Cloudbursting

Let’s do a little time travel. 

Vegas, the desert.  You in your high school car, driving to the mountain, towards the oncoming storm. “Under The Milky Way” by The Church is playing on the tape deck.

In the passenger seat, a slim girl with a baggy Sex Pistols t-shirt, long dark wavy hair, combat boots, ridiculously ripped beyond salvation fishnet stockings under black legwarmers from ballet class, black eyeliner, and a leather motorcycle jacket sits with her legs hiked out of the car window, lighting a cigarette.  

You glance over at her, grinning at her long,  bizarrely attired legs. She catches you and smiles, taking a deep drag and handing her cigarette to you, sticky with L’Oreal lipstick — it tastes like waxy roses and something else sweet.  

“Think we’re gonna make it?” she asks, leaning towards the open window, jackknifing her body to look up at the sky. 

“We’ll make it.  I’m driving 90, woman.”

“Faster!” she exclaims, leaning back in the seat until her head is in your lap, watching your face break into a wider grin as you punch the gas. 

The sky is rumbling, like the gods are arguing in voices too incomprehensibly large to register in the ears of tiny mortals.  You pull up to your usual spot, put the car in park, and look down at the girl in your lap.  Her eyes staring large, doelike, into yours. 

She leans her head forward, arm hooking around your neck, coming close to your lips. Is she going to…? “Let’s get out before it starts,” she whispers, mouth close to yours, then darting forward to get the door, laughing. 

You roll your eyes and smile, shaking your head. The girl’s a trip. 

She transferred to your school last year, when you were a Junior and she was a lowly Freshman, and she most definitely stuck out; her punk rock t-shirts, bizarre hairstyles, the ever present combat boots and leather jacket, the motorcycle chain around her neck, like a choker.  

She was the only one who laughed when you brought that rattler into the AP science class you were both in. She had wanted to touch it.  Although it was a Senior class, and she was only 15, she tested in and held her own against a class full of older, rude boys and cliquey girls.   

Since then, you’ve been best friends. You only had that one class with her, as she was just a freshman; but she lived across the road, and quickly made the discovery that you were both prone to midnight walks, sneaking out of windows with cigarettes and maybe a bit of vodka in a soda bottle, snuck from the parent’s stash.  Over the past year, you learned things about each other’s fucked up homes that nobody else knew.   You knew why she wore that jacket all the time, and long sleeves in the summer; and why she never dated — earning her the rep of a stuck-up prude.  She knew why you had to sneak out to go to parties and visit friends, and why nobody ever came over to your house.  

This was the first time you’ve brought her up to your favourite spot; it so seldom rained, and often she couldn’t get away from her mother, or had ballet class, or jazz, or whatever that weird flailing around in loose dresses was. Modern.  But tonight, things worked out. 

You look up from the other side of the car as you lean in to grab the stolen bottle of Jack from the floor, and catch her staring at you as she peels off her leather and tosses it on the seat.  She blushes slightly, bites her lip, and gives you a chin-lift;

“You gonna drink all that yourself, you slovenly drunkard?’ 

“Yeah. I’m hoping to go out in Dionysian style tonight. You’re driving us back.”  

She doesn’t have a licence, not like that ever stopped her before. 

She rolls her eyes and saunters around to the front of the car, where you meet in the middle; she grabs the bottle and takes a swig. You watch her throat, long and white, as she swallows. Thin, silvery scars flash beneath the Madonna-style rubber bracelets crawling up her arms.  She catches your eyes and holds them, handing you the bottle and smirking, her full lips pulled up on one side. She wipes her mouth with her sleeve and watches you drink. 

You thought ahead and didn’t bring a full bottle; she had a tendency to get really wasted sometimes, and you didn’t want her incapacitated. Not tonight. Not here…plus her mom was fucking terrifying, with her pack of huge dogs and, according to Vi, shotgun behind the door. You’re not losing your balls tonight because Vi wants to anesthetize. Not that you can blame her. 

She grabs the bottle and slugs back a few shots, a rivulet of amber liquid spills over her bottom lip and creeps down her chin. 

Thunder cracks — like a cannon shot from the heavens. She jumps, grabbing your arm.

“Jesus Fucking Hell, that was loud!” she gasps out, laughing. She stares up at you, batting her eyes and putting on her Bimbo voice which you find equally irritating and arousing; “Save me from the scary thunder, Big Strong Man!” 

“Fuck’s sake,” you say, shaking your head, “You have NO idea how disturbing that is…”

She snorts and her voice falls back into its usual low, husky register. 
“I do it because you hate it.”

“I hate both it AND you,” you reply, grabbing the bottle back and walking around to the window to toss it back inside.  

“Hmm, are you trying to regulate my booze consumption tonight….DAD?” You roll your eyes. You’re only 18 — and while she was a full three years younger, that hardly seemed fair. 

“Purely practical considerations, Boozy Barbie — I don’t want you puking in my car.”

“And yet,” she says, raising a perfectly arched, dark brow, “you let that cum-bucket Andrea in your back seat,” she taunts. “The mind reels, Dale…”

“Jesus, Violet, you’re never going to let me live that one down are you? I was drunk, she was sticking her face in my crotch…I AM a guy for god’s sake.”

“Hmph,” she says, licking her lips and flicking her eyes up and down your body, lingering where your t-shirt was pulled up to expose a small expanse of hip. 

Jesus, don’t get a hard on…not now…please god.

Another boom of thunder, then a flash of lightning illuminates the sky, thankfully distracting Vi from her weirdly intense perusal.  

“Ok, positions, woman!” 

“Phrasing!” she yells, sniggering at your choice of words…which you knew she’d catch onto. She shakes back her hair, and hops up onto the hood, then scootches back until her back rests against the windshield. Her long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. She pats the spot next to her, the sound banging hollowly off the metal.  You slide next to her, lean back, crossing your arms behind your head.  

Vi lights two cigarettes, handing one to you.  Roses and wax. 

Another huge rumble and flash rolls across the desert, and the sky opens like a burst water balloon. She screams, laughing as your cigarettes turn instantly into useless soggy cylinders. You laugh and howl up at the sky as the deluge plasters your clothes to your bodies.  Vi tilts her head back, spreads her arms and arches her body, face to the sky; “Look, D, I’m whatserface in Flashdance!” 

Jesus fuck — her t-shirt is soaked, the rain pinging off the fabric, which is almost totally see-through now, plastered to her surprisingly full, round breasts.  Speaking of Barbie, seriously.  They would seem out of place on her slender frame, if not for the full hips and round ass, which are currently sliding around on your car, while she screams out the lyrics to “What A Feeling”. 

“That’s the wrong song, you nerd,” you shout, “In that scene, it’s ‘What A Dream’ playing!”

Vi curls up in a fit of hiccupping laughter, the rain streaming through her hair and down her face.

“Oh my GOD, you are SUCH a nerd! Why do you even know that?”

“My sister loves that movie,” you shout back, punching her lightly in the arm. 

You try to keep your eyes on her face, but the t-shirt is completely see-through now, and you can see the sky blue butterfly-print lacy bra thing she’s wearing. 

And to make things worse, she’s staring at your equally soaked and transparent shirt outlining your chest and stomach.  She bites her lip in that way she does whenever she’s planning something devious, and before you can begin to worry about what might be in her deviant little head, she’s on you, pinning your arms back and leaning into your face, her lips a hair’s breadth away from yours. 

Your chest heaves, and theres’s absolutely no way she can’t feel the huge erection she’s currently straddling. She stares into your eyes, water dripping from her face to yours, touches her mouth just barely to yours, and says “Kiss me, for fuck’s sake, will you?”

You hesitate for an eighth of a second before leaning your head in, your lips and tongue meeting hers in a slow, sensual collide. Your hands grip her hair by the roots, pulling her farther in, and her breasts press into your chest, her nipples like chips of ice against you though her soaked shirt.  You feel her tiny hands pulling at the waist of your jeans, pulling your t-shirt free, then sliding the fabric up over your chest. 

You grip her rounded hips, pushing her down onto your raging hard-on, Jesus don’t fuck this up don’t come don’t come don’t…

You both peel off your shirt, then she leans back, crosses her arms, and slides her own soaking garment over her head, tossing it carelessly to the side. Your eyes glide over each other’s skin, chests heaving, water-painted, and you can feel the heat of her through your rain-soaked jeans. Her hand runs over your erection, fingers scrabbling with your zipper and pulling it down slowly, her cold hand reaching in to hold your heavy, rigid flesh — stroking it slowly, tentatively, staring raptly at your face as you arch your hips into her hand, and let out a moan pulled out of the depths of your body. 

“Dale,” she rasps out, her voice smoky and strained in your ear.

You reach up to pull her bra down over her pink nipples, taking one into your mouth and swirling it around on your tongue, sucking gently. Her hand tightens on you, then slides up your stomach as she rubs her expensively (and likely stolen) satin clad pussy against you, her teeth nipping at your clavicles, long wet hair draping over your face and neck; her body like a wet seal sliding over you. 

“Are you sure?” you manage to pant out as she returns to your lips, her eyes glassy and a bit wild.

“Yes…please, Dale…I need you to…” she bites your lip gently, “I need you..”

Your cock jumps at her words; you’re so hard it is practically painful. Your fingers slip beneath the thin fabric of her panties and find her wet and hot…you slide a thumb over the tight slit, pushing past it and gently inside her. Her breath hitches and you feel her nails scrape against your biceps, her body moving with the motion of your hand.  

“Please, Dale, please…”

She’s so transformed, this girl who never begged for anything as long as you’ve known her, pleading with you now to do what you’ve wanted to do since the day you met when she practically torched the science lab, laughing like a loon and grabbing you around the waist in a mix of panic and excitement. 

Rain beats steadily, warm against your bodies, her skin feels slick like an eel. Afraid this moment will disappear along with the storm, you resist the urge to flip her on to her back and slam into her over and over until she screams; instead you pull her panties gently to the side, guide her hand to line yourself up, then gently help her guide you in, agonizingly slowly, just pushing past her opening. She gasps, breathing fast, her face a curious mixture of pain and pleasure.
“You ok?” 

“Yes…yes don’t stop, don’t….”

You guide her hips, pressing them down so she takes you in another agonizing inch…her thighs trembling as she struggles to accommodate you. She feels so tight, and you feel so huge pushing into her taut pussy, and you push her down slowly onto you to the hilt, an inch at a time, as her thighs contract then relax into being filled with you.

You guide her hips into a slow, rocking motion, letting her catch the rhythm and then make her own.  

The noises she’s making as you fuck her for the first time…HER first time…are agonizingly sexy; her voice seems somehow lighter —  the huskiness rounding out in the throes of her pleasure. You realize how close you are, gripping her hips tightly to stop her movement momentarily. 

“Why are you…?”

“I’ll come if we don’t stop for a second, Vi.”

“Ok…ok…but I think I’m almost there, too…”

She begins wiggling against you again, sliding back up the length of you until you were nearly out of her, then slowly sliding back down…

“Oh! God that feels so good…” she says, her voice a bare whisper. 

You couldn’t agree more, and spurred on, you begin lifting and lowering her hips, sliding in and out of her again and again, feeling the orgasm building to the point of no return. She is panting, her skin pinked and beaded with rain and sweat, eyes closed, head thrown forward so her hair is brushing your chest and stomach like wet ropes. 

She grinds her hips sharply, nails piercing your chest as she spasms and cries out. As her muscles clench tightly and wildly around you, you closely follow, and it feels like you are coming literal rivers; the flux of your orgasm making your body shudder and jolt violently. 

The girl collapses against you, taking in shuddering breaths you can feel against your chest — your own heart beating wildly. 

After a few moments, she raises her head and looks into your face — her own filled with an expression of equal parts self-congratulatory satisfaction and wonder. 

You reach out and touch her face, lightly.

“You ok?”

She smiles and nods, then kisses just under your jawline. 

“More than. Can we do that again? And again?”

“You little sex fiend. What have I done?!”

“Shut up, nerd.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Dale?”

“Yeah.”

“Let’s blow this pop stand someday…”

“You got it, kid.”

You feel her breathing begin to slow, regulate into sleep. You’re still inside her, but you don’t move.

You watch the sky begin to lighten, and the moisture evaporate off her shoulder under your hand. 

You’ll both be in incredibly deep shit when you get home. 

Definitely worth every second.