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Hurricane Sandy
The day after the storm, the sun was bright, the skies blue, the air fresh and clean. I spent the morning writing a poem about squirrels. Needing a break, I drove over to my step-niece Sandy's house. I'd promised to water her plants. As I was walking up to the door, I saw a flicker of something through the garage window. I went over and peered in. It was Sandy. She was pounding the heavy bag that her ex-husband and I had strung up last fall a month before he lit out. She was really hammering it. Even from outside, I could hear the dull thud of impact and the bright jangle of chains. I watched her for a while. She was wearing only ivory colored shorts and a matching scarf. Sweat streamed down her body. Her sunny hair flew with each punch. Her bare breasts swung. She scowled and grunted and attacked the big bag with a vengeance.
I nudged open the side door and stepped into the garage. So intent was she on knocking the bag into the next county, she didn't notice me. Grunt, thump, jink--the sounds of Sandy, bag, chains. Grunt, thump, jink. Grunt, thump, jink.
"Hey there," I called out. "Keep that up you'll knock the stuffings out of that poor thing."
Startled, she stopped. "Oh! Oh, Uncle Jake. You surprised me."
Her arms fell slack to her sides. She was breathing hard. It took her a moment to remember she wasn't wearing a top. "Oh shoot," she said, making a feeble attempt to cover her breasts with her hands. "Oh shoot, I'm sorry." And then she burst into tears.
I went to her and put my arms around her and she sobbed against my chest. I caressed her sweaty back as she blubbered. A minute or so later she'd quieted, and I asked her what was wrong.
"Everything," she said. "It's that hurricane, that awful hurricane."
"I know," I said. "Terrible."
"No," she said vehemently. "You don't know. My audition. Tomorrow. I had reservations, and tickets, and, and, and... And now... And now..."."
"I know. I know."
"No. You don't understand.
"It's okay," I said. "These things happen. They'll probably resched--"
"They won't," she said. "But it doesn't matter."
"It doesn't?"
"No, because I hate myself. All that misery and devastation and people who lost everything, and all I can think about is myself. My fucking audition. I hate myself."
"You shouldn't feel that way," I said.
She sniffled, wiped her nose. "I should," she said. "I tried not to think about what a shit I am. I thought I'd work off steam. Take a long bike ride. And there, look, the tire's flat. Just like that. It was fine two days ago. I must have run over something. And I don't know where the pump is. And I was so mad I just hit the punching bag. And I hit it and hit it and hit it. And some stupid buttons popped off my shirt, and I ripped it off, and I tried to rip off my scarf but it got knotted, and I tugged and tugged, and then I just needed to hit something. Hit it and hit it and hit it."
"I know, I know," I said. "You were really knocking the stuffings out of that bag. But you're going to hurt your hand."
"I did." She looked abjectly at her hand. Sniffled again. "I don't care. I deserve it."
I took her hand in mine, brought it to my lips, and kissed it.
"Oh, Uncle Jake, you're so nice. You're always so sweet and gallant. Unlike me. I'm just a, just a..." She started blubbering again.
I scooped her up. "Now stop that," I told her. "You're a beautiful young woman. All you need is..."
Her arms went around my neck. In a strained, sniffling, little girl voice, she said, "I do, Uncle Jake. I need a good hard fuck."
I carried her out of the garage, into the house, up the stairs, and into her bedroom. I tossed her onto the bed. I undressed quickly then pulled off her running shorts. Her slender thighs trembled. Her tummy quivered. I parted her legs and tasted her pussy. She was deeply wet. I would have feasted on her forever, but she said, "Please, Uncle Jake, be in me."
I moved up. She brushed the scarf from her face. I tried to unknot it. It was too tight.
"Hurry, Uncle Jake. Fuck me. Fuck the stuffings out of me."
Our eyes locked. I entered her. It was like quicksand. I sank slowly, inexorably through the plush wet warmth of her sex. When I was fully in she went wild. She bucked and thrashed, her little belly pummeling mine as I thrust into her again and again. For half a minute or so she was like a tornado, an avalanche, an earthquake, a hurricane all rolled up into one. Then abruptly she went still. There was a long moment of complete calm. She stiffened. A spasm shook her. Her cunt wrenched against my cock, hard, harder, hardest, then a succession of rapid, jolting contractions and then a series of little ones, hiccups ebbing into calm.
She cried softly as I fucked her. I used long slow strokes, as long and slow as I could make them, rowing her, rowing us, a long, slow crossing. Her breathing slowed. Her eyes closed in sleep. I continued to fuck her, timing the long slow thrusts to the soft swell of her breath. I fucked her as gently as I could. Rowing. Not caring if we ever got there. If we ever got anywhere.
She slept for twenty minutes or so, and then her eyes fluttered open, and she smiled and locked her legs about me and began answering my thrusts. "Yeah," she said. "This is what I need. This is just what I need." It was almost a game. I braced myself rigid above her. I was the shore and she was the sea, battering me, trying to break me down. I resisted, clenching my jaw. I remained hard, unyielding, a rock. She smiled. She grimaced. She grinned. She gritted her teeth, squeezed her eyes, and said, "I'm going to get you now. I'm going to take you with me." Her cunt clenched. Again. Again. Something in her caught, and her cunt went wild, and she went wild, that hurricane, earthquake, tornado, avalanche all mixed together. Howling, she broke me loose from myself. I erupted within her, flooding her with everything I had. She took it all. She kept taking me until there was nothing left, and I was a washed out sack of perfectly peaceful nothingness.
I awoke flat on my back. Sandy was up on one elbow, staring at me, grinning that impish grin.
"Hi," I said.
"Ready for round three?" she answered.
Without waiting for a reply, she ducked down and took my cock in her mouth. She sucked me sweetly until I was much too big for her mouth, and then she mounted me and rode me, and when her eyes told me she was about to orgasm, I grabbed the knotted scarf and pulled her down and kissed her all the way through her climax.
***
"You know what?" she said. It was the next morning and we were still in her bed.
"What?"
"I think I should change my name."
"Why?"
"No one in New York will ever hire a girl named Sandy. What do you think?"
"I think it's time for round nine. Or is it ten?"
"No, seriously," she said, her legs parting, lifting. "About changing my name."
As I sank into her, I said, "How about Rocky?"
story and illustrations by Mat Twassel |
