It starts slowly, with just a little bit of rain and gradually builds up until the first flash of lightning and peal of thunder resonate within my body and soul. And things become different, time slows down and it is me, my lover, and the raging storm, coming together to form a tempest of our own.
It was a warm, late summer night in September. New lovers, still learning, still yearning for the knowledge of how our bodies fit together. There was no need for words, no strange awkwardness. Just us and that storm. He pulled me against him hard and I ground my hips to his; a soft moan drowned out by the pouring rain escaped my lips. His hands found my ass, he whispered filthy words in my ear, over and over the teasing continued our bodies moving as one.
I was in awe of the strength of what I felt. I melted when he pulled my hair. He held me in his hands like clay that he could mould into an image of his choosing. Slowly he built me up, driving me higher, guiding me where he wanted. The storm outside raged on and the storm between us echoed the rising tides of thunder. Driven to a peak of pleasure, my body spasmed against his for a long moment and I can feel the thunder running in my blood as lightning flashes behind my eyes. I am sated and sleepy and safe. He lets me doze as the storm around us winds down.
As I wake once more, still half lidded and content I mention the storm outside and he smiles, kissing me gently. “There was no storm, Dearest, you must have dreamed it.” And the dance began again, this time in the silence of the night, in the aftermath of a storm that existed only in the hearts and minds of lovers.