Shape

Rainy Day Stranger

It was just another rainy day, but how wet it was – LA mudslides in the news, stalled-out cars in giant puddles – was inescapable. 

And there I was, out in the deluge, walking, yes walking, up a steep hill because of my possibly deeply misguided decision to help a friend in need even though my car was one of those stalled in a giant puddle. But helping my friend is another story, and it isn’t this one. 

I’m Jessie Morgan and I’m a rock n’ roll D.J. and I just got dumped by my 8-year musician boyfriend when I asked if we were ever going to get married. Also another story, but background for this one, maybe.

So, there I was, out walking in the rain from my friend’s place. I was charging up the steep hill – 30% grade – that leads from the harbor to my apartment. It always made my car strain and chug, but for some reason I thought it would be totally fine to walk it. Along with the rain lashing my face and pooling around my feet, the wind was gusting what must’ve been thirty-five mile an hour bursts right downhill. It wouldn’t have taken very much to pick me up like a tumbleweed and send me hurling backwards.

I hunched over to lower my center of gravity and held my umbrella down over my face like a shield, hoping the wind wouldn’t turn the thing inside out. I kept my eyes on my soaked shoes and chugged along past the buildings that made up City Plaza. 

Just a little while longer, I told myself, and I could duck into the chain coffee house and take a breather.

And then something, or someone, bulldozed right into me.

I mean like, pow, like a football player had tackled me, except I didn’t quite fall down. The same player was picking me up before I hit pavement, even as my umbrella was knocked out of my hand and went rolling across the sidewalk, into the street, all the way downhill again toward the ocean.

“Hey!” I said, when a little bit of breath came back into my lungs.

“You okay?” said the guy, who was wearing a trench coat turned up at the collar, beneath which were the traces of a Navy blue suit and tie, and whose cropped short, curly dark hair was dripping into his face.

“I guess,” I gasped. My leather jacket was askew, exposing my blouse to the rain, and I felt like someone in a wet tee shirt contest. A very, very wet tee shirt contest.

Self-conscious, I tugged at my jacket, and realized only then that this guy still more or less had me in his arms. In his rather large, muscular arms. And that it felt really surprisingly good being held like that. That it had in fact been a long time since anyone had held me like that, if they ever had, that firmly, that securely, that confidently. Certainly not my ex, given more toward little light pats on the back. It was honestly a new and nice feeling to be in a clinch like that. I examined my clincher a little closer.

He had intense green eyes and a square jaw and good full lips and very dark hair. He released me abruptly and I felt myself slipping backwards again, the rain and the high heels and the being on a hill all winded and everything.

He grabbed me again, more or less clutching me right up against him, and along with the strong arms I felt a broad, strong chest, and the ridiculous urge to pin myself fast against it. 

“I lost my umbrella,” I said. “You crashed right into me.”

“You crashed into me,” he said. “With that umbrella pointed out like some kinda weapon. A deadly weapon. Assault with same.”

“Ha ha,” I said. I hugged my arms around my jacket and my chest and not just out of modesty but because it was kind of a chilly, windy, very wet day and I was standing out in it. It must’ve been that cold dampness that made me get the shivers all of a sudden.

“You weren’t watching where you were going,” we both said to each other, at once. 

“Sorry this happened. But I’m glad you’re okay,” he said.

And he started away. Now I was kind of irritated. 

“You owe me an umbrella,” I said. “You can’t just walk away.”

“Look,” he said. “It’s a lousy day, don’t hit me up for a cheap umbrella.”

“That’s exactly why I am hitting you up. It’s a lousy day. I’m soaked. I won’t feel like getting more soaked now again later because you walked into me – excuse me, we walked into each other – and you made me drop my umbrella.”

Since we were right by the city plaza police station I pushed my advantage. “I could march right in there and file a complaint.”

He sighed again. “Do you really want to do that?”

“No. I really want my umbrella back, so I don’t have to walk all the way up this hill getting drenched because you bulldozed right into me.”

“I don’t want to dispute who bulldozed into who but -”

“Good,” I said. “We’re making progress.”

“Where are you walking to?”

“My home.”

“I don’t have an umbrella to give you, but I could give you a ride,” he said. He poked his thumb in the direction of a slightly disreputable looking tan sedan car parked in a slot along the side of the police station. The slot, like three others, was marked “Police vehicles only.”

My mouth parted slowly. “You’re a cop?”

He gave a sort of half shrug, neither yes or no, but enough of a yes that I figured the odds of me getting him to give me a new umbrella under the threat of an assault charge were slim. 

“I guess I’ll just -”

I was going to say walk, when I saw a sudden bright flash illuminate the sky over the sea, and heard the unmistakable rumble of thunder. Literal buckets began to pour down from the sky. 

“I’ll just take you up on that,” I said.

He unlocked the passenger door for me, and I slipped inside, dripping a big puddle on the seat.

He pulled something out from beneath his own – a rubber bone. 

“Jessie,” he said. “Funny girl.”

I got this weird feeling running up and down my spine. He spoke with such affection. Such intimacy. It freaked me out, and I also sort of strangely liked it, the way I’d strangely liked him holding me in his arms.

“Do you know me?” I asked coldly.

He was backing out of the space, but he slammed on his brakes.

“What do you mean, do I know you? You just walked into me. I just offered you a ride. Of course, I know you.”

“How do you know my name?” I demanded. “You just said, while staring at that – that bone – Jessie, you said -”

“Jessie’s my dog,” he took his foot off the brake and finished backing up. “That’s her favorite toy.”

“Well, I’m glad to know it’s not yours,” I said sharply. I was trying to cover up that I thought he’d been talking about me, but of course he picked up on that right away.

“So, your name’s Jessie, too?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m Chuck,” he said. “I know you were headed up the hill. But where to once we crest the top?”

“El Dorado Street. Behind the power plant.”

We didn’t say anything more until he turned down my street. “I am sorry about our collision. Normally, I’d be a little more considerate. But it’s been – kind of a day.”

“I’ve had those,” I said.

“This one of them?”

“Ha,” I laughed. “No, actually, I’ve had a lot worse.”

He smiled. He had a great smile, which lit up his whole face and was contagious enough that I smiled back, and there we were smiling at each other while he drove past my apartment. 

“Hey, that’s my drive way back there,” I said.

He pulled a tight U-turn, and skidded to a stop.

“Thanks for the lift,” I said.

“You’re welcome,” he said. “And thank you for – well for kind of taking a little of the gloom off the day.”

“I have?”

“Yeah, you have.”

And we both looked at each other. There was something in the way that we were both looking at each other that was downright weird, like we knew each other, you know, longer than ten minutes. Like we liked each other. Like we were both wishing there was some plausible reason we could fall into each other’s arms all over again. My heart said why not, my mind said “Danger Will Robinson, Danger.”

My voice said “Bye,” and I opened the passenger door.

“Stay dry,” he said.

“Not much chance of that.”

“No, guess not.”

“I’ll tell Jessie you said hi, Jessie,” he called out, as I climbed up the stairs to my second floor apartment.

I turned back. His car window was open and the rain was splattering in on him.

“Ha,” I said. I waved.

I took out my key, trying to shake off the feeling that I wished I wasn’t going home alone.  

“Hey!” It was him again, Chuck. At the bottom of the stairs, but looking up at me when I stopped walking. 

“Yes?” 

The rain was lashing into his face, I could see that his shirt collar was as wet as I was all over, I could also see that he was totally disregarding the rain, and that he was just looking at me, right into my eyes, with this kind of intense, I either like you very much or I am going to arrest you soon kind of stare. I mean he was a cop, right? 

“Can I – do you mind if I …” he started, his voice trailing off.

“Come in?” I suggested. 

And with that he bounded up the stairs two at a time.

“That’d be great,” I said, “you could probably do with a cup of coffee, right?”

And he leaned forward, and he kissed me. So, I gathered arrest was not what was on his mind. And probably not coffee, either. He just pressed his lips hard against mine, and I kissed him back. And the kissing was awfully nice and lasted a long time, a lovely time, before I pushed him away from me.

He lifted his hands up, no contest, no problem. “Sorry. Coffee would be great. It just – felt so good that’s all. When you kind of fell right into my arms. I mean how often does that happen?”

“Never?”

“Except now.”

And I found I was falling right into his arms all over again, we were in fact locked in this ridiculously tight embrace, as if we were both holding each other up to keep from falling off my little porch and back down the stairs and right into the square of sopping grass below.

We stayed like that long enough that it began to feel like an act of insanity. I had my hands on his shoulders, and I was moving them, almost imperceptibly down to his chest. Man, this was crazy, especially with the rain pouring down off the edge of my roof right on top of us. Then he released me, and we were both kind of gasping; maybe we’d inhaled rain water or something.

My hand was shaking as I unlocked my door and I never really officially asked him in, he just kind of followed me inside, and closed the door behind him.

I needed, desperately needed, to get out of my wet clothes. He must’ve read my mind or something.

He pulled me against him again, and we kissed until my lips felt raw, and when we came up for air that time, he was pulling my jacket off my shoulders and throwing off his own rain coat, and dropping both garments in their own puddle in the hall.

He moved his lips from my lips and down my neck, and then lifted them back up again to nibble on my ear. I am a total sucker for ear nibbling, and I gave a little moan which seemed to be all the encouragement he needed to move from ear nibbling down over the smooth, wet fabric of my blouse, which he untucked from my skirt and lifted up, all the while working his hands around the hooks of my bra.

He was having a little trouble with the hooks. 

“Tougher than handcuffs -” he muttered, but eventually he got it, and he had my blouse all bunched up and my bra pushed down over my shoulders. He was using that little nibbling thing he’d used on my ears only down all along my collar bone and between my breasts and on my breasts too, where he threw in some gentle licking and stroking and I was a complete and utter goner then. My nipples stood out like little rockets, and he kissed them and touched them, kissed them and touched them, and okay, it was perfect. I felt myself getting hot and moist inside.

Then I was helping him peel out of his sodden suit jacket, and tugging at his tie and unbuttoning his shirt all at once.

I was no better with ties than he was with bra hooks, I don’t think any of the four guys I’ve serially committed to in the last ten years have even owned a tie, much less worn one.

But we got around that, and he worked off my skirt, doing just fine with the zipper and letting it slip off my sides loose and then fall to the floor as he bent to kiss my belly, and run his hands from it to my hips, and down to my thighs.

I unbuckled his belt, and we were all wet and panting with our clothes falling off right there in the hall, me stepping out of my skirt in must my underwear and dangling bra, his cock protruding from his underwear, man, I couldn’t take my eyes off the way he looked – he looked that way because of me, which was a huge turn on in and of itself. 

We kind of got stuck again there, not sure how to proceed, or maybe get out of the rest of our clothes. But he took my hand, lifted it to his lips and kissed each one of my fingers, up and down each digit from finger-tip to palm, and went from kissing, to licking them. I gasped again. He led me by my hand, through the living room. “I’m gonna kiss you and taste you head to toe. Every, every inch of you…” He opened the door to my bathroom, closing the door behind us to keep Squeak out.

“Thought it was the bedroom,” he said, but somehow it seemed silly to leave, or like it was too late to turn back. He was already lowering me to the floor on top of my pink and orange fluff throw rug, stripping off my underwear and my sodden stockings, tugging off his own shorts and socks, while our hair dripped onto the fluffy little rug. 

He kneeled beside me and did just what he’d said he’d do. Fingers, palms, arms, clavicle, neck, ear, a long time kissing my lips. Leaning across me to the other side, pinning me there, it felt so delicious that having my feet pressed up against the side of my bathtub was just fine, just fine indeed.

To my breasts his tongue cruised, licking, kissing, burying his face against them. My sides, my hips, my stomach. My thighs, my legs, oh yes, and then up again, the inside of my legs, the inside of my thighs, until his tongue was inside me, lapping at me, making the sound the rain did on my roof. I dissolved over and over, until I felt like I was floating outside my body, yet so, so aware of how rainstorm-wet I was inside, how hard my clit was, how much I wanted him, all of him, inside me.

“Oh, God,” I said, when he raised his head and we collided body to body, linked up, rolled and rocked and gasped for a while. His own feet slapped the back of my tub and rattled the shower door, and we both cried out almost at once. 

We lay there in a crumpled heap.

I think we both didn’t want it to end, but we also had no idea what to say to each other now.

Finally, I managed. “I’m gonna have to take a shower and get to work.”

And he smiled again, and stood up, helped me up, and I turned on the shower.

“It takes a while to heat up,” I said.

“I don’t know about that.”

He was already tumescent again, and I felt like this time it was my turn, and I took him in my mouth while he soaped my breasts and my neck, and then there we were in awkward but awesome position number two, me pressed up against the cool tile, warm water coursing over us, while he took me from behind. Everything inside and out felt slippery and smooth.

***

Now I was going to be late for work. 

“You’re – amazing,” he said, as I dressed.

He’d wrung out his shirt and tie; I’d offered him an X-tra large T-shirt I slept in but he said he was fine.

“So are you,” I said, but I was figuring, since he turned down the shirt, this was it, we were done, not a one-night-stand, just another rainy-day-stand.

And then I shivered, the way I had when we were outside standing in the rain, probably I had to go back out in the chill and the wet and wait for the bus. But maybe it was something else. Some new and previously unrecognized form of desire. I didn’t want this to be over.

“I have to go,” I said. “I’m on-air in an hour.”

“Oh sure. My shift ended this morning.”

Although we’d communicated quite nicely there on the bathroom floor, we were not exactly winning any awards for witty repartee now.

“Do you take requests?”

“Sometimes,” I said cautiously.

“I’ll drive you,” he said, “if you take a request.”

“The station’s in LA.”

“I know where there’s these things called freeways,” he said.

“Okay, then,” I said. “I’d like a ride.”

“I liked the ride we just took,” he said, smiling slyly.

And he moved in for a kiss again, and it held so long, and he started running his hands down my hips and across my breasts, and I thought, he better drive fast. Put the siren on maybe.

Then I remembered what he’d said, and I lifted my lips from his, long enough to ask. “What’s the request?” 

“I have two,” he said, and we started walking down the hall again.

“Two?”

“I was trying to think of the name of that song about the rain, the one where the woman is, you know – sexy. I thought Dylan, “Rainy Day Woman,” but that’s not it. It’s by Kenny Chesney…”

“Oh, my God, I can’t play mainstream country – we play alt rock –”

“You’ve never done,” he laughed, “something completely unexpected?”

I laughed, too, as he held the door for me, and we stepped onto my porch, into the rain again. 

He hummed softly. It’s called “There’s something Sexy About the Rain…” 

“I know what it’s called,” I said. 

“You can play it. You could do it if you wanted to.”

“I could try,” I said, but I wasn’t sure that I would. “What’s the other request?”

“This,” he said. 

We’d reached the car now, and we were already soaked again. He took me in his arms, wrapping his coat over me as much as he could, and ran his hands down my body. I felt like I could stand there forever.

There really was something sexy about the rain.

“Okay,” I said, my breathing deep, as he slipped his hand beneath my skirt, slipped a finger inside me, and started stroking me, in and out, in and out, wet outside, wet inside, I thought, and I came, I came while the rain rolled down my neck, and stifled my cry against his shoulder. “Okay! I’ll play the song.”