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From: dez187lm@hotmail.com (H.D. Meister)
Subject: {ASSM} Story:  I Wihs it Would Rain Down - i wish it would rain down.txt [1/1]
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Greetings.  Here is another story from the Mind of H.D. Meister.  If
you are not at least 18 or live in a community which does not allow
adult material, DO NOT READ THIS. Post freely, archive and critique as
you will so long as the work is not altered in any way, you do not
gain a profit from my work, and all due credit is given to the author:
me.


-------------------------------------------------------------------------------


I Wish It Would Rain Down By:  H.D. Meister (dez187lm@hotmail.com)





I used to get so much enjoyment out of Summer.  Something about
sitting beneath a blazing sun and sweating like a race horse made me
feel at one with the universe.  That was before Lori.  That was before
I knew how sex had the power to trash a friendship.

We spent many days and nights together.  We would talk about this,
that, or nothing at all.  Whenever she needed an ear, I had two to
offer.  Both of my shoulders have born witness to her tears.  And we
have shared countless laughs.  We were the best of friends until that
one Summer night.

It had not rained in over a week.  The air was dry day and night, and
there was no relief save for inside an air conditioned building.  She
had come by to visit me, bringing over two videos.  I supplied the
iced tea, and together we had intended to enjoy yet another quiet
night in each other's company.  I had a pair of denim shorts on and a
muscle shirt while she wore a bikini top and spandex shorts.  I had
seen her dress this way many times;  she had a beautiful body.  But I
never once gave serious thought as to what it felt like.

We were half way into the first movie when I got up to refill our
drinks.  She paused the tape and turned on the radio.  Phil Collins
was playing.  "I Wish It Would Rain Down" came over the speakers
softly.

"I love this song," she whispered.  So without thinking, I walked into
my room and activated my MP3 player.  I happened to have downloaded
that file earlier that day and let it play continuously.  Returning to
the kitchen I saw that Lori was standing over the sink.  I could hear
her sobbing softly.

I did what I always did:  I waited respectfully.  If she chose to tell
me what was bothering her she would.  I never asked;  it always
sounded like I wanted to pry into her life.  I waited for close to
five minutes before she turned towards me.

I knew what was about to happen, but I didn't know.  It sounds
foolish, but part of me knew why she had come over that night.  I had
spent the past three months helping her sort out her emotions after a
bad end to an even worse relationship.  I had been there as I had
always been.  Now she was ready to move on, but first she had to repay
my kindness.  She could have chosen any of a thousand different ways,
but none of them pleased her.

When  I saw her walking towards me with that slow, measured step I
knew so well, I thought nothing of it.  She needed a hug, and I gave
her one.  Then, with her head resting on my shoulder, she spoke
softly.

"Do you love me, Leon?"

I didn't know how to answer.  I had never though beyond the friendship
we shared;  it had taken me close to a lifetime to even consider
getting that close to anyone, and here I was, suddenly reviewing my
accomplishment to see if it had surpassed my own expectations.  I
cared for her;  that much I knew for certain.  But did I love her?  I
didn't have any reference point;  I had never had anything more potent
than the average crush on this woman or that girl in my life.

Love.  I had not bothered to consider it.  Now I had no choice.  I was
not going to tell her I did when I didn't;  I have seen too many
hearts broken because of that error.  And I couldn't say I didn't love
her since I didn't know if I did or not.  So I was stuck with telling
her that I did not know.  The moment those words left my mouth I knew
the truth of those words many poets have written when they said
something about the pain of love.  Three words, and I hurt like
someone had hit me in the stomach with a piece of pipe.

She looked up and smiled.  Then she kissed me softly on the lips.  I
should have been surprised, but I wasn't.  I returned her kiss.  I
didn't think that it would go beyond that.  I knew our friendship
would be strong enough to carry us past a moment of weakness.  But now
that I look back, our friendship was not strong enough to keep the
sleeping storm within us both at bay.

Even now, I'm not sure if what I felt when I broke the kiss to look
into her eyes was lust or love.  They are very much alike at times,
especially when viewed by someone who doesn't know either one.
Someone like me.

We made love.  Simple words, but no others can come close to
explaining our actions.  It was as if we both knew what the other
wanted.  No... needed.  She needed someone to cling to.  I needed
someone to love.  Together... we needed love.  We needed each other.

It was the hottest night on record, but we didn't care.  I licked the
sweat off of her body and asked for seconds, never once letting up.
We explored each other's bodies with care, neither one of us wanting
the moment to end.  I had no experience outside wet dreams and dry
fantasies to guide me hands.  Yet they seemed to know exactly what to
do, where to touch, how gentle to caress her flesh.

Her touch.  I have never felt anything so soothing in all my years.  I
was about to have my first sexual encounter with someone I cared
about, and it felt great.  Except for one thing:  the answer to her
question.  Did I love her.  She was standing before me as she entered
this world, about to offer me a woman's greatest treasure, and I
didn't know if it was mine to hold.

I had spent my entire life doing this or that.  I had worked hard to
better myself and learn about other things, other places, other
people.  Yet I did not know myself as well as I thought.  My body was
alive in a way that I still cannot explain.  Every nerve felt as if it
was ablaze with a glorious inferno.  As I kissed the exposed skin of
her breasts, I tasted her.  No chef could ever hope to capture the
flavor of life and love that I sampled then.

And when the time came for me to accept her gift, I did so.  I know
now that we made love, but at the time, it felt more like raw lust.
Powerful.  Intoxicating.  And eventually, totally unfulfilling.  Time
had lost all meaning.  There were only two souls.  One which loved and
the other...  I could feel the sting of my sweat as it slid into my
eyes, but my vision refused to be blurred.  I can still see her soft
features twisted by the pleasure of sharing herself with me.  I wonder
what I looked like.

Even my orgasm could not dull the edge of our passion.  I took a deep
breath and continued.  My hands slid over her body, and I let them.
My mouth sought hers and our tongues danced.  And through it all I
asked myself over and over again:  Did I love her.  And I never once
got an answer.  I never so much as heard a chuckle.

Seven times.  Seven times did we  make love.  And we did make love.  I
am certain of that now, just as I am certain that my chamber awaits me
in hell for not seeing so.  Seven times, and each time I found myself
with a spare moment of clarity I asked myself those thrice damned
three words.  And still I got nothing.  In the shower.  On my bed.
The livingroom sofa.  All bore witness to the love.  The plant which
stood in the corner.  The lights.  Everything... except my own eyes
and heart.

And after it was done and she left, I made plans to leave.  I ran like
those cowardly bastards who fuck whichever cunt happens to have the
misfortune of not only being close enough to fuck, but of bearing the
seed of that cursed violation.  That I made my fortune many times over
is nothing more than God cursing me, replacing the love I threw away
with money and items, neither of which would accompany me in Hell.  I
ran.

I did not abandon her, however.  I knew enough people to be able to
keep track of her.  She never married, choosing to raise my son alone.
That night had seen the creation of an heir to my fortune.  When I
heard that she was pregnant, I cried.  The child was mine, and I was
where?  Where would I be when my son needed the strength and kindness
of his father?  Behind some ebony wood desk bickering over the stock
market price of this or that.  I was taking trips to Europe and Japan
while he was forging friendships, learning from books and life,
loving.  

I did not have the heart to face him when I went to his highschool
graduation.  I stayed hidden within the throngs of proud parents
patting their sons and daughters on the back for a job well done.  I
saw his mother hug him tenderly.  He looked a great deal like me.  I
knew the pain within her eyes at having to be reminded every day about
the coward who ran.  And once more I ran.

I had ensured that he would have the funds needed to attend whichever
college he chose.  Once again God mocked me;  he chose the same
college his mother and I attended.  He even moved into the same
apartment where he was conceived.  I watched him become the man I was
not the day he married his highschool sweetheart.  And I watched his
mother cry, wondering all the while which of her tears, if any, were
because I did not take that walk with her.

She had not had anyone else.  More than twenty years and she held true
to the hope that I would return to her.  I never did.  I could not
bring myself to drown her memory with useless sex.  What she did out
of love I did out of fear.

And now it ends.  I lay on my deathbed and await the chains which I
forged in this life.

"Yes?  Come in?"

Once more, God?  Why?!  Why must I see her face and that of my son
now?!  Can I not die in the torment I have already earned without You
adding more?

"You never answered me," she whispered.

"Yes.  I loved you.  I love you now.  I will always love you.  And my
son."  I tried to say more, but the words clogged in my throat.

The look in her eyes told me that no words were needed.  She knew I
loved her, and had waited.  She waited for me.  I looked into the eyes
of my soon expecting to see the burning hatred of a son forgotten.
And I saw love.  He knew.  He did not know why I left his mother, but
he knew I loved them both.  That one night was not just another casual
fuck.  He knew, and forgave me.

She leaned forward and kissed me.  Still as soft as ever.  I had never
wanted to live more.  I cried out for God to grant me but one more
year.  It would not be enough, but at least I could do the honorable
thing and marry her.  I knew he would not.  Yet she had forgiven me.
My son had forgiven me.  My soul could now enjoy the torment it had
earned.  I motioned for my son to stand at his mother's side.  When
they were together, I watched them...

Epitaph: And let it be known.  For Love will Man risk all.  For Love
shall he endure the trials of Life.  For Love shall he move mountains,
drink up the waters of the sea, and spew them onto the desert.  For
Love will Man shatter the laws of the Universe.  For Love he shall
live.  For Love he shall die.

dez187lm@hotmail.com)



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