"Gully Washer" {Uther} (MF wl cons) 

If you are under the age of 18, or otherwise forbidden by law 
to read electronically transmitted erotic material, please go do 
something else. 

This material is Copyright, 1996, Uther Pendragon.  All rights 
reserved.  I specifically grant the right of downloading and 
keeping one electronic copy for your personal reading so long as 
this notice is included.  Reposting requires previous permission. 

If you have any comments or requests, please E-mail them to me 
at nogardneprethu@gmail.com . 

All persons here depicted, except public figures depicted as 
public figures in the background, are figments of my imagination 
and any resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly 
coincidental.  
 
                          #   #  #   #
  
                          Gully Washer 
                       by Uther Pendragon 
                    nogardneprethu@gmail.com 
  

It is too hot to fuck.  It is damn-well too hot to 
breathe.  But the second is necessary; and the first, whatever 
he'd thought 30 years ago, is not. 

They lie apart on the sheet in pajama bottom and opaque 
nightgown. Too hot for these, as well, but the kids and grandkids 
are here.  After an eternity he sleeps. 

The lightning rouses him.  It was close, but there is no 
afterglow to suggest fire.   He lies there appreciating the 
breeze for a moment until the rain drums in.  He is reaching to 
lower the first window when he really wakes up.  This is the 
sleeping porch.  The deck had taken twelve years' rainstorms, and 
winter snows for that matter, before the walls went up. 

He smiles more nastily than Ginnie would like to see and goes 
down the hall to Cheryl's room.  He pounds on the door until 
Kevin sounds awake. 

"Gully washer.  Close your window.  I'll get the kids." 

He goes into the grandchildren's room.  The doorway still has 
muggy air though he can feel sudden coolness two-thirds of the 
way to the window.  He drops the window down to one inch above 
the sill, grabs all the grands' treasures from the sill, and 
drops them at the foot of David's bunk.  He leaves the door open. 

He lowers the bathroom window to the same one-inch clearance.  
He pisses.  He wipes himself down with a washcloth, soaks the 
cloth again, and takes it and two towels with him.   He closes 
the windows from the sleeping porch into the living room on the 
way back. 

Ginnie is awake.  She wipes her face and neck with the 
washcloth. 

"Finish the job.  No one is going to see us." 

She strips and dabs herself.  The breeze has already cooled 
the room and stray drops hit him where he stands.  He drops his 
pajamas, and she slides over. 

They kiss.  She had found tiny lines around that mouth and 
thinks herself aged.  He finds a tongue that knows every crevice 
of his mouth and just what it does to him.  This was the sweet 
mouth he'd kissed when he didn't know how, but it was more.  This 
mouth had said, "I do."  When the first company was going down 
the toilet, and he told her that she could take what her father 
had built -- this lodge included -- if she left, this mouth had 
said one word, "Never."  He kisses all of that. 

He kisses down her neck and down to her breast.  It is a lot 
looser than when he'd first touched it.  She has started to go 
back to hiding them from him, as she did at first.  But she 
really can't hide her breasts from him.  There, he had cried when 
Billy was in the hospital, and they realized that the bankruptcy 
that they had feared and cursed and wailed over had really taken 
jack shit from them.  He'd seen them suckle two children, and 
she'd let him taste.  He could see them in his mind however 
hidden from his eyes. 

The nipple still knows him and perks right up.  As he sucks 
there, he drinks loyalty, shared terror, and shared passion.  She 
stirs as she has stirred, as she stirred at seventeen. 

He kisses down her belly.  It is wider and looser than the 
belly he rested his head on at 16 as he told his dreams to his 
girlfriend, giving of his egotism in the only generosity a young 
man knows.  It has held two children as well as its share of good 
food.  It yields still its quota of memories.  He lay on this 
belly in bliss on his honeymoon, sated for the moment but seeing 
the breasts rise inches from him.  He saw this belly round with 
the life that they had started.  He had been kicked through this 
belly and left many trails with his lips, matching this one, down 
to her muff. 

Each trail has informed the next, leaving blazes in his mind 
if not on her skin.  This way to the navel tickle.  This way to 
the fur.  This way to the sniff of her want.  This way to the 
glorious taste.  This way to the proof of desire.  This way to 
the entry to glory.  This way to the tunnel of love.  This way to 
the ecstasy.  This way, twice if never again, to the awe and 
terror of parentage.  This way, finally, to satiation and sleep. 

"We shouldn't," she says in her lovely voice.  Meaning they 
would. 

He'd come to her with a choice.  He could stay an employee, or 
he could throw everything in the pot for a new business. 

"We could lose everything," he'd said. 

"Not everything," she'd said.  "Not the kids, not us, not our 
love. Just the peripherals."  He loved that voice. He'd loved it 
before then, but he loved it more since then. 

Love and desire are a little different, however.  He reaches 
her valley and her scent.  Until now, he could have cuddled her 
to express his love.   Now, lust starts to harden him. 

Her mortise is drier than it was before the hysterectomy.  It 
isn't as dry as it was in the field that day, though.  If he 
could go back, he would kick that young animal in the butt, 
though his hip pains him enough as it is on wet days.  This 
beautiful spirit had offered up her unwilling body to him, and 
he'd been too stupid and greedy to realize that.  The present 
dryness will cause no hurt, but it does not provide the wealth 
that he spread over her folds in the years between.  He deals 
with that. 

His hand barely touches her, stroking her hairy lips twice 
before spreading them.  He kisses that ancient wound, well 
healed, fully forgiven, even forgotten, since followed by two 
deeper cuts, now healed and forgotten as well.  Then he licks 
upward.  Let her moisture wait for him.  He brings an offering of 
his own to her sensitivity. 

As he begins, she relaxes back.  She knows the way as well as 
he. First the kiss, then the lightest licks, then the sucking and 
licking until she tenses.  As his kisses increase in intensity, 
he hears her little squeaks.  They tell of delight.  No one else 
has ever heard them, save the babies when they were too young to 
understand.  This is his love, this is his life, and she lives 
and loves here too. 

She relaxes, and he closes with one long, non-demanding kiss.  
He lies there listening to her breathing and feeling the 
occasional spray.  The real rain doesn't reach the bed, but some 
tiny droplets do. 

He thinks about those squeaks, she makes them almost no other 
time.   She certainly doesn't know she makes them in orgasm.  She 
almost certainly doesn't remember the sounds she made when her 
pregnancy test came back positive.  She probably didn't notice 
making the sound when he told her that he'd bought back the 
lodge.  He keeps very few secrets from her, only one concerning 
business.  This lodge is hers, not community property.   She'd 
signed the papers, as she'd signed everything he'd asked her to 
sign in their married life.  Everything else that they own they 
own together, his shirts and her dresses when it comes to law. 

This lodge is hers.  Because she'd hid the fox like a Spartan 
when he'd lost it.  And because she'd squeaked when they got it 
back. 

If it were his lodge, Cheryl would be on the sleeping porch 
and the owner would be in the master bedroom.  Billy, when he 
came to visit, too.  Tonight, however, it is cooler here. 

He reaches for the KY and anoints a finger.  He eases it 
inside her and twists it around.  Soon, his rubbing is pressing 
down, stretching the sheath slightly.  He gets another load of 
lubricant and rubs it into the first inch of her mortise. 

He can't see anything, he certainly can't see her arms reach 
out to him.  But he'd been here a thousand times.  When she 
reaches out, he feels the shift and moves up her body.  She holds 
his shoulders and then runs her hand down his side.  She takes 
him in her hand and squeezes him gently.   She finds his ear to 
kiss. It is enough, he firms in her hand and she places him.  
History informs and deepens his love for her.  Lust, however, is 
only of the present.  He begins the road forward. 

He pushes in, gains the tightness of the entry.  He thrusts 
and enters fully.  He moves out and in, and he firms completely. 
Mortise and tenon, locked together, they are one flesh.  He rocks 
in and out and returns from the past. 

She is silky smooth from both the tube's lubrication and her 
own. He moves through clasping slipperiness, sliding in and out.  
This is eternity, or should be.  Sensuous pleasure, salted with 
knowing *her* pleasure, sweetened with love.  He drives 
forward and hears her quiet gasp in his ear.  He tongues her ear 
for a minute, and then she turns so she can reach his.  She licks, 
he swings faster, she gasps again.  Then she faintly bites the 
lobe. He moves back, his face well above hers, and drives in hard 
at the new angle. 

She tenses, and is almost there.  He drives forward quickly 
and eases back slowly.  Four more times and there is a quiver 
around him.  Her squeaks sound different in this position.  That 
is less from having his ear so much nearer than because his 
thrusts partly move her air. 

Thrust.  "Eek."  Thrust.  "Eek." 

Her mortise clutches tight and trembling around his tenon.  He 
drives mindlessly into that pulsing warmth. There is no history. 
No memory.  No past.  Just now. 

"Eek."  Now!  "Eek."  Now!  "Eek."  Now.  "Eek."  Now.  ...  
Now. 

Experienced, he turns as he collapses.  Experienced, she moves 
her arm just in time.  They lie there, he not quite on top of her 
except at the middle. 

The air blows cool, but slow enough that little rain is coming 
in. 

He needs to be in pajamas when the grandkids wake. 

He's too heavy on her thigh. 

He should move. 

Soon.  



     The End 
     Gully Washer
     Uther Pendragon 
     nogardneprethu@gmail.com 
     1996/
     2001/06/13
     2002/04/08
     2004/04/28


For another story about another couple making 
love during another rainstorm, see:
forecast.txt 
"Forecast"  

This story is indexed under:
wl.txt 
Wedded Lust 


The index to almost all my stories:
http://www.asstr.org/~Uther_Pendragon/index.htm