Storm Light
The sky blossomed in proud layers of wisps and light. Warm western breezes brought the cold front that would make the rain to the south. For us, walking barefoot on the road, that meant a wonderful light breeze to knock off the annoying humidity and bring the ocean salts and ozone to our noses. She, of course had proposed the barefeet.
"The sand is good for your feet. It wears away the dead and rough skin and any bad smells." I took off my dress shoes and socks. "Can I carry those?" she offered.
"No, thank you." My pride and bad foot odor insisted even though I had my hands full. "Maybe we can find a stash somewhere for them." We began looking for a place. We finally found an abandoned piece of lumber nestled in the dune. Satisfied that neither the rain nor passersby would accost them, I left the offending footwear. The dusting of sand on the worn and greyed roadway offered sure footing and cleansing comfort as we walked southwest towards the ocean.
We had been making our way through the older, well established beach side community. Mainly dunes and grasses, the greyed houses were adventerous for the 60's and 70's in which they were built. All vertical siding, triangulr roof lines cutting the sky and glass mirroring the setting sun.
She swayed as she walked. It was a comfortable, balanced gait. Her shoulders wandered in hypnotic lines beneath the long straight sun goldened hair. She was soft, curvy, maybe a touch overweight by athletic scales. But she had endurance, strength and gravitas that you had to look for. She was a lesser valley girl. Lesser in the sense of she had less valley girl in her than others. Brown eyes, an easy, but somehow meloncholly smile. She spoke gently without rushing, in plain, clear, elegent terms.
She was a starry dreamer, completing a doctorate in astrophysics at UCLA and had already received and accepted an offer at Polamar observatory. She was also gentle. A member of the surfing communities, she had seen enough hardness to reject the meanness of it. She came from farm life. Hard in it's own way, but gentle on the soul from hard work and the gentle rythm of the seasons. It came through in her soft easy care of me.
We talked about nothing in particular but everything. It was the conversation you have when there's no pressure, no agenda, no need, no want and nothing to prove. Only time and rest before us. I would not be back for my obligations for a week or more and she too was on extended break.
We crested the dune to the ocean and beaches before us. They were empty in the offseason rainy day. We walked South towards the storms. The setting sunlight bathed the dunes and their grasses in golden light. The sky's water laden clouds brought humid blues to the sky tinting the air green. She wore a well worn, white button down shirt over also well worn, casual black jeans. They would be soft to the touch. I was in my dark dress pants and work shirt carrying water in one hand and coffee for us in the other.
"You're a bit of an overachiever aren't you." she stated dryly. I giggled.
"Yeah."
"Let a girl help." I handed her the coffee.
We walked farther south and rounded a bend to a grove of short, windswept live oaks nestled among the rocks and the dunes. It was secluded, with a great view to the action southwest. We sat, poured coffee and watched the storm have it's way with the horizon.
I watched her watch. There was a contentment in her gaze. She saw the spectacle before us and gazed at it like one watches a fire, but I knew there was lot more going on there than just mystical hypnosis. She was there, in the storm. She knew the mechanics of its drafts and was flying through it in her mind. She recounted the elements to me, the humid low pressure on the leading edge, being squeezed as high pressure pushed from miles and miles behind. The warm air on our side was rising, carrying energy and water higher and higher into the cold lofts. She explained that convection currents gain momentum as they rise, and as they race pass their slower brethern, friction increases, generating more energy in the form of heat and electricity. Finally, the rich, moisture laden air reaches apogee 2 or 3 miles high, into the sub freezing temperatures. The air condenses and begins to shed it's humid loads. Instantly crystalizing into snow or ice, the heavier than air molecules must obey gravity over convection and down they come, accelerating down the backside of the upcoming convections. If there's enough, it all makes it to the ground again.
The air grew hotter where we were. Without any discussion or note, she opened her shirt. A white, whispy see through bra peeked out from the waving folds of the free shirt edges. This was part of her strength and grace too. She had no inhibitions about her body. While I understood and had compassion for the self consciousness of women of our times, her freedom from it was refreshing. She was not to be measured by anyone's yardstick. She noticed the sweat on my brow.
"Cool off, lighten that load my friend." she giggled softly at me. She had been watching me watch too, and my heart skipped a beat as she reached forward, eyes intently focused and began to unbotton my shirt, which now reflected the amber and reddish light of the sun. A warmth flooded through me as I helped her.
When the buttons were undone, she swept her hands gently across my bare skin. I let my head fall backwards as she pressed the palm of her hands to my skin. She drew closer, but didn't cuddle. I got the idea.
"Pants now." I said. With that, she grinned widely, stood up, gave me her hand and helped me up. I drank in this wonderous view of her shirt hanging open revealing the bra lines higlighted against her skin and still playing hide and seek. I could see her aereolas through the sheer cups. She released my hand, but kept my gaze as she undid the first of the 5 buttons on her jeans. Mine were simpler - a catch and a zipper. Waistbands were pushed to the ground, and feet stepped out. She smiled warmly and turned for me, the tail of the shirt hiding, but really highlighting her bottom. I did the same and when my back was to her, I felt her warmth against the backs of my legs. I felt her breasts press into my back and her hands come to the backs of my thighs and slowly rise while coming around my torso on their way up. I felt the electricity rocket through my body.
I turned to face her and met her lips. A strong, gentle, patient toungue teased my own and explored my mouth. I ran my hands over her back, under the shirt. I began to rock my body, pressing my chest to her, then my stomach, then my pelvis. She responded in kind, gently mounting my leg and rubbing herself there. I could feel her moisture on my leg. I kissed my way from her lips, to her chin, to her neck, then her collarbone. I shifted to cradle her in my left arm. My left hand freely roaming over her lower back, her butt, the tops of her thighs. My right hand drew across her left hip as I shifted and up across her stomach and came to hold her left breast. I kissed from collarbone to to the edge of her bra cup. I ran my thumb over the sheer fabric covering her nipple, which by now had stiffened significantly and just stared in marvel at her breast.
She shifted her legs a bit, still making slick contact and tilted her head to watch me gaze. She idly brushed her free hand past my cheek and pulled back wisps of my hair.
"You look happy." she said.
"I am."