("`-''-/").___..--''"`-._
                     `6_ 6  )   `-.  (     ).`-.__.`)
                     (_Y_.)'  ._   )  `._ `. ``-..-'
                    _..`--'_..-_/ /--'_.' ,'
                   ((('   (((-(((''  ((((
                 K R I S T E N' S    C O L L E C T I O N
		_________________________________________
		                WARNING!
		This text file contains sexually explicit
		material. If you do not wish to read this
		type of literature, or you are under age,
		PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!!
		_________________________________________




			Scroll down to view text


















--------------------------------------------------------
This work is copyrighted to the author © 2013.  Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
to this story.  All rights reserved. Thank you for your 
consideration.
--------------------------------------------------------

June Raindrops On His Lips
by Jess Anniwund (no address provided)
 
***

I was sitting in my living room one overcast 
afternoon. (MF, rom, no-sex)

***

It looked as if it was about to rain, in fact, pour. I 
had a very slow piano piece on the stereo and I was 
looking at the vase of gladiolas, remembering briefly 
what it was like to be not alone.

I tipped my head back and watched the last of the 
faint sunlight slide across the ceiling and out the 
window.

The approaching rain brought a waft of breeze through 
the open windows, animating the light curtains, 
bringing the solace of movement like a dancer's caress 
against a dried floorboard. A light drizzle followed 
shortly, sounding delicate on the streets that have 
been softened by the humid morning. 

I thought to myself that this was the elegy to the 
departure of Spring, that soon, that'd be hot days and 
brutal muscular men parading around in sleeveless 
undershirts and loud factory-ready sports cars, girls 
with obnoxious tans wearing fluorescent sunglasses and 
teased hair.

I closed my eyes to enjoy what little was left of the 
quiet day.

There was a tap on the front door. Who could it be? I 
walked to the threshold and opened without checking to 
see who it was.

"Oh, hello. I'm so sorry to disturb you. But my car 
has seized just a few streets away, I was wondering if 
you I could borrow your phone."

He was a slender, clean shaven man about my age -- 
early twenties. The thing that struck me from my 
afternoon daze was his clothes. He was standing there 
in one of those smart, hunting-horse-riding outfits, 
red jacket, white blouse, breeches and black boots. 
His dirty blonde hair was damp and fell just at the 
tip of his dark eyebrows.

I caught myself just in time to keep from appearing 
like a deaf-mute and asked him to enter. I pointed up 
the short staircase which he proceeded to ascend. I 
watched his rear and the elegance in the way they 
moved with each step taken. I forgot momentarily all 
the women I had lusted after. I forgot for example 
Pam, whom I doted on and grew flowers for in the youth 
of my adoration.

I listened to his lithe voice mingle with the hush of 
the rain pattering outside. After a moment, he 
reappeared at the edge of the kitchen arch. "Thanks 
very much, I will show myself out."

"Did you get help?" I asked.

"It was an answering machine, but eventually help will 
arrive."

"Is your car safely out of the way?"

"Not really, but, I'll manage."

"Oh come, I won't hear of it! I can do a little 
pushing myself," I said more or less as a statement 
and not an offer.

When we were outside, I opened my umbrella and we 
walked together along the glistening lawns. I told him 
that I didn't know there were horse-riding grounds 
around my parts, but he said he was just passing 
through.

When we got to his car, he rolled down the driver's 
window to push and steer, but I refused on grounds 
that his clothes were too pristine to be spoiled by a 
trivial problem like that. I told him to get inside 
while I stood against his door and listened to his 
description of the car problem. 

After popping the hood, I felt around, burnt my 
fingers on the flywheel, jammed my foot on the 
carburetor, and freed the fuel filter in that order. I 
stuck my index finger on the float to keep it shut and 
told him to turn it over. Once we got the car started, 
he offered to buy me a drink. But instead, I said I'll 
make some coffee for the two of us in my place.

In my living room, we sat and talked about the types 
of riding he was into. When asked about my occupation, 
I said I was a writer, in other words, a professional 
slacker. We laughed and I watched his damp hair and 
his thin face almost like a horse warm the arriving 
evening. I sat across from him as we talked, leaning 
forward with elbows on kneecaps. Our voices relaxed in 
a good-natured way. It was nice to share some time 
together, even with a stranger. 

He absent-mindedly ran his hand over his thigh as he 
looked out the window and recounted a story about one 
of his horses who had to be put to sleep. I listened 
to the sadness in his voice while slowly being 
hypnotized by the white breeches that looked as if 
they were painted-on to his perfect thighs. The coffee 
had made his lips glisten like freshly watered fruit. 
He was the very picture of allure.

** 

When he came to the bottom of his cup, he got up and 
thanked me for everything I had done. I saw him to the 
door, my hands practically unable to keep from 
touching his firm, well-dressed body. My arms barely 
unable to keep from embracing his thighs and nestling 
my face in the warm bosom of his immaculate seat. 
Behind the back of his neck, I opened my lips to force 
out a desperate plea for him to stay a while longer. 
He turned around just then, having reached the door. I 
snapped back, mouth opened, transforming to a half 
smile with a great deal of effort.

"Thanks again," he held out his hand.

I took it and felt the softness of his palm against my 
greasy callused one: his were hands that had been 
protected by riding gloves for a lifetime, mine were 
weathered by class.

We waved as he got into his car. I watched him drive 
off and stared at the empty road for a few more 
minutes. The stereo swirled into my attention with 
this old song called "1963." It was an airy piece of 
pop that danced just as the rain was doing at that 
moment. I closed the door and stood against it, eyes 
close, listening to the first lines of the lyrics.

The beat was infectious, but it was shortly 
interrupted by an off-beat. It was someone knocking at 
the door. I opened it once again.

He was standing there but this time we didn't exchange 
any words. We just looked at each other before he took 
three steps forward through the door. He cupped my 
cheeks in between his hands and put his lips against 
mine. His tongue felt so smooth and cool in my mouth. 

I unbuttoned his hunting jacket and slid my hands 
against his silk white blouse, the warmth of his body 
charged through fabric and onto my fingertips as I 
held him tight. My eyes close at this beautiful 
forbidden union, this sweetness of his mouth, this 
feeling of togetherness.

I ran my hands through his damp hair, I kissed his 
eyebrows, I caressed his marble neck which blossomed 
from his jabot like a treasured stem which had its 
roots at his heart. His fingers were stroking the back 
of my body as his chin moved against my neck.

I wanted to kiss him some more, and I did, as we lay 
there on the steps. I could feel the hardness between 
his legs straining against his breeches, against my 
thighs. As we kissed, I reached down to undo his 
breeches before resting my hand on his smooth, shaven 
crotch. It tightened confidently in my hand, and it 
tasted as Eve's first apple must surely have.

** 

When night time came around, it thundered and roared 
with lightning illuminating the entire living room 
while we lay there on the floor. I kept myself inside 
him as I embraced his body and our hands held 
together. We were both very still.
 
 
e p i l o g u e
 
It had been several months since that day. As quickly 
as he had walked into my life like an angel of hope, 
he departed without the slightest trace of having been 
there. The summer came and took him away. At the gas 
station, jeeps and trucks towing jet skis and boats 
baked in the sun as suburban boys eager to out-man 
each other took to blasting rap music by performers 
who knew as little about violence as they did.

Then a truck towing a horse-trailer pulled in at the 
far end. I squinted to see more clearly as a pair of 
boots came out from the passenger door on the opposite 
side. Just then, the attendant came to collect the 
money.

"Is there a horse-riding club around here?" I asked 
without taking my eyes off those boots.

"Nah, not that I know of. Why, do you ride?" He talked 
in a hoarse voice that was empty of curiosity.

The boots came around the rear of the trailer. It was 
a heavyset forty-something man wearing a plaid shirt.

"Nah," I smiled to wave the sadness away as I got on 
my scooter and started it up. "Just passing through."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Please keep this story, and all erotic stories out of
the hands of children. They should be outside playing
in the sunshine, not thinking about adult situations.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Kristen's collection - Directory 78