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Summer Heat – Part One

12 August, 2012

Because i don’t have enough writing projects on the go (current count: one novel in progress, one in planning, one (the follow up to the main WIP) at the thinking stage, one TV drama serial pilot written and needing tidying and submitting, one TV drama serial started and at a problem stage, one TV sitcom on the back burner, one blog to keep posting to) i thought i would start an ongoing fiction series on here. Ive fancied doing a serial piece for a while, and when i started writing this last night it was clear it was too long to be a one-off.

I’ve got the first three or four parts in my head already, so it may get that far and stop, or it may drag on for months/years like a soap that outstays its welcome. Who knows? But mainly it will serve as a side project for me when i need to step away from other things. Oh, and it will be rude.

So here it is folks, part one of Summer Heat. feedback is welcome/encouraged for this project – are you enjoying it? bored by it? what do you like? dislike? The Reclining Gentleman would like to know!

 

 

Summer Heat – Part One

It had been another burning hot day, the seventh? eighth? in succession. The oppressive humidity of the late August heatwave threatened rain and storms but was delivering only a suffocating heat. Every window in Jessica’s flat was open, as were the windows in the other five flats in the block, but still she kept the large white desk fan in the corner of the lounge switched on through the late night film, artificially circulating the still air. Once darkness had fallen and her curtains were closed, she had taken off her underwear, allowing her body to breathe through the light cotton of her t-shirt and her short, loose skirt. The thought of also removing these had crossed her mind, but her modesty, even while alone in her flat, prevented her.

The closing theme accompanied the credits just before one o’clock, and Jessica slipped into her sandals and lightly descended the stairs. She buzzed herself through the rear door of the block, and walked the length of the forty foot garden to the small clump of three trees at the far end. The last cigarette of the day was always the best, those final few minutes bridging life’s shift change as busy day crossed into restful night. And the best place to enjoy that cigarette was seated on the tree trunk bench in the shaded nook. The three trees ensured that she was virtually unseen by any of her neighbours, while if she turned to face the block, those same branches and leaves which shielded her would offer a partial view across the garden to the rear windows. But she always kept her back to the trees, relaxing alone, privately.

She inhaled deeply, the end of her cigarette glowing deep red in the darkness below the trees. She held the smoke in her lungs as she tapped the burnt ash into the metal bucket at her feet, and exhaled explosively. As she did so, a breeze, a cool breeze, finally! a movement of air, caught her blue smoke and wafted it away from her. The leaves behind her began to rustle, and she felt the temperature reduce quickly. She sensed the unmistakable smell of encroaching rain, and she looked to the sky where clouds were approaching from the West. The wind began to increase now, dissipating the clinging heat that had embraced the country, the town, the flat, her, and Jessica leant back on the trunk, spreading her arms wide as she welcomed the chilled air.

She felt the skin on her arms tighten as it goose-bumped, and she sighed at the relief from the cloying perspiration. Her legs reacted in the same way, and she dropped her sandals to the floor to allow her feet to share in the novelty of the cool draught. Even through her closed eyes she sensed the flash of lightning, and her still-present childhood reflex instantly began counting the twenty seconds before the thunder followed. She looked over her shoulder, saw the banks of opened unlit windows, wondered if she should go back indoors, close her windows against the upcoming storm, but another bolt of lightning caught her attention, and she faced the oncoming weather again.

And then she felt the splash of a raindrop. And then another. Then more. She stared at the drops falling on her legs, her arms, her feet, as if seeing rain for the first time. Her senses focussed on those tiny spots, the coldness feeling like ice in contrast to the warmth of the preceding week. She watched as the frequency of the drops increased, their size grew larger, until in just a couple of minutes, large splashes of rain were falling onto her, the trees behind offering no protection. She smoothed the wetness along her arms and her legs, the relief as satisfying as the cool showers she had begun taking nightly, just before bed. And she noticed now – how could she not? – that the tiny peaks of cool tension which covered her exposed skin were replicated by two larger, more defined peaks inside her t-shirt. She dropped her cigarette, now extinguished by the rain, into the metal bucket, and again caressed the increasing rain into her skin. The storm was drawing closer, and the tension in the air intensified the slow circles she traced along her arms, and her hands moved higher, inside the sleeves of her dampening t-shirt, along her shoulders before switching to venture inside the shirt’s hem, spreading the relief of the rain to her navel, to her sides.

The rain was splattering against her now, small puddles were forming in the grass at her feet. Her t-shirt was becoming more sodden, more translucent, and the curves of her full breasts were now clearly defined through the cotton which stuck to her body, draping the cold of the rain across her like a blanket. Her breaths shortened as the shock of the chill began to coat her, but this only intensified her caresses, and her hands moved even higher, stroking the most southerly reaches of her breasts before exploring further, teasing at her already aroused nipples.
She glanced once more over her shoulder, confirming that her neighbours were still sleeping, and then slowly, silently, daringly, she lifted the hem of her shirt. She inched it higher, luxuriating in the penetrating breeze as it blasted onto her damp, exposed skin. The cotton rose, rose, past her breasts, beyond her neck, over her head, and she dropped it to the floor. She stood, her arms outstretched, inviting the growing storm to engulf her, and once more her eyes skipped nervously to the windows. She had never been as naked as this in public before, she had never sunbathed topless, even on the Greek holiday last year when none of her girlfriends had even packed bikini tops. In the first year of university when the game of truth or dare at a freshers party became more about the dare of stripping and kissing than the exposure of truth, Jessica had made her excuses and left. She was not a prude, she was not shy, but there was a time a place, she believed for nudity.

But as the lightning grew closer and brighter, its bright white flashes captivated her, thrilled her, aroused her. She lay down on the grass, felt every moist blade tickle against her naked skin. She slowly arced her limbs as if making snow angels, and under the cover of the largest peel of thunder yet, her fingers crept inside the top of her skirt. They traced the indention that the waistband had left across her stomach,  and lifting her body away from the ground, she slid the now soaking cotton to her feet, kicked it away. She paused for a moment, a shiver of excitement, of nervousness passed through her as she fully realised her exposed nakedness. The though rushed her hands back to her waist, and they quickly found their way to where the saturating rain mingled with the increasing wetness of her arousal. Her fingers, first one, then two, dipped between her welcoming folds, and as the lightning flashed once more, she arched her back and gave a cry.

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9 Comments
  1. TheOthers1 permalink

    I’ve never heard anyone describe the last cigarette that way. I almost nodded my head in agreement and I don’t smoke.

    Great storytelling here. You do detailed description well and I didn’t see anything to criticize. I enjoyed this. 🙂

  2. Love the first one! I felt like I was her in the heat and then the cool rain, nice job. After an ending to my marriage of many years I walked listening to music to help me get in shape, relieve my stress level, and just to breathe. I remember getting caught in a summer thunder storm and being soaked when I got home and it was such a release and I felt beautiful in wet clothes stuck to my body. The rain cried for me that day and washed all my worries and sadness away and left me free and ready to begin my new life. I love the rain some days.

    • that sensual feeling of wet clothes is exactly what i was aiming for with this. It’s interesting how we can view the rain in context of how we are feeling, rather than just being the water that falls from the clouds

      • I agree, well said. Wish we had rain instead of the shoveling I did before work today in Boston. Have a great weekend Gentleman.

      • Ah Boston. i was thinking it must be somewhere up north. I don’t envy you still having snow, it’s a real pain. pretty but a pain

      • Ah Boston. i was thinking you must be somewhere up north. I don’t envy you still having snow, it’s a real pain. pretty but a pain

  3. Oh curse you internet, i wrote a longish comment about how good this is and the internet went out (again) just as I hit ‘post comment’
    It was all good too dammit!
    Lets just say I had to light a cigarette along with Jessica and I wish it would rain 😉
    Oh and I said something about how I wish I had the patience and time to print this entire story out so I can read it while floating around the pool but the way this laptop has been going lately I may just take it in the pool with me because it can’t get any worse (and I just jinxed myself didn’t I?).
    On to more reading! It’s awesome 🙂

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