There is something intoxicating about thunderstorms.
Not just rain. Whether it’s a drizzle or a downpour matters not; there is nothing special to me about droplets hitting the ground, no matter what their speed.
But a thunderstorm…
Thunderstorms create an escalating somatic reaction within me, one that echoes the crash and roll of the atmospheric turmoil roiling in the surrounding air. My womb answers the call of the pregnant ozone pressing its electric weight into my skin with slick clenched pulsing response. Each bead of sweat formed from the charged humidity rouses voltaic spherules of lustful wetness that drip down my sugared walls, coating the insides of my thighs.
The stillness that settles before the whipping wind blows in is a sensual ache that intensifies the longer assuagement is postponed.
And when the bruised belly clouds pour forth their torrents between lightning flashes and thunderous growls…
Sparks ignite behind my navel and my blood rumbles, mimicking nature’s call-and-response with erotic intensity.
lover, bring me your
dense heat and shivery gusts
open your electric
skies, rain down your thunderous
deluge and drench me in you