Tropical Rain
©1998 by sunstruck

     With a finality and a sigh of relief, she closes the door on the last of her guests. Leaning her warm forehead against the cool wood, eyes closed, she turns the locks from memory. She stays that way for a few more minutes as the energy which had sustained her all day slowly ebbs away leaving her almost drained. A deep inhalation signals her attempt at marshaling the last of her energy. Eyelids slowly raise in conjuction with her pushing herself away from the door.

     She walks, automatically, from room to room checking to see if all was as it should be. Clicking off the lamps in the living room, pushing in the dimmer knob of the dining room chandelier, flicking up, instead of down, the off switch to the cross wired kitchen light, she pauses on the back stairs, almost turning back to put all of her neatly washed and stacked dishes away. The mountains of food, already wrapped, stored in the freezer for another day. A small shrug was her answer to herself to that idea. Instead, she walks upstairs in the dark.

     The grandfather clock beckoned her to briefly stop, reset the time, and start the pendulum swinging from when someone, she doesn't remember who, had stopped it a week ago. Or was it more than a week ago? She can't seem to remember that either. The days roll together, indistinguishable, like the food that'd been placed in front of her all day. She'd lost track of time since it wasn't ticking. She hadn't bothered to wear her birthday watch since the day it happened.

     In the master bedroom she let the bedside lamp stay lit at its lowest setting. A dim glow permeated the quiet room casting shadows against the furthest walls. Garments rustling as they're unzipped and unlatched, sliding down her body, to lay in a rumpled heap on the carpet. Sitting down at her vanity, she stares at the woman in the mirror. The fine lines at the corners of her eyes seem to match perfectly the lines at the corners of her mouth. Teasingly, she was told they were laugh lines because she was the only one who'd gut roaring laugh at banana peel humor. When she took indignant umbrage, she was  told that they were memories of all the loving times they had together. A small smile briefly curls up at the memory as her fingers touch the still taunt skin of her under chin but, she knew, it was only a matter of time before it started to inevitably slacken. Grabbing the cloth, which had been covering the picture sitting on the end of her vanity for the last week or so, she cleaned her face of all the tricks that would keep her young for a little bit longer.

     Arising from her seat, she walked across the room into the recently remodeled connecting bathroom. The only item left of the original bathroom was the dearly loved claw-footed bathtub big enough for two. Turning on the water a little past too hot she watched it gush into the bottom of the tub rapidly filling it up. She lifted the crystal lid off the decanter holding her special bath oil. Tropical Rain - Don't you need to pamper yourself once in awhile? Exit your mundane existence. Transport yourself and become a new woman. Two scoops of expensive crystals were dropped into the water. With experience of long use a third scoop was added for good measure. As the tub continued to fill she lit several candles of all shapes and sizes, multi-colored, scattered along the shelves beside the rim of the tub. Her hair twisted in a topknot, a few tendrils escaping to caress her long neck, she reached down and turned the taps off.

     Stepping gingerly into the tub, her breath hisses between her lips until she becomes acclimated to the heat. A not quite lobster red will soon turn to a light pink shade of skin. Laying back, eyes closed, she casually, repeatedly, squeezes water from the sponge onto her breasts. Rivulets of water trickles over the mounds floating in the slick water. Up and down her arm moves, hand clenching, fragrant water tickles her skin.

     Adjusting her body, settling more comfortable, she then glides the sponge across her wet flesh, removing the day's grime until her skin glows. Feelings, responses she didn't think she'd have again inches their way into her system. Letting go of the sponge, she tentatively touches herself.

     Breasts more used to a stronger, masculine, touch nevertheless awaken. Tips erect, they swell in size along with the sensations. Thumbs pressing down move over the tops, rotating. Nails scrape sending jolts of electricity to the juncture of her thighs. One hand leaves and traverses the oiled skin over the ridges of her ribcage, down the valley of her flat waist. Her thighs part awaiting its arrival. Fingers comb through thick hair on her mound. Their crinkliness scratches her palm, heightening her awareness. 

     Her fingers find the center of her pleasure. As she runs them over the area it hardens, filling with blood, reaching for contact. She continues to rub her fingers back and forth over the tip. With each stroke up and down her hips rock in time. The feelings are more intense as her pelvis arches downward while her fingers glide up her flesh. As her other hand continues to scrape her engorged nipple it adds even more pleasure to the center of where her universe is at this moment. They are connected as one. A direct link between the two distinct areas. One without the other would be half of the whole. Together, they create life.

     Instead of growing into the expected culmination of all her efforts, the feelings start to slowly ebb away. Her eyes open in a panic as she awkwardly rubs harder hoping that would bring the feelings back. Tendons straining in her thighs, she spreads her legs open wider. Her motion changes to circles, not up and down anymore. First small, concise, circles then she gradually enlarges the area. Her fingers, at her nipple, squeeze tight trying to trigger a response. Taking a deep breath, holding it, she purposefully closes her eyes once more. As she slowly lets the held breath release she visualizes where her pleasure point is hiding. Relaxing the muscles stretched taunt in her thighs, her hand passes over the spot. Still breathing in and out slowly, with controlled motions her hand zeros in. 

     The feelings quickly build this time, faster than they did before. As if a raging river is being held in check by an outmoded dam, all her sensations are ready to break through at any moment. Her fingers continue stroking her pleasure spot. The feelings become too intense and she almost gives up. She can't take it anymore. Something has to give. She has to give in them. With one final stroke the flood doesn't crest. It bursts through the barriers sweeping her away, destroying the wall that tried, unsuccessfully, to contain it. Water splashes over the side of the tub as cascading pleasure infuses her helpless body, stretching her back into an impossible bow. 

     As her body eventually calms like the surface of a placid lake another  eruption, unforeseen, occurs. With a great cry, she curls into herself, knees drawn protectively to her chest as she turns onto her side. Her hands cover her face as racking, bone breaking, sobs tear her apart. A grated voice echoes against the bathroom tile as the devastation wreaks havoc on her emotions.

     "You bastard! Why did you have to die? Why did you leave me? I'm not supposed to have to do this anymore." Hiccups stop her for a moment. "You're supposed to be here taking care of me. Damn you! Damn you to Hell! I don't do this anymore. You do.  You're supposed to be here. I don't. I'm not. I'm..."

      Her fingers dig into her scalp as she tries to regain control of herself, continuing to curse her husband. A white circle on her tanned left ring finger catches her eye when she starts to wipe the tears off her cheeks. Resigned cries are heard in between her questioning, "Why? Why did you..." She rubs the circle, barely remembering taking it off her finger this morning, where it hadn't been removed in over twenty years, placing it on her husband's little finger next to his matching gold ring just before the coffin lid was lowered, and watching as they lifted it onto six sets of shoulders carrying it out of the chapel for burial in the neighboring cemetery.

     She lays in the tub letting the water cool around her. Involuntary shivers awake her from the half dream she's in. Several of the candles have gutted out. Sitting up, she continues to shiver as she pulls the drain. Standing, she reaches for a towel hanging on the warming rack. Stepping out of the tub, she watches the water whirlpool as it drains, finally making the sucking noise that signals it's end.

     After toweling off the excess moisture from her satiny skin, she drops the towel by the side of her king-size bed. She crawls in between the covers, reaches over clicking off the remaining light of the night. Laying back, her head on a fluffy pillow on her side of the bed, she pulls the sheets up to her neck. She's not yet ready to relinquish her side and move to the center of the bed. She stares up at the darkened ceiling, her nightly vigil beginning. 

The End


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