With Love From OhioMature

The weather was violent and stormy as I pulled into the Akron bus station. The rain threw itself against the windows of the greyhound bus, pelting the glass with a constant roar of sound that I could barely hear it over the anxious, exhilarated throbbing of my heart.

Through the water on the glass, I could barely make out Nick’s white Taurus, headlights bright in the darkness of the storm. As soon as the bus came to a stop I was up, grabbing my things; a duffel bag, my purse, a smaller bag, and a pillow.

I stepped down from the bus and into the beating rain. Normally I would’ve enjoyed the violent downpour, but wearing little more than a white miniskirt, flip flops and a tank top, I didn’t want to get too soaked and attract too much attention to myself; the outfit was for his enjoyment only. As I stepped to the pavement, a loud crack of thunder made me shriek, though I was the only one to hear it. I speed-walked to his car as fast as I could, and as I looked up I saw his face, smiling at me through the windshield.

I opened the back door and placed my things on the seat. “It’s wet!” I half-yelled to him, before closing the door and then opening my own, where I finally escaped the rain.

“No shit,” Nick said with an agitated laugh. “We can’t leave ‘til it clears up, I’m not driving in this.”

“That’s okay,” I said, smiling and leaning toward him. “Hello.”

He smiled, and we shared the first kiss we’d had in nearly two months. “Hello,” he answered back after our lips parted. He decided he didn’t really like that though, and he pulled my head back to his for a more intense kiss. Ten seconds of reunion make-out passed before he broke it again. “Hmm…” he purred happily. “How are you?”

“Better now,” I answered, even more truthfully than he knew.

He laughed at that. “Me too,” he replied, looking me up and down. “Very cute, ma’am.” he said, gesturing to my low-cut top and very short skirt.

I smiled. “Thanks, it would’ve been better if it wasn’t raining…”

He shook his head. “I don’t think so.” he said, running his fingers through my very wet hair.

I shifted my body so I could lean on him, head nestled into his chest with his arm over my shoulder, his hand on my lower backside, where it played teasingly with the hem of the skirt. His fingers slid beneath the fabric, his skin very warm against my own. I purred without meaning to.

“How was your trip?” he asked.

“Not bad at all, same as usual. I was the only one on that bus,” I said, gesturing out the windshield.

“Again?”

“Weird, isn’t it? You’d think there’d be more people coming here from Cleveland.”

“You’d think.”

“How about you? How was work?” I asked, laying my arm across his lap.

“Work-like,” he answered, smiling as I rolled my eyes. “Not that it really matters, you’re here now.”

“Yes I am.” I agreed, and we kissed again.

From there, conversation pretty much became non-existent. If anyone has ever experienced being without the person they love for months at a time, they would understand how intense the passion is when they are reunited. Since the first visit, it has been that way for Nick and I. So now, we were kissing quite fervently, and his hands managed to be everywhere at once; my face, my back, my thigh, those large warm hands of his enveloping me in the way they always did. Even if we didn’t live in different countries, opposite sides of Lake Erie to be specific, I imagined that our passion would be much the same. Our ability to control it would improve, perhaps.

I suppose our chemistry is what has kept us going for nearly three years now, that and how an Ontario farm girl and an Ohio city boy somehow managed to find things to talk about every night, sometimes for hours. Or maybe it’s how we talked through all our hardships, and grew together, and overcame many things; his problems at home, his arrest for possession. I didn’t have as many issues, but I certainly struggled with self-esteem and self doubt. He taught me to believe in myself; I was his crying shoulder, his optimist, his breath of fresh air, and certainly his way out of the home he hated. Shortly after we first started dating, when I was fifteen, he moved out of his Mom’s place and went to live with his rich grandparents, in their beautiful home in Nobles Pond.

The first time I went to visit him was in February of 2007. My father and I drove from our home in Baden, Ontario all the way to Canton. Dad spent the weekend in a Holiday Inn hotel, I spent the weekend hand-holding and making out, not to mention my first sexual endeavors; oral the first night, and the loss of my virginity the next. I didn’t do it because I was pressured or felt the need to impress. I was ready, and it was what we both needed.

Now, over a year later in June of 2008, visiting and staying at his house has been a bi-monthly regularity for me. Because of school, it usually had to be a brief weekend. But today marked the beginning of over three weeks here, with the man I love. In body, I have my tongue down the man’s throat and my eyes are closed, but in mind I am screaming for joy, and feel like dancing.

The rain is still beating down heavily, but it only adds to our euphoric lip-mash. Now my hand is in his short black hair, gripping it firmly while my other hand is resting on his jaw, my thumb absently against the side of his goatee. His arm is around my shoulders, the other hand prying my thighs apart and searching for something.

I smile a bit and break the kiss to breathe. “See? Being caught in a storm isn’t that bad.”

“Hmm,” he murmured, his fingers studying my panties beneath my skirt. The touch makes my heart flutter and causes me to bite my lower lip.

“Jesus,” he whispered into my face, “for a second I thought you weren’t wearing any.”

I laughed. “I’m not that brave.” Though he didn’t seem to mind either way. I brought my mouth to his once again.

This lasted for about twenty minutes, before we finally realized that the rain was now a gentle drizzle, and the storm had passed on. I was happy, even though it meant we had to stop touching each other so he could drive.

Or at least, I thought it did.

After he started the engine, he placed my hand on his lap, conveniently right on top of the fly of his black jeans. I smiled as my palm immediately recognized the feeling of hardened flesh beneath the fabric. For a moment it reminded me of the first time I had ever touched him there, in February. Probably because he was wearing what I was sure were the very same jeans.

“Hello,” I greeted the tent happily.

He laughed and made the lump twitch beneath my fingers. “He says hello, too.” he translated. “I think he wants you to let him out, though.”

I laughed. “So you were serious about wanting to be blown in the car, huh?” We had talked about it over the phone the week before.

“It’s your world,” he said, “You don’t have to, but… I don’t think he’d mind.”

It was tempting. I knew there were girls in the world who hated to go down for a man, but me? I enjoyed giving as much as I did receiving. Maybe even a bit more so. Hearing him moan in pleasure brought me off like nothing else.

Without another word, I was undoing his belt and opening the fly. He slid his pants down slightly by lifting himself off the seat, trying to concentrate on the road at the same time.

“Just don’t get us killed, okay?” I looked at him.

“I’ll try,” and we both laughed.

So there I was, going down the interstate highway back to his home, with my body leaned over and down, my head between his torso and the steering wheel. He drove one-handed, gathering my hair up for me. What happened next can only be described by what he said.

“Jesus Christ! Oh man, you’re… holy shit, hmm that feels so fucking good! Oh my God, have I told you lately that you’re amazing at that? Oh yes, please take it all again… yes, baby…”

If I hadn’t had an impressive-sized sexual organ in my mouth, I would’ve been smiling from ear to ear, and laughing harder than I already was. He was being louder and more vocal than I could remember, and I figured I had either improved vastly since my last visit (somehow), or the thrill of being blown on the highway during daylight hours was making it extra hot. He kept going, and so did I, until his whole body was squirming around in the seat.

“If you keep that up I’m going to lose it,” he warned, panting.

With that I lifted my head back up and tucked him away. “Right, best save it for when we get home.”

He winced in what looked like pain. “I can’t wait ‘til we get home.” He turned and looked at me intensely. “I need you now.”

Well shit, I wasn’t about to reject a statement like that. “Can we park somewhere?”

He changed lanes and caught our exit. “I don’t know where.”

I thought for a moment. “Is there a church nearby?” I offered, “I think they’d be empty on a Thursday evening, don’t you?”

He smirked. “You… want to fuck in a church parking lot?”

I smiled back. “Hey, I’m probably already going to hell, aren’t I?”

“Good point,” he agreed jokingly. “Alright, I know where there is one.”

I kept my hand on his once-again clothed member, rubbing it and squeezing it to keep him squirming a little. I was more than ready for three weeks of this.

The End

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