Rain On Me

In the middle of a scorching Indian summer, all I can do is fantasize about monsoon.


The earthy, damp smell

Tickled her nose

The naughty little raindrops

Slid gently down her back

A promise of things to come . . .

The clouds roared with desire

The thunder screamed with urgency

And the final outburst

That drenched everything in pleasure

Nature had never been sexier . . .

 

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