Sure." I watched him walk away and then turned my attention
back to the sign.
The next time I saw him, I was leaving the grocery store as he
was coming in. I said "hi" and he asked how I'd been. Even though
I was in a hurry, I took the time to watch him walk away,
noticing the shape of his butt in the crisp jeans. It would fill
my hands nicely.
Several people turned to look at me but I ignored them. What had
gotten into me? First his hair and then his butt? I put his nice
ass, and him, out of my mind and hurried to my car.
Over the next three months, we'd run into each other occasionally
in town, and stop to talk. I learned he was a house painter,
around my age and single. He learned that I loved to read, had a
weakness for cheesecake and was owned by a brown tabby cat.
If I happened to pass by wherever he was painting, he'd take a
break and we'd talk about the weather, music, literature;
whatever subject came up. Likewise, he would stop in my tiny
office at least once a week, just to talk to me about an article
I had written.
One day, he leaned a hip against my desk and casually asked,
"Would you like to go out to dinner one night?"
"Sure," I replied quickly. Too quickly? I guess not, because he
just smiled. His teeth were straight and his smile the best
thing I'd seen all day. I could just see myself licking the deep
creases that appeared at the corners of his mouth every time he
smiled. I closed my eyes and mentally chided myself. 'You've
got to stop noticing things about him, Charly.'
He asked about some weekend a few weeks away; he said he'd be
through with his current job by then. I agreed and he left with
a wave and another smile. I pushed all thoughts of Jack aside,
and concentrated on my work.
Two weeks later, and still two weeks before the scheduled date,
he called me at home. I'd been painting my toenails and watching
reruns of "Whose Line is it Anyway?" and had to duck-walk to the
phone to answer it before the machine.
He told me he'd found my business card in the pocket of his
overalls, with my home number on the back, and decided to give me
a call. I flopped back on the couch with my legs stretched out
in front of me, staring at my half-painted toes while we talked.
It started raining while we were still on the phone, and the
thunder and lightning soon followed. We said our good-byes and I
hung up. My unpainted toes were forgotten, the television droned
on, forgotten; I curled up in the corner of the couch and stared
at the falling rain. The flashes of lightning gradually slowed
and stopped, as did the thunder, and the rain lessened. I fell
asleep with the sound of the rain pit-pattering on the roof, and
the sound of Jack's voice echoing in my head.
Something changed that night. I don't know what; it wasn't
something tangible I could put my finger on. I found myself
thinking about him more and more, looking forward to our
occasional talks with an anxious anticipation that left my palms
sweaty and my heart pounding.
I shivered when I thought about the sexy way he said my name -
low and breathy and full of mysterious promises. I daydreamed
about us going skinny dipping late at night in Johnson's creek,
nothing on my skin except the water, the moonlight and the heat
of his silvery blue eyes. I would wake up in the middle of the
night and turn my head, picturing how he'd look lying next to me,
his arms cradling me gently and his long legs tangled with mine.
I couldn't believe I was having these kinds of fantasies and I
hadn't even kissed the man!
I tried to see if he'd been affected by that innocuous phone call
like I had. I couldn't tell. I was terrible at "reading"
people, though, and couldn't work up the courage to ask. I
looked forward to our upcoming night out with an excitement that
I hadn't felt in a long time.
We had dinner at a small Italian restaurant down the street from
my apartment. We laughed and talked over antipasto and
tortellini Alfredo. He held my hand across the table. He had
strong hands. His fingers were long and lean and no strangers to
manual labor, but gentle as the silky lick from one of his
paintbrushes. I could imagine him taking the brush and sliding
it up and over the inside of my wrist, along my arm and towards
my breast... I took a drink of my wine and concentrated on the
After dinner, he walked me to my door and hugged me. He started
to leave but I pulled on his hand. He swung back around and
before I could think about it, I leaned up and kissed him. I
don't know who was more surprised, him or me. Surprise quickly
turned to pleasure as he kissed me back. His kisses were
hesitant, his lips soft and supple. There was a fluttering down
in the pit of my stomach and I felt lightheaded. It was as close
to swooning as I'd ever come. When he let me go, I had to lean
against the doorframe to keep from falling over. He smiled and
kissed my forehead, then walked to his car. Neither one of us
had said anything about a second date but I knew it would happen.
We did go out on a second date. And a third, and a fourth, until
we both grinningly acknowledged to our friends that we were
"officially an item now." We'd go out to the movies, to dinner,
or go dancing. Sometimes we'd just stay either at my place or
his, watching and talking, stealing kisses and slow, lingering
caresses during the commercials.
One such night, we were playfully arguing over what to watch. He
wanted to watch an Italian film and I wanted to see
"Romancing the Stone" for the fiftieth time. I took the remote
and hid it in the cushions behind me and refused to move.
Instead of giving in gracefully, he started tickling me. I had
no choice but to defend myself and tickle back.
Before long we were rolling on the floor, all thoughts of the
television forgotten. I'm not sure who made the first move; all
I knew was that he was kissing me with a fierce hunger that he'd
never shown before. It was like I was standing on the edge of a
cliff and this great wave came roiling up and crashed over me. I
was drowning with no desire to be saved. I matched him kiss for
kiss, hunger for hunger.
Clothes were hastily removed. He rolled me underneath him, flesh
to flesh, and used his hands and mouth to touch, squeeze, lick,
suck and bite me to a mindless frenzy. I didn't care that it was
our first time and we should take it slow and build the passion;
make it something to remember for a lifetime.
I pushed on his shoulders and he rolled over so I was the one on
top now. I raked my nails down his chest, an action that
elicited a shocked gasp from him. "Too hard?" I questioned.
He grabbed the back of my head and gave me a bruising kiss on my
lips. The fluttering in my stomach was back in full force. I
moaned low and deep into his mouth and he ground his hips against
mine. His erection was pressing against my pelvis and bumping my
clit. When his mouth moved from my mouth to the side of my neck
and started alternately kissing and licking the sensitive spot
under my ear, I knew there was no way I could wait any longer.
"Protection," I managed to say.
He rolled out from under me and dug in his discarded jeans for
the magic foil packet. He fumbled to get it open, his hands
shaking from nervousness or impatience, or a little of both.
With a low growl I snatched it from his hands and tore the end of
the package off with my teeth. I removed it, reached for his hard
member and slid the latex sheath on in one hurried movement. It
could have been on inside out for all I cared.
Jack picked me up by the waist and impaled me on his rigid sex.
I wanted to sit there for a moment and revel in the feeling of
being totally filled, but he had other plans. He sat up, and
with his feet braced against the base of the couch, started a
rocking motion that caused my clit to rub up against his pubes.
The scratchy hair was like dozens of tiny little fingers all
working to drive me insane with horrible pleasure.
It didn't take long before I was lost in the midst of a powerful
climax, dragging him down under with me. My legs were like a
vise wrapped around his waist, and I could feel his blunt nails
digging into my hips.
Coming down from the sexual plateau, I rested my forehead against
his as I struggled to catch my breath. I pulled back and looked
him in the eyes. "I need a drink," I said, and stood up very
I padded into the kitchen and poured myself some water. I filled
up the glass for Jack and when I walked back into the living
room, he was still sitting where I'd left him, his hands working
around his crotch. He looked up at me. "I can't get it off."
"The condom. I can't get it off." His cheeks started to turn
red and there was the hint of an embarrassed smile upon his lips.
"You put it on in such a hurry that it's tangled up in my hair
now. I can't get it off."
"Oh. Hang on a second." I rummaged in a desk drawer until I'd
found a pair of scissors. I handed them to him and he reached up
to take them from me. The hilarity of the situation hit us at the
same time and we erupted into a fit of giggles.
I lived in a state of bliss for three more months. Jack and I
spent every spare moment together. We had nothing in common, but
that didn't seem to matter. Every day I discovered something new
about him to like and I was fully convinced that I couldn't get
One day my called to tell me my grandfather had passed
away. My grandmother was taking it pretty hard and she wanted to
know if I could come home for the funeral. Of course I said I
would and Jack drove me to the airport.
On the flight home I realized that the trip had affected me more
than I'd expected, and in ways I hadn't counted on. I had
watched my grandmother literally fall to pieces. She didn't know
how to keep on living now that my grandfather was gone. I
thought about Jack and me and how things could eventually
progress toward a lifetime commitment. Was that what I wanted?
To get *that* close to someone, knowing that one day he would be
gone. Or that I would die first.
I started to panic. I had to break up with him, call it off as
soon as I got home. I knew my fear was irrational, but I
couldn't stop myself from rationalizing that what I was doing was
right; that we'd both benefit in the end.
Jack met me at the airport and drove me home. I knew he could
tell something wasn't right but he probably attributed it to
grief. It was grief, just not the way he was thinking.
We pulled up at my apartment and I turned to face him. "Jack, I
don't think we should see each other anymore."
The look on his face would haunt me for weeks. "Why?" was all he
"I just think it's for the best. I'm not ready for a
relationship. I never will be. We should just end it now while
we're still friends."
He looked like he was about to argue but all he did was grab my
bag from the backseat and hand it to me. There were tears in his
eyes but he still didn't say anything.
I ran up the stairs and unlocked my door as quickly as I could.
Once inside, I leaned against the door and let the tears fall. I
felt like a part of me had died.
Shane came breezing into my life less than two months later. He
was a dealer at one of the nearby casinos and was the complete
opposite of Jack. He was short and stocky with and a
devil-may-care, fuck the world attitude. He pulled up alongside
me on his motorcycle one afternoon when I'd been caught in the
rain and was walking home. He offered me a ride and some
perverse imp made me accept.
I invited him in to wait out the rain and he ended up spending
the night. We fucked no less than four times that first night
and within a week, I'd asked him to move in.
Looking back later, I wasn't sure why I'd gotten involved with
Shane in the first place. Maybe a sense of loneliness. Maybe
that same perverse imp that convinced me breaking up with Jack
was the right thing to do. Whatever fire might have sparked
between me and Shane, quickly died out.
It wasn't long before we started fighting. We'd fight over
finances; I wanted to keep our accounts separate, but he wanted
to get a joint one. He wanted me to quit writing and come work
at the casino with him. I didn't want to be a dealer or give up
my writing. He didn't care; he said I could make more money. The
sex was okay when we had it. He had a low sex drive he'd
conveniently forgotten to tell me about. Sex soon became a
problem. Once a week was perfectly fine for him. He liked
getting oral sex but not giving it. He only went down on me
once, and that was our first night together. Needless to say,
that was another source of contention.
I started spending more time at my office and he started working
overtime at the casino. I knew it was a dead-end relationship
but I didn't end it. Maybe I was afraid of being a failure, or
being alone. I don't know why.
I still saw Jack every now and then, in the grocery store or at
the mall. I don't know if he ever saw me or not, and I was too
afraid to go up to him and say "hi." I kept my distance, but he
was always there in the back of my mind. I'd find myself thinking
about him at night, when Shane was asleep and I was left all
alone with my memories for company.
I came home early one weekend from a writer's conference in San
Diego and found Shane in bed with another woman. actually.
She was the younger of his best friend, barely 18 and with
curves in all the places I hadn't.
I turned around and walked out, and kept on walking. Hours later
when I came back, Shane tried to explain but I just told him I
wanted him out as soon as he could get all his stuff together. I
noticed it had started to rain. I curled up in the window seat
and rested my chin upon my knees. I listened to the sound of
Shane moving around in the apartment and the falling rain
The sound of Shane revving up his motorcycle and peeling out of
the drive, startled me out of my trip down memory lane. I wiped
the tear stains from my cheeks with the back of my hand and
wondered where I had gone wrong.
People talk about having a moment of clarity; one moment where
everything is perfectly clear to them and there's no confusion,
no ambiguity, and no loss of direction.
A robin came and lit on the windowsill, shaking the raindrops off
his back. As soon as I saw him, I knew what I had to do. It was
as clear as crystal.
I gathered up my keys and ran out the door.
I rang the doorbell a third time. Even though there weren't any
lights on, I prayed he'd be home. I was about to push the bell a
fourth and final time when the door opened.
Jack stood there in bare feet and sleep-rumpled pajamas, looking
at me as though I were a ghost. "Charly?"
I threw myself into his arms, heart-wrenching sobs coursing
through my body and muffling my words. "I'm sorry, Jack. God,
I'm so sorry. I was an idiot. I loved you, I still love you. I
was just so afraid. Afraid that one day I would wake up and
you'd tell me you never really loved me at all, that it had just
been a game. Or that I'd lose you, through my own stupid pride
or stubbornness or the fact that I'm not perfect or because one
day you'll die."
He let me ramble on and on and on, just holding me and rubbing my
back. My sobs subsided into jerky hiccups. I raised my head and
looked at him. For the first time I saw him, really saw him.
Not just one particular part of him, but *all* of him. I loved
this man; for what he made me feel, for the way he accepted me as
I was, and for all the little things that made him special in my
eyes. "I made a mistake and I was stupid. Please say you'll
give me another chance."
He smiled that same smile I'd noticed so many months ago. "I
made a mistake, too. I let you walk out of my life and didn't
even try once to get you back. I was stupid. Please say you'll
give me another chance."
I smiled back at him and with fresh tears in my eyes, nodded.
"Let's get you out of those wet clothes, then we'll talk." He
kissed my forehead, tucked me against his side, and slowly shut