FUCK STORY:My Love, Here Comes The Rain

You could hear the sounds of hastened footsteps above the raindrops and the booming claps of thunder that this night held. The staccato tapping of black pumps running, accompanied by the rushed thunk and thud of a man’s business shoes. A young couple, both mid 20s, late 20s possibly, running in the rain, laughing and exclaiming surprise and shock, maybe even delight at being caught up in a late evening storm. They dash on until they come across a building well inhabited, but the side of the building is clear, a temporary shield from the rain.

He pulls her out of plain view; she in turn backs him against the brick wall, a sturdy red mural of aged beauty. There, they begin a deep passionate make-out session, her slender manicured hands softly and steadily caressing his back. They pull apart briefly, and he surveys the lay of the land. Whispering softly, he issues a challenge. “Right here?” His earnest and obviously aroused face lays cupped in her gorgeous hands, her thumbs gently wiping away the fallen raindrops from his cheeks. She chuckles and responds “Ha. You must be crazy, boy.”

“Am I?” He takes his hand and slides it under her dress, drawing only feigned resistance until his index and ring fingers find the oasis between her thighs. With his fingers making a “come here” movements inside her, she’s paralyzed by passion as he says slowly, in a husky tone, “I think we’re both crazy. And we’re gonna prove it tonight. Right here.” She nods approvingly and leans in for another kiss. Somehow, she managed to work her panties down to her ankles, lifting one leg back as she inconspicuously takes them off of the heel of her shoe and stuffs them in her purse. Undetected, he’s quick to unbuckle his pants, his Johnson leaping through the front of his boxers harder than college-level calc and ready for action.

Only faint shadows serve as an indicator of what is happening on the side of this building. To the trained eye, one can make out his snake-like motions in between her long legs, both of which stand in stark contrast. The left one holds steady to the ground, albeit with a slight shiver, while her right one extends high, perched on his left shoulder. Soft moans and murmurs fill the rainy air and you swear you can hear a saxophone in the distance along with a voice wailing repeatedly; My love, here comes the rain…My love, here comes the rain….

The rainfall becomes more rapid and intense, yet ignored like a homeless panhandler as the adventurous couple continue their passionate and risqué endeavor. He lifts her left leg to join the right and he holds her steady against the red brick, thrusting with more force than finesse than before. She buries her head in the crease between his neck and right shoulder to serve as a silencer for the unbridled scream of ecstasy she so desperately wants to release. He nudges her head up so he can look her in the eyes. She grips herself tighter around him and meets his thrusts by bouncing up and down on him. He can’t control his own growl as their climax is exhausting, draining, complete with passion. They slide to the unusually clean ground below, kissing and moaning as that saxophone plays and that voice returns.

My love, here comes the rain…My love, here comes the rain….My love, here comes the rain…