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A Summer Storm

Chapter 1

Its a Dog-Day afternoon in late July! The air is hot and thick with insect orgies.

Thunder Murmurs Across The Ridge.

We spent the morning cutting fresh herbs for drying from the garden until the sun became the devil. You are sitting cross legged on the screened porch floor sipping a mint julep, tying together bundles of lavender. I’m standing on a small ladder hanging the bundles on nails in the rafters of the porch ceiling. Waves of a scent spectrum are pushed across our nostrils by heat currents moving down from the ceiling across the herb bundles towards the floor. The spectrum oscillates from chamomile, through lavender, rosemary, sage, basil and back to chamomile.

Thunder Grumbles Again.

Looking down, I savor the contours of your naked body revealed through your long, linen gown made transparent by sweat. Bits of dried leaves and thyme blossoms have become caught in your silky hair, like insects in a spiders web. I follow A bead of perspiration as it forms just below your ear lobe and slowly crawls down your neck and chest, disappearing in the valley between the hills of your breasts. The wet linen is stuck to your nipples high-lighting their pinkish hardness. My hardness grows.

Thunder Grumbles Louder.

You stand, and hand me the last bundle to be hung. As I stretch to hang it on a high nail, you suddenly slide your hands, sticky with sap and oils from cutting and tying the herbs, up the front of my sweaty thighs, under the tattered edges of my cut off jeans, and begin massaging my hardness. Startled, its all I can do to keep from falling off the ladder. I do stumble off, and end up sitting in the floor looking up at you. I reach for you, but you back away in your familiar alluring, teasing manner, laugh and say, "That will teach you to climb-up a ladder and allow a lady to look-up your shorts."

Thunder Rumble Intensifies.

I jump up to grab you, but you bolt out the screen door and run across the freshly mowed lawn towards the pond. I chase after you and after a couple of turns around the pond, you run into the edge of the water, grab hands full of black mud and throw them at me. I dodge, and as I grab for you we both lose our balance and windup on our butts facing each other in the mud. We glare at each other teasingly, I snigger, you snigger, and then we both burst into laughter. Then, like two giggling kids. we begin smearing the mud all over each other and our selves.

Thunder Rumbles Again, Dark Clouds Build, Warm Winds Stir.

Covered in black mud, we help each other to stand. Your hair and gown are glued to you in thick black folds and at first glance you look like an unfinished sculpture of a goddess in black marble. I reach for the hem of your gown, and slowly peel it off you, revealing in sequence the soft whiteness of your calves, knees, thighs, tummy, and breasts. I slip my tee shirt off as you unbutton my shorts and let them fall. Taking each other by the hand we slowly wade out of the mud into the warm, clear, pond water.





End of Story